Justine

Justine: FIRST BONDAGE

*

ONE

Justine paused at the door of the shingled Berkeley house--built in the twenties, probably; mature pine trees, slightly unkempt landscaping like all the others on this residential block--ordinary, charmingly seedy. So why was she standing here, sweating slightly, so reluctant to ring the doorbell? Twenty nine, an associate professor in the psychology department at UC Berkeley, perceived as gorgeous ("it's true! It's true!'

she told herself before her mirror on a daily basis), smart, and usually unflappable; why was her throat so dry, her pulse so fast now? And why had she dressed so provocatively?

"That goddamned class ," she thought : "They talked me into this. And I really can't back out, So--here goes!" She rang the bell at the unmarked door, which was opened by a middle aged woman: full figured, with a pleasant round face, blonde braids and kindly blue eyes--but wearing a tight, blatantly sexy leather cat suit--like an overweight Emma Peel, Justine wildly thought, as she stammered:

"I --uh---- I have an appointment with Mr. Schrechlich--I'm Professor Jousse."

The woman looked at her with a slightly sardonic smile. "Professor Jousse. OK. And he is--Herr Doktor Schrechlich. Have a seat, it won't be long." She gestured to a chair in the small foyer, and returned to her desk.

Justine sat and nervously crossed and recrossed her long legs. 'This skirt is too short,' she thought. 'How did I get myself into this?'

****************

She reviewed last Tuesday's class. She had been assigned to run a seminar for grad students on "Sexual Aberrations: Morality's last stand?" by her slightly repellent department head, Sidney Peltz. She was pretty sure that the assignment was in retaliation for her amused--amused, yes that would have been the worst insult--rejection of his sexual advances. Sure enough, the class, with only six students, was challenging her from the first session.

"Lets get this straight, teach!" Zach, a would be rap artist, had claimed at the first class:"Morality is no longer a valid concept! Anything goes! And I'm delighted to discuss it with a gorgeous luscious honey like yourself--as long as I get my credits!, Capiche?" The other students apparantly subcribed to the same academic psychology; they voiced approval. Justine took her best shot.

"Zach--or whoever you are--I'll learn your names, I promise. Now, we intend to do a serious survey of our currently chaotic sexual scene. I said serious. This is not a course in sniggering and tittering. And if I am a target for your puerile fantasies, please keep it to yourself. Any questions?" Zach seemed abashed, his challenge crushed. 'That went pretty well', Justine congratulated herself.

"UH-Ms. Jousse. Will there be any lab work? I mean, any actual--uh real life experiential stuff?" Amy, an earnest Oriental girl with an innocent face, glasses and a lustrous curtain of long black hair (but wearing low cut jeans, a navel ring and a tight t shirt over her perky breasts) had asked.

"Amy--are you Amy? Field studies may be possible; we'll see how the class evolves. For now, I have a reading list for you...."

That was three weeks ago. To Justine's surprise, the class had gone pretty well; Zach somewhat subdued, Amy and Martin and the others involved; Jamahl the lone black student a bit distant; she had not yet figured him out. They had examined traditional sexual issues, and were now discussing the fringe issues; perversions, on this occasion, bondage and discipline.

Vicki, serious, with her no nonsense hairdo and granny glasses, but full figured under the thrift shop sweaters and droopy skirts she chose to wear, said: "We've seen some of these assigned videos, but-I don't get it! What's all this rope and handcuff stuff about? I don't understand why---"

Amy jumped in. "That's because you have to try this stuff! Really do it--" she blushed. "Uh, I think so, anyway."

Zach was right there. "Yes! Of course! We have to experience this

bondage stuff--come back, share our trips, maybe write a report: Campus Perverts in Bondage! That would be rad!"

The class laughed, Justine smiled as well.

"No, I mean it!" Zach was intense now. "Let's all go out this weekend, do our own bondage thing--Amy, I'd love to tie you up, you sexy thing" Amy, smiling, gave him the finger.--"OK, Ok, each of us do a report--how about it?"

Martin, thoughtful, quiet, chimed in: "That's really a good idea! Real world stuff is good, like a scientific experiment. We're mainly sitting here and talking about stuff. Let's really check something out!"

There was a murmur of approval. the class turned to Justine. She said: "Well, if you all want to--this will be voluntary, of course, I see no reason why we can't..."

"You said 'we', Ms Jousse! Are you going to do a little bondage trip too?" said Amy, The class chimed in: "All right! Do it, Ms J!"

