Always a pro

I've been a fetish and bondage actress and model for more than two years now. When I look back over how it all came about I can almost believe it was always meant to happen; not that I believe in destiny or fate or any of that stuff.

Everyone always said I was a bright girl, but I was hopeless at school – I guess I was the wrong sort of bright – and I left without taking any exams. After several years of dead-end jobs I decided I wanted something better. So I enrolled at the local college and began making up for everything I'd missed out on at school. But even with government assistance it was hard to make ends meet on what I could earn from waitressing and bar work. I was always the black sheep of my family and I'd not seen or spoken to any of them since leaving home years before so I knew I'd get no help there.

I started with telephone sex. Then I tried stripping, but I didn't get far with that because, as I got fed up with being told, although I had plenty in the personality department I was sadly lacking in the boobs department. But through the telephone work and the stripping, plus a few months of street work and advertising myself in phone boxes, I managed to build up a small portfolio of trusted clients.

Mark was one of my best clients and when he invited me to be one of his featured 'artistes' in his porn videos and photo shoots I jumped at the chance. Not that I found it easy at first. For some reason I found it hard to loosen up in front of the camera and do the things I could easily do for my clients without a second thought. I was terrified the first time I got naked in front of a studio full of guys. I needed all my will power to grasp a cock and take it in my mouth. I needed a stiff drink before and after I was first fucked on camera and I nearly freaked out the first time I was tied up and gagged. That was when Mark was in his 'ballerinas in distress' phase; so I was wearing a very high-thigh white leotard showing lots of bare bottom, pulled down at the front to expose my tits, a tiny pink wrap-around tutu skirt, white stay-up tights with lacy tops and pink satin ballerina pointe shoes with ribbons tied around my ankles.

But I'm not a quitter and I've always pushed myself through any challenge. Mark always encouraged me and told me I had talent. He paid for me to have my boob job that I'd always longed for and to have a couple of my teeth straightened. So after a steep learning curve I soon settled into my new career. Early on, Mark had me down as a specialist in plimsoll, or sneaker, fetish product. I've got good legs: long and shapely with attractive skinny ankles and pretty and neat little feet. Mark loved the way I looked in classic white Keds lace-up plimsolls and that suited me down to the ground because I had always got a thrill from wearing plimsolls too. So I wore white Keds in nearly all my porn shoots and always whenever I provided him with his personal service, which he still insisted on paying me for. He's always been totally straight with me. That's why I like him.

I was taking a break between shooting one afternoon, sitting at a table with a bacon sandwich and a large mug of tea, wearing just my Chinese silk dressing gown and my white Keds with baby doll frilly white ankle socks. I was nursing my backside having just been fucked up my arse while bent over the back of a Harley Davidson by a big hairy guy wearing just a black crash helmet and big black leather biker boots. Mark came over, sat down opposite me and, leaning over the table, asked,

"Are you still open for new business?"

Not needing to ask what he meant and smiling at his deliberate double-entendre, I asked him back.

"What's he looking for and what's he offering?"

"This mate of mine wants a girl for a night. I'll be completely honest with you, Chrissie, he's a bit of head case and he's no Prince Charming, so you'd have to expect a bit of rough handling. Not that he'd kill you or break your arms and legs or slap you around or anything like that; but you'd be a bit bruised and sore afterwards."

"How come you're mates with a psycho like that?" I glanced suspiciously at him over my tea mug.

"We go back a long way and it's a long story. He's done me lots of favours over the years and even though he's mental he always does what he says he'll do. He's never let me down once all the years I've known him. There's no-one else I can say that about. So I always try to help him out. He'll fuck you hard but I promise he won't fuck you about."

"How much is he paying then?" I asked him, reckoning it wouldn't be such a bad way to earn a quick couple of hundred or so.

"Two grand."

I nearly dropped my mug of tea.

"Are you fucking me about?"

He looked at me levelly.

"Two thousand pounds, guaranteed, no questions asked."

I had always longed for a chance to make that kind of money.

"Shit, Mark, when do I meet him and where?"

