Bound Ambition

Another Saturday night in La-la-land. By some fluke, I had managed to
find out the location of this week's super-secret floating nightclub, a
three-month phenomenon called Hari Scari where the rich and terminally
trendy residents of Hollywood gathered in some half-finished parking garage
to drink $10 drinks and pretend to be worried about the cops. Where the hip
meet to get ripped. I usually hate this kind of behaviour, but I didn't want
to disappoint my friend who had done the actual legwork to wrangle the
invite, and at least I could say I'd been. Once.

So there I was, sipping a watery beer (only $7), my friend long since
departed for greener contact and can-I-use-you-as-a-reference new best pals.
The music all sounded the same... big drums, bigger bass lines, too much
chanting and no melody.. . but that didn't keep the dance floor from
resembling a snake pit, dozens of under-dressed wannabes and actor/waiters
writhing in apparent bliss. I'm not much on today's pop music, being old
enough to remember Elvis and not think of Costello first. Still, it was
great fun, and more than a little exciting, to watch the glamour kids strut
their stuff, contorting into positions that made "Dirty Dancing" look like a
waltz lesson.

One blond in particular was gyrating like crazy, carving out her own real
estate on the dance floor as she kicked and twirled in perfect time to the
beat. Men drifted in and out as her partner, but she ignored her would-be
suitors, performing only for herself. She was wearing a white-lace bustier,
torn jeans, sneakers and sunglasses. Nothing special, but captivating in its
simplicity and who-needs-props bravado. This is one confident woman, I
thought. I'll bet she's a handful. Not that I wouldn't mind finding out, I
laughed. She must have seen me smile, because a minute later, she was
standing next to me, mascara dripping and mouth complaining about the heat,
the useless drinks, the lack of interesting men, and how uncomfortable her
chest was in her corset. I tried my best to be attentive. but I couldn't
help being utterly charmed by her boisterous spirit. What did I do right?
Suddenly, she was pulling my arm, insisting I accompany her to her car so
she could get more cigarettes. I glanced around for my friend, shrugged when
I didn't see him, and offered my elbow to Blondie as we stepped lively
through the crowd.

People stared at us as if we were royalty. Maybe she's a famous model, I
decided as she dragged me through the throng. When we reached the curb, she
pulled a whistle from the hip pocket of her jeans and blasted three short
tweets. In seconds, a long white limousine pulled up to us, the back door
opening as if controlled by her brainwaves. "Get in," she ordered. "We need
a real drink. James, let's go home." Too much, I thought. Hollywood at its
weirdest. And I didn't even know her name. She looked slightly stunned when
I asked her, as if I was supposed to recognize every self-possessed theatre
major in Los Angeles. "You can call me Lucille. And you are..." I paused for
a second. "Call me Ishmael," I said with a grin. "Ishmael? Are you a rabbi?
Or just a big Warren Beatty fan?" "That was Ishtar." "Yeah, yeah, you're
right. I should know..."

She absently played with the huge silver crucifix that hung between her
breasts. "Anyway, like, what were you doing at Hari Scari? You don't look
like you play bass for a heavy metal band, and I'm sure you're not an actor
or a screenwriter or even a go-for on the set of a soap opera." "How do you
know I'm not the head of Warner Brothers?" I asked indignantly. "Because he
would know better than to get into my limo at two a.m. on a Saturday night.
You really don't know who I am?" "You're a very attractive woman who must be
doing something right to be able to afford a trained car."

"Quite right." She wrestled with a bottle of champagne, bending forward
to leave very little to my now-activated imagination. As she poured our
drinks, she started a running commentary about the weather, the people she
saw on the street, and her "crummy" schedule that never left her any time to
have any fun on her own. She pressed a button on her armrest and smoked
glass rose to seal off the passenger compartment from the driver. "My
boyfriend, he's a great guy and all," she whispered conspiratorially, "but
he's kinda dull when it comes to thrills. I like to dance. And I like to
pretend I'm someone else. Fantasy... it's a great release." She took a big
gulp of bubbly. "Do you like to play games?"

"Sure," I replied. "World-class Twister grand master at your service."
Heck, it was worth a try. "Of course, it isn't a real game unless you bet. I
prefer gambling for clothes." She giggled.

