Justine

"I'm afraid I am guilty of a--procedural error. my delectable professor. I'm sure you would insist on proper procedures, no? Now you have no way to establish an escape word. Pity, because now you are completely in my power! Lucky you! Your very first bondage session is going to be much more--intense--than I had planned. Let's get those panties off!"

Hugo caressed her squirming hips,, slapped her butt smartly, and slowly slid the lacy garment down over her hips.her thighs, then her ankles. He straightened, felt the bit of lace, put it to his nose, inhaled it, languorously, and spoke again:

"Exquisite! and--moist! Can it be that you are getting aroused? Let's see." With one hand he cradled her waist ( Justine, now a bit teary, squirmed, but was no longer resisting as fiercely). With his other hand he caressed her trimmed pubic fur, fingered her open and touched her moist inner cuntlips, her hardening clit. He looked up with another big smile, his face close to hers now. "Well, well. Hot and wet! Professor, I think you have just found a new hobby--or perhaps, a new venue for academic research!"

Justine closed her eyes, fighting back her tears. Her body was betraying her! Her nipples were erect, her pussy wet and tingling. What was going on? Choking on the gag, her upper body immobile in the tight ropes, hands going numb, she was feeling more of a sexual rush than she usually felt during conventional sex.

Her mind was reeling, confused: she allowed Hugo to lead her to

the back of the dungeon, and bend her over a leather covered bench, waist high. He pushed her bound torso against the bench, flattening her breasts. With one broad strap, he secured her neck, pushing her gagged

face against the bench. She was standing, ass jutting, as he spread her legs and strapped both ankles to rings embedded at least three feet apart in the floor. Her rounded buttocks and the cleft between them, her puckered anus and her damp pouting cunt were totally exposed.

"Now, we continue your education, no? I applaud your arrogance, even as I begin to make it disappear! Bondage and discipline! This is the discipline part." He fondled, then swatted her upthrust rump. Lightly, then hard; one side then the other; fifteen or twenty hard slaps. Justine started, gasped (or tried to) at the first slap, her head momentarily clearing from her personal confusion. She tried to howl in protest, only muffled whimpers and saliva escaped the ball gag. 'Ow! Ow! She wriggled, unable to escape the heavy descending hand.. Ow! Ouch! That smarts! Why am I still wet?'

*

Her ass cheeks were rosy now, welted with Hugo's hand prints. He took a deep breath, and walked slowly around the bench, cradling Justine's chin. "Look at me, professor! that's right. Let me show you the other options for your tender, defenseless bottom!"

He showed her several paddles, a small whip, with multiple lashes, then a supple bamboo cane. He swished it menacingly in front of her face; she grimaced; her bottom was already throbbing and it looked like her beating was just beginning. "I think we'll use the cane" he said, "It leaves a few welts, some souveniers to show your class, if you wish."

` Justine tried to tense her buttocks; waited and waited; strapped to the bench, she couldn't see Hugo. Maliciously, he swished the cane, and waited. Then, a swift overhand stroke. Justine arched in pain; Only the gag prevented a world record scream. Swish! She cringed, awaiting the next slash. Swish!! Two, then three more measured strokes; Hugo had criss crossed her ass with an artistic but brutal pattern of welts; her skin was not broken, but the linear bruises would last for weeks.

*

Hugo put down the cane, unstrapped Justine from the bench, unstrapped her ankles and turned her around . Saliva drooled around the punishing gag. Her eyes were wild, slightly unfocused, tearing. Still, she tried to meet his insolent stare, to show some tattered remains of dignity and defiance. Her ass was throbbing.

He saluted her. "You are a bondage queen! I like your attitude. Now, for the rest of your time--" he looked at his watch--" twenty minutes. How time flies when you're having fun, as they say. For the rest

of your time, I think a little quiet --a chance to really reflect on your ignominy, your helplessness, and your strange delight in all this misery. So you can sort out your feelings, as you psychologists would say. Stand up straight!"

Justine gasped again; what new torment awaited? Her prior

sexual turn on had been largely dampened by the painful whipping. She soon found out what he had in mind.

Hugo encircled her waist with a coarser, harsh double loop of hemp; tugging tight , constricting her waist. Justine was trim, but soft rolls of flesh swelled under and above the cinch. He knotted it as she gasped, trying to catch her breath; he pulled it tight. He tugged the dangling end of the rough hemp between her legs, and pulled it roughly up and over her wrist ties and cinched the rope between her buttocks. The hemp slipped between her labia and abraded her butt crease as he tugged. Justine tottered, and tried to moan again; this was unbearable!