He put his hand on my shoulder. "It'll be a tough gig, Chrissie. You've got to understand that."

I smiled teasingly at him. "You're not worrying about me, are you?"

He transferred his hand from my shoulder to my hand.

"You're a great girl, Chrissie. I care about you. I don't want you taking on something you can't handle."

That decided it for me. I looked him straight in the eye.

"You know I've never backed down from a challenge. I'm going to do it. Now tell me how I find him."

"You don't go to him. He'll come for you when he's ready, and when he thinks you're ready."

His last comment made me shudder a little inside and I almost regretted my decision. But my determination drove me on.

"How will I know it's him?"

"He'll use a code word: 'I've been watching you.'"

This made me feel even more scared, but my will power forced the feeling back down.

"How will he know where to find me?"

The feeling rose up again as I heard Mark's reply.

"When he knows you do work for me, he'll work out how to find you. He's a nutter but he isn't stupid."

With one more effort I pushed my fear out of my mind and concentrated on being professional.

"Has he got any 'special requirements'?"

"He likes girls in white Keds plimsolls. And lay off shaving yourself Down South, he's got a thing about that. And you also have to sign this."

He pushed a piece of paper and a pen towards me. The paper was a disclaimer to say that I had consented to 'any act of an extreme sexual nature.'

"You can still back out if you want to," he said. His watchful expression drilled right through me.

I shot him a determined glance, picked up the paper and pen, took a deep breath, and signed.

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For the first few days afterwards I had a constant feeling of nervous expectation in the pit of my stomach. But as the days lengthened into weeks and still nothing happened, I gradually forgot all about it. Mark never mentioned it so I just let it go. 'All mouth and no trousers' was how I summed up his mate. 'Too bad about the two grand though, it was always going to be too good to be true', I thought. The only reminder I had was my regrown bush, which for some reason I kept and which felt slightly strange under my panties; seeing as I'd kept myself smooth down there since starting out as a stripper several years before. Mark made no comment about it, simply airbrushing my dark and luxuriant growth out of my pictures.

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It had been busy that night at the American diner where I still worked as a waitress. I was worn out after being constantly on my feet for hours. We'd had record takings, so, although we were all knackered, we stayed on for a while after clearing up and had a celebratory drink or two. I had carried on working there because we were all great mates and I loved the uniform we wore: tight tee-shirt, short pleated cheerleader skirt and white Keds with white ankle socks; which meant we all made loads of tips. I was still wearing my uniform as I headed for home. It was a cold night and getting colder, so even wrapped in my full length afghan coat I was shivering and my feet were frozen inside my white Keds and ankle socks gleaming in the harsh glare of the street lights. I was glad to reach my front door at last. It was just after two in the morning and the street was completely deserted.

I had just unlocked the door and only had a split second to realise that someone was coming up behind me before my mouth was suddenly clamped by the grip of a powerful hand, I was lifted off my feet by an equally powerful arm squeezing my waist and carried into my house. I heard the door closed behind us. I started trying to scream and struggle against his hold on me but I stopped when I heard his harsh, rasping whisper.

"I've been watching you. Now you keep quiet and do what you're told until I pay you off, understand?"

Wide eyed with fright, I nodded dumbly.

"And remember you signed that paper. So don't you try crying rape afterwards. Whatever happens to you is consensual, got that?

Trembling with fear, I nodded again.

With that, he frog marched me into my kitchen, lit only by the light of the street lamp filtered through the nylon net of the curtains drawn across the window concealing my plight from the outside world, and stood me at the end of my kitchen table. He pulled my coat off me and then stuffed a soft, squashy rubber ball between my lips so it filled my mouth cavity. He sealed my lips over with strong tape. He handcuffed my hands behind my back and strapped my upper arms tightly to my sides with a length of cord wrapped around me several times before being tied off. He bent my upper body forward to rest on the table, squatted down behind me, jerked my panties down to my knees and forced my legs apart; stretching my panties into a tight band of white cotton digging into my legs. Before he stood up he stroked my ankles through my white ankle socks and then around the curving edge of my white Keds where my feet went into them. It was the first time he had touched me with any gentleness or sensitivity and even though I was shaking with fright I somehow got a thrill of pleasure from it.

