Liza's New Life Ch. 04

I don't know what time it was when I woke up. I was lying on my side in a large bed, a sheet pulled up to my waist, covering my lower half only. My arms were still manacled behind me, but the huge down-filled pillow under my head relieved any pressure from my shoulder. I looked down at my breasts. My nipples were bright red, somewhat flattened, and gently throbbed. I wanted to rub them in the worst way, but my hands were useless. The next thing I noticed was a sweet aroma. I was pleased to discern that it was coming from my own skin -- I had obviously been washed, and washed well. I felt well scrubbed as a matter of fact. The next thing I noticed as I came to my senses was the dull pain in my pussy, and I needed to investigate.

I rocked my hips and sat up. With my leg I kicked off the sheet and spread my knees to have a look. Around my waist was fastened a belt, like the one I had briefly seen on Gina. From the center of the belt descended a piece of rope fashioned from leather about an inch thick. It traversed snugly down between my pussy lips, then up the back where it pressed my rosebud, and fastened finally at the back of the belt. I could feel a small lock at the back of the belt where the rope was tightly fastened. I didn't know whether the throbbing at my clit was a residual from the clamp and weights, or a consequence of the rope. I concluded it was probably both.

I wondered what time it was. I wondered what I should do next. I wondered what was on the other side of the door, but was afraid to find out. As long as I was alone, nobody was hurting me, I figured. I wondered where Marc was. I wondered if he was on his way to rescue me from this mad girl and her brother.

The door opened slightly, quietly. A head came through the opening. Peter smiled broadly when he saw me sitting upright.

"Hi, sleepy head," he beamed. "How ya doing?"

"Um, okay, I guess," I answered in a befuddled tone, unsure how to act, hoping against hope that he had come to deliver me. Instinctively my arms strained at the cuffs, trying to move in front to cover my bare breasts. I tried to bury my butt as deeply into the mattress as possible.

"Good, good." He approached the bed. His demeanor was friendly and respectful. I felt somewhat reassured by his look, but still somewhat apprehensive, the lingering pain reminding me of the danger. He sat down beside me and looked me in the eyes. He smiled. "Gina made a mistake. I'm sorry I didn't leave better instructions."

I opened my mouth, but my jaw just dropped without making a sound. I didn't know what to think. This was the understatement of the century. His tone was no different than if he were apologizing for serving the wrong wine. This was really bizarre.

"She meant well, you know, but just didn't know how to do it right," he continued. My eyes bugged out, not believing what I was hearing. "You know, she just got carried away with the responsibility of taking care of you. She wanted so much to make me proud of her, the poor dear. It's partially my fault. I've never shown her how to assess progress, so she didn't know any better than to use on you what she's used to. Obviously she shouldn't have done that. I've explained to her what she did wrong, and she won't make that mistake again. I'll make sure she knows what she's doing before she goes it alone again." He paused and waited for me to say something.

"She...she hurt me...so bad," was all I could stammer, the tears now welling up at the memory.

Peter put his arm around my shoulders and comforted me. I put my head against his and breathed heavily.

"Shh," he said. "It's alright, now. Shhh. It's all over now and she won't make that mistake again. She understands, now. Believe me."

I decided for the time being not to try to make sense of this strange apology or this bizarre, hurtful place. I needed to address more urgent matters.

"Did you find the key?" I asked with a quivering, expectant voice.

"It turns out that another officer has it. We exchanged keys by mistake."

"But you have it now, right?"

"No, he's on the mainland today. He won't be back until tomorrow or the next day."

"What? You mean I'm stuck like this? Cut them off, please!"

"No, that's impossible. Any damage to city property would have to be reported, then questions would be asked. Unless you want me to have to go ahead with arresting you, you better not even think about cutting those cuffs."

"But Marc will be here in a little while...with his client. His client! He can't see me like this."

"Well, about that..."

"What?"

"Marc called while you were asleep. It turns out that the airplane had some mechanical difficulty. They weren't able to come after all."

"What?"

"Now, don't worry. I had a nice long talk with him and we got everything all figured out."

"What?" I couldn't help but continue to stammer. "I want to talk to him! Let me talk to Marc."

"Yes, of course. He wants to talk to you, too. We'll call him right now. I'll hold the telephone for you. It's downstairs." He stood up and tugged gently on my arm to help me stand up.

