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Poor Little Rich Girl

32000 words

Style: Fem Dom - F/F, Male Dom - M/F

Emily was a beautiful but repressed young woman living in the palatial home of her wealthy, but strict, religious parents. With no other outlet, her inner lusts built into a dark fantasy life of bondage and masochism. When she is discovered in the midst of self-bondage by one of the servants, her bondage becomes real, as she becomes their sexual playtoy. Discovering they are about to be fired by Emily's racist parents, the Hispanic servants bind her in a secret room high above the attic, and there they stoke her bondage fantasies and their own dark lusts while waiting for their ransom demands to be met.

Price:  $5.95

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EXCERPT

Emily hated her life. She hated her parents. She hated her family. She hated this house. She hated this city. She hated everything.

She was a graduate of the Chesterton School, which taught the basics of education as well as the proprieties of proper behaviour to young ladies of families of the wealthy and those who wanted their daughters to mingle with the children of the wealthy.

Chesterton stressed starkness and discipline. It was a cold, bleak places.

Much like her house, she thought broodingly.

Her parents regarded higher education, for her, at least, to be a waste of time. Or at least, so they said. Emily knew that wasn’t really the case. The problem was that neither Emily’s marks nor her parents’ influence could quite get her into one of the best schools, like Harvard or Yale or Princeton, and her parents would rather it be put about that she was an idler - which wasn’t particularly frowned upon in their set - than that she was going to a second rate school.

And it wasn’t that she couldn’t get a job, exactly. It was more than her parents wouldn’t tolerate her getting a job beneath her station, or rather, their station.

Without a degree, of course, her options were extremely limited.

That left marrying into a good family, “good” being defined as “wealthy” and “God-fearing”.

Her parents had “found God” some years earlier, and had made the lives of everyone around them a hell since then.

She sighed heavily and rolled onto her back, dreaming dreams of what might have been, what might be, what could be, and what couldn’t possibly be.

There was a sound out in the hall, and she started, feeling a little thrill of fear and excitement at the thought of someone walking in on her nude as she was. She knew the door was well and truly locked, of course, so felt quite safe indulging one of her secret fantasies.

She spread her long legs more, then spread her arms out above her, arching her back somewhat, imagining someone walking in, perhaps her father or mother, or Phillip. Would Phillip get an erection, she wondered. Was Phillip even capable of getting an erection? The man was so utterly pristine, with such a neatness fetish it was hard to imagine him dirtying himself in something as common as sex.

She thought about Phillip doing it to her sister and couldn’t help smile. Julia on all fours, perhaps, being ridden like a bitch in heat? The idea was laughable. Her perfect, pristine sister getting fucked? Emily would have paid to see that.

Thoughts of sex, and her spreadeagle position had begun to arouse her. Emily licked her lips, then let her hands glide down the contours of her soft, smooth, rounded body. She had nice breasts, but not overly large at all, and the old biddy was wrong about her showing them off. She had never worn anything low cut or revealing. Her parents would have had a stroke.

She ran her hands over her breasts, appreciating their size, yet how firm they were. Her fingers caressed the small, swollen circles of her areolas and the puckered, hard little pink nipples at their centre.

Her waist was narrow, her belly firm and trim, and her bottom, so far as she could judge, well shaped and firm according to the present thoughts of fashion magazines and lingerie sites on the internet. She had often fantasised about being on one of those sites, in one of those magazines, thinking quite viciously of how aghast and horrified her parents would have been.

But, of course, she knew she was incapable of that kind of exhibitionism. She was too shy, and too sexually repressed, and old enough and smart enough to know it.

She wasn’t as bad as her parents or sister, of course, but month by month that spark of independence and rebellion was growing weaker.

She rolled back onto her belly and her arms pushed down beneath her, fingers questing for her warm sex. She felt a thrill of the forbidden as she touched the top of her slit and began to rub lightly against herself. She spread her legs wider, and raised her bottom a little, grunting weakly as she squeezed her breasts beneath her and stroked her fingers across that lovely little bump at the top of her sex.

How her parents would howl if they saw her now, Emily thought, eyes closed. Again she imagined someone walking in, seeing her like this. She raised her bottom higher, so that she could be mounted, she thought breathlessly, imagining a man kneeling behind her and thrusting himself into her warm, moist body.

