Leather and ball gag | Tamara 2 | bdsm stories

Matt had put a lot of thought into choosing his clothing and equipment for the night’s task, wanting to travel light, yet be prepared for anything. He was dressed entirely in black. Black trainers with silent rubber soles, black combat trousers with all those usefully spacious pockets, black sweatshirt and a black bomber jacket. He had a ski mask as well but that was for later. He wanted her to know it was him, although she would recognise his voice anyway. He carried very little, just some nylon cable ties, a couple of leather ball-gags and a little something for insurance.

Satisfied that nothing had been left to chance, he went back to the rented van and drove slowly to the dark lane behind the house, twenty minutes during which he smoked two cigarettes to calm himself. He parked the van so that the window of the main bedroom was in plain view and waited.

At about eleven-thirty the light in what had been his and Tamara’s bedroom went on and, a minute or so later, so did the light in the adjoining bedroom. He gave a satisfied grunt. So they slept in different rooms. That would make things a lot easier. Tamara’s light went out first, the

other one a couple of minutes later and he settled himself more comfortably, knowing from personal experience that Tamara would be asleep in no more than ten minutes.

‘Give ‘em an hour,’ he thought, lighting another cigarette.

Sixty-five minutes later he approached the house confidently and, pulling on his surgical gloves, quietly let himself in with the keys she didn’t know he had. Good, she hadn’t thought to change the locks. He heard the sound of approaching paws and quietly called the dog’s name. “Duke! Good boy!” Thanks to the dim light from the street lamps outside he could see the dog’s outline, the instantly wagging tail saying, ‘I know you - you’re a friend’.

It had been his idea to get the dog. There had been several robberies in the area, some even while the householders had been at home and, knowing he would be working late some nights at the office, he hadn’t wanted her to be unprotected when he wasn’t there. She had resisted at first, laughing off his worries; but eventually his insistence had won the day.

They had gone to their local RSPCA kennels together to choose their new companion and, after a few false starts, had chosen this one, or rather the alarmingly large Alsatian/Doberman cross had chosen Tamara. The rapport between them had been instant. She had knelt to stroke the dog, her fingers curling round his ear and the big beast had rolled his eyes in pleasure. It was a match made in heaven. As soon as she stopped petting him, the dog had sat back on his haunches, placing a paw on each of her shoulders before thrusting his head forward to lick her face.

“I think he likes you,” he said, laughing as the dog’s devotions became more extravagant and she began to splutter in protest. As they walked back to the car he could tell she was happy, there was a spring in her step he hadn’t seen before.

Once the formalities had been observed and they’d made the expected donation in exchange for a collar and lead, the dog, now named Duke, had become the third member of their family. Matt had spent every spare hour over the next few months teaching the dog what was expected of him when given the commands ‘guard’ and ‘rest’.

“Rest, Duke!” he said, talking softly but with authority. He took the dog gently by the collar and led him back through the large lounge, coaxing him into the basket by the big picture window.

“Stay boy!”

Duke settled into his basket, idly beginning to gnaw on a bone-shaped chew toy. Satisfied that the dog would cause no problem, he backed out, carefully closing the door behind him.

He crept slowly and silently up the stairs, avoiding the treads that he knew from experience creaked, and stood for a moment outside Tamara’s bedroom. He took the leather ball-gag from one pocket and a cable tie, its tongue already inserted into the buckle, from another. He paused for a moment, breathing quietly but deeply, forcing oxygen into his system to fuel the explosive burst of effort the next few seconds would need. He felt the beginnings of the light-headedness symptomatic of hyperventilation, the sign that his body had taken in as much oxygen as it could cope with. He was ready!

He opened the door quietly, clicked on the light and ran lightly to the bed. Pinching the still-sleeping girl’s nose, he forced her mouth open and jammed the gag into place. While she was still groggy with the shock of the sudden assault, he rolled her over, grabbed her wrists and strapped her thumbs together with the cable tie.

She was now fully awake but unable to do more than grunt around the big leather ball jammed in her mouth as he fastened the restraining strap tightly at the back of her neck. He dragged her unceremoniously from the bed and, dropping a knee into the small of her back, immobilised her using a nasty little trick his S.A.S. training had taught him. It was a painful trick. Placing the instep of her left foot into the crook of her right knee, he brought her right foot up and tucked it between her wrists. Her body was then bent like a bow, movement impossible, the pain in her arms, legs and back intense.

She still slept in the nude and he studied the familiar lines of her body for a moment, noting that she had lost none of her previous appeal. Picking her up like a heavy suitcase, he dumped her facedown on the floor.

“Ok, bitch,” he said softly, “that should hold you for a bit. Try not to move too much while I’m gone!” As he spoke he reached into the right thigh pocket of his trousers and pulled out an evil-looking revolver. It was small and black and had a short, stubby barrel with a single .38 calibre eye at its tip.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him, blinking away the tears as she finally recognised the nightmarish figure of her ex-lover.