"Um, could I get dressed first?" I didn't want to encounter in the nude whatever there might be downstairs.

Peter sat back down on the edge of the bed and maneuvered me to a standing position in front of him. He held me at my hips, looking up into my eyes. His expression was grave, as if he had something difficult to explain to a child. I knew I wasn't going to like what he had to say. My breasts heaved. My sore clitoris throbbed against the leather strap that was now pulled tighter by my standing position.

"As you probably guessed, Liza," he began, "Sam told me about your anklet, you know, there in the alley before he kissed you."

I caught my breath. I remembered the last time someone learned the promises of the anklet: "anything, no limits, anytime." It was Lynn, who then proceeded to assume that I owed her the promises, too. I accepted the logic of Lynn's inclusion: she was Jake's girlfriend, and the precedent for extending my promises had already been set by Marc. He said that Steve had the right to see me naked anytime he wanted, simply because what I owed to Sam and Jake should also be owed his best friend. I let my breath out in a long sigh.

"And then I got the rest of the story from Marc," he continued, "So you see, I'm called upon to see to certain things..."

"What things?" I heard myself ask, a hint of defiance in my voice at last.

"Well, your husband explained that you adhere to a certain lifestyle, er, mode of dress, or undress, I guess. He doesn't want you to backslide on your good habits while you're here, and he made me promise that you wouldn't.

"Good habits?" I stammered.

"Yeah. For example, he said you're accustomed to being naked in the house...and...other protected areas."

I just bowed my head in response. I knew that's what Marc wants, what he dreams about, and what he would certainly tell this stranger about our bizarre game of "promises." I also knew that I would try to do it for him, but whether or not I could manage here, without him...

"Let's see," he pondered, "and your knees are supposed to stay apart by...how many...six inches, is it?"

"Jake likes nine," I heard myself say softly, surprising even myself. I spread my knees, as if on cue.

"Who's Jake?" Peter asked.

"The co-author of the anklet," I admitted, amazed that I could suddenly be so open about these things. Perhaps it was the way he was holding me, like an inquisitive parent to whom I owed explanations.

"Okay, so there's Sam and Jake with the anklet, and your husband Marc, of course. Who else takes care of you?"

"Takes care of me?" I repeated, still trying to figure out what that meant, why people kept saying it.

"Yes, you know -- takes you to the bathroom, for example."

"Ally likes to take me to the bathroom, and the boys, too," I replied, shocked that I had an answer to such a bizarre question.

"Well, you see, you fit right in here with us. Anyway, I jotted down Marc's instructions, and I promised I'd see to them."

"I suppose he told you no underwear when I go out?" My tone was one of resignation.

"Yes, but there we had a little difference of opinion. Since he was kind enough to tell me about your habits on the mainland, I told him about how we do things here on Catalina, and he decided he liked some of our customs. So, to make a long story short, you'll be glad to know that you'll be able to wear the belt from now on. You can thank Gina for that, too. She helped convince Marc."

"Marc talked to Gina?"

"They had a nice chat," he laughed good-naturedly. "She really gave it to him about your poor care. It took her a long time to believe you were really married, in view of the neglect."

"Neglect?" I stammered.

"Well, it's your button she's most upset about, of course."

"My button?"

"She can't believe you managed to get married with such a short one. That Marc has done nothing about it is, well, in her words, just criminal. She wanted me to arrest him. She doesn't really know much about the mainland, you know. She's been pretty sheltered, here."

"What are you talking about?" I finally managed.

"Well, never mind. It's all settled now."

"What is?"

"Okay, here's the thing. Marc says you can wear the belt - but only the belt - in the house. When you need to go out, and for your return to the mainland, he gave us some ideas for what you can wear. Gina's working on those instructions from what she's got in her closet, but we might have to go shopping, too."

"I guess I'd better talk to Marc," I said in resignation, hoping that perhaps he would be able to tell me what these crazy people were talking about. I wanted to talk to someone sane and get some straight answers, but mainly I wanted to convince him to get me out of here, quick.

We went downstairs, but before we could get to the room with the telephone, Gina caught sight of me and ran to greet me. She hugged me and kissed me several times on both cheeks.

"How's my little sleepy head, huh?" She beamed as she held me. "Feeling better after your nap?"

