The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 64

“Good morning, mother,” said Melissa’s brother-in-law as he passed his mother-in-law on the way from the bathroom. He wore only a towel and was toweling off what was left of his hair. “What are you doing up so early this fne morning?”

The woman stopped where the hallways intersected, looking soulfully into her youngest daughter’s emp-ty room. “Going to the police station,” she said in a small voice.

The man looked where the woman was gazing, taking in the frilly, empty, brass bed, the stuffed animals all over it, and the strewn reminders of feminine youth everywhere—the little piles of pink clothing, the frilly undergarments, the boxes of jewelry, and the masses of makeup.

“Again?” he said in a slightly wheedling tone. “Come on, mother. You have to accept it. She’s gone.” The woman stiffened, eyes tearing. “I can’t...I can’t believe that,” she said in a hush.

“Now, mother,” he said patiently. “You know all the signs were there. How happy she was when she was going out...talking to more boys on the phone...dressing so provocatively....”

“She did NOT dress provocatively!” the woman insisted.

“Come on now, mom,” he said with a disbelieving smile. “The heels so high, the skirts so short, the shirts so tight....!”

“All young women dress like that today,” she said decisively. “That doesn’t mean...!”

“Sure, mom, sure, all girls dress that way, but not all of them had all the rules she had....”

“Are you saying...!”

“All I’m saying,” he interrupted in a conciliatory tone, “is that it’s natural she’d want to sew some wild oats while she can.”

“Her older sister..your wife...didn’t,” she said icily. “All the more reason,” he countered casually. “You know how different sisters are, especially ones with such a big age difference. And heck, even I have to admit that little Missy was the one who won out in the ole genetics department.”

The woman stared at him in shock.

“Hey, you know I love my wife deeply, but come on, you’d have to be blind not to see the differences. My love is like a good, steady freplace. Melissa’s like freworks!”

The woman looked off toward the room again. He could see by her expression that even she was silently acknowledging the reality of it.

“You shouldn’t chase after her,” he admonished gently. “You know what the old rhyme says; ‘leave them alone and they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind them....’”

“Melissa did not run away...,” she said intently, but her gaze was already wavering.

“No, no, not ‘run away,’ mother,” he agreed with a supportive smile. “A little sabbatical, maybe. An extended holiday after dance class before school starts again, that’s all....”

“I...we...,” said the woman shakily, then turned away from the empty bedroom, looking down the stairs, carefully avoiding her son-in-law’s gaze. “We’ll be at the police station if you want us.”

Then she was gone, down the stairs, closing the kitchen door frmly behind her.

The man shook his head with a wry smile, then calmly waited until he heard the front door close and the family car pull out. Only then did he continue down the back hallway to the sun-flled bedroom in the very rear of the rambling, narrow, low-ceilinged house. His wife sat beside the exact twin of the other bed, holding an ice shard against the pink, painfully erect nipple of her naked younger sister, who was brutally bound to the brass headboard.

Melissa’s nude body took her brother-in-law’s breath away. The skin so smooth and clean, the limbs so shapely and sleek, the waist so small and tight, the breasts so frm and perfectly molded, the nipples so pink and sweet, and the face so fresh and pretty.

That fresh and pretty face was also now so groggy and pained as her wrists slowly twisted in the cord that held her crucifed to the headboard and her head lolled against the fat, drug-sodden towel affxed to her lower face by a wide rubber strap across her mouth. He looked reprovingly at his heavy-set, unattractive wife. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t tie her up with arms wide. She can use all her strength that way. Tie her with her arms bent up be- hind her back.”

“I did what you said,” she immediately whined. “I slapped the towel over her face as soon as she woke up. Like you fgured, she was clawing at her throat, choking, so I pushed her down to the mattress. It was easy! She grabbed at my wrist and lower arm, but there was nothing she could do, nothing!” She looked at the gorgeous little naked redhead sitting beside her, licking her lips at the memory. “Not when the drug started working on her....”

He looked over as well, eyes focusing on the triangle of soft strawberry between her lax legs. “And what did you do then?” he said, almost accusingly.

“Like you said,” she defended. “I tied her up, and then, everytime she started to get feisty, I zapped her with the thing.”

“The thing” was the hand-held electric shock device which could be bought out of many a sportsman catalog. This one, laying on the chair beside the older woman, was good for 75,000 watts—more than enough to paralyze a 95 pound, 17 year old girl.

“Oh, baby, she would stiffen like a board or jerk in place, her big eyes bulging, drool fying out of her mouth.... And her face! Her face was like ‘why are you doing this to me?,’ you know?” The older sister looked down at her helpless sibling, her eyes getting finty. “So I told her,” she continued in a whisper. “’You’re such a pretty little girl,’ I told her. ‘You come 16 years after me, just when I need our folks the most. But no... they had to take care of you.... And you get the hair and the face and the body, while I get nothing...nothing! So now...I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to take care of something for me....’” She blinked and looked back up at her husband. “That was right, wasn’t it?”

He just stared sardonically at her for a second more. “And who said anything about ice?” She looked at him in shock, then at the erect pink nipple of the comatose girl beside her.