Trapped! Justine smiled nervously. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I wouldn't know how to begin to contact any of these--people, I...."

Zach interrupted. "If that's your only problem. I've got one contact right here in Berkeley. Come on, Ms Jousse! The professor in bondage! Ms. Jousse, all tied up! Hot stuff!" His wide smile was infectious; the class chimed in, even Vicki. "Do it! It will be awesome!"

Justine reflected for a second; they seemed sincere, energized. This didn't feel like some sort of a student engineered set up. Besides, watching those tapes, the ones she'd screened before the class, those helpless bound and chained victims, she had felt a funny little stirring she couldn't quite identify; she found herself holding her breath as the ropes were knotted tighter and tighter. Those delicious helpless women!

So she said. "OK. Here's the assignment. Each of you--each of us--

experience a bondage session before next week. Use your discretion; it

doesn't have to be heavy. Individual research is best, but do it with a classmate, if you want to--or a partner. No rules, no restrictions. We'll share our results on Monday, And--and, this may be a big mistake, but I'll do it too----and tell you all about it. That's a promise"

*************

And now she found herself sitting nervously across from Ms. Leather Lady, more uneasy by the minute. She crossed her legs; her little black dress was way too short, she realized. 'I'm probably sending the wrong message'. Behind the closed double doors to the--living room? she heard an irregular series of dull blows, with a --she couldn't dismiss the adjective--meaty sound. And some muffled moans? sobs? --something of the sort. Distracted, she picked up a magazine on the coffee table before her: Bondage Delights. She opened the magazine at random; a lurid photo of a chubby brunette, splayed across some sort of wooden frame, nude, exposed, with tight ropes restraining her everywhere, leapt out at her..

Justine gulped, quickly closed the magazine, but moments later peeked again. On this page a redheaded victim was bent over some sort of sawhorse, in the foreground a silhouetted man brandished a whip; her naked bottom was already bright red and welted.

Justine gulped again, swallowed, and got to her feet. She was already rehearsing what she would tell the leather lady: "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to cancel this appointment, Something's come up.....'"

The double doors opened. A stylish blonde in her mid thirties burst out. She wore an expensive linen suit and silk blouse, but was somehow---disheveled looking, Justine thought. Her mouth was slack, half smiling; she seemed to stare right past Justine as she rushed out the door to the street. Justine turned to cancel her appointment.

Standing in the doorway was a man: medium height, slim, trimmed beard, with an emphatic face: craggy brow, cheekbones, nose, and chin--

but not unhandsome. His hair, close cropped, was graying, his eyes were brown, his gaze intense. He wore a soft black shirt--velvet, maybe, and

chino pants and loafers. No big deal, Justine told herself, and yet--

there was something compelling in his stance, his gaze, his barely amused smile. The leather clad blonde whispered in his ear, handed him a file card. He read it and raised his gaze to Justine, his grin a little wider now.

"Ms.--no, Professor--Jousse. An academic! An honor! Come in! Come on!" He bowed slightly, subtle irony investing his inviting gesture. She stood. A bit coquettishy, perhaps. This dress was so short!

*

'Shit! can't back out now!' 'Why not? You heard those moans.' 'No, it wouldn't be--I don't know--polite. Not what I promised the class.' Her inner voices battled as she found herself led into a modest office: three comfortable chairs, a coffee table, lamps, a nice Persian rug; on the far wall another set of imposing oak double doors; he eased her into a chair, almost without volition on her part.

"Professor, is it? I'm Hugo Schrechlich. Your first session, yes? What sort of--exploration do you have in mind?" He leaned forward, attentive; he did not shake her hand.

Justine, nervous, tried to make her voice matter of fact, business-like. (she failed.) "Uh, Mr.--Dr,--whatever; I"m here to explore your views on--the bondage thing, its appeal, its..."

He interrupted. "You're asking for an interview? Is that right? I'm sorry, I don't do interviews. My work is--purely experiential."

"But--I'm doing a class on aberrant sexuality; I thought that my students could benefit from your views....."

He interrupted again: "Without insulting you, your approach is useless--what I do is not academic bullshit. I don't talk about a color chart when you can look over your shoulder and see a glorious sunset--or a dental x-ray when you can experience a root canal, if you will. So, I have wasted your time, you have wasted mine. There will be no charge. Good day, and good luck on your project."