"Um, yeah," is all I could gurgle.

"I'm going to make us some tea, okay? Okay, you little silly!"

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"Gina," Peter broke in, "We're going to call Marc first, okay?"

"Okay," she released me and stepped back to look at me. I felt her gaze on my naked breasts and saw it go down to my roped crotch. "You tell him we're taking care of you. Good Care!" she emphasized.

"Okay," I smiled wanly as Peter took me by the elbow to the other room.

My telephone conversation with Marc was devastating. We called him on his cell, and a good thing, because he was already on his way to the airport for a flight to New York. I almost fainted when I heard that. It was like a judge had condemned me to death. He assured me that all would be well, though. His trip to New York, though unavoidable, would only last a few days and that Steve would pick me up at the airport in Long Beach whenever I got the handcuffs off and arranged for a flight back. He told me to be a good girl, do as Gina and Peter tell me, and ended with what I considered the nails in my coffin: "And keep your promises," he admonished me like a ten-year-old.

When I heard him hang up, my knees gave way and I sat directly down on the floor. My head was spinning.

Peter picked me up like a rag doll and carried me to the couch. He got me comfortably seated and called to Gina to bring me a wet rag for my head.

"Everything is okay, silly," I heard Gina say over and over as she wiped my forehead and face, applying an occasional kiss to my cheek. "We're going to take care of you, now. Oh, oh," she pressed my knees apart, "we promised Marc about that, you silly!"

When she finished with the cloth, she brought the tea and some scones, which she placed on the coffee table. She brought the teacup to my lips gently, cautioning me that it may be hot. I sipped, and then sipped some more. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. The scone, fed to me in small bites, helped revive me, too. It was blueberry, my favorite. The more alert I became, though, the more apprehensive I was about my future, and the throbbing at my clitoris became more noticeable. I tried to shift in my seat, to better adjust the leather deep within my slit, but nothing seemed to help. The only consolation was that the rope was also tightly pressed against my anus, and that actually felt pretty good to me.

Peter and Gina talked about the party at John's house as they fed me.

"No, she can't go like this. That's all there is to it," he told Gina. "Too many questions would be asked about the cuffs. The fewer people who know I misplaced the key the better."

"You don't have the key?" Gina absorbed this new piece of information.

"No, and I don't want you to tell anybody, either."

"Oh, that's silly," she teased. "Nobody cares about that."

"I'm trying to establish a position in the community and I don't want people to think I can't keep track..."

"Oh, pish-posh."

I don't know why, but I thought it might be safer for me if they didn't argue, so I tried asking a question to change the subject.

"Gina, you never did tell me about your name; why is it pronounced the way it is?"

"Oh, it's a childhood nickname," Peter answered for her. "It started on the playground one day and just stuck. You know how these things happen..."

"But a nickname for what? I don't understand."

"It's short for..." Gina broke in and touched herself at her crotch.

"Oh, my! You mean the kids called you Gina, short for Vagina?" I just had to say it out loud. "How did that happen?"

"Oh, all right," Peter resigned himself to the telling. "Here's the whole story."

Gina brought the teacup to my lips and signaled for me to take another sip as her brother began the tale.

"Her real name is Virginia," Peter started, "but from day one our folks called her Gina, to rhyme with their favorite liquor. The final 'a' gave it a certain Italian flair, I guess. Well, when the kids at school got old enough to understand the meanings of certain words, they just had to play with the names Peter and Gina. One bright kid decided that if her older brother was named after the male anatomy, Gina was surely named after the female. He declared that Gina was short for Vagina, and made sure everybody on the playground pronounced her name to rhyme with the body part."

"Oh, that's wild," I chuckled. "But just because some kids on the playground called her..."

"Well," Gina jumped in again, "the thing was that because the two pronunciations are so close, interchangeable, people would hear it either way and accept it, repeating it however they last heard it. Even the teachers became confused. When Peter found out," she gave him a little poke, "he started doing it, and then my parents started doing it."

"Your parents?"

"Well," Peter answered, "they didn't realize where it came from at first, and when it did dawn on them, they actually thought it was cute and wondered why they hadn't thought of it first."

"So you've been pronouncing it this way ever since?" I added.

"Oh, yes," Gina said enthusiastically. "It's my name, now. I wouldn't have it any other way. Once mom and dad..." Her voice trailed off and she looked away with moisture forming in her eyes.

