to catch a thief
by Michael Elk
he picked the wrong woman to rob


I’d never thought of myself as a thief, so when I found myself cornered,
caught in the act of burglarizing a house, it was not a position in which I’d
ever expected to find myself.

My troubles started during my first year of university, when I simply ran out
of money. I’d calculated a budget at the first of the year and had been doing
fine until suddenly (and mercilessly) calamity struck. Actually it was several
calamities. My car, which I needed to get to classes, developed transmission
problems and the quote was $800; texts for my 2nd term classes were
significantly more than I’d expected; and the government took away the last
payment of my student loan because I had under-reported my summer earnings.

I was desperate. I’d tried to get a loan from two different banks; but with no
income, I was not apparently a good risk. My parents had already lent me as
much as they could afford, and weren’t in a financial position to help either.
Then one evening, in an utter depressed funk, and having given up on any
further thoughts of continuing university, I went to a bar and got drunk.

To make a long story short, I wound up relating my sad tale to a total
stranger, who put the idea of burglary into my head, gave me a contact number,
and suggested that he could fence any jewelry I might chance upon.

*******

For two days, I had cased a neighborhood that seemed reasonably affluent,
never imagining that I would ever get up the nerve to actually break into a
house. Then on the 2nd day, just after lunch, things just fell into place. It
almost seemed beyond my control.

I was parked across the street from a house that had caught my eye. It
appeared affluent, and was relatively secluded from the rest. Suddenly the
front door opened and a woman, with long, straight blond hair, emerged
carrying a gym bag and tennis racket. She was tall, about 5' 10", perhaps 35
years old, and dressed in a white tank top and white shorts. With broad
shoulders and a sturdy build, she looked athletic and was obviously heading
for the courts. More important, she appeared classy enough to own real
jewelry. She climbed into a small blue sports car, backed into the street and
drove off.

Suddenly I realized that the house was likely unoccupied. That in itself would
not have been pivotal; but the woman’s appearance stirred up some pretty
strong feelings in me - both of intrigue and of reprisal. She was rich and
attractive, and I was no Don Juan. How many times had I met someone just as
attractive, and been spurned, or more likely, lacked the courage to attempt a
pursuit in the first place. I loved the female species, and found myself
yearning to connect with this one. Sure I wanted her money, but I would have
preferred her. A mood of retribution for past failures, colored my judgment.
My heart began pounding with the excitement, and my criminal career began at
that precise moment with an adrenalin induced high.

Heart still pounding, I started my car, coaxed it into first gear, and moved
it to a side street to get it well away from the crime scene. Then I concocted
a plausible explanation for ringing the doorbell while I walked back to the
woman’s house.

But no fiction was necessary, because nobody answered when I pressed the
buzzer. Luck appeared to be with me, and that was all it took. I slipped
around to the back yard, picked up a brick from the flower bed, and rammed it
through a small pane of glass in the back door. Then I ran around to the side
of the house and peeked around the corner, watching the door lest the breaking
glass arouse someone in the house or set off an alarm. When nothing happened
for two full minutes, I cautiously went back, reached through the broken
window, and released the lock on the door. Then I was inside.

******

For two years now, Ruth and I had been meeting for tennis every Wednesday
afternoon. I’d been on the women’s interscholastic team in university and was
well out of Ruth’s league; however we played for the exercise and I kept her
interested by holding back a little. On this particular day, Ruth turned an
ankle practically before we had begun. We iced it down, and then I drove her
to her place. I was in a foul mood, having missed out on my tennis game, and
then suffering the inconvenience of having to care for my tennis partner. I’ve
never been much for social niceties. I had a beer with her, and that put me in
a somewhat better humor. However I didn’t stay around any longer than
necessary and headed for home a lot earlier than normal.

******

My life of crime would likely have had a smoother beginning had I been a
seasoned criminal. I must have wasted half an hour fortifying my nerve and
debating with my conscience over my nefarious new career. Then it took
significant time and effort to locate the woman’s valuables which I eventually
found in an upstairs bedroom. So when I finally emerged from the room with my
plastic bag of loot, the burglary had taken considerably more time than
recommended in most of the better manuals. Therefore, as I reached the top of
the stairs, I shouldn’t have been surprised to look down and see the woman of
the house, still in her tennis whites, at the base of the stairs and heading
up toward me.

We both saw each other at the same time, and we both froze in unison. I’m sure
my heart stopped outright. Our eyes locked for what seemed like minutes, but
was probably only seconds. I saw puzzlement on her face, then recognition,
then anger, but no fear. Her eyes never left mine, and that should have given
me warning.

I was trapped and desperately needed to escape. My reactions were primitive
and instinctive, but would have worked with most women. I quickly covered my
face as best I could with my left hand (although it was likely already too
late for anonymity), raised my fist in a threatening gesture with the other,
and headed at top speed down the stairs.