But any pleasure I was to get from all of this was to only last for a second. Without any warning I suddenly felt his cock forcing up my arse. It felt enormous and incredibly tight and I let out a muffled squeal of pain and shock.

"Keep quiet", he hissed at me. My eyes were bathed in my tears as I screwed them tightly shut with the effort of keeping the searing pain in my back passage inside me. After a few hard thrusts he abruptly pulled himself out of me but before I could even take a breath he rammed himself into my vagina. It was all I could do to stop myself from throwing up at the thought of his prick inside my vagina after where it had just been. It was a good job I succeeded because being so tightly gagged I might have choked to death in my own vomit. As he mercilessly shafted me from behind he kept me pressed down onto the table with one hand on the small of my back and the other on the right side of my face as he ground my left ear and cheek into the rough wooden surface. With every thrust I gave a low muffled moan of pain.

After what seemed like an age I felt him tense up and then he came. He stopped still for a moment with his prick buried deep inside me and his bushy groin pushed up tight against my buttocks, which at least gave me a chance to get my breath back and fight down the pain burning in both of my holes. Then he pulled out of me and pulled up my panties again, which were soon soaked and sticky with his cum as it leaked back out of me.

In spite of my predicament I couldn't help feeling curious about him as, breathing heavily whilst still bent over my table, I watched him as he stood silhouetted by the window light at my kitchen sink and carefully washed himself. He kept his back to me so I couldn't see his face or his genitals. He carefully cleaned the sink afterwards, placed the soiled towel in the washing machine and replaced it with a fresh towel.

I began to relax again and waited for him to release me after he had finished cleaning himself up. 'It could have been worse,' I thought, 'and he cleans up after himself too.'

I was just thinking that I hadn't had to do all that much to earn a couple of grand and he was welcome to have another session sometime when, to my horror, instead of releasing me, he told me to turn my head away so I couldn't see his face, grabbed hold of me again and forced me out through the side door leading outside from the kitchen to the side passage and then through the security gate that opened into the narrow alley that ran between my house and the neighbouring one. Junkies and dealers often met there but tonight it was empty. There was no-one to see us as he led me down the alleyway to the little access road tucked in behind my house. It was even colder by now and as I was still dressed only in my skimpy cheerleader outfit I was freezing even for just the few seconds it took for him to get me to his van parked at the end of the alleyway, all the time keeping me from seeing his face. I felt a sudden stab of terror as I realised he was kidnapping me and that he must have had been watching my movements and planning the whole thing for ages beforehand.

As he bundled me face down onto the floor of the van and shut the doors I tried to scream and struggle against his hold on me. But I went rigid with fear as he grabbed me by the back of my neck and told me to shut up. Knowing there was no-one around to help me, I obeyed.

He blindfolded me with a scarf and tied my ankles together and my knees together with more lengths of cord. He turned me onto my back on a wooden lattice frame that was fixed to the floor of the van and lashed me to it with webbing straps that criss-crossed the length of my body and legs. Finally he covered me with a tarpaulin. Before he left me to get in the driver's cab he uncovered my feet and again stroked my ankles and feet gently before replacing the tarpaulin. But this time I got no pleasure from this strange little touch of sensitivity that was now so out of context it just scared me even more. Alone and terrified and finding it hard to breath in the stuffy air under the tarpaulin because of my gag as he transported me to God knows where, I could at least release some of the pent-up fear and pain inside me as I shook with quiet, muffled sobs into my gag and soaked my blindfold with my tears; my trussed up body aching with cold and the painful digging-in grip of my tight bonds.