He rose from his chair; Justine also got to her feet. " Mr--Doctor --

Hugo--I'm --really searching here--for my students. Perhaps I didn't"t say

it very well, but I do want some insight into what you do--maybe to, as you say, experience it."--'watch out for this guy!' her little inner voice told her, but she brushed it aside, with a tiny tingle of anticipation.

He stopped and stared into her eyes for a few seconds; they were almost the same height (she wore 3 inch heels), she noticed. She felt his penetrating eyes reading her, almost invading her. He spoke:

"Very well. By experiential, I mean 'hands on. The initial session is

about an hour, I charge a hundred bucks. You will learn more, I promise you, than a whole month scrounging in the library or on internet. But when we step through those doors, I am in charge! Do you agree?"

"I--i think so, But --can I stop at any time? I mean, I don't intend to, but...."

"There all sorts of safeguards; this is a voluntary expression, an exploration, after all. Please come in."

The larger room behind the second set of doors was not nearly as cozy; forbidding, actually. Windowless, one or two folding chairs, a floor length mirror on one wall, a wooden floor, what looked like gym equipment along one of the walls and racks of ropes and leather gadgets that Justine didn't recognize.

"So we begin." Hugo's voice was noticeably crisper, his demeanor more commanding. "You may want to take off that lovely little dress; It could get wrinkled." He pretended not to notice Justine's consternation as he proceeded :

"I won't do your interview, but, maybe, I'll talk a bit as you undress, give you a bit of theory.. Yes, that's good! Put your clothes on that chair. Fine! Now: Bondage and discipline, maybe sadism and masochism, boring cliches, but fundamental! Who's on top. who's on the bottom? Bondage is helplessness, helplessness is no more responsibility; no more responsibility is--freedom! A paradox! But that's enough talk; too much, actually. Incidentally, you are gorgeous, professor.""

Justine hesitated, but, summoning up her courage. shehad taken off her little black dress, and now sat--proudly, defiantly, she hoped--a scant three feet from Hugo. Now half naked, she regretted the wardrobe she had selected for this confrontation: a flimsy lace bra cradling her full breasts, a garter belt attached to dark silk stockings--what could she have been thinking of?--diaphanous panties, and those high heeled pumps. She has dressed, she suddenly flashed, just like the victims in those B and D movies she'd screened the night before!

*

"You're----very provocative! But of course you know that." He didn't

leer; he didn't smile. "But what you are wearing--what you have chosen to wear--tells me that you are--in your subconscious--a courtesan, a

slave, a whore, a sexual submissive---and totally unaware of it. Yes?"

Justine was indignant, or tried to be; his words had flustered her. she sputtered a bit as she answered:

"I--I'm none of the above; I'm independent, a professional woman,

no one's slave, thank you, and--and I happen to like nice underwear!"

She stood proudly, threw out her chest, and noted to her surprise , that her nipples were starting to erect, straining against the gauzy fabric of her brassiere. He slowly scanned her body, with a slight sardonic nod.

" Of course. Now we begin. Turn around, please." Hugo had a coil of soft cotton rope --clothesline-- in his hand. "Arms behind your back, please--that's right." He crossed her wrists, encircled them, made a tight knot, then roped her arms above the elbows; in seconds she was securely bound. He stood in front of her then, very close, his gaze intense. "Now stand for a minute. struggle against the ropes, if you wish. Tell yourself this: I am tied, I am a captive; everything has changed! Let it sink in!"

Justine heard him; her elbows were pulled back, her wrists tightly tied at the small of her back, her breasts thrust forward; there was no give in the simple bondage. 'I'm tied! captive! Just as he said!' And a whole rush of panicked emotions flooded her brain: 'Omigod what am I doing here? Half naked with this pervert! Helpless! He could rape me--he could--I must have been crazy!' Helpless!'

He was right: two yards of clothesline could change your attitude absolutely! She shifted nervously, testing the ropes . No slack at all. She

started to sweat.

He untied her. and stood, smiling slightly, until she shook her head, flustered, rubbed her wrists, and stood before him, perhaps a little less arrogant, a little less in control. She was shaken.That moment of bondage, brief as it was, had been--spooky! And something else...

"So, That was about a minute. Do you see that the experience is not the printed page--or the video tape?" He scanned Justine's face; her chin up, still defiant, but her eyes would not quite meet his, and her mouth trembled slightly as she nodded a silent 'yes'..

He continued: "You are free to go now. I think you have already learned something. I also think you will not go--because I have learned a

little something about you as well, my gorgeous Professor. You are a very proud woman. Will you slink out of my lair in your high priced prostitute's

lingerie, or will you stay to learn what I am about to teach you?"