The woman was about three steps from the bottom, and I thought that my
intimidation had worked as she swung sideways and pressed her body against the
wall to let me pass. With my vision partly obscured by my own hand, I never
saw her extend her foot and hook her ankle with mine. But I sure suffered the
result, suddenly pitching forwards and down the stairs. I might still have
saved myself or at least lessened the seriousness of the fall, but the woman
didn’t simply trip me. She kept her ankle entangled with mine to keep my foot
in the air and prevent me from regaining my balance. My shoulder crashed hard
into the wall opposite the base of the stairs and my body crumpled heavily
onto the floor, leaving me stunned.

Suddenly the woman was on me, straddling my body and seizing my wrists,
pinning them to the carpet. I immediately began to struggle, but didn’t make
any headway. I was still groggy and there wasn’t much room to manoeuver
between the base of the stairs and the wall. And she was strong. But so was I,
and I never doubted that I would be able to throw her off once I recovered my
bearings a little and could work at getting free from her grip. In fact I
relaxed a bit with the certainty of my situation, perhaps enjoying the
pulchritude of my captor and lulled by the two very white and very feminine
mounds that dominated my view. To this young, strong male, her impertinence
seemed absurd.

But this woman was a lot more offensively minded that I had counted on. She
suddenly raised her body a foot or two, still maintaining her death grip on my
wrists, and drove both her knees hard into my biceps. I hollered aloud in
pain. Both arms ached excruciatingly, but she also hit a nerve on my right
one, and it went all numb and tingly. Her face, distorted with rage, was
suddenly in mine, taunting and abusive. There was no feminine softness or
sympathy in those eyes, only meanness and hatred. Any attraction I’d felt was
crushed by her venom.

Before I had a chance to recuperate, she went up on her toes once again. This
time I knew what was coming and fought savagely to save my battered limbs from
a repeat performance. However I found that there was little power in my arms
and that I was now helpless in her grasp.

Her first attack had been sudden and violent. But her cadence was now slower,
almost leisurely, as if she was fully aware of my impotence, and wanted to
allow me the opportunity to contemplate my folly along with the upcoming pain.
Down came those pointed weapons once more, and once more hard into my
defenseless arms. Those arms would be black, blue, sickly yellow, and sore for
weeks afterwards.

This time I screamed out my agony and found myself whimpering like a baby and
begging my tormenter for mercy.

******

I instinctively knew something was wrong as soon as I unlocked the door and
swung it open. I couldn’t tell you what twigged my senses, but instead of
heading for the living room or kitchen, as I normally would have, I
automatically focused my attention on the stairs and steered myself in that
direction. Nevertheless, I was still surprised when a boy of about 19 or 20
emerged from my bedroom with a plastic bag clutched in his hand. He was my
height, about 5' 11" with a slim, wiry build and short brown hair. He would
have been reasonably handsome had his features not been distorted by the look
of horrified panic on his face.

I was slow to realize why this intruder was in my house, and that I was being
robbed. The terror on his face gave me a pretty strong clue, but it also
reassured me that I had little to fear. I could tell that he was scared, and
the knowledge gave me confidence. And my lack of anxiety allowed a seething
anger to germinate and fester over the violation of my property. That anger
quickly took hold, overwhelmed all other emotions, and gave me the kind of
courage that soldiers must experience in the heat of battle.

The boy came down the stairs fast in an effort to get past me to safety. He
tried to cover his face with one hand and threaten me with his other. However
his attempt at intimidation failed because of my anger and because he looked
too frightened to be a real threat. From then on everything I did was
instinctive. I stuck out my foot and tripped him, sending him crashing to the
bottom of the stairs. Then I jumped on him and pinned his wrists to the floor.

I am athletic and can be mean. And though I have never been in a fight before,
I inherently knew how to fight. I knew that there was little future in sitting
there on my captive while he flailed about trying to free himself. For me it
was natural to attack while he was down. Without real thought I drove my knees
hard into his arms and had the satisfaction of hearing him holler out in pain.
I had hurt him, and that gave me even more confidence.

I leaned forward so that we were nose to nose. I was still so furious that I
could have bitten him. "You worthless piece of trash." I hissed. "Try to steal
from me, will you? I don’t suffer fools lightly." Then I raised my knees and
drove them a second time into his arms as hard as I could. His scream of pain
did little to lessen my fury.

However he quit struggling and began whimpering and pleading for mercy.
Suddenly I realized that I had this young punk under my control. What a
magnificent feeling. The power was intoxicating. We are trained to think of
the male as physically superior, and I had whipped him decisively. Even I,
who’ve always had a high opinion of my abilities, was surprised by the ease of
the victory. It had just happened. And now he was mine to do with as I wished.
Up until that moment, I had assumed that if I caught this thief, I would turn
him over to the authorities. But now I wanted this wonderful feeling of power
to continue forever. Now I wanted this boy for my own. And all I needed was a
way to secure him.

"Get up!" I ordered.

