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I looked at my watch. Hopefully, I thought, she'd be ready to leave soon.

I ordered another beer. I looked at my IPhone, wishing I had video from that evening. I had no interest in the game that was playing on the flatscreen. I can't now even remember what sport was being played. I had nothing to do but turn over my memories as I waited.

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I remember after dinner, we sat a while at the table, enjoying another beer and watching Jane clean up.

"You are quite lucky," I said.

"I have never been so happy," he sighed, "We've been here almost 2 years. Her parents keep nagging her to go back to school and so do I for that matter. They're suspicious too, though they don't know quite of what I think, they've dropped by her place without warning a few times and've never found her there. Thank God for cellphones. When they call they've no idea where she is or what she's doing."

"Or what's being done to her," I said.

He grinned, "Yeah, a few times. I'm sure once or twice she's sounded a bit strange."

"You could marry her," I pointed out. I saw her pause, bending deliciously to put a plate in the dishwasher.

"That might make it worse. I'm older than her parents. And," he lowered his voice, "I'm sure she'll grow tired of me. I have to expect it."

She came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. I couldn't tell if she'd heard that bit.

"Come on Leo," he said, "I'll show you my basement."

It adjoined the next unit's. He'd soundproofed the shared wall and had built a storage room between that wall and his play room. Perhaps the FBI could've heard something from the neighbor's basement.

The object which had started all this was in prominent display. I really wanted to see her astride it, clutching it as if it were bolting and she must cling to it for dear life.

Shortly my wish was granted. We were both hot from our dinner.

We paddled and flailed her. But though she was quite noticeably wet, we restrained ourselves. One thing I carry over from my youth is a disinclination to have sex in front of other men.

Another memory from that evening, is of her with the book balanced on her head. The book had a slick cover so it'd slide easily on her hair and it wasn't too thick so it's weight wouldn't provide much friction.

She walked about the room with a silky smoothness and an utter concentration on the book. It looked to me like we were in for a long night. Just watching her was some compensation of course. I had ample time to admire her breasts, the slight pillow of her belly, how her hips pressed against her flesh, how her butt swayed and her shoulder blades shifted when she walked away from us. It was lovely to watch her carefully sink down to pick up the pencil Dave dropped and then smoothly rise, solely with the strength in her thighs. The book just teetered slightly,

The game was quite simple. I remember playing it the time Dave'd visited me. The girl balances a book on her head. She must move around the room, doing requested tasks such as picking things up, cartwheels are considered unfair. As long as the book balances on her head, she's OK. When it tumbles, she's punished.

"Jane's thought of an improvement," Dave'd said. "When the book falls, if she can smother it and press her tits or pussy to it, she wins."

"What does she win?" I'd asked dubiously

"The chance to put the book back on her head."

"The idea is not to give them a chance," I said.

"Well, it's house rules," was Dave's reply. House rules always led to ridiculous games when we'd been kids and'd gathered at various houses to play poker. Dave'd been quite fond of making all the prime diamonds wild. Then he added, "Of course she's not allowed to grab it as it falls and drop on it and she may not kick it with her feet. If she touches it with anything below the elbow or knee she loses and gets an extra wallop for cheating."

I tossed the pencil so that it slid a little under the horse. When she sank to get it her head tipped and the book slid. However she managed to knock it with her elbow and sent it sliding across the room.

There was a dive and a tangle of bodies, Dave shouted as he lunged, but Jane got a breast on it and was saved.

That pursuit reminded me of playing neighborhood basketball with Dave and the other kids when we were young. We'd shout go for a loose ball with simple shouting abandon. Not getting it had annoyed me back then too.

The next time she was not so lucky. It slid off the back of her head and though she tried to knock it away with her ass, I came up with it in the melee.

I had her stand with her hands clasped behind her neck. I took a leather whip and slapped her as hard as I could across her tits. She cried out and Dave said, "Leo!". I hit her across the tits three more times. I wanted it to hurt when she put her nipples on that book.

Next time Dave won and he had her mount the horse. He didn't bother with the restraints, just had her lie there, I saw her press her crotch and rub it against its stiff black surface. We both took a whack with the paddle at her beautifully exposed ass.