"I had something even more, uh, titillating in mind." The glass lowered
as the limo slowed down. "James, park it in the garage, will you?"

We pulled into a darkened Hollywood Hills driveway that led to your
standard-issue grandiose palace with acres of lawn and the requisite
pillars. She led me through the kitchen into the living room, then pointed
to a couch and beckoned me to sit. As I did, she refilled my glass and moved
to a doorway, covering herself in deep shadows. James vanished upstairs. "I
have a favor to ask," she started. "I have what my boyfriend calls a fetish.
He thinks I'm kinda nuts, but what the heck, he likes Beer Nuts for
breakfast. I like something a bit different." She paused. I listened
quietly, trying not to look too stunned. I was getting the idea that this
was no ordinary one-night-stand. For one, the house. For another, her
candor. Finally, I was starting to remember why she looked familiar. She
turned away. Embarrassed? "I don't do this too often. Most guys couldn't
handle it. But you... you seem to be the kind of calm, rational man who
knows how to keep his cool. I like that. I also like what I see under your
shirt." Well, thank you, uh, Lucille. I ralsed my eyebrows to prove I was
still conscious, but kept silent. "Anyway, here's the deal. Have you ever
played Cowboys and Indians?"

Huh? "Sure, I guess. When I was a kid."

"Did the winners get to tie up the losers?"

"I think so... yeah, they'd get tied to the anthill or something."

"Good..." She took a breath. "I still like playing tie-up. But my
boyfriend thinks it's dumb. So I was wondering... would you like to tie me
up tonight?" I stared at her like a deer caught in headlights. Who me? OK,
where's the "Totally Hidden Video" camera crew? This was getting to be much
too much, too soon. "I know it sounds crazy, and we just met tonight, but
I'm serious. My favorite fantasy is pretending to be captured by a complete
stranger, bound and gagged. And you're the lucky Master tonight." The idea
had merit, I decided as I watched her stretch elegantly against the door
frame.

"But I've never... I mean, I'm not really that..."

"What's the matter? Don'tcha like a little hanky-panky every once in a
while?" Her boyfriend's right. She is nuts. But I like that in a woman.

"Let's do it to it." She laughed.

"That's the spirit. Okay, I'm going to get ready. While you wait, you may
want to take a look at some of the magazines in the cabinet under the coffee
table. Inspiratlon, then perspiration. Seeya." She blew me a kiss and ran up
the stairs. This was definitely a night for the record books.

I grabbed the first magazine on the stack, and found myself staring at a
beautiful brunette strapped to a chair with enough rope to handle a rodeo.
Flipping the pages, I started thinking what was waiting upstairs. While half
of me said this was an elaborate practical joke, the other half was
concocting erotic scenarios involving the luscious Lucille and her half-mad
fantasies. I wondered what had happened to my friend at Hari Scari, then
chuckled when I pictured him alone in his apartment, praying there was
something decent on cable.

After 15 minutes or so, she called out from upstairs. I'm almost ready.
But first, I want you to change into something more appropriate. You'll find
your costume in the bathroom at the top of the stairs." More giggles. This
just keeps getting sillier, I thought as I strode up the stairs. Now what,
beads and feathers? When I opened the door to the bathroom, I couldn't help
whistling in appreciation. Hanging on the shower curtain rod was a pair of
intimidating black leather pants and matching tank top. On the floor stood a
pair of well-heeled boots. A note was taped to the mirror: "You can do
anything you want," it read, "but remember, pain is only pleasurable in very
small doses. Also, my boyfriend will be watching in the next room, so don't
try anything funny. L." I was a little surprised by the last sentence, but
then I figured it was better to be seen than sorry. Was "James" actually her
boyfriend?

Well, if it didn't bother them, I wasn't going to let it bother me. As I
squeezed into my biker togs, I couldn't lhelp feeling more than a little
nervous, and horribly horny besides. What was I getting myself into, both
figuratively and literally? When I was dressed, I checked the results in a
full-length mirror. I'm not exactly vain, but I did look good. All those
nights at the gym finally paid off. "Off to the races," I said to my
reflection. I poked by head into the hall and saw a partially-open door at
the opposite end, a faint, flickering light beckoning to me. I started down
the corridor, half expecting to hear her laugh. A shadow danced across the
wall from the open door. I knocked, then peered around to see what fate
awaited me.