I have not monitored ‘extreme fighting’ on TV without knowing that it is
suicide to turn one’s back on one’s opponent. So I partially lifted my body
from his, giving him restrictive movement only; and I released one of his
wrists only, so that he was forced to turn beneath me in order to try to rise.
He cooperated beautifully and stupidly, and as soon as he reached his knees, I
quickly wrapped my legs around his mid-section and hooked my forearm across
his throat. Then I squeezed as tightly as I could. My opponent, suddenly
robbed of oxygen, began thrashing frantically, but futilely in my grasp.

"You pathetic excuse for a man." I snarled in his ear, as he struggled and
choked., "How do you like a real woman?"

Oh how I relished this strange, new, unfamiliar ride; the feel of this young,
firm stallion flailing about so ineffectually between my thighs and in my
arms. It was such a rush to dominate this puny male; such a sexual high that I
was merciless, and felt only disappointment when his body finally stopped its
wild gyrations and suddenly went limp in my arms.

******

I was sure that I was going to die; that this vicious bitch was going to kill
me. She had her arm around my throat and was choking me; and my own damaged
arms were too weak to break her grip. There is no feeling worse than not being
able to breathe, and it was no doubt a blessing when I finally lost
consciousness and sank into oblivion.

When I eventually did begin to regain my senses, I realized that my hands were
being tied together behind my back.

"Lie still" the woman ordered menacingly. But it was unnecessary. I was far
too weakened to even offer token resistance, and lay there passively as she
secured my wrists and took my freedom.

******

Thank God I knew exactly where the duct tape was located. By the time I’d
retrieved it and began securing my captive’s hands, he was already beginning
to revive.

"Lie still!" I warned in the nastiest, most authoritative voice I could
muster. And surprisingly, he did. That no doubt saved me the effort, and him
the pain, of my clipping him over the head with the frying pan that I’d
grabbed from the kitchen in case of his premature recovery.

I ran about 10 wrappings of the tape around his wrists, and then finished the
job with another 5 between the wrists and perpendicular to the first. The
latter wrappings tightened the bindings so much that there was no chance that
he could ever work his hands free from the tape. However I did wonder if I had
done such a good job that blood circulation might be cut off.

I seized my prisoner by his bound arms and by his hair, and heaved him to his
feet. He cried out his complaint, but I was still angry, and I made no effort
to be gentle. I grabbed him by his bound wrists to steer him towards the
stairs, discovering that any pressure at all on his arms caused him pain. That
made him easy to control, and I drove him up the stairs by forcing his arms as
high up his back as the tape would allow. His cooperation was real, because it
lessened his agony. But he still went howling in pain and pleading for mercy
all the way.

I steered him into the guest room, not simply because I intended to make him
my guest (which I did), but rather because it contained an iron frame bed with
useful iron rungs at both the head and the foot. I pushed him down onto the
bed stomach first, climbed onto the bed beside him, and then straddled his
back. Once again I marveled at the feel of his firm young body between my
legs. From my perch, I wrapped duct tape around his biceps and then over to
the corner rungs of the headboard. Reluctantly I relinquished my human saddle
in order to anchor his ankles to the foot of the bed in the same manner. It
was probably overkill, but I also wrapped more tape around his neck and
attached it to the headboard as well. That would cause him to choke if he
tried to struggle too much. It would be necessary to leave him alone in the
house for an hour or so while I did some shopping, and I didn’t want my
gorgeous young trophy to escape before I had a chance to enjoy him.

******

My mind was racing nearly as fast as I drove, as I made mental notes of all
the equipment I would need. My anger had been replaced by emotions that I’d
never before experienced. I was enormously excited, and could hardly wait to
get back. I was certain that my captive couldn’t free himself, but a couple
hours seemed like months when all I wanted to do was get home and toy with my
new playmate. Normally it took half an hour to get to the neighboring town of
Sydney, but I annihilated several traffic laws on the way, and made it in 20
minutes.

Sydney has one of those sex shops, though I had never been in it before. I’m
not a prude, but I’d never needed its wares. At the moment, however, this
store had exactly what I required in toys and restraints.

The merchandise proved captivating, and I spent a full, fascinating hour,
perusing the goods. Eventually I purchased most of what I had planned, as well
as several other items that had caught my interest, but that I never would
have thought of on my own.

I also stopped at a clothing store and bought a couple pairs of boxer shorts.
The thought of my subject partially naked was titillating.

******

Anticipation had made my absence from the house delightfully agonizing for me.
But it must have been two hours of cramped uncertainty and discomfort for my
guest. I hoped he didn’t have to use the washroom yet, because I wanted to
work with him a little before allowing him any degree of freedom.

I first clamped a leg iron around one of his ankles and attached its chain to
the bed post. That gave me the assurance that he couldn’t escape while I
manipulated his other restraints.

"Did you miss me?" I sneered, as I took my favorite position, nestled
comfortable into the small of his back. "Hope you’ve had time to contemplate
the error of your ways. Are you sorry you tried to rob me?"

"Yes" he said, so low and so weakly that I barely heard him.