Another memory is very brief, just watching her reddened bottom sway as she climbed the stairs to get us beer and chips.

There's the memory of another stupid game. She stood taut with strain, on tiptoe, tacks strewn about and under her feet, a large bookbag on her back. Dave and I took turns dropping books into it. We'd each bet on the number of books she could manage before dropping onto the pins. We'd written our bets on slips of paper and put them with hers in an empty glass.

I'd again objected about her being aloud to bet. She got to bet on which of us would win.

I also objected that Dave must have a pretty good idea of the number and that she would win 50% of the time, while the best I could expect was 25%. He said that surely, watching her get punished was as good as doing the punishing so the odds were 50-50 and he said she'd suggested the activity that morning and they'd only had time to try it out a couple times before he had to go to work so he had no advantage.

We argued at length. Again I remembered the squabbling we'd done about rules and infractions when young. I gave in. Stinking house rules.

It was delightful how the muscles of her calves tensed.

The first time I stepped on her toes when the count was just 1 over my bet. I chose a moment when Dave was swigging his beer. She hopped about but he thought it was the tacks. My bet was the closer, but she'd bet on me.

The next time I chose a low number, one she'd pass with relative ease. She sneezed when we'd hardly started and hopped about in pain. I'd won again, but she'd bet on me.

The third time, I chose a large number. I figured at least I'd see her punished and that Dave might share. He was a sap. It was delicious to watch her strain. Sweat and concentration gleamed on her face. She passed my guess before her arches packed it in. "A new record!" said Dave, "Awesome!"

She, of course, had bet on me.

I'd had enough of the foolishness. "It's late," I said, "You two probably have to work tomorrow and I have some final business to wrap up. We should call it a night."

"Jane's calling in sick," Dave said, "But unfortunately I have to go in. It's month end. Don't get up, it'll be early. Jane, you'll see that his room is ready?"

When she'd softly climbed the stairs, he took a last pull of his beer and said sadly, "I know this isn't enough for her. When I think of the sort of things you can afford."

"Look, Dave," I said, "There's a job in our finance department you could have. The guy's retiring. I hadn't thought of you man because I figured you were anchored here. With the annual bonus, I figure you could make $500,000 at least."

I knew for a fact he was barely making a tenth that.

"But look," I said, "I think you need to straighten things out with her folks. If they think it's at least a straight marriage, they'll not raise a stink. As it is, if they found out what's going on... You couldn't have the job if there's scandal. Let me take her out there tomorrow. I'll explain as your friend and best man. Say that you're getting married but don't want to do it behind their backs. You know me. I can sell anything and she'll be there to plead your case."

He looked at me. I could see both hope and doubt on his features.

"Well, the job would really help," he said. He sighed, "I still don't think I'll be able to keep up with her. She is so hot."

Silently I agreed with him. Out loud I said, "You can man, if you try, and get help."

"OK," he said, "But the thought of her parents makes me uncomfortable. I'm older than they."

"Leave it to me," I said.

"OK," he said, "You use the bathroom first. I want to sit a minute anyhow. And Leo, it's been great seeing you again."

Then there's this memory. She lies on the bed in that cramped little second bedroom. She's got black straps around her ankles, each has a rope going to a corner post of baseboard. She's cuffed her wrists together with another pair of black bands and a rope ties those to the headboard. She stares up at me with that round eyed expression of fear and expectation that is so adorable. All that remains for me to do was tighten the ropes. I do.

I turn the memory over in my mind a moment.

I left her spread and went into the bathroom and showered and got ready for bed.

I sat on the bed for a time and fingered and played with her. Her eyes remained wide. I figured this was the first time for her to be so bound and handled by someone besides Dave. I wanted her to know the difference.

Then I knew what I really wanted and it was simple. I undid the ropes, leaving the black bands around her wrists and ankles because they were lovely. She needed something around her throat too, I thought. She had such a sweet look of surprise.

I parted her legs and mounted her. She was so hot on my cock, her chest was so soft yet firm against my skin, even the feel of her pubic hair mixed with mine didn't bother me. Her eyes looked up at me. She breathed through her mouth. I could see and feel the excitement of the evening bubbling through her. I slid out and in once more and she clutched me with her arms and locked her legs above me and came with a shuddering shriek.