"Now, down on the floor! Yes, down! Kneel, now lie on your belly!" He pu lled on the tether as she reluctantly followed his orders as the coarse ropes nearly sawed her in half; she had no choice. "Now! bend your knees! back further! that's it!"

On her belly on the cold floor, the hemp savaging her private parts, she could only struggle briefly as he secured her ankles, slip knotted the rope, and tightened until she was truly hog tied, wrists and ankles almost meeting, her body a painful arch. Any attempt to ease the tension on her bent back legs only pulled the coarse rope deeper into her. The pain and hopelessness of her position; the utter humiliation flooded over her. She found it hard to pay attention to his final words.

*

Leaning over her, one hand lightly caressing her glowing rump, Hugo spoke almost gently: "I'll leave you now. I think you have lots and lots of data to process--that's what the professors call it, don't they? That, and get in touch with your feelings. Whatever. There's a mirror on that wall over there. If you wish you can squirm or roll, or however you can move, and observe yourself. And see how stunning you are in your abject helplesness. You were truly meant for bondage, my dear. In about twenty minutes, my aide will untie you. When we meet again--and I'm sure we will--we'll have much to discuss. I don't think you need this anymore." He unbuckled and removed the gag..

Justine flexed her cramped jaw, wiggled her tongue, spat, started to speak. Hugo held up a cautionary hand. "No words now. I insist." Justine was cowed enough at this point to obey, for a moment; but then sputters of outrage, almost incoherent, came bursting forth:

"YOU!----you!----oh , you bastard!, you phony, you- sadistic son of a bitch--how could you?-" He turned his back, serene, apparently not hearing her, left the room, and closed the door.

Alone, severely hog tied, Justine screamed, whined, wept, cursed out "Dr.. Schrechlich--fucking Hugo!!" then cursed out herself; her foolishness from the very first student challenge, her naivete--she could see how she had been led, artfully, every step of the way into her present predicament--her arrogance that had led to the gag, and worse, the sexual arousal that had so delighted him; she couldn't explain that.

In the meantime, there was this coarse rope in her cunt, her calves were cramping, her arms and hands had long since gone numb from the tight ropes, and her whipped butt really smarted. and--twenty minutes of torture to endure? She hoped the leather lady was punctual.

Twisting and straining, she managed to flop over onto her side; the rope that bisected her eased a little. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mirror he had referred to. So: how did she look? Stunning, he had said. Vanity--and curiosity, she told herself, her anger and self contempt a little less, her tears now quieter, as she flopped and wiggled and scooted until she lay in front of the floor length mirror.

She saw: a beautiful brunette, her long hair now mussed and disheveled, staring with deep set dark eyes, tear stained mascara; bruised lips, smeared lipstick (from the gag) mouth trembling, woeful but also puzzled. She saw: the cords encircling her chest and elbows, compressing her waist; the hemp rope, hog tied and then dipping between and into her sex; the frivolous garter belt and black hose (now frayed with multiple runs.) She saw: her arms bound behind her, her breasts jutting between the ropes, nipples still engorged. Maybe I am a secret bondage queen, she thought. She shifted her weight; the hemp abraded her once again. The pain wasn't altogether unwelcome.

*

She looked at herself for a long time, trying, without much success, to sort out her emotions. 'Yes, this woman--its me! it's me!--I'm stunning.

Miserable, but, somehow, very sexy. Vulnerable, available'-- just a little twinge of sexual energy began to surface; she tried to censor it.

'Now I need to see my sore whipped ass', she told herself. Painfully, one scoot on the cold waxed floor at a time, she was able to see her backside by craning her neck. Here she saw: her ample bottom, still rosy from the spanking, criss crossed with livid welts from the bamboo cane. Her arms and wrist were immobilized in an intricate, almost beautiful web of rope: she recalled a Japanese bondage movie she had viewed last week. The big rope tight between her ass cheeks, over her wrists, and taut to her ankles, had not loosened during her arduous squirming trip to the mirror. And still--the vulnerable, proffered ass, the forlorn statement that the tight ropes made--again she tingled, more than a little bit aroused, and was angry at herself. Maybe--just maybe----Hugo had sensed something about her that she had been unaware of.