I freed his wrists by cutting the tape with sewing scissors, then one by one
drew his arms up and re-taped them directly to the headboard. He didn’t
resist, perhaps because his arms were still so weak and sore. Perhaps because
my intimidation was working. Then I took the scissors to his clothes,
literally cutting them from his body. That he didn’t like, struggling feebly
to stop me and squealing out his protests. Of course he had no idea of why he
was being stripped. I left only his boxer shorts untouched and pulled the
remnants of his garments from beneath him. He had a nice, smooth, muscular
back that I admired immensely, and could hardly wait to get my claws into.

"Do you know what this is? " I asked, showing him the short cat-o-nine-tails
that I had purchased.

He didn’t answer. However I could only guess that he recognized the purpose of
the whip, because he began pleading with me piteously. I loved it. If he had
been brave and contemptuous, I would have derived little satisfaction from
striking him. But to be so in control of the fate of a male, to be able to
frighten him so, was narcotic. I was discovering that I was a natural
dominatrix, and his pathetic pleas only served to seal his fate.

"The first two strikes will be to convince you that your new mistress is
serious, and that she can cause you as much pain as she chooses. Hopefully the
punishment will persuade you that full cooperation is compulsory. Otherwise I
will take pleasure in whipping your worthless flesh as hard and often as
necessary until you learn to do exactly what I tell you. We shall see if
you’re a fast learner or not."

I stood where my prey could see me so he could fully contemplate the coming
pain. Then I slowly drew back my arm and let him have the whip as hard as I
could swing it. He screamed long before the leather reached him, and I imagine
his pain was at least as much mental as it was physical. The clerk at the sex
shop had assured me that the whips were designed for pain, but not to cut
flesh; that they wouldn’t do much real damage unless severely overused.

By the end of the second blow, my young captive was thoroughly demoralized,
begging and pleading with me not to hit him again, with tears streaming down
his cheeks. He was really a delightful little coward.

"Now my friend, we are going to play 20 questions, and the answers better be
exceedingly pleasing to my ears. First, I need to know your full name."

"John Thiessen." he said with only slight hesitation - a hesitation that might
have meant that he had decided to reveal his true identity, or a hesitation
that meant he was lying. I hoped it was the latter.

"Now John? Where do you live, and what’s your parents’ telephone number?"

"Why do you want to know that?" he whined.

"John. It’s not something you are allowed to ask. I just do. Now you can give
me the fucking number, or you can have the whip again. What’ll it be, John?"

"I’m staying in Bayfield, near the Exxon station. My mom’s number is 555-
2134."

"Now that’s more like it John. I appreciate cooperation. But one warning, and
only one. I don’t like having to repeat questions. I ask and you answer like a
good boy. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now let’s see if you passed the first test."

I placed duct tape over my captive’s mouth, more to exercise my dominance than
for fear of him screaming out. And I liked doing it because he hated it so,
squirming and fighting so desperately to stop me.

First I dialed *67, to hide my own number from caller ID, and then dialed the
number that John had given me. The woman who answered denied knowledge of any
‘John’, so I apologized sweetly for the ‘wrong number’ and hung up.

The best part of discovering my prisoner’s lies was watching him squirm as I
made the call. But I still had the pleasurable anticipation of delivering his
punishment.

"Well, ‘John’. It appears that your mother has denied your existence. And that
would mean that you have been less than truthful with me. You will find that
whenever you displease me like this, there will be consequences. I have no
choice. It’s obvious that you need discipline, and I’m just the girl to apply
it. Now I really don’t like to do this, because its going to hurt me as much
as it will you."

And I delivered five blows with the whip. Full strength. Of course I was
wrong. The punishment hurt my captive far more than it did me. In fact it had
just the opposite effect on me. I was glad that he had lied so that I could
justify the additional correction. I’m a bit of a sadist at heart.

‘John’ did not enjoy his role in the drama in the least. He couldn’t even
scream or beg properly with the tape covering his mouth. And by the time I
finished punishing him, he was crying and sobbing with tears streaming down
his face. For perhaps the first time, I really felt sorry for him, and
wondered if I had gone too far. However, when I removed the tape from his
mouth, he was more than ready to cooperate.

‘John’s’ real name was Chris Landers, and his parents lived in Lyons which is
way across the state. Chris was in his first year of university, and rented a
room in the upstairs part of a house on Mayberry Street. He had run into money
problems, and had attempted to solve them by robbing me. That was about all
the information I could garner from him between sobs, but all I needed for the
moment. I had a lot to do, if I wanted to keep my new toy for a couple of
weeks without the authorities searching for him. There was little time to
waste.

******

The first thing I did was to retrieve Chris’ car and put it out of sight in my
garage. I figured he must have had transportation, and he was more than eager
to reveal its location under duress. It turned out to be a piece of junk. I
couldn’t even get it into 2nd gear, and I wound up just shifting directly from
1st to 3rd . I retrieved it late at night to be safe, though my driveway was
reasonably secluded from neighbors prying eyes.

