The Cookie | free bondage stories

Melanie felt awkward. Very awkward indeed. Like a naughty child caught with its hand in the cookie jar. Not that she was afraid of this man; indeed he seemed not to menace her in any way. His voice was kept low as he spoke and he had a steady matter-of-fact delivery. Perhaps it was his rigid control that made him so masterful.

Masterful! Yes, that was the word; she felt as though he expected to be obeyed.

She was at a disadvantage anyway because she owed him eight weeks' rent and she hadn't a penny to her name. Two days ago she had pawned her last asset - her wristwatch - and that was the last time she had eaten. She was tired through tramping the streets looking for work since she had been made redundant. It was frosty out there and threatening snow - she couldn't afford to light up the gas fire in her room and so she was also cold both in and out of bed.

He had every right to demand at least some payment instead of the two useless promises, which he had received so far. "You must understand, Miss Benfield, that I do not run this house as a charity. It is my source of income and I can only allow so much leniency. What do you propose?"

"I'm afraid that I'm at my wits' end. I have... really I have... been trying to find work but I have so little to offer and there are dozens of girls it seems looking for jobs."

"What do you do?"

"I've been told I have a talent for acting but, aside from that, it seems I have little to offer in the way of skills."

"Hmmph!"

He stood for several moments tapping his right hand against his thigh. "Can you cook?"

"Why, yes. As a matter of fact I am a very good cook."

"Would you be willing to work off this debt? Work for me?"

"In principle yes, but... wouldn't I be accumulating debt even as I worked it off?"

"My proposal isn't quite that simple. Work was perhaps a euphemism. I need you for a slave; a full time employee who does only what she is told, twenty-four hours a day, absolute obedience. In return you will be fed, clothed as necessary, housed and cared for in every way."

Melanie was stunned. Breathless. He was proposing that she sell herself, body and soul. It was outrageous; never would she consider the life of a whore. And to submit to a lifetime of slavery to clear a debt of eight-weeks' rent?

"I see you misunderstand me, Miss Benfield. You are certainly a very attractive proposition but I am not into rape or anything remotely connected. Sexual favours are not required nor will they be given. In effect you will be a decoration to my bachelor quarters, something that provides pleasure in the viewing, one who caters to my pleasurable needs other than carnal. I wish you to bring life to my personal fantasies."

Her voice was faint reflecting the feelings reeling around in her head: "For how long do you propose this... this...?"

"It is now four-thirty, Friday afternoon. Start now and your servitude will end ten o'clock Sunday evening. You will then be free of debt. After that... one weekend a month will pay your rent for as long as you wish. Have you made any plans for this weekend?"

"Only one... to avoid meeting you at any cost."

A smile softly twisted his lips: "I appreciate your honesty."

"No!" she exploded. "It's outrageous. What do you take me for?"

"Someone who is in trouble; someone who is cold and hungry. Someone who has only one thing left to sell; I greatly desire possession of your body but not for ravishment."

If he wasn't after sex then it might... Could she trust him? A word he had used came into her mind and it worried her more than a little. He had talked of possession; he wanted to possess her! He didn't seem to be any kind of kook but then... what the devil did she know about kooks?

"Let us be very clear about this proposition, Miss Benfield. I desire your company for the weekend. If you accept you will become my absolute slave and will give up every right you may possess or consider that you possess. That you will not be sexually abused is about the only promise I make. I certainly am prone to fantasies but rape is not, in any way, part of my make-up.

"If you agree to come to me to pay off your considerable debts it must be entirely of your own free will. I would never take a woman against her wishes." He delved inside his overcoat and her eyes widened as he extracted a rolled bundle, which she recognised as a new clothesline from the local store. "You may take your time to consider; there is no immediate hurry but, if you turn and put your hands behind you, I will bind you with this and, from then on, choices of any sort will not be yours until Sunday evening."

He waited quietly without even unwrapping his rope. Clearly he was being careful not to put pressure on her. It was a badly needed way out of her predicament but it was undoubtedly risky. She knew only too well that any attempt to find alternative accommodation would require payment up front and that was not even remotely possible. The choice before her was to take his offer or find herself out on the street. Perhaps being hungry - not to mention cold to her very bones - made for a little recklessness but, to put it mildly, she had so little to lose. Nowhere else to go.

Slowly, and without apparent intention, she turned her back to him and placed her hands behind. She heard him break open the packaging and shake out the line. Then he gently drew her arms across her back and pushed upward so that her wrists were crossed between her shoulder blades. The rope was passed around her wrists several times and then again in a vertical direction and knotted off. Then the end was dipped under her left arm, up over the shoulder, across the back of her neck and under the other arm to be secured again at her bound wrists. Next he took it around her body above her breasts and, as he secured the final knot, she found that her arms were locked immovably in back.

Before her face there appeared a large white cloth with a huge knot in its centre. He presented this to her lips: "Open." He tied it in an overhand knot at her nape then took both ends around her face through her mouth and finally tied it off behind. It was not tight, indeed none of his bonds were that, but a sudden feeling of helplessness induced a mini-panic and she struggled against them.

"Hush. Hush. You are quite safe." His arms were around her pillowing her head on his shoulder. "Remember the terms of our agreement. I will not harm you but you have no say in what happens." He crossed to a coat-rack just inside his office door and returned with what appeared to be a dress cloak. Putting it over her shoulders he fastened it first around her throat and then buttoned it all the way down to her feet. When he pulled up the hood and fastened the storm closure across her lower face she realised that, to any casual observer, she was just a lady out for an evening in bad weather. Unless she made protest, nobody would suspect her helplessness.

"Now," he said, "we are all ready to sally forth. I take it that you will not attempt to draw attention to yourself? Although I said not... I offer one last chance to draw back."