Justine's head spun. She cringed, for a moment, rubbing her wrists, no longer sure of herself. Two. maybe more, messages competed: 'Get out of here! Now!" and: 'I really want to do this!'---- and anger, pride: 'Prostitute's underwear! how dare he! He's sexually attracted to me and can't admit it! Well, this old man's not going to intimidate me!'

Pride won. Her pride had got her in trouble before. But she threw back her head and said bravely: " I'm paying for the hour. I--look forward to the--experience," He responded with another slight, ironic nod.

"Take off you bra, please; there will be some ropes in that area." His voice was flat, matter of fact, as though he had not won some sort of psychological victory. Justine complied, casually, she hoped, draping the flimsy bra on the chair alongside her dress. She felt very, very naked, suddenly. She crouched, not sure what would happen next. very of his eyes fastened on her lush big nippled breasts.

*

"From now on, I am your master, and you will so address me, understood? And you will obey my every command--or risk severe punishment. If such punishment is----intolerable, you will have an escape word; you, after all, are a volunteer. A good word is 'zebra' or 'Eskimo'; 'please!' 'Please stop!' and 'No more!' and similar dramatic pleas are

often part of the game, your act; they don't count. Are you clear on that?"

"Yes." Justine replied. He was already behind her, tieing her wrists with thinner, more supple rope. He moved quickly, lashing her upper arms and elbows until they were nearly touching, running rope below and above her breasts, over her shoulders, behind her neck, securely cinched

to the elbow and wrist bonds. In just a few minutes, Justine's upper body was immobilized, painfully so. Almost playfully, he knotted three strands of rope through her jaws; a kind of gag, but more a symbol of humiliation, she thought. .

*

He stood back,gloating just a bit at his victim, He repeated:"I didn't hear your answer. Are you perfectly clear on the rules?"

Justine was gritting her teeth. These ropes were so tight! She wasn't experiencing any of the psychological bullshit that the books

described--just helplessness, and pain! She answered, mumbling against the ropes in her mouth. "Y-- yes, I think so--hey! this is really uncomfortable!"

"One more time," Hugo's voice was stern. but very soft; he leaned against her, almost whispering in her ear :"Yes , Master, is the correct form of address. Say it!"

Justine's stubbornness and pride kicked in; probably way too late; this man had demeaned her, mocked her--"professor"----and was now trying to break her spirit with this Master business! Tied up, whatever. she wasn't going to do it! She jutted her jaw and bit her lower lip or tried to; the hemp ropes between her teeth did not allow it; and glared at Hugo.

Hugo gently stroked her jaw. "My dear, insolence is not an appropriate response! Now, quickly! Yes, Master!"

Her knees shaking, as Hugo stood close, idly fondling one erect nipple, she clamped her jaw shut, refusing to speak the demeaning phrase, and mumbled: "You're not my master---- and never will be!"

"What delightful----and foolish-- insolence! One last chance, professor! 'Yes, Master!" Justine stared at him, proudly--and foolishly--mute.

"You are a special case." Hugo mused, tweaking one, then both nipples to full erection. She flinched, but refused to moan; her nipples had never been so hard before.

"Submissive and foolish, too! Misplaced defiance! I love it--very common in the secret masochist, the seeker of punishment and humiliation. And, yes, pain! Very well; you are silent, you will stay silent!"

From a rack in the back of the room he selected a rubber ball gag, showed it to Justine with a mocking smile, removing the rope gag before he inserted it--or tried to. She twisted her neck, gritted her teeth, resisted the gag, nearly the size of a tennis ball; Hugo closed her nostrils

with a thumb and forefinger; when she finally gasped for breath, he forced the big ball into her open mouth behind her teeth, and strapped it tightly behind her neck. Gasping, salivating, almost choking in the first few seconds, Justine, jaws distended by the severe gag, was now truly mute.

*

Hugo stood back, his smile wider now; satanic, gloating. Hands on hips, he surveyed his captive, tottering on her high heels, struggling futilely against her bonds, trying to speak, to scream, anything; the only

sound that escaped the mouth filling gag was a tiny pitiful bleat. Justine was just beginning to realize that her escape route, her magic word was no longer an option. She was now totally in the hands of this--sadist? sexual predator? ---- she had no idea.. She had been uneasy in the waiting room, defiant, confrontational a few minutes ago, and now--she was frankly scared--and strangely thrilled..