Early the next day, I played ‘University Secretary’ on the phone to Chris’s
mom, telling her that Chris had volunteered for a study on Circadian rhythms,
to see if complete 24 hour a day isolation would throw off the body’s natural
time cycles. No outsiders could contact these volunteers during the
experiment, not even for a phone call. I did give her a fake phone in the
event of a real emergency, but explained that such an emergency would ruin the
experiment. Chris’ landlord and the university were fed a story (by me as
Chris’ mom) about an out of a state funeral for an uncle. And that he would be
gone for a week or two.

Then, with those dastardly, but necessary deeds completed, I went back to my
prisoner, planning to make the most of our short time together.

******

This had turned out to be the worst day of my life. How I wished now that I
had simply been arrested by the police. So far, I’d been tied face down on
this bed for hours, then beaten and tortured by this mad, vicious woman, who
seemed so merciless.

I’d thought that I could lie to her to protect my real identity, but she had
been clever enough to discover my prevarication. That had resulted in a
whipping so brutal that I thought I might pass out. I’ve never been able to
tolerate pain, and after that beating, I didn’t dare cross her again.

I’d been in absolute terror of my captor, fearing that she was going to kill
me. However once she had phoned my mother to verify my story and then again to
explain my absence, I realized that she must be merely sadistic, and would
probably eventually release me. Until such time, I was at her mercy. Now I was
in absolute terror for fear of what she planned to do with me.

******

After I had broken ‘under the torture’ and ‘spilled my guts’, Erica - that was
her name, or at least what she told me to call her - freed me from all
restraints except for the leg iron about my ankle. That way I was free to roam
the bed at will and could even get off and walk a few feet from it. I was
dressed only in my boxer shorts, and my back was too sore to lie upon.

"I’m going out for 10 minutes to get a pizza for supper." she said. "I wasn’t
anticipating company this evening and don’t have much food in the house.
Tomorrow, you will start earning your keep. I assume that cleaning a house and
cooking isn’t beneath your dignity. And there’s the little matter of glass all
over the kitchen floor from the window you broke. You can rectify that as
well. In the meantime entertain yourself with those magazines on the night
stand."

"I have to use the facilities." I said meekly. I had no wish to aggravate her.

"I expected that", she said with a hint of a smirk. "You appear to have
marvelous kidneys for someone so pathetic and devoid of character. Put your
hands behind your back." And she produced the handcuffs from the drawer of the
end table.

"No." I said, but without much conviction.

"Do you really mean that, you stupid boy? Do you like this bed so well that
you want to stay on it for the next three days? There isn’t a lot of water or
food within reach of that chain, you know. But if you want, I can easily bring
you a pail to go in. Now I’ll ask you once more and only once more. If you
don’t cooperate, and right now, your next invitation will come in exactly 3
days. By then I guarantee that you’ll be in a more receptive mood. And I’ll
also guarantee that I’ll use the whip again for your insubordination. Now,
would you like to put your hands behind your back or not?"

My wrists were handcuffed, and Erica disappeared somewhere to retrieve a key
for the leg iron. I was led down the stairs to the washroom. Another leg iron,
with a much longer chain, was attached to my ankle, and then to the water pipe
under the sink. With my continued presence thus assured, my wrist cuffs were
released, and I was given complete freedom of the washroom.. From then on, I
would often be released from my bedroom prison, and given significant run of
the house, but always with the chain secured to some convenient anchor.

******

My goal with Chris was to break his will, and to subjugate him to mine. I have
never had much success with the opposite sex, and until I’d captured Chris, I
really didn’t understand just how powerful my desire to dominate was, and that
it had probably soured relationships. Strong, confident men simply didn’t
attract me, and my natural aggression (and perhaps bad temper) drove the ones
that did (the more pliable ones) away. Chris was just my type. Timid and
ineffectual, a natural follower, and someone easily controlled. I found myself
attracted to him in spite of his recent attempt to rob me. But unlike other
men that I’d liked, who I’d apparently intimidated and lost, Chris didn’t have
the means or the choice of escape.

I’m far from a psychologist, but the general strategy for brainwashing a
captive was well documented in the Patti Hurst kidnaping. Be brutal early, and
later win over the subject through kindness and gratitude - almost the bad
guy, good guy cop routine, except with me as the only performer. I’m a very
aggressive, sexual person, and I found dominating Chris to be such an erotic
high that I could easily have raped him. I could barely keep my hands off him.
However my early role called for me to merely frighten and intimidate. Later I
hoped to use sex to win him over. Of course if my plan didn’t work, I would
have no qualms about taking him by force. For the first 3 days, I was
positively bestial towards Chris. My early viciousness had been generated by
anger. But now that I was beginning to care for him, I had to force myself to
be cruel. Still I managed to do an adequate job. I made him crawl around on
his hands and knees all morning on the pretext of teaching him obedience, made
him clean and scrub in the afternoon, and then managed to find enough faults
with his behavior to warrant tying him face down on the bed for a couple of
hours in the evening so that he might reflect on his sins. And I kept my
demeanor decided unpleasant. I was a real bitch, yelling and swearing at him;
calling him useless, corrupt, disagreeable, inferior, sordid, unsavory, scum,
a worthless piece of shit, and anything else that might humiliate him.