She was standing in the middle of the room. To one side was a queen-sized
bed surrounded by four sturdy posts holding an empty canopy frame. Behind
her was a heavy oak chair. One wall was covered with coils of rope, leather
straps and various accessories. Long white candles burned in ornate
enclosures hung on the other walls. I slowly closed the door as I studied my
evening's partner. She was dressed in matching black leather, a miniskirt
hugging her ample lower torso and a wicked-looking corset covered with
zippers and straps holding tight to her chest and stomach. She wore fishnet
stockings under thigh-high black boots with outrageous stiletto heels. In
all, quite a stunning package. Of course, the effect was definitely
heightened by the handcuffs holding her wrists securely behind her back.

"I'm yours," she cooed. "Your very own Mohican princess to do with as you
please." I had no idea what to do next.

"You'll have to forgive my naivete. Am I supposed to whip you now? Force
you to have sex? And where's this chauffeur anyway?" Not an auspicious
kickoff. She started talking before I could finish my speech.

"No whips, just spanking. I'll let you know if I want sex. And James is
probably asleep in the next room. Look, this isn't supposed to be
complicated. Check out the stuff on the wall. Use your imagination." Okay.
Imagination. I moved to the wall and started examining the various
restraints hanging there. I unhooked a long leather strap and held it around
my waist like a belt. Giggles again. "Why don'tcha strap me to the chair?"
she purred. Why not indeed. Showtime. I grabbed all the straps I saw and
gave her what I presumed was a lecherous grin. She fluttered her long
eyelashes and sauntered over to the chair, perching herself daintily on its
seat.

"The key to the handcuffs is around my neck." I took that to be the
starting gun. I reached between her heaving cleavage and lifted the chain
around her neck. After removing the cuffs, I placed her wrists on the arms
of the chair and started wrapping. "Make sure they're tight," she whispered
hoarsely. Right. Must be authentic. I finished her wrists, then secured her
ankles to the legs of the chair. She moaned softly.

"More."

"More what?" She gestured at the pile of straps. Oh.

I took a step back and thought of the first picture I had seen
downstairs. The woman's body had been practically invisible under the cords.
Smiling, I picked up a long strap and circled it around the middle of her
ieft thigh. Pulling the slack, I ran the strap under the chair and around
her right thigh, then back under. I repeated the procedure on her arms,
pinning her to the back of the chair. I used the last long strap around her
waist, and wondered what I should do next. The answer came quickly.

"Good," she said, possibly to herself. "There's lots more toys to play
with." "So there are," I muttered, feeling a bit overwhelmed. I strolled
over to the wall and randomly selected a short leather strap with a bright
red ball in the middle. I twirled it in my hands, trying not to look like a
complete amateur. I decided it must be for her mouth. "There's a blindfold
over to the ieft. Put them on me, then get the box under the bed, open it,
and... how did you put it? 'Do it to it.'" She closed her eyes expectantly.

"How in the world did I get here?" I almost said aloud. I was about to
stuff a ball into the alluring mouth of a gorgeous female who I'd tied to a
chair per her instructions. Who's the boss here anyway? I found the
blindfold and decided it was time to stop stalling and start getting into
the spirit of the moment. "I think I've heard just about enough from you for
now." She looked up with a smile, opened her mouth and closed her eyes
again. The blindfold and the gag soon decorated her head. She began
breathing hard, her limbs tense and her fingers curled around the corners of
the chair. I admired her for a minute, and remembered the box under the bed.
Interesting. Some feathers. A bottle of oil. And about eight inches of black
plastic that looks just like... got it. A vibrator.

