From rdragon@ix.netcom.com Tue Apr 01 22:54:15 1997

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From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Subject: AGONY IN PARADISE

Date: 2 Apr 1997 03:54:15 GMT

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                       THE AGONY OF PARADISE



                    





     My name is Hillary Wilson.  In my business career, I have

provided a service, a very exclusive service, indeed, a very

exclusive AND unique service.



     People pay me to give them pain!



     No, I am not a professional dominatrix.  I accept no clients

who expect me to diminish them.  I will agree there are elements of

my service which are similar to what the professional dominatrices

do, but the major difference is that my role is to support my

clients achieve orgasm at their pain plateau.  Indeed, I will often

encourage my clients to exceed the plain plateau they thought they

had.



     Yes, what I do is dangerous but before I entered my present

profession, I was a neurosurgeon.  Hence, not only am I able to

care for the needs of my clients, I also can competently examine

them for an analysis of their health to see if they can undergo

their planned ordeal.  There have also been occasions when I have

been able to advise my clients of ways to improve their ordeal as

well as to accentuate their feelings.



     Why did a neurosurgeon drop her practice and enter the field

I am in?  First of all, I got tired of the bullshit of  the

medical game.  I saw too many quacks get away with varying

degrees of incompetence, and nobody punished them.  I also made

a lot of money, so much that I simply retired.  Well, maybe

retired is too strong; more correctly, I semi-retired.  Many of

my clients have become patients as well.  This works out well for

both of us.



     It is true that my service is very expensive.  It is that so

that only the most serious pain seekers can afford me.  This

eliminates the simple thrill seekers who might be troublesome at

some time in the future.  But there are ways for those who

cannot afford me to gain their fulfillment through a sort of

scholarship fund.  I'll explain that later.



     My business is strictly referral.  Only  an introduction from

an existing client will even get me to talk to a potential

client.  When we agree to meet, it's done in a very public place in

some large city.  I carry an electronic device which will identify

any nearby recording device or radio transmitter.  Only once did I

detect any such device and my client who had referred the potential

client had been hoodwinked.  Even so, I punished her by abandoning

her for a full year.

     When an agreement is reached, I tell the new client to meet me

in Caracas, Venezuela.  I do have to do my work outside the

country and Venezuela is just right.  I have a coffee plantation,

and nearby, in a totally private location, I have my pain palace. 

The client is told to never attempt to locate my establishment, and

this goes for all my clients, not just new ones, but the

established ones too.  They then sign a self-incriminating document

which would make it just about totally unlikely that any would

disclose me.  When we leave Caracas, we do it in my luxury fitted

van (I tried a limo but the limo just couldn't stand up to the

terrain).  We drive for an hour into the jungle and, by use of

darkened windows and strategic turning, I lose most of them

quickly.  Nevertheless, at a moment, I put a blinding hood over

their heads so that they can't see a thing.



     We then stop at a remote jungle airstrip where I pilot a small

plane the remaining distance to my coffee plantation.  The

final location, when we reach it, may not even be in Venezuela. 

The client is then taken from the plane, with the helmet still on,

to another van and is driven the final twenty miles to the

pain palace.  In this way, they don't even have the chance to

see the airplane or note its markings.  When we arrive at the pain

palace, a regimen is started that will lead up to the particular

pain event within one to three days.



     My annual income is never less than one million per year, and

all that is tax free.



     Well now, after all the introductory remarks, you might wonder

how I came to get into such a business.  You already know why I

left the medical profession, but my entry to my present field was

sort of bizarre.  A man with whom I had been keeping company asked

me to check him out one day.  With both of us nude, I completed 

the check up, although it took a couple hours with time out for

various erotic activities.  When I pronounced him fit, he pressed

me to test his heart.  I listened again, but found nothing.  He

insisted he had to know if he was likely to have a heart attack

under intense stress.  I told him I simply could not guarantee

that, but if he wanted to come by the office, I could do an EKG and

do some other tests that would identify his propensity for such an

attack.



     Two days later, I did the tests and again pronounced him fit. 

I then asked him why he wanted to know this.  At first, he was

evasive; but, when I became angry with his simplistic

nonsensical answers, he finally confessed that he was about to

have a flogging.  A what, I asked.  He repeated, a flogging.  He

then went on to add that he was into serious pain, and he was going

to undergo a flogging to take him to his limit.