Amazingly, the more I abused him, the harder he tried to please me.

******

Chris revolted on the sixth day of his captivity. It wasn’t really much of a
revolt, but it did show that he was no longer terrified of me. I still made
him do the house work, and I still made him grovel at my feet. But starting on
the 4th day, I no longer yelled or verbally abused him. Instead, I talked to
him; and in subtle ways, without being too obvious, extended the odd kindness.
Mind you, nobody would have described me as nice, but then nobody would have
at the best of times.

We had enjoyed a wonderful morning on that 6th day- at least I had. For the
first time Chris and I had wrestled. I admit that my rules made it a little
one sided. I practiced putting holds on Chris and he practiced escaping from
them. I also admit that the leg iron and chain attached to his right ankle
could have restricted his movements a little. Still, that didn’t lessen my
enjoyment. I found it enormous fun.

Three times I managed to keep him in a hold from which he couldn’t escape. One
was a full nelson, with body scissors. Then I found that I was a lot more
flexible than he was and could keep him trapped in a grape vine. But the best
was a combination chicken wing and hammer lock with him face down on the
carpet, because he was so totally helpless. It was an awesome feeling because
I could have kept him there beneath me all day had I so chosen.

A couple of times I tried a cross-body pin, but wasn’t quite strong enough to
hold him down for long; however I did manage to keep him imprisoned beneath me
for a minute or two, and it was most enjoyable having his body writhing so
deliciously against mine as he tried to free himself.

There is nothing like wrestling to foster bonding between two individuals. If
married couples would partake, I’m sure there would be fewer divorces. Chris
had been growing on me ever since I’d taken him captive, but wrestling him
greatly enhanced my infatuation. The skin on skin contact, the all out effort,
and the domination and submission, were all akin to having sex, but with none
of the insecurities or poor performances that tend to mar the latter. I’ve no
doubt that Chris was also affected, and that he was somewhat susceptible to my
charms; so I was a little surprised when he chose that afternoon for his
rebellion.

******

Erica and I wrestled this morning. Or perhaps I should say we spent time with
her beating me up. She didn’t allow me any real opportunity to compete. Her
idea of wrestling was to put me in holds and then have me try to escape. She
described it as ‘practicing her technique’. And, of course, I was secured with
a leg iron and chain, that not only kept me prisoner, but limited my movements
while we wrestled.

But I kind of enjoyed the exercise. It was the first I’d had since my capture,
and stretching cramped muscles felt good. And Erica wore a yellow cut off tank
top and white shorts that displayed her robust physique to perfection. She was
also in a marvelous mood, excited and enthusiastic about the wrestling just
like a little kid. I liked her like that, and for the first time saw that she
could be charming as well as mean.

Erica was pretty strong for a woman - or perhaps they’re all that strong,
because I’ve had no experience wrestling females. In a real match, without a
chain on my leg, I’ve no doubt that I could have taken her. But she was a much
tougher opponent than I expected, and put out an effort much closer to what I
would have predicted from a guy. She was broad across the shoulders and had
good upper body strength. Several times she put me in holds that, for me, were
unbreakable.

I had a real dichotomy of emotions while we fought. I sorely wanted to
physically dominate this attractive and athletic woman. It would have been
amazingly erotic to turn the tables on her, to take control, tie her up, and
have my way with her. What a rush that would have been. However all I got that
was amazing was my frustration; frustration at being tied up in knots by a
mere female, and frustration with not being able (or rather allowed) to
wrestle properly. But it was frustration of a very sexual nature. To be held
immobile in her iron grip, unable to free myself in spite of my best efforts,
proved to be so stimulating that I would find myself aroused and very erect.
My captor would detect that arousal and use it to taunt me, thereby
intensifying my carnal frustrations even more. I could tell that she was
enjoying our little exercise immensely, and that my physical excitement was
more than a little pleasing to her.

Why did I let her abuse me in this manner? I’m not sure. I could have refused
to wrestle and certainly refused to let her put me in holds. I was no longer
really frightened of her. However in the past few days, although I was still
subject to her domination, we had developed some degree of rapport, and I
didn’t want to rile the monster. When she had first suggested a little combat,
I had liked the idea of wrestling an attractive woman, and by the time I
realized that the rules were all stacked against me, I was well into the
process of being beaten up, and it was too late to retreat. I won’t say that I
hadn’t enjoyed the physical contact, and perhaps even the domination, but my
male pride had taken a beating as well as my body, and I was embarrassed to
think that a woman had manhandled me in that manner.