She looked at him a moment and then nodded her head.

"I take that to mean you agree. You will obey?"

Again she nodded.

"Good. We go to my car and then I will drive you to your weekend home. Be careful not to trip; with your arms tied like that you could come a nasty cropper."

He crossed the room and opened the door; then, even as he turned back toward her with hand extended, he raised it to check her: "Stand a moment. You are already fulfilling one of my fantasies. A lovely girl tied and gagged and concealed under a cloak. Walk to me slowly, please."

The car was large with tinted windows that happily prevented those outside from seeing the captive strapped into a rear seat with her feet manacled to the floor. "He takes a lot of precautions against one who has pledged not to try for release." But for all her predicament she was unable to stop the little smile; it did seem genuine his intense pleasure at holding her prisoner and, so far at least, he had behaved as a perfect gentleman would be expected to behave.

It was dark when they turned off the main road nearly an hour later. His headlights carved a passage for them along narrow twisting country lanes until they drew to a halt at iron gates. He leaned to press something on the softly glowing instrument panel, the gates swung open and he drove in. She presumed they closed automatically behind them but her real interest lay in getting out of the car; without the option of changing her position, she was getting cramp.

He released her feet and the safety belt and helped her to alight. "Regretfully," he said lightly, "to keep to the spirit of the occasion, we have to use the servant's entrance." He did not seem to expect an answer! Servants' entrance or otherwise the place impressed her. He took her into a small side room and removed the hood and cloak. "Now," he said, "it's more than time we undid those arms. You are not in pain I hope?"

She shook her head. He unwound the rope from her arms and body and she stretched luxuriously. She pointed to the gag but he shook his head. "Now, you must change into your first costume. As this is your first time, I will leave you alone while you strip. The only garment you are to wear is this and..." he grinned, "you will find it is one size fits all."

The room was wonderfully warm – quite unlike her abode. Grateful for her good treatment so far, she stripped without further thought. But when she picked up her new clothes, she was staggered to find that it was simply a giant poncho made of gold satin. "He has to be joking!" But the smooth feel of the material seduced her and she tried it on. She wasn't sure whether her feelings were of horror or delight as she surveyed the effect in the mirror so thoughtfully provided. Standing still, she looked like a head on top of a tent but, when she moved, the material clung to her and outlined her in outrageous detail.

The dilemma - to wear or not to wear - was abruptly resolved by his return. "Very good," he said, "very good indeed. Now, we need the rest of your costume and then I will leave you to prepare an evening meal. This way."

He led her down the passage and turned through a door that he unlocked with a key drawn from his pocket. The room inside was obviously a workshop. "You do know, of course, that all good slaves wear chains? It is, as it were, their badge of office. Hmm; perhaps office is not quite the correct word. Come over here please, and hold out your hands."

Melanie began to get cold feet. A small feeling of panic was stirring again. The bargain between them had not said anything about being chained. She had but two options; submit or tear out the gag and tell him... but that gag would not come out so easily and he had said that, if she accepted his offer, then she gave up all rights to make her own decisions.

He picked up a rolled strip of bright steel an inch or so wide, sprang it open and waited expectantly. She had to gather up her strange garment but eventually held forth her right hand. He slipped the steel ring around her wrist. Like a rabbit mesmerized in a car's headlights or in front of a swaying snake, she watched as he placed the end of a chain between the flanges of the circlet, fixed it there by slipping a rivet through the combination. Then, with her wrist laid over the top of his vice, he spread the end with a hammer. It took but a minute to repeat the act with the other end of the chain and a second circlet around her left wrist and she was manacled - permanently - but it was not so much restrictive as symbolic. Was this why he had chosen to dress her in a poncho-like garment? Wearing permanent cuffs, she could neither don nor remove normal clothes.

He kept her waiting shortly outside the workshop while he relocked the door; no chance that she would release herself? The next stop was a magnificent kitchen. "Through that hatch," he pointed, " is the dining room. Can you have dinner ready in an hour and a half? I'll leave the menu to you. Show me what you can do."

He returned from the door. "Oh, I do apologise. Let me take that gag. You must be in need of a drink if nothing else. I'm afraid that I intend you to be gagged most of the time during your enslavement - a very large part of my fantasies. But, for now, enough is enough. And, of course, you will prepare food for yourself. Your duties include waiting table for me."

She wasted the next five minutes by standing in the middle of the kitchen while she worked her mouth, looked at the door through which he had departed - she was sure he had not locked it - and stared in partial disbelief at the cuffs fixed irremovably on her wrists and the chain that stretched between them. The hem of her gown was draped over her forearms as the only way of bringing her hands into use. A movement caused her to raise her eyes and she saw that the large window facing her was acting as a mirror with the darkness outside. With sudden embarrassment she dropped her arms only to find that, though modesty was restored, now she could not use her hands. "Oh, yes. He has a great line in fantasies. No wonder he wants me to wait table."

But even if he had schemed to ogle her body, she honestly believed he intended her no harm. Come Sunday evening he would remove the shackles, restore her clothes and drive her back to the apartment. And then what? At that place, she lacked warmth and food and once more she would face the seemingly endless search for employment. There was more than a suspicion in Melanie's mind that he might offer to extend the agreement and she would have to choose between freedom with misery or this half-slavery with some embarrassment, its chains, the cooking and comfort.

The next forty-eight hours would bring make-her-mind-up time. She smiled. Without any shadow of doubt she had been in error. She was NOT the child caught with its hand in the cookie jar.

She was the cookie!

She was that had been caught.

This mansion was the cookie jar and her landlord controlled its lid.

Her choice now was between cookie and kookie!