     I knew about masochists.  I hadn't ever expected to meet one

of such intensity.  He explained that before the person who was to

flog him would do it, he had to produce a doctor's written

certificate as to the condition of his health.  I was somewhat

concerned with this turn of events.  I really had no idea of

the effect of a serious flogging on the physiology of a human

being.  I knew that people had been flogged as late as the

nineteenth century and most of them had not died, but I was

unaware of the intensity.  And I was convinced my friend wanted

a very intense flogging.



     On a whim, I said I would sign the certificate but I would

have to go along just in case anything went wrong.  He starred at

me, and then smilingly agreed.  The arrangements were made and two

nites later, I found myself in a country home.  The owners were a

couple.  Both were dressed in leather.  My friend presented his

certificate and introduced me.  They wanted to know what I wanted

to have done to me, but I assured them I was just there to observe

my patient in the event of anything unforseen happening.  They

shrugged.



     Very quickly, my friend was stripped and then tied, face in,

to an upright post in the middle of the room.  When he was

secured, the woman brought forward a cat-of-nine-tails.  The man

took it, and then began to flog my friend.  The first stroke left

angry red marks.  The second stroke brought flecks of blood.  I sat

there, with some apprehension, and even more amazement, as my

friend was struck forty times by the fearsome instrument.  When he

passed out, she was immediately at his side.



     After several minutes, and he had been released, he was

comfortable enough, but he laid on his stomach.  After a drink of

whiskey, he said he was ready for the rest.  I was shocked.  It was

unbelievable.  He got to his feet and again embraced the post.  He

was again secured.  The flogging re-commenced.  This time it took

only twenty strokes before he passed out.



     When he came to, he asked what I thought.  I knew he didn't

want me to tell him I thought he was crazy. I wouldn't have done

that anyway since I knew he had gone into this with his eyes open. 

Ordinarily, he would have stayed at the home in the country until

the next day but he asked if I would drive him home, which I did,

with him laying and kneeling in the back.



     Back at his home, I treated his back.  It was a real mess.

Several of the cuts were deep enough to scab over and I thought

two of them might leave scars.



     He reminded me I hadn't answered his question about what I

thought. Stalling, I asked him where he had met the couple, and he

told me through a mutual friend, the name of whom also amazed me. 

















                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE



                             Part 2

     I stayed the weekend.  The fuck that nite was incredible.  I

knew he was hurting, but it seemed to add to his staying power.  I

know I had two huge cums while he fucked me before he let himself

go.  Later, I commented on his staying power, and he laughed that

it was always like that when he was whipped.  He admitted to

several sessions at the country house before but none of those had

been as good as this one, nor anywhere as near severe.  Finally, I

asked him how much he had paid.  He laughingly questioned if I was

interested in getting into the business but I simply blushed.  He

then told me an incredibly high sum.



     Once again, he reminded me that I had yet to tell him what I

thought about it.  I bought additional time by asking him what in

particular he expected me to say.  Laughingly, he said, well, for

openers, have you ever seen a bed mate of yours whipped before.  I

laughed, and admitted that I hadn't.  I told him that I didn't

think he wanted me to patronize him by simply saying that how he

chose to get his pleasure was his own business.  Instead, I told

him that each of seeks our pleasures in our own ways.  Pleasure is

an elusive thing, and if any of us find tried and reliable ways to

get pleasure, then we should not be concerned what others might

think.



     He nodded; then added that most people would not understand

him; and I agreed with that.  Worse, he said, many people might

stick it out once, but that they would never want anything to do

with a person into it again.  I told him that if that was

worrying him, the fuck the nite before was too good for me to

not want to see him again.



     That evening was a turning point for me.  The thought had been

planted in my head.  A couple months later, my friend asked me when

he would be strong enough to undergo another flogging.  I

checked him out and said anytime he wanted to do it.  He asked if

I wanted to go along this time too.  I said no, I didn't want to go

along, but I would do the flogging myself if he was willing to put

up with my inexperience.



     For several moments, he said nothing, then he said we would

have to buy me the tools of the trade.  I agreed, but where I asked

would we find a cat-of-nine-tails.  Easy, he replied, and that nite

we were shopping in a store that would delight any fetishist.  We

bought all kinds of gear, some of which I

recognized, some others things I figured out, but some I had no

idea what they were supposed to accomplish.