She abruptly rolled over onto her side, then her back. She swung her legs out of bed and padded to the closet, feeling fresh and free in the nude. Her body was still coated in dried sweat from the long day wearing that horrid dress, but she wasn’t prepared to shower, not yet.

She opened the mirrored doors of the closet and squatted low, then pulled out the Earthquake preparation kit. Her parents thought it was odd of her to care about such things, and in reality, she didn’t. But flipping up the lid of the box, which contained such things as a large jug of water, bandages and first aid kits, a folded pry bar, a flashlight, and portable radio, was a long, black rope, neatly rolled up.

She had no privacy in the house, to speak of. The maids had access to every corner of it, and everything in it. Her protests had been brusquely and impatiently overridden by her parents, who didn’t consider servants to be people anyway.

So the maids kept her room, as they did all the others. They made her bed. They put her clothes away in her drawers and in her closet. They tidied up her closets and occasionally removed all the clothes in her dressers to scrub the drawers, inside and out.

She could keep nothing without them being aware of it.

And this was a way to keep rope in her room without arousing suspicion.

She unrolled the rope. It was actually three ropes, but no one would detect that without, like her, unrolling it, and even then what would that do?

She felt her heart beat a little quicker as she tied one of the ropes around her left wrist. She tossed another under the bed. It was long enough for her to pull it out the other side, and then pull it up onto the bed, on both sides. She tied the third around her throat, then dropped down her back, fed between her legs, and brought up front to tie again to the knot at the base of her throat.

She sat down as she did this, so that the rope had plenty of slack. When she stood up, unfurling her body, the rope pulled up sharply between the lips of her sex, almost to the edge of pain as it dug into her soft flesh, and grew much tighter around her throat, slightly hindering her breathing.

She sat on the bed now, spreading her legs wide. She took one end of the rope she’d slid beneath the bed and tied it around her right ankle, then took the other and wrapped it around her left, spreading her legs wider still before tying it off.

Then she took another item which would be little noticed or remarked upon: a small red rubber ball. She slowly forced it into her mouth, pushing and prodding, forcing her jaw wider, using her fingers to wedge the ball in under her teeth and into her mouth. She thrilled to the growing sensation of fullness in her mouth as the ball pushed down against her tongue and up against the roof of her oral cavity, as her jaw was forced wide, and her teeth bit into the soft rubber.

With it firmly in place, she folded a thin silk scarf over her mouth and tied it behind her head, firmly gagging herself.

She moaned softly and lay back, her legs tautly bound. As she lay back the second rope dug up into her sex and tightened around her throat, and she felt a little shudder of sexual heat rumble through her. She extended her left hand towards the corner post, then grabbed the rope, wrapped it around the post, and extended it across the bed to the other post.

Now came the tricky part, of course. And the great failing in her little fantasy. She could not really tie the rope around her right wrist. The best she could do was to wrap it around her wrist and get it as tight as possible, by twisting her hand around and around.

But then it was done, and Emily lay nude, spreadeagled on her bed, panting, starting to sweat again, staring up at the ceiling as she felt the pressure of the rope digging into her slit, and squeezing around her throat.

Her nipples were hard, throbbing, and she let her hips roll slowly from side to side. Her movements were slow and small, but as she played out fantasies in her mind, her body began to overheat. She began to slowly arch her back now, groaning as the pressure against her sex hardened, as the rope tightened still further around her throat.

Every time she arched her back, every time she rolled her hips, every time she forced her buttocks off the mattress, the rope pulled in harder around her throat, and jammed in more harshly against her sensitive sex, especially right at the top, over her clitoris.

It shamed her that she did this. She knew it was sinful and wicked, and knew just how disgusted and revolted and angry her family would be if they ever had a clue about what she was doing. But she was helplessly obsessed with it, and could not seem to quite stop herself. It was the only real pleasure she got in life, after all.

She writhed slowly in her bonds, being sure to pull constantly against the ropes around her ankles, delighted in their firmness, in their refusal to give at all. She loved the feel of the soft black rope digging into her soft flesh, exulted in the sensation of helplessness and the imagined thrill of being a prisoner, of being used, used so rudely and crudely by vile, filthy men.

Emily was a virgin, not altogether uncommon among her set, but she was a frustrated one, with no feeling of pride in her restraint. For it wasn’t really her restraint but the bonds on her placed by her parents, unseen bonds which held her much more tightly than the ones she placed around her own body.