******

I had wanted to play tennis with Ruth the afternoon after the wrestling.
However that was before Chris decided to rebel. He simply refused to let me
handcuff him after lunch, and that prevented me taking him back upstairs to
the bedroom. I could have left him there in the kitchen. There would be no
way, without tools, for him to dismantle the drain pipe under the sink to
which he was chained . However his misbehavior was more exciting to me than
the tennis game. It would give me the excuse I needed to ‘further his
training’. So I left him sitting at the kitchen table to ponder his folly,
closed the door to my study, and phoned Ruth to cancel.

"So, you’ve decided not to obey your mistress." I said gently, upon my return.

"I want you to let me go." he said. However, his head was down as he spoke,
and there was no way he was brave enough to make eye contact. His body
language spoke volumes. He was so unsure of himself, and so afraid of how I
would react. His demeanor was massively subservient. It was gloriously obvious
that he was too meek a personality ever to seriously defy me. I loved his
reactions, and I loved him.

"Well brave little Chris. You’ve decided that you’ll be making the decisions
around here from now on, have you? Have you forgotten that you came here
uninvited? Have you forgotten that you tried to steal from me? I’ve kept you
here, Chris, to try to teach you a lesson, and I’ll be the one who decides
when you’ve learned it. And I’ll be the one who decides when, or if, you’ll be
set free.

"I’ve warned you before about the consequences of disobedience. I’m not one to
tolerate fools lightly. And you just can’t imagine how foolish this defiance
is. You’ve hurt your mistress, Chris, and she is more than a little annoyed.
It’s cost me an enjoyable afternoon of tennis with my friend. So let me assure
you that you are about to pay big time."

I kept my voice gentle, but firm, with a touch of anger just beneath the
surface. However I was far from angry. I welcomed the confrontation. Chris
reacted like a little kid being scolded, and I was enjoying his discomfort
immensely. "Here is what is going to happen, Chris. Pay careful attention,
because you will have a couple of options. At a minimum, you are going to
receive two lashes for your disloyalty. And that’s if you give up your revolt
right now.

"If you decide to make a stand here in the kitchen, I will shut off the water
to the house from downstairs, and remove all food items from the fridge. How
long do you think this little rebellion of yours will last without food or
water, Chris? Perhaps two days? And how will you enjoy sleeping here on the
linoleum? But when you finally do see things my way, I will be super annoyed
at the inconvenience you will have caused, and will deliver at least 10
lashes; perhaps more if my anger doesn’t dissipate with the exercise.

"So what’s your decision, Chris? A little punishment right now, or heroic
rebellion followed by massive pain?"

******

I shepherded my captive up the stairs, his hands behind his back just as I’d
demanded. Chris’ capitulation had been quick. It had been too easy.

I’d not expected his revolt so soon, and so hadn’t decided on what action to
take even as we climbed. However I was excited, and could hardly wait to get
at him. A climax was approaching, and I had no idea what course it would take.

I chained Chris’ ankle to the bedpost, and then released his handcuffs. I made
him lie face down on the bed, and tied his wrists to the rungs on the
headboard. He was expecting the two lashes I’d promised, but didn’t resist for
fear of the more severe beating. He was such a marvelous little coward, and
that made him easy to control.

I stood back to admire my captive, still dressed only in his boxers. That
nice, smooth, muscular back had fully healed from my maltreatment a week
earlier. I didn’t really want to use the whip again because it might negate
any rapport that I’d built to that point. So I climbed on the bed and
straddled him. Then I leaned forward and cooed seductively (I hoped) into his
ear.

"Did you refuse to obey my orders just so that I would beat you, Chris? Do you
like being beaten by a strong, beautiful woman?"

"No, mistress. Please don’t hit me, mistress. I’ll do anything you say" He had
never called me mistress before, as I preferred him using my name. It sounded
almost comical. Apparently he was trying to suck up to lessen his punishment.

"Perhaps Chris is sorry for misbehaving. Perhaps if he was sorry enough, his
mistress might relent and let him off with only a spanking. Are you sorry,
Chris?"

"Yes" he replied quickly, and I detected a hint of hope in his voice.

"Well perhaps you are a good boy after all. Perhaps you deserve a reward and
not punishment." I began to run my lips lightly over his shoulders and back,
and was please to feel him squirm under my touch. God but I was horny. Here
was this delectable young male under my body and under my control (and
offering to do anything I might ask). I could have raped him anytime during
the past six days, but had resisted temptation for a greater cause. I’d been a
veritable saint, and that was certainly not my nature.

Without relinquishing the position on top of my quarry, I sat up, removed my
tank top and bra, and then worked my shorts and underpants down and off my
feet. Then I leaned forward once more and unfastened the restraints on his
hands.

"Roll over." I said.

******

I had a struggle to roll over. The chain attached to my ankle was long enough
not to restrict movement, but Erica was sitting on my back and kept most of
her weight on me while I turned. As soon as I was face up, she seized my
wrists and pinned them to the bed. Only then did I see the two firm,
copper-colored breasts poised menacingly above my face, the nipples homing
their target like nubile tire studs. I hadn’t realized that she was naked. I’d
noticed her wriggling while she was astride my back, but was so focused on my
coming punishment that I hadn’t guessed she was removing her clothes. It was
embarrassing, but I couldn’t take my eyes off those erogenous delights.