     Two nites later, I was at his place.  He lived in a house,

somewhat set apart from his neighbors.  I had dressed as he had

asked: white silk, front-buttoning silk blouse with no bra;

jodhpurs with riding boots and kid gloves.  He showed me into his

living room, which had a cathedral ceiling.  In the middle of the

room was the upright whipping post.  We had a couple drinks during

which he suggested I use the paddle on his ass first to get the

feel of swinging it.  Then, a small tawse on his ass after which I

was to move up to his back.  When I got the feel of that, then I

was to use the cat, increasing the force as I felt more comfortable

in doing so.



     Naturally, I was concerned that I do it right, and I worried

I might seriously hurt him.  Reading my mind, he said I would

learn quickly and that if I was worried I might hurt him, it

would be better if we didn't start.  He said that the first

strokes were always super painful but after he got into the

session, he welcomed the strokes and it would be most

unsatisfactory if I found myself unable to go on once we had

started.  I nodded, and said that while I couldn't guarantee what

might happen, I was committed to carrying it off.  Beyond that, I

couldn't say, and it was up to him to stop now or go on.



     In answer, he took off his clothes and went to embrace the

post.  Following his directions, I then tied him to the post.

Twice he insisted I draw the ropes tighter.  



     Finally, it was time for me to lay on the first stroke.

Flexing the paddle in my hand, I studied the target.  Then I

swung.  There was a loud thwack, but he didn't even flinch.  I

studied his ass, and then hit him again.  Still no reaction, so

I hit him ten more times, very rapidly.  When I finally stopped, I

was panting, his ass was red, but he still hadn't given any

indication that he wanted me to stop or that it was too much.



     I took the tawse and began to work on his ass.  As I swung it,

I grew more confidant and so I began to hit his back.  Then,  only

a few strokes, I threw down the tawse and took up the cat.  I knew

I could do it!  A thin bead of perspiration had formed on my upper

lip and I had become slightly breathless; but, since I already knew

he could take it, I really began to swing that cat.  Although my

first few strokes were somewhat tentative, with my knew found

confidence, I began to lean into the task.  By now, sweat had

soaked through my blouse so I simply took it off.  



     When I was satisfied with the tempo, I began to watch him

closely.  When he appeared to be weakening, I slowed the strokes

and let up slightly.  Then, when he would revive, I would pick up

the pace and increase my effort.  In this way, I took him to eighty

strokes before he said he had enough.  I must have been quite a

sight, swinging that whip with my tits bouncing from side to side. 

I left him tied to the post and quickly checked him out.  Other

than an accelerated pulse, there was no indication of distress.  I

decided to try something so I told him he would get an additional

five strokes.  He gasped and I told him to try to do it. 

Instinctively, I had hit on my gold mine of success: the

encouragement for the client to try to go a little past what they

thought was their limit.

     After the five additional strokes, I suggested a further five,

which he handled, but he declined to go further.  I let him down,

cared for his back, and then sucked his cock.  It was incredible. 

Later, after a rest, he ate my cunt for an hour.



     My steps from my medical practice to my coffee plantation and

pain palace in Venezuela took six months  I was in business.











                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE



                             Part 3





     My first client was a referral from my friend.  Because of my

relationship with my friend, I wasn't especially careful with

this second client; but, afterward, while he was recovering, he

warned me against being so careless ever again, even when the

client was a referral from the person I trusted most.



     Anyway, client 2 had a very simple request.  He wanted a large

enema.  I was quite surprised for that seemed a relatively

simple request.  I said as much, but he smiled and said he

wanted two gallons.  At that, I was shocked.   As a doctor, I

knew anatomy, and I had never heard of anyone who could hold

that much enema.  He reassured me that he had a two gallon

enema three times before, and had suffered no ill effects.  I

shrugged and told him to prepare himself.



     He knelt on the table, and then bent forward until his

forehead was on the table also.  He then had me tie his hands to

his ankles.  He then told me to fill him up, chuckling somewhat

nervously.  I noticed that his cock was fully erect.  I greased his

ass-hole, and then filled an enema bag with two quarts of warm

water.  He suggested I might want to hang it on a higher post than

I had it so that the water would have a greater pressure to force

itself into his intestines.  I did so.  Then I pushed the bardahl

nozzle into his ass-hole and pumped it up to lock it in place.  I

then opened the clamp, and watched the first of what was to become

eight quarts of water flowing into his ass.  As the bag would begin

to thin out, indicating the fluid had run into him, I added

additional quarts.