Matt chuckled mockingly and, turning off the light, left his prisoner and went next door. He looked at his watch. It was just after twelve forty. Tamara’s capture had taken just four minutes.

Now for the red headed bitch in the next bedroom!

“Who is it?” asked a female voice from the bed. “What?” the girl’s voice faltered as she saw the menacing figure. “Oh God! What d’you want?”

“What d’you think, bitch?” He spoke the words with quiet menace.

Almost as if disbelieving the evidence of her eyes, the girl stayed frozen as she was for a long moment, then her eyes widened as she, too, recognised him. “You,” she whispered, almost accusingly. “Matthew ... Matthew Ryan. Where’s the Mistress? Tamara, have you hurt her?”

He ignored the question. “Get out of bed!” he ordered grimly.

Aimee shook her head. “I can’t,” she stuttered.

“What d’you mean?”

Aimee reddened. “I just, can’t.”

Matthew smiled in sudden understanding and walked over to the bed. With his left hand he took hold of the duvet and pulled it back. “Hmmm, so I see,” he chuckled.

Although only five feet tall and very slender in comparison with the taller and more buxom Tamara, Aimee Foster was nevertheless an extremely attractive girl with particularly beautiful, high cheek-boned features associated with people of Celtic descent. Her classic features were further enhanced by large greenish blue, expressive eyes and shiny, red/gold hair reaching down past her shoulders. At that moment she lay without moving, goggle-eyed like a rabbit hypnotised by approaching vehicle lights.

Matt licked his lips in anticipation. Like Tamara, Aimee also slept in the nude. Petite she might be, but she was also terrific to look at. The last time he’d seen her in the nude he’d been too drunk to really appreciate her. So this was the reason Tamara had left him. He shook his head, a tiny smile creasing his lips, understanding perfectly how Tamara’s dominant streak might attract her to such a girl.

Spread-eagled on the bed, wrists and ankles secured by straps to each corner, the redhead was also wearing what appeared at first sight to be a chastity belt, though on closer examination it was plain to see that it had very little to do with chastity. The belt itself was padlocked around her slim waist and from it a half-inch wide leather strap passed from back to front through her legs. Aimee was twitching, pressing her thighs together and Matt’s smile broadened with understanding. The strap was holding a vibrator in place, and it was switched on. He could hear the gentle humming as it ground away in her vitals.

“What is it you want?” quavered the naked redhead. “Money? I can tell you where it is. There are thousands in the safe in the Mistress’ bedroom. Please, Matthew, take it and go! I won’t make any trouble for you.”

He made no reply, just released her right wrist from its securing strap. Then he stepped back.

“OK, bitch! Release the other straps and get out of bed! Hurry up now!”

He watched as she painfully undid the remaining securing straps and swung her legs over the side of the bed. He lifted the revolver and pointed it at her. “This is loaded with low noise ammunition,” he said calmly. “It won’t be loud enough for the neighbours to hear, but you’ll know all about it if I have to pull the trigger.”

Aimee opened her mouth to speak but he held up a warning finger and the words died in her throat.

“Right now I don’t much care if I kill you or not; so just listen!” he said quietly. “First,” he ordered expressionlessly, “I want you out of that bed and lying face-down on the floor in about three seconds or I’ll kill you right here and now!”

Aimee’s face was white with fear and she was trembling. Deliberately, Matt pointed the revolver at her chest and her mouth opened in a round ‘O’ of terror.

“Please,” she began.

He interrupted her. “Do it!” he growled. “I don’t have time for arguments. You want to go on living; do like I say. Now!“

Whimpering with fear she sprang from the bed and threw herself on the floor. „Please, please don’t hurt me!“ she pleaded almost hysterically. „I’ll do anything you say.“

Swiftly he pulled the other ball-gag and cable tie from his pocket and repeated the hog-tie operation he had inflicted on Tamara. He didn’t bother to remove the belt and vibrator. Let her have a little more fun! It would be the last she would have for a long while. Before jamming the leather ball in her mouth, he bent down and snarled nastily in her ear. „Ok, so where’s the key to the safe?“

„In the drawer. The right hand drawer of the Mistress’, I mean Tamara’s bedside cabinet.“

„Good. Now open wide!“

He jammed the ball in her mouth, snugged it tight at the back of her neck and stood up. „Just behave yourself and you might see the night out!“ he snarled. „If not!“ He left the threat unfinished.

Smiling in anticipation of the pleasure to come, he left the red head where she was and went back next door. Tamara was, predictably, where he had left her, though she had obviously been struggling with her bonds. This had been in vain, of course. All she had achieved was to further damage her already brutalised thumbs. Her face was a mask of abject despair, her cheeks streaked with the evidence of the tears induced by the pain of her bondage and the anguish of believing that her friend might at best be injured, or at worst dead.