"Suck them." she said, and leaned forward to bring them nearer my lips.

I know its hard to imagine, but I’d never done that before, only occasionally
fondling a girl’s breasts through a blouse. I tentatively seized a nipple, and
was amazed at its delightful rubbery texture. I sucked greedily, savoring the
novel sensation, and was rewarded by a moan of contentment from above.

But my hostess suddenly pulled back, disengaging my mouth and ending my oral
gratification. Now it was my turn to moan, but with displeasure.

Erica laughed, and then leaned forward and moved her mouth to mine, tracing my
lips lightly with her tongue. Her long straight hair formed a curtain that
framed my head and sealed off the outside world. For that moment, nothing
existed except the two of us and that marvelous tongue.

Tentatively I guided my own tongue out to touch and to greet hers, only to
have it commandeered and drawn deep into her mouth, where it was immediately
engulfed and orally assaulted. I’d never been kissed so erotically in my life,
and returned her passion enthusiastically. I was rapidly stiffening below, and
felt Erica shift her weight to accommodate my erection between our bodies.

Then she began grinding her pelvis forcefully against the trapped member, and
I let out a yelp of discomfort.

"Wimp." she said softly, and laughed again. This time she raised her body,
reached down to seized my penis and moved it between her legs. Then undulating
her hips, she gradually worked me inside, her sex devouring mine like one
snake swallowing another. The intensity of sensation made me gasp.

I always assumed that my first sexual experience would be perfect. It never
occurred to me that I would be so aroused as to be on the verge of climax
practically before we had begun. I panicked and tried to get up, hoping that
movement or activity would alleviate my predicament. But my wrists were still
pinned to the bed in Erica’s strong grasp, and my sex totally controlled by
hers. I could only wriggle helplessly beneath her. She suddenly smiled, then
lowered her face to mine and forced her tongue aggressively into my mouth. I
exploded with a violent orgasm, my body convulsing involuntarily against
Erica’s smooth, sweaty skin. The physical pleasure was overwhelming, but I was
so embarrassed that any enjoyment was erased ; and I couldn’t look my partner
in the face.

******

God but that was the most wonderful moment I’ve ever experienced. Chris tried
to get away from me right in the middle of coitus. But I held him down and
forcefully brought him to climax. I know what his problem was, but I chose to
fantasize that he was trying to escape, and that I was raping him. Perhaps he
is intuitive and did it on purpose, knowing that it would maximize my
pleasure.

But not likely. I’m sure that he’s never been with a woman before. He came
quickly, as would be expected from a virgin. I hope so; that I was his first.

I didn’t climax myself. But I hardly needed that to reach fulfillment. My
complete domination of Chris, and of the act, was better than 500 raging
orgasms.

And Chris was so delightfully embarrassed at having come so fast. It really
was the icing on a perfect moment.

*******

For the next week, I forced myself to keep Chris sexually sated. We slept
together at night, and spent a reasonable part of each day in bed. We did
nothing but eat, sleep and screw, and not necessarily in that order.

Of course I always insisted on being the dominant partner, whether by taking
the superior position or by performing oral sex. And twice I used a dildo on
him so that he wouldn’t get too comfortable and forget who was boss. He didn’t
much like that, but it was a measure of his submissiveness that he accepted
the persecution.

Chris liked sex and improved dramatically with practice. He was a typical
youthful male with a great sex drive and hormones raging. It’s a weakness of
the male species in general. I wanted Chris’ love; but more I wanted his lust.
So I encouraged our lascivious pursuits and used sex shamelessly all that week
on my prey. And with it I wove a web, and tied Chris with bonds far stronger
than any mere chain about his leg.

******

I removed Chris’ leg iron on the morning of our 15th day together. After that
he could have left anytime; but by then he was too much under my influence,
and having too much fun, to think of effecting an escape. By the time he was
handed his freedom, he was too weak to take it.

Today he phoned his mother to inform her of his release from the Circadian
experiment and to give her his new address. Then we went over to his old
apartment to pick up his clothes and to give his landlord notice.

One might suppose that I would prefer Chris to be naive and uneducated.
However it takes someone with reasonable intelligence to properly appreciate
the fantasy of submission. I have no fear of his scholarship; in fact I prefer
it. What would be the challenge in dominating someone dull-witted? Therefore I
will be financing Chris’ education while he stays with me. An added bonus will
be his complete economic dependence on me for three full years.

I’d more or less given up on the idea of finding a compatible partner in my
lifetime, and suddenly one was delivered on my doorstep practically gift
wrapped. Chris will be mine forever. He will never want for food, or clothing,
or love. And in exchange he will return my love and obey me without question.
He will never know another woman. Think of how I’ve managed his training and
subjugation in only 2 weeks. Imagine what I will be able to accomplish over
the next three years.