     When six quarts had flowed into him, I stopped the flow and

inquired how he felt.  He said he felt very full; but, when I

asked how full, he asked how much I had put into him.  When I

told him six, he grunted and told me to flip the switch again.  I

did, and soon, I had put the eighth quart in the bag.



     He appeared to be in some distress, taking great breaths, but

since he made no request, I did not stop the flow.  At last the bag

was empty.  I told him so, and he exhaled with some relief.  I then

asked him, what happened then.  He told me he held it as long as he

could, and then I had to release him so he could go shit.



     I thought there should be something more to this so I began to

gently rub his ass cheeks, and tickle his balls.  He started to

moan, finally saying he was enjoying himself too much, that he was

going to cum.  I kept up what I was doing, and soon his cock was

shooting semen.



     When he finished, he asked if he might be un-tied so that he

could go shit.  Instead, I asked him if he wanted to try for a

new level.  When he replied that he was in no condition to object

to whatever I wanted to try, I knew that he was interested.  The

room we were in had a tile floor and the table was steel, with a

padded cushion.  I removed my clothes and then greased up my right

hand.  I then removed the bardahl nozzle.  He started to squirt

immediately, but I put my fist to his ass hole, and began to

insinuate my fingers to his ass-hole.  He gasped, but beyond

wiggling a little, said and did nothing.  I pressed first two

fingers into his ass-hole, and then a third.  He was leaking from

the ass all the time, but the flow was slow.  Finally, I had all

four fingers in his ass.  I then put my thumb tight against my

palm, and began to push my fingers in.  He moaned loudly, but still

made no objection.  With steady pressure, I managed to push my hand

into his ass, over my thumb knuckle.  I then spread my fingers a

bit.  I could feel all the water in his rectum, plus a turd, but I

pushed further.  My hand was now into his ass as far as my wrist.



     I had paused frequently, but when I was in to my wrist, he

asked how far, and when I told him to my wrist, he gasped.  I

then asked if he wanted me to go further.  In reply, he literally

pushed back against my hand, so I pushed hard.  I knew I was in

dangerous territory now.  A tear in the intestines could be fatal. 

Still, I decided to push further.  At last, when my hand was in

half way between my wrist and elbow, I stopped.  Then I pulled out

a bit, and then began to push and withdraw with a gentle motion. 

He had another cum.



     After fifteen minutes, I withdrew my hand.  He shit out the

whole enema.  He offered to clean it up, but I declined, saying

there were servants for that.



     It was after he had cleaned himself (and I had cleaned myself)

that he gave me the advice.  But he also affirmed my feelings about

myself by saying I had taken him to new levels.





                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE



                             Part 4



     My third client was a husband and wife team.  The wife

explained her husband wanted a whipping, and she couldn't do it,

but she had heard I would.  I agreed, but I asked why she

couldn't bring herself to do it.  She tried to convince me she

didn't want to hurt him.  But, I asked, wasn't her refusal a

form of hurt.  She admitted she hadn't looked at it that way.

I told her to consider it and then prepared her husband.  I

learned he had never had a serious whipping, so it was agreed I

would proceed slowly.



     The first twenty strokes were with a paddle.  He handled that

easily.  I knew he felt it, but I also knew that all but those with

the lowest of pain thresholds could  handle that sort of paddling. 

While I was doing the paddling, his wife asked if

she might watch.  After a half hour of rest, during which I left

them alone, I returned and began to use the tawse.  This was more

severe and his ass began to shift from side to side.  He also let

out with a cute little squeak a couple times.



     Again, I left them alone for a half hour and, when I returned

this time, I used the riding crop and he frequently moaned loudly. 

I looked sideways at his wife and saw that she was in no way

put-off by what she was witnessing, rather she seemed to be avidly

interested.



     After the next half hour rest, I used the cat, and began to

work on his back as well as his ass.  He moaned and groaned, and

even screamed once.  His wife had leaned forward, and she was

breathing heavily.  This time, when I finished the twenty

strokes, I just dropped the cat and walked out.



     I waited for an hour before I returned this time.  The whip

was in her hand, and it was clear she had just delivered a stroke. 

She blushed but I told her to continue, and she did.  She was

obviously inexperienced, but she loved him and I knew she would

learn.