When she opened her eyes I began moving in her again.

The bed made a comfortable knocking drumming sound. I heard steps on the stairs as Dave, the good host, came up to go to bed. She heard them too and her lips pressed together and she looked restive.

"You must do as he says," I whispered.

She frowned up at me and looked to the side. I could see tears in her eyes.

With concentration I kept my arousal in check. I kept up the rhythmic fucking as I heard the bathroom get used then the click of the master bedroom door. A bit ironic that name in this case I thought.

Then I could not and did not want to help myself and she couldn't either. She turned her face to the pillow to muffle her cries. I rammed her hard and we bounced on the mattress and I groaned and every muscle in my body seemed to cramp and I climaxed.

I felt how wet things were between us.

Through half closed eyes I saw her look at me, I still had my weight on her. My head lay on the pillow, her short hair about my nose. I guessed she hoped I'd fall off to sleep.

That would've been easy. I could feel the exhaustion and the beers I'd drunk. Then I remembered her opening the door for me and then walking out to my rental, her feet almost the same color as the snow, the difference being that the color of her feet'd been intensely alive.

I began fucking her again. Soon she was wriggling about under me, cutting into my back with her fingernails, muffling her little gasped "oh"s and "ah"s with the pillow.

This time the rhythmic rocking lasted a long time. When I came I felt no real release. I rolled off her. She sighed, from relief I thought. After a moment I stood, went naked across the hall to the bathroom. The house had the stillness of sleep, a few quiet strange knocks and creaks and a siren way in the distance. I used the toilet and then returned. She lay sprawled. With her hands palm up on either side of her head, she looked quite abandoned. A silly phrase because with me there she was anything but. She might really have been close to sleep or might just've been feigning it. Her eyes opened just barely as I put my weight back on the bed.

I spread her thighs and crouched over her. I took one of her hot moist hands and put it on my cock. It's return to excitement was a delicious feeling.

She made a little sighing complaint as I entered her again.

I fucked her steadily and with intentional lack of imagination all through the night. The rocking of the bed had a rhythm and in in my head I laid old rock and roll songs onto it - "Honky Tonk Woman" and "Street Fighting Man" and "Sympathy for the Devil" kept me going. I needed to claim her in the most ancient of ways. Remaining on her back, with her legs spread, my weight on her, made my claim clear. As it went on and on it became a restraint grimmer than rope.

She came often. Toward morning, she really just lay there, legs splayed, tears on her cheeks. Still, now and then she'd start to shake and quiver.

I came off only once more. It was a surprise. There was no build up. Just a sudden twinge of something that was almost pain. If I'd been outside of her, I imagine there'd only've been a drop of ejaculate. After it happened I lay on her exhausted. Sleep tugged at me. I felt her slick breasts crushed to my chest. My chin pressed down on her forehead.

She shifted wearily under me. I slumped to one side. Still in her, but only because of the weight of my hips and some lingering tension in her cunt. I was quite limp.

I saw her eyes and I could see a hint of tired amusement in them. Like she thought she'd won.

I imagined how she would look walking up to my house in California. I imagined her standing before my large hearth, a healthy fire burning behind her, standing naked or tarted up. A black collar around her neck. I imagined how she'd look in my pool. I imagined her by my side at a party or accompanying me to my club.

In my head I heard the cloyingly sung words, "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste,..." I felt my cock stir and lifted myself onto her and started to keep time again.

I didn't stop until I heard Dave in the bathroom. I'd missed any sounds he'd made going there. Jane's face was flat against the pillow, her mouth was open and drool leaked from it onto the pillowcase. Her eyes were open but her mind must've been in a daze, the occasional flick of her eyelids was her only sign of life. Her cunt was so wet I could hardly feel it at all.

I slid off her and she made an exhausted, incoherent relieved sound. I put a hand in the soup that was her crotch, found her clit and pinched it hard. She yelped and looked at me woozily and then with anger.

"Dave's up," I said, "You'll want to get him breakfast."