I looked back at Lucille and decided she might like a little tender
loving tickling. I twisted the bottom of the prod and a low humming filled
the silence of the surreal boudoir. She squirmed against her restraints, but
having been applied according to her specifications, the straps held her
firmly to the chair. Quiet as a cat, I moved behind her and caressed her
neck with the vibrator. Her head snapped back and then rolled sideways as I
softly rubbed her shoulders and her upper arms. I reached around and made
lazy circles with the tip on her stomach. She groaned with pleasure behind
her gag, and tried to arch her back, thrusting her breasts forward in hopes
of receiving the same ministrations that were turning her tummy into jelly.

"Hmmm. Not so fast." I eyed the gleaming zippers covering her ample
bosom. "Let's see what you're hiding behind your pretty armor." I set the
vibrator on the floor, but a better idea sprang to mind. "Mustn't waste
electricity," I said as I worked the buzzing machine between her legs so she
was sitting on it. Her entire body began to quiver as I carefully pulled
down the zipper holding her right breast behind the leather skin. Most
impressive, I thought, as I gently kneaded under, over and around. I took
her nipple between by thumb and forefinger and tugged it forward, exposing
the rest of her gleaming-white globe against the black folds of the corset.
Her left breast was given the same treatment, only I slowed to a
hallucinogenic pace to prolong the sensation for both of us. I found myself
hypnotized by the effects of make-believe domination, fading in and out
while I lightly stroked and flicked her nipples. Faint, high-pitched squeals
from behind the gag accompanied my every motion.

I got it! Do it to it.

I knelt down, retrieved the vibrator from under her twitching bottom, and
began to run it up and down her upper legs above the tops of her fishnets.
Every once in a while, I would brush it against her crotch, causing galvanic
tremors and groans. I pushed her miniskirt up to her waist, exposing a
leather triangle and two tiny straps trailing off around her hips. A thin
film of sweat gave her limbs a sheen that made her look like she was made of
marble. I inched the vibrator closer to the intersection of her thlgh
sketching erotic designs across the tense skin surrounding her pulsing
folds. Finally, I started concentrating my efforts on the lower corner of
the triangle, pressing the vibrator harder and harder against the leather.
She bucked in the chair as I increased the speed of my strokes, straining to
cry out behind the ball filling her mouth. Sensing imminent meltdown, I
began running the vibrator up and down her erect nipples. A low sigh
signalled her disappointment with my new direction.

"Are you always in such a rush?" More squirming. "Well, I think I need a
little break." I reached down and pulled up the top of her G-string. "But
don't worry, you won't miss me." I slid the vibrator over her blonde mound
and lodged it deeply into her folds. She began panting as I casually twisted
the speed control to its overdrive position. "See you in a sec," I said as I
opened the door, closed it, and stood by the door watching. I was breathing
almost as hard as she was, my manhood straining against the sleek black skin
of my pants. I resisted the urge to prowl around the room, peek into a few
drawers and try to determine the true identity of my new lady love. Her
boyfriend probably wouldn't like the idea. Besides, things were plenty
interesting as it was. Judging from the torrid shakes and quakes coming from
the chair, my voluntary subject was deep in an orgasmic state of bliss. Her
boyfriend must be a real moron, I thought as I watched her rock in throes of
ecstacy. I could definitely learn to enjoy this. Then again, I realized,
maybe he is, too.

After a few minutes, I walked over to my bound beauty, plucked the
vibrator from her crotch and let her cool down while I looked for more
goodies on the wall. While I was downstairs, I had taken another glance at
the bondage magazine, and decided that she might look ravishing
spread-eagled to the bedposts. I found some thick leather cuffs lined with
padding, and figured some rope would work better then the straps now binding
my pretty prisoner. I started unbuckling Lucille from the chair, making sure
to put her wrisis back into the discarded handcuffs. The ball gag and
blindfold continued to block her sense of sight and speech. When her legs
were free, I slowly pulled off her boots and helped her stand up. She swayed
seductively as my hands covered her body, unsnapping and unzipping and
unveiling her plush features as her corset, stockings and finally her
g-string fell to the floor. She shivered in her total exposure, her manacled
hands following mine across her torso and between her legs. I led her to the
bed, and lay her down on the satin sheets. She stretched like a giant cat,
then settled in and put her arms over her head. She's done this before, I
said to myself. I wrapped the cuffs around her wrists and ankles, then
started tying them to the four posts at the ends of the bed. Careful not to
stretch her too tightly, I knotted the strands with a flourish and reached
down to find the feathers in the box.