I was left alone in the back of the van for what felt like ages; frightened, freezing cold, the sharp edges of the wooden frame digging painfully into my flesh, desperately uncomfortable through being restrained in the same position for so long and my gagged mouth now starting to get dry and parched. But having the time for a good cry had helped me to sort myself out a bit and I could take stock of my situation. I knew that I was certainly in for a hard time when we got to wherever he was taking me but at least I knew that, based on how he had treated me so far and on what Mark had told me about him, I should come out alive, in one piece and a lot richer. Nothing he had done to me was stuff I hadn't experienced before at some point; what made it different this time was that it was all happening together with greater intensity than I'd known before now. In the darkness under the tarpaulin I realised that this was going to be my greatest test, my marathon, my 21-round final bout for the championship. I resolved to take whatever he could do to me and come out a winner. I was a professional and I was going to prove it beyond any doubt.

We finally stopped. The doors opened. He uncovered me, stroked my ankles and feet again, unstrapped me from the frame and pulled me out of the van. Then he lifted me over his shoulder in a fireman's hoist, my bound legs hanging down in front of him as he took me into a building and down some steps. After carrying me for a few more steps he stood me on my feet and stood behind me while he untied my ankles and knees so I could stand up on my own. Then he took off my blindfold.

I was inside what I can only describe as an underground torture chamber. In the middle of the room was a bed fitted with leg supports like the ones a pregnant woman uses when she's in labour. The bed was surrounded with video cameras on tripods and camera lights on stands, their cable criss-crossing the floor like a mass of demented snakes. There was a sink and a toilet and a table covered with all kinds of things for any sex and bondage activity you could think of. He unstrapped my arms and oh, the blessed relief as he took off my handcuffs. I rubbed my wrists gratefully and hoped he would take off my gag and give me a drink, but he didn't.

"Get undressed," he told me in a voice that was cold and menacing.

My hands fumbled with nerves as I removed my watch and jewellery, peeled off my tee shirt, unhitched my bra and let it fall from me, stepped out of my skirt and with some relief removed my panties that were by now stiff and encrusted with his dried cum. I knelt to loosen the laces of my plimsolls in order to take them off but he stopped me.

"Leave those," he ordered. Then I remembered his fetish for girls in white Keds. "Now stand up straight with your hands behind your back."

'Oh fuck, he's tying me up again,' I thought to myself.

I was used to being tied up but this was taking my experience to a new level. He bound my wrists this time with cord even tighter than when he's used the handcuffs on me. Tight cords dug deep into my arms and shoulders. He bound my breasts so tightly that they stuck out from me like sausage shaped party balloons. Crotch ropes coming down from a tight girdle of rope around my waist cut deep into the creases of my inner thighs where they met my groin before encircling my thighs and heading up my buttocks to meet the ropes around my waist again. I had to force myself to breath slowly to stop myself from hyperventilating with fear and all the pain and stresses from all over my body that were overwhelming my senses.

When he finally finished he surveyed his handiwork for a moment while I stood trembling with discomfort and fright; cowering before him, my pain-filled body hunched and cramped by the pull and grip of the ropes tightly constraining and constricting me. He made me jump up and down awkwardly on the spot for a moment so he could enjoy watching my ballooning breasts bob up and down. Which may have been good fun for him but certainly wasn't for me, as with each pain-filled jump, the soft, rubbery slap of the soles of my Keds landing on the hard and smooth tile floor synchronised with my muffled grunts and sighs of pain as encircling ropes dug into the soft flesh all around my tightly bound breasts and the crotch ropes ground deep into the creases of my groin.

Then he forced me down onto the bed on my back and strapped me down onto it with a webbing strap drawn tight across my upper body just below the level of my shoulders and another strap across my waist. He fixed my legs to the leg supports with straps pulled tightly around my ankles, just below and just above my knees and midway up my thighs. My upper legs were spread open in a vertical vee shape with my lower legs bent forward at the knees. I could just make out the bright white shapes of my feet in my Keds and ankle socks pointed towards him and gleaming under the lights bathing my body with their hot glare.

He still wasn't finished with me. He fitted over my face and my head a black leather muzzle gag. He adjusted the gag part until it fitted tightly over my existing tape gag, so that I was now double gagged. The tightly constricting pull of it squashed and flattened my cheeks uncomfortably into my face. Other straps encircled my neck, face and head and clamped my jaws so tightly together I couldn't move them at all. It felt totally ghastly and being forced to wear it sent my stress level skywards.