     That nite, at supper, her husband was definitely in pain, but

they both were all smiles.  I knew that they had found themselves,

and that they had celebrated before supper with a

good fuck.  I said as much, and she, with little embarrassment,

nodded.  Then she added that I had opened the door for them, that

she had come to understand his need, and would meet it.  Then I

surprised her by asking her about her own needs.  She stammered

about not having a need but I said bullshit.  So she shyly told me

she wanted to eat my cunt.  I asked if she wanted her husband to

watch or not.  At this, he chimed in that he most certainly wanted

to watch, but he wanted to be restrained.



     We went to a bedroom (I refused to ever use my own bedroom

with a client) and she tied her husband to a stout chair, placed at

the side of the bed.  I then slipped out of my clothes and laid on

the bed, legs spread.  She knelt between my legs and began to

gently tongue me.  It took her a while, but she eventually took me

to a nice orgasm.



     They have become regular clients.  On their last visit, I

whipped her, and she enjoyed that too.







                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE



                             Part 5



     Client 5 was my first female client and was destined to become

both my friend and my most adventuresome client.



     Following my more cautious approach which I had adopted

following the urging of client 2, I met client 5 at a neutral

sight.  It was a subdued Japanese restaurant where we had our

own private room.  She was there waiting when I arrived.  As

was the custom, we had both left our shoes at the door.  While

I dressed in an elegant but conservative manner, she was

anything but conservative.  The first thing I noticed was the

leather bondage collar, followed by the handcuffs.  To my up raised

eyebrow, she merely shrugged and smiled enigmatically.  After we

had ordered drinks, during which the Japanese waitress exhibited 

no surprise or curiosity over client five's attire, she explained

she rather frequently wore her signs of masochism.  She insisted I

understand that she was not a submissive but a full blooded

masochist.  She gave me her interpretation of the difference: a

submissive accepted what the dominant wanted, while a masochist

sought out pain for its own sake.  The one approached mistreatment

from the passive view, much like a vegetable, while the other was

very active.



     I didn't disagree outright, but I did observe that some

submissives did originate ideas for their own discomfort.  She

agreed, but added that they did so to please the dominant, not

necessarily to generate pain for themselves.



     Obviously, we made arrangements for client five to visit my

plantation.  This occurred within five days.  She had said she

wanted to endure three things.  This, in itself, was unusual for

the prior clients only wanted one thing, but I encouraged her to

reveal her desires.  First, she wanted to spend twelve hours in a

pillory.  I agreed, realizing that woman was indeed very serious

for just six hours in a pillory would be severe.  Secondly, she

wished to hang suspended by her wrists for a minimum of six hours. 

Lastly, she wished to be placed in a strict hog-tie for six hours

and to be continuously sexually stimulated while she was in the

hog-tie.



     With no comment as to what seemed to me to be an excessively

ambitious program, I merely agreed, and asked what was to be

first.  The wrist suspension was elected.  Since it would be so

long, we chose to do it inside.  Without a word, she stripped off

her clothes, revealing she had her cunt shaven, with rings in

both her nipples and her cunt lips.  There was one ring in each

nipple and three rings in each of the lips of her labia.  She

surprised me by affixing a smallish ring in her nose.



        She accepted my recommendation of padded, leather wrist

cuffs; which I quickly wrapped around each of her wrists.  I

buckled them tight, and to add a little extra, I put padlocks in

each one.  She merely grinned.  I then placed an eight foot step

ladder under a ring that was at the end of a three foot chain

which was attached to a beam about twelve feet off the floor.  She

clumb up one side of the ladder and I went up the other.

She raised her wrists to the large ring and I hooked a padlock

through the large ring and the rings on both cuffs, and shoved

the shank home, effectively locking her to the over head beam.

When the ladder was removed, she would be secured to the over

head.  The three foot length of chain would make it impossible

for her to swing her body upwards to hook her feet over the beam;

but, at the same time, she would be well off the floor.  In other

words, all she could do would be to hang.



     I bade her remain still until I got down off the ladder, then

she was to back down the ladder herself until the slack went

out of the chain and I would then help lift her off the ladder to

begin her six hours of suspension.



     It didn't work out that way.  I clumb down the ladder, and, as

soon as I had done so, she jumped off the ladder.  This threw

her entire weight, but with added force, on her wrists instantly. 

All I heard was an "oof," but nothing else.  I said nothing, but

began to think that perhaps she would indeed go through all she had

planned.  I had been skeptical that she would hang suspended for

more than one hour, let alone six.