Without speaking to her, he went straight to the bedside cabinet. The key was there as Aimee had said and a few minutes later he was downstairs staring almost disbelieving at the huge stack of money contained in the safe. There must have been half a million pounds or more. He whistled silently, wondering what Tamara was doing with all that money in the house. Probably didn’t want to put it in the bank where awkward questions might be asked.

Quickly he slipped down to the cellar and brought up one of her large suitcases, in which he proceeded to stuff the piles of banknotes. When the safe was empty, he closed and locked the suitcase and took it out to the van.

Whatever the future, Matthew Ryan was now a rich man.

Smiling, he went back into the house and up to Tamara’s bedroom, picked her up silently from the floor and hoisted her over one shoulder. She groaned audibly, but he was totally unmindful of the pain it caused her.

Once she was hanging like a side of beef over his shoulder, he spoke for the first time since he had re-entered the room. „Ok, Tamara, this can be easy or hard; which is it gonna be?“ An affirmative grunt was his answer and he nodded. „We’re going downstairs now and then for a drive,“ he growled. „Remember, I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose. Make no mistake; you decide to get brave and I’ll kill you and your redheaded friend straight away. Understand me?“

Tamara grunted again. She was terrified and confused. This was her former lover, Matt. Yet a totally different Matt to the gentle and reasonable person she had once known.

Treading carefully, the naked girl a dead weight on his shoulder, Matt walked downstairs. He opened the kitchen door and, out of the corner of one eye, saw Duke’s hackles beginning to rise.

Whatever the dog’s feelings for him, it was Tamara he was trained to protect!

At that instant Matt’s dark side, triggered by a well-honed instinct for self-preservation, took full control of his mind. The events of the next few seconds were as inexorable and inevitable as death itself. Like a cat, he moved towards the outside door just as the dog gave a warning growl.

Sensing rather than seeing the movement, he turned slightly just as Duke sprang at him with teeth bared and murder in its eyes. Automaton-like, he aimed a blow at the dog’s head with the butt of the gun. The blow connected perfectly and Duke crumpled in mid-flight, dropping to the floor like a bundle of old rags.

Tamara slumped limply over his shoulder as her mind gave up the struggle to comprehend and cope with what was happening to her; shutting down as if to protect herself from further anguish.

Matt smiled grimly as he opened the door and stepped out into the night. Tamara’s sudden limpness implied that she was either unconscious or catatonic; either of which states would ensure she remained totally compliant for the immediate future. He felt her shiver as her naked body was exposed to the sudden cold of the night air and walked briskly to the van to deposit her roughly in the back with the suitcase. Releasing her from the painful hog-tie position, he cable-tied her ankles, then secured her safely to the interior side-rails by means of a larger cable-tie around her neck.

As he finished, he saw her eyes open and she gave a little moan. „I’ll be back in a while, bitch,“ he growled softly into her ear. „I shouldn’t struggle or roll around too much if I were you.

That tie around your neck will finish you just a surely as a bullet, only a lot more slowly.“

Back inside the house, he skirted the still unconscious Duke and went back upstairs. Aimee was exactly as he had left her. Drawing his knife, he cut the leather belt and crotch strap from her, allowing the slim vibrator to slide wetly from her body and fall to the floor with a thud. He left it where it was, still buzzing away. At the very least it would give any investigator looking for clues something to think about.

Still painfully hog-tied, the redhead was just as easily hoisted over one shoulder and carried downstairs. In the kitchen Duke was just beginning to stir. Matt was pleased that he hadn’t killed the dog. After all Duke was only doing what he had trained him to do. As he walked, he allowed his fingers to investigate between Aimee’s thighs. Despite the recent intrusion of the vibrator, the inner walls of her vagina were now dry and unwelcoming. He smiled grimly. Nothing like a little terror to subdue the sex drive. He felt his penis lengthening and smiled again. Being the source of that terror, of course, had quite the opposite effect on him.

Quickly and efficiently he bundled her into the van alongside Tamara, quickly securing her in like manner. Two pairs of terrified eyes now pleaded mutely with him as he stepped back outside.

Tamara tried to mumble something from behind the ball-gag and he held up a warning finger. „No noise!“ he snarled, taking the gun from his pocket. „Absolute silence until we get where we are going or I promise neither of you will see the morning. Understand me?“

The two naked, terrified females both nodded their heads frantically. He played the torch briefly over the two of them, then closed the rear doors with a thump and locked them.

Shaking a little now that the worst was over, he jumped into the driver’s seat, stripped off his gloves and drove carefully away out through the town, ensuring he kept to the speed limit until he reached the motorway. He turned on to the M40 and accelerated up to 70. He was elated yet still didn’t drop his guard. He didn’t want some over-keen policeman stopping him for a silly traffic offence.

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