Then I lay on my back and allowed myself a couple hours of sleep. I wasn't seeing that VP until 10.

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I looked at the flatscreen. It now showed a cricket match.

Though I rarely drink anything but beer, I ordered a shot.

I thought about my last memory of her on that visit. The afternoon before I flew out.

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We stopped in front of her parent's house. I recognized it. An old couple had lived there in my day. They'd had grandkids visit them now and then. I'd mown their lawn.

She looked at me, her eyes were distant and unreadable. "It's not about me really," she said. "It's Dave. You're his measure and he thinks he doesn't measure up. He'll never be happy. The job you're offering him is a con."

"You know what he wants you to do," I said.

She looked at me for an infinitely long moment. She pulled her blouse off. She undid the top button of her jeans so her white underpants showed. Then she climbed out of the car and walked barefoot up the little house's walk. The snow had been shoveled and the cement'd been salted. I saw her step on the scattered crystals. Her movements were a trifle awkward as her thighs ached. She stood at the front door and rang the bell. The door opened. I saw an older woman, her mother I guessed. Jane's brown hair was going to gray on her.

I knew Jane was saying the words I'd told her Dave had written, "You no longer have a daughter Jane. She has chosen a life of sexual submission, pain and pleasure. Please do not bother her or her partner again."

She turned and came back down the walk. There was a shout and a large man with a hugely shocked expression bounced against the front doorjamb and came after her. She sprinted for the car. Undoing that button almost did us in. She had to slow to keep her jeans from dropping and tripping her. Her dad slipped on some ice and went sprawling. We skidded out of there.

I remembered how Dave and I once dropped these girls, two sisters, off at their house. It was 8am, 9 hours after their curfew. Flooring it out of there'd had the same feeling of elation.

I dropped her off at Dave's townhouse. I watched her walk to the door. She'd put her blouse back on. She didn't turn back. I drove back to the airport where my plane, a timeshare, waited. I slept soundly on the flight back.

The denouement was quicker and surer than I'd imagined. Her parents went for Dave with a vengeance. They located him/them almost immediately. They alerted the press, they prepared to file suit, they tried to show that he'd seduced her when she was in high school and underage. They even threw her younger sister to the wolves, claiming he'd had improper relations with her too. Dave, and, it goes without saying, Jane, lost their jobs. He was looking at ruinous legal bills.

Our last conversation on the phone was awkward. He was near incoherent. He begged me to take her and give her asylum. Let her lie low until the storm cleared. He said he didn't blame me, that I'd been trying to help. He understood that he was now completely unemployable. He said he'd drained his 401K and put the money in a college savings plan for her, in her name. He said it'd pay for her to go back to Swarthmore. He begged me to encourage or order her to go. He went on and on.

I arranged for my plane to return to Akron airport. I thought of being on it to meet her. I imagined what the flight back would be like. But I also thought of what flying in its comfortable so nicely decorated cabin all alone would be like for her. The change in her position and what was expected of her would be so forcefully brought home.

And so her long walk up to my house.

With my IPhone, I could admire her as she stood in my hall. She'd left wet footprints on the marble.

I watched her again as I told her about Dave. I'd read about it on one of the more scandal embracing websites. His suicide made what had been an insignificant little item, something a little more. He'd put his car in the garage, run a hose from the muffler into the cab, climbed back in, rolled up the windows and died.

I saw her eyes widen slightly. They teared and she looked down. After a moment she looked up again, expressionless.

"I will punish you for your tears," I said.

I led her to my little rec room. There was no way I could stand a delay. Our time at Dave's had been very unsatisfactory. She looked around and she went very still.

I led her to my stocks. They were about waist high on me, maybe halfway between her breasts and her waist on her. On its stand, under the horizontal beam are straps for the ankles, wide apart so she had to spread her legs wide. I strapped her on, then I had her grip the beam and bend. If it hadn't been securely anchored to the floor, it would have toppled over on her. As it was with her head and arms clamped in, her bottom was stuck out in a most amusing way and her breasts and cunt were at a fine angle for clamps with dangling chains. How sweet it was to watch her ass flinch and try to dodge. In games as I like them there is always but one winner.