     I left her to hang by herself, but checked back often.  Once,

when I asked her how she felt, she suggested I might want to feel

her cunt.  I did, and though I expected her to be aroused, I was

unprepared for the dripping nature of her cunt.  At the end of

three hours, I clumb up the ladder and offered her a drink.  She

declined, saying she had to pee and anymore liquid would make it

very difficult to hold it.  I suggested she simply pee on the

floor, that it could be easily mopped up.  She smiled gratefully,

and did drink the liquid.



     When I returned the next time, there was a large pool of piss

on the floor.   While she hung above me, I got a mop and mopped it

all up.  I then got a small switch and hit her on the ass ten

times.  The first stroke surprised her but she simply hung straight

down during the other nine.  When I finished, she said she

understood.



     At the end of five and half hours, I found another pool of

piss, which I mopped up, and I hit her ten more times.  At the end

of each half hour, I announced how much time she had been hanging

and if she was okay.  Each time, she assured me all was well.  When

I announced the sixth hour, I asked her how she felt, and she said

fine.  Then I suggested that maybe she would want to extend the

time.  There was a sharp intake of breath, and her body convulsed. 

It was obvious that my question had caused her to orgasm.  When

finally she quieted down, and hung limply again, she thanked me,

and said she wasn't going to go anywhere anyway until I let her

down, and that the duration of her suspension was in my hands.



     Very quickly, I disabused her of that idea.  I would support,

but I refused to dictate.  I made to pull the ladder under her, to

lower her, but she quickly agreed that she was the one in control

of her own destiny and asked that I let her hang

another hour.  At the end of seven hours, I did help her to climb

up the ladder; after which I unlocked her wrists.  I then helped

her down for her arms were numb.





                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE



                             Part 6



     We visited at dinner that nite.  She thanked me for urging to

go for more and wondered if that was to be my habit.  I told

her that, yes, that was my general approach; but I would do so

only, if in my professional judgement, she was capable.



     She had a normal childhood, though she was an only child.  At

about age eight or nine, she and her friends began to engage in

games where one or more of them were tied up.  At first, she tied

others as often as she was tied;  beginning at about age ten, she

had begun to be the one tied up by the other kids most often.  At

first, she had protested why she was always the one to be tied up,

but, eventually, she became reconciled to it.  Once reconciled, she

began to seek comfort (she was yet too

young to seek pleasure) while she was bound.  Fortunately, her

friends were as inexperienced as she, so her bondages were seldom

difficult to endure.



     From time to time, she would daydream about her situation.

Mostly, she thought of herself as the heroine who had been

captured by the bad guys.  She was left alone several times, and

not infrequently, she managed to wriggle out of her bondages.  They

used the backyards of each other, but, occasionally, they used a

nearby woods.  One time, when she was twelve, her two closest

neighbors, a boy of her own age and a girl a year older, asked if

she wanted to try to get lose from a special tie-up.  Sensing a

challenge, and knowing her friends wouldn't hurt her, she accepted

the idea.



     Very quickly, it was clear this was to be no ordinary tie-up. 

They went to the woods where she was placed with her back against

a tree.  They began to use yards and yards of rope.

When they finished, they told her to have fun trying to escape

as they thought there was no way she was going to get lose by

herself.  They were right: she had no hope of escaping.  She just

relaxed in her bonds to await the return of her friends.  But they

left her there long after they should have returned to untie her.

       She began to worry that she might not make it home before

her deadline.  She tried again to free herself, and became very

frustrated when she couldn't.  And, for the first time, an

element of fright entered her mind.  Here she was, a girl

helplessly bound to a tree, in a woods where very few people

ever came.



       At last, her friends came back to untie her. She was angry

with her friends the next day, and didn't talk to them. At lunch at

school, her girl friend asked what was wrong, and she angrily

told her friend she was mad because they had left her so long.

Her friend said she was sorry and they wouldn't do it again.  Since

she wasn't really angry, she quickly made up with her friend.

     The tie-ups continued intermittently over the next two years. 

She noticed that while she occasionally was tied by the

original group, more and more often it was just her girlfriend

and the boy next door.



     It was three weeks later when next she allowed herself to be

tied again.  She did set a condition; however, that they would

return to untie her before five in the afternoon.  Also, since it

would be getting dark soon, she asked that they tie her to the

clothes line pole.