Later--it seemed an eternity to Justine--the cheerful plump---- well, OK, if you were into Rubens, voluptuous---- leather clad aide entered and briskly untied her, smiled, and said; "I'll see you at the desk after you dress."

Somehow, the bland response, in no way acknowledging her torment, made Justine even more angry, victimized. She glimpsed her image in the full length mirror, paused, drew herself up to her full height, absently rubbing her rope-chafed wrists. Slowly, she undid her garter belt, and rolled down and discarded her torn hose. Slipping her high heeled pumps back on, she turned and posed before the mirror; yes, her bottom was still rosy, overlaid with the welts from her caning--perversely, even more enticing, she thought.. She stood in an erotic haze for just a moment, then snapped back to reality, and her sense of anger.She pulled on her dress in a hurry, stuffed her discarded bra, garter belt, torn stockings and panties into her purse, and stormed out.

"That will be one hundred dollars. Credit cards are fine. Will you be making a return appointment now--or later?" The leather lady smiled sweetly.

Infuriating! Justine turned. "Bill me." she said as coldly as she

could, and stumbled out of the office, onto the porch, and into the pedestrian traffic of Berkeley's College Avenue, a few blocks away. Her

thoughts and emotions were chaotic, unorganized. "I've got to get home, take a long hot shower, and try to think-- gotta think--' she mused to herself.

She was unaware how her appearance, her whole persona, had changed since the unsettling session. She had entered Hugo's office, serene, in control, somewhat distant, every inch the professional. Now, though she didn't know it, she walked with a sensual sway to her hips, her hair tousled, her lips slightly parted. And under her diaphanous silk dress, no lingerie; nude. Bemused, she had no idea how much attention she was drawing as she walked to her studio apartment.

TWO

SHARING TIME

Monday morning; class time. Justine faced her six students, nervously, not quite focussed.

Her weekend had been harrowing. After her bondage session, she was too shaken up to make her usual restaurant rendezvous with three faculty friends. In her apartment, after a hot shower and two glasses of wine, she had sat numbly, trying to make sense of the degrading session----and her confused reaction to it; even as she reviewed the indignities, the discomfort, she felt a warm twitch in her pelvis, a subtle moisture in her vagina. How to sort out all these conflicting emotions?

After a troubled hour or so, she got another glass of wine and replayed one of the bondage VCRs she had researched before the class project.

There was a crude plot: a wild jungle girl, captured, tied up (of course!), then recaptured by an evil white hunter, stripped, whipped, along with two other women, ostensibly anthropologists, looking for the 'wild girl.' The three bondage victims were tied and retied, stripped, abused, subdued. The bondage was clumsy compared to what Hugo had inflicted on her----see, she was an expert already---- but strangely compelling. In her robe, in front of the TV, Justine found herself aroused again, fingering her erecting clit, now with her fingers sliding in, then thrusting inside her, moaning and climaxing. Something, she realized, post orgasm, that she had been seeking since her terrible----and thrilling-- afternoon. And maybe she had wanted Hugo to----no, don't go there!

That was Friday night. She filled Saturday with errands; shopping, a very thorough apartment cleaning, some professional journal reading, making an elaborate cassoulet recipe from her Julia Child cookbook. She did not check her e-mail or answer her phone. At some level she realized that she could not hide behind busy work for very long; her flirtation, no, fascination, no, obsession, was there, just behind her stubborn intellectual attempts at denial.

That night, emotionally drained, she went to bed early, and awoke, sweating, heart pounding, her hands clenched in her tangled sheets after a vivid dream, not quite a nightmare. The dream's details blurred as she gasped, hyperventilating, now totally awake. There had been chains, hand cuffs, she was a slave. Raped, then sold, then raped again, always tied or chained, powerless, and aroused. Her sheets were tangled; she must have been thrashing around. And her vagina was wet again, throbbing, her nipples swollen. She had had a wet dream, one of only three or four she had experienced in her nearly thirty years..

She got up, tottered to the bathroom, tried to face herself in the big mirror. splashed cold water on her face, met her bewildered eyes in the mirror and broke down sobbing..What was happening to her? Was she

some kind of a--her mind rejected the term-- 'pervert'----or just

overwhelmed, briefly, by an unexpectedly vivid disturbing experience?

'Yes,' she thought, 'that's probably it. Get hold of yourself, Justine. One more glass of wine, maybe, and then back to bed.'