"Ever been tickled into an orgasm?" I whispered into her ear, receiving a
satisfactory wiggle in response. "First, we have to find the best places," I
said as I moved to the foot of the bed, her bare feet twisting and turning
in their current state of confinement. "We'll work our way up. shall we?" I
asked as I lightly brushed her soles with the tip of the feathers. Had she
not been tied down, the resulting jolt would have snapped the slats under
the mattress. "I see we're a little sensitive there. Good." I grinned. "Now
let's check your knees." More spasms. "Gee, you're pretty ticklish. I'll bet
the rest of you is equally excitable. Let's find out."

For the next half-hour or so, the feathers teased and tormented her feet,
knees, inner thighs, stomach, breasts, underarms and pubic hairs. As she
writhed in delicious agony, I began to take pity on her flaming nerve
endings. "You seem a little warm," I grinned. "Time to cool down." I picked
up my now-empty drink, pulled out a melting ice cube, and began to massage
her breasts with it. Her body went rigid as the freezing drops reacted with
the beads of sweat and rolled down her side. Muffled words came out from
behind the rubber ball separating her teeth. Curious, I reached under her
head and unstrapped the gag.

"Spank me, then make love to me," she said in a husky voice that barely
oozed from her lips. She opened her mouth wide, obviously in anticipation of
the ball. I replaced the rubber ball between her teeth, then set about to
accomplish her latest mission. I untied her anldes from the posts, then
lashed them together with the slack. I used more rope above and below her
knees and around her thighs just beneath her curvaceous bottom. I looped a
strand between her feet, then stood up on the bed and attached the slack to
the canopy frame directly overhead. Her shapely legs were squeezed together
and stretched up straight overhead, her body a perfect L. Her exposed cheeks
stuck out enticingly, but first I figured some mole feather dusting was in
order. When I was satisfied she was ready, I cocked my arm and swatted her
bottom with a gentle spank. This is it, I heard myself think. The high point
of your sex life. Better make it last. So I alternated my strokes with more
tickling and even a few licks with my tongue up and down her legs. I thought
50 was a nice round number to match her nice round...

I could sense she was seconds away from another brain-boiling orgasm, so I
gave her a final slap and ran out of the room.

I found what I needed in the bathroom, quickly returned and let her legs
down from the frame. I shed my pants in a flash, put on the condom, pushed
her legs back, and entered her. Her cries of pleasure were only partially
muffled by the gag. I felt her shudder violently as all her pent-up
anticipation virtually exploded in her Fourth-of-July climax. Seconds later,
I joined her. We both lay on the bed for several moments, the silence
punctuated only by our deep gasps.

After recovering, I languidly toyed with the bonds, slowly releasing her
while kissing her from head to toes. When I removed the gag and blindfold,
she reached around and gave me a hug that felt like a wrestling hold. "That
was perfect," she fluttered. We snuggled for a minute, then she rolled onto
one side, propped her head up on her hand and smiled. "Look, I'd love you to
make me breakfast tomorrow morning, but my boyfriend may disapprove. Once
you've changed, knock on the next door and tell him you're ready to go home.
He'll drop you off anywhere you want." I must have looked profoundly
uncomfortable with that concept. "Don't worry, my big strong invader. He
probably enjoyed our little show as much as we did." I felt my overwhelmung
sense of lust diminish to a pleasant throb.

"Well, it was... great," I said shakily. "Actually, it was unbelievable.
I'll spare you a lot of When-can-l-see-you-again? questions, since I'm
pretty sure I can't, or won't."

"Darn. I like to hear men beg. Besides, don't be such a pessimist. Come
to Hari Scari next week. Better yet, I'll have James pick you up. At the
club, don't let on that you know me... in fact. ignore me. I'll let you know
what I want to do."

"Sounds... great. No, more than great. Sounds positively wonderful." I
felt a huge grin break over my face.

"Mum's the word."

"Your secret is safe with me, dear lady " I rose to leave. "Well, Thank
You doesn't quite cover it, but neither does You're Welcome. See you in the
movies."

"That's the idea," she laughed.