Peter went over to his sister and embraced her.

"It's hard for Gina to talk about our parents," he said tenderly.

"No, it's not. I can talk about them," she shouted defiantly. "We have to talk about them. We have to!"

"Okay, talk away, then," he said releasing her and settling back in his place on the other side of me.

Peter took over her job of feeding me my tea as he thought of a way to change the subject.

"I was just going to explain to Liza that 'Gina' may have come from the playground, but it was really mom and dad who made it stick, wasn't it Peter? It was their way of making sure we wouldn't forget maintenance, like some women, huh?" She looked at me disdainfully. "They were telling me to be careful not to end up like Liza, huh?" She touched herself at her crotch again, but this time her hand went under the hem of her short summer frock. She reminded me of Ally like that, but the image was fleeting. The rituals of this bizarre couple were really beginning to weigh on me. "I swear that as long as the memory of my mother is in me, I'll never have a button as short as Liza's. That's for damned sure." She shook with emotion, and then sat exhausted, as if burned out.

I looked at Peter with eyes big and round, looking for sense in what I'd just heard.

He took a deep breath and continued: "I was just finishing high-school when the accident happened. Gina was thirteen. This was eight years ago."

"Accident?" I asked.

"Our parents were killed in a boating accident. In the harbor. They left us this house and enough money to live on. I joined the force just for something to do, I guess, and to try to maintain our folks' standing in the community. Everyone has been so nice and supportive. Gina wasn't yet at the age to begin stretching when the accident happened, so mom and dad hadn't yet taught us the exercises. Growing up around a thing isn't at all the same as actually doing it, is it?" Peter paused long enough to give me a look of regret, and Gina a sympathetic yet instructional glance. "Well, anyway," he continued, "Thank god John and Amy helped us, or Gina would have ended up looking like you. I want to pay them all back in some way. Gina hasn't quite settled on what she wants to do when she grows up. She's still coming to terms..."

"I'm not crazy, Peter!" She came to life. Those shrinks can't help me, I'm not crazy."

"I know, I know," he replied tenderly. "You don't have to ever talk to them again, I promise."

"Good, you silly," Gina brightened and smiled joyfully.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Gina brought another piece of scone to my lips. As I shifted, the leather rope pressing against my anus skidded and pummeled my clit. A shooting pain, a remnant from the afternoon's ordeal, caused me to jump. The bite being offered fell not into my mouth, but onto my lap.

"How did you find a husband, being so short and all?" Gina asked, not noticing the blueberry now perched at the top of the rope, just where it began to disappear within me. "Because you see," she continued, "it should be at least three times as long as the nipples, right Peter? That's the standard, right?" She grabbed a hold of my left nipple and squeezed gently. I winced. "Yes, her nipple's about the length it should be, right Peter?"

"Maybe make it a bit longer. Just a little," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," she pulled my nipple straight out, making me yelp. "A little longer, right. Make her stay with us longer, Peter, please. You can get her in shape, then show her husband what he's doing wrong, okay? We could do maintenance together. You could teach Marc like you did Jess, right?"

The doorbell rang. When Gina jumped up to go answer it, her short summer frock flew high enough for me to see that she still sported the same belted contrivance on her pussy that she wore earlier, one just like the one they put on me.

"Look, everybody! It's Jess and Susan. Speak of the devil, huh!" She announced as she ushered them into the room.

I wanted to twist my body, to hide my breasts from these newcomers, but it was of little use. I was deeply embedded in the couch, and with my hands behind me I could hardly move my torso at all. The urge to slam my knees shut was overwhelming, but I knew I had to fight it.

Jess looked like a rugged, outdoor type, and Susan looked like a delicate flower with fine, tiny features -- except for one thing. The braless nipples tenting her t-shirt were long and hard. I couldn't believe my eyes, and couldn't look away. They were enormous. I stammered all the way through the introductions, not sure whether I was embarrassed more by my nudity or by my fixation on another woman's breasts. Jess and Susan, both in their early twenties, seemed to take my situation in stride and laughed heartily when Peter gave them an abridged, sanitized version of my capture. He cringed and looked upset when Gina all too willingly added the part about the missing key. He was quick to make them promise they wouldn't tell a soul, not a single living soul.