Sunday was nearly normal, She took a long walk in the Berkeley hills, read the New York Times (and did the puzzle). It wasn't until

evening that she realized that she had not faced Monday morning. What was she going to share with the class? A calm, factual description of her bondage session (censored, of course) or some careful sharing of her mixed response, or----or what? She decided she would let the students share first, And then--and then--she wasn't sure. Her personal ethic would not allow her to cop out, she knew; evade, censor, perhaps, but she knew, at some level, she would have to be honest with her class.

****************

And now she stood before them. Her voice quavered a bit as she began: "Class, let's get right to today's assignment. My bondage weekend, or whatever. What did we experience; what did we find out? Who would like to share first?"

Zach interrupted: "Ms. Jousse, did you--you know----do a juicy----no pun intended----bondage trip, too? I've got a bet on this!"

"I don't know if you win or lose your bet, Zach, but I made you guys a promise. I'll share my personal trip with you. But I'd like you to go first. Fair enough? Who's first?"

There was a long pause. Justine was surprised when Martin volunteered. The slightly built science major cleared his throat and began:

"Well, this is something I didn't know anything about, so I went to google on the web. Type in 'bondage' and you get thousands of sites! It's unreal! Anyway. I ran into an Italian artist named Saudelli; he's into women's feet and tight rope ties; there's no sex."

*

So, anyway. I called my girlfriend, she's into shoes and foot massage, and she's ticklish. So, I thought there might be a connection. So, she came over, and I downloaded one of the foot fetish bondage tapes, and she went nuts! I mean, I didn't think...." He gulped, and looked at Justine.

"Go on, Martin; this is fascinating. Class, everything we share today is confidential. OK?" They all nodded. Martin continued.

" I mean, she was really crazy! So we went out for pizza, but she wanted to go to a hardware store on the way back to her place; we bought fifty feet of clothes line. I got to tell you, at this point, I was freaked! And pretty aroused, too. Back at my place, we ate, had a few beers and then An---I'm not going to say her name--insisted we see the video again, and--I've got to admit it turned me on--while we were watching, she started taking off her clothes. I mean, OK, It was kind of all of them, and then she kind of posed and asked, no, demanded that I tie her up, just like the Saudelli pictures. So I did my best. It was kind of a challenging, scientific, you know, tight, but not too tight, the rope patterns almost geometric. The rope pressing into her soft flesh. tighter and tighter, like a computer game. Lots of ropes; wrists, elbows, ropes around and under her tits, I have to admit I got into it----the patterns, the precision---- ˆI'm kind of mathematical, you know."

*

"A-------- no name, OK? was already into it. She wiggled in delight as I roped her waist, tugging the clothesline tight, really tight. Then I did her thighs and ankles, just like in the video, and then hog tied her. Actually, that felt kind of neat when I rolled her on her stomach and roped her wrists and ankles almost together, like on the tape. She went nuts when I took off her shoes and socks, licked and caressed her feet for a while, and then tickled her soles with a feather."

Martin paused. cleared his throat. "It was a great assignment, Ms. Juesse. It's not like we haven't done kinky stuff before, but this was very heavy----for both of us. And I think we'll explore this stuff some more." He sat down.

"Hey! What happened next?" Zach said. "I mean, that's a hot story! Did you score?"

"That's personal. This is my report on bondage. But I've got to say, it was a stimulating assignment." He grinned at Zach.

Justine relaxed a bit. "Martin, that was a great report: Personal, informative--I've never heard of this Saudelli guy. Who wants to go next?"

Vicki got up, slowly. Slightly overweight, but with a sweet face, (Justine had often wished she could make wardrobe and grooming suggestions to Vicki. None of her business, of course; Vicki exuded a kind of sweet helplessness.), She was wearing a short plaid skirt, which emphasized her prominent butt and heavy thighs, and a sweatshirt.

"I told my roommate about this assignment." she began. "We had never talked about this kind of stuff before and I was kind of surprised that she kind of wanted to fool around. So, we got some belts and scarves and clothes line. She asked me 'who will be the bottom, who will be the top?' I didn't know what she meant; so she explained it. So I was the---- I think they're called dominatrix---- first. But when I think about it, she was running the show. She undressed and put on a short, sheer nightie; she demanded I wear black stockings, a garter belt and a black push up bra----this was all her stuff, not mine. I felt weird, but----kind of sexy, too.