She began to writhe in a rhythmic fashion, her back arching again and again as she ground the rope against her sex. Her pussy began to thrum and ache, her sex aching from the pressure, from the rope digging into the moist edge of her opening.

She writhed and rolled her hips, arching her back again and again in a long, slow, deliciously sensual dance.

A tapping at her door froze her in place and sent a little shockwave through her muddled mind.

“Meez `arper?”

Emily stared at the door, gasping for breath, still trying to free up her mind.

“Meez `arper? Ju dere?”

Then came a terrifying sound; keys being pushed into a lock.

Emily pulled violently at the rope binding her right hand in place, but it was wrapped a half dozen times around her wrist and in her panic she twisted her hand in the wrong direction. She reversed her twisting but - the door opened.

Shock and shame sent blood rushing to her face as the evening maid, Isabella, entered the room and stopped to stare at her.

Emily couldn’t move. Her heart seemed to stop beating. The humiliation was overwhelming. She waited for the woman to scream, for the look of disgust to fill her face. She imagined, in horror, the woman turning and running away to fetch her parents, perhaps thinking she had been attacked.

Instead, Isabella only smiled very slightly, and closed the door behind her. She walked up to the bed and examined the young girl in an interested but not at all surprised manner.

Emily cringed under that observation, turning her head away, heart pounding madly now, mortified at being exposed before someone else in such lewd and perverted behaviour. Even simple nudity embarrassed her. This - this was so horribly shameful she wished she could sink through the mattress and floor.

How could she ever face Isabella again!? And what if Isabella told others! Surely these Spanish maids and servants gossiped wildly! Everyone would know of how sick and perverted she was!

She fumbled again at the rope around her wrist, and was on the verge of pulling it free when Isabella reached out and took her hand, freezing it in place. Emily stared at the woman in shock as she re-wrapped the rope and then tied it neatly in place.

Then she winked at Emily.

She examined the rest of the ropes, then, and reached for the rope bound to her right ankle. She untied it, but kept the rope wrapped around her ankle, sliding it upwards instead and then wrapping it around her leg just above the knee before tying it off. She then went around the foot of the bed, as Emily watched in disbelief and amazement, and untied her other ankle, sliding the rope upwards and then - pulling.

She pulled at the rope which led under the bed to Emily’s left leg, forcing it out to the side, and pulled at the same time on the rope around her right leg. Emily moaned as her legs were forced wider apart, painfully wide apart, in fact, the ropes digging into her flesh and forcing her tendons in her thighs to burn and stretch.

Then the woman, a gracefully beautiful Latino in her late thirties, ran her fingers along the rope which went down the centre of the pale young woman’s belly. She turned and smiled at the stricken girl as her finger followed the rope down the valley of her sex, then, with a small chuckle, she undid the knot at the base of her throat.

She went to one of Emily’s dressers and drew out a scarf, then returned and wrapped it gently around her throat, tucking it in under the rope, her face looking like a mother tucking her child into bed. With that done she then reached between Emily’s legs and tugged the rope gently out between her clinging, moist sex lips.

She then examined the rope and carefully tied a knot, measuring its location precisely as she eased the rope back against the girl’s slit and then pulled it up in between her pubic lips. The knot rested a little below the top of her slit. But as she pulled harder the rope strained against her pussy and dug in harder, and the knot slid up to jam against the underside of her clitoris.

She also pulled harder against the rope around her throat Emily gurgled as the rope squeezed more severely on her throat. Isabella tied off the rope then, giving it a little extra pull so that Emily’s eyes bulged, before the rope was tightly in place and relaxed a little.

Then Isabella, with a little smile, turned and left the room, locking the door behind her.

Emily strained against the ropes, gasping weakly. The rope was wrapped much more tightly around her throat than she had ever tied it. It was difficult to breath, even keeping her body straight. She had to draw air in long, slow, ragged breaths.

She wriggled and pulled futilely against the rope around her wrist for a time, then lay breathless, gasping, her chest rising and falling in slow, shaky breaths as she stared at the door.

What on earth was Isabella up to!? Why had she tied her tighter? Why hadn’t she simply done the decent thing and turned and walked away without saying anything?! Surely she wasn’t going to tell Emily’s parents now?

Emily allowed herself the strange, dark, frightening, and yet oddly exciting fantasy that the woman was gone to fetch a man, perhaps a Latino friend of hers, maybe the gardener or some other sweating, low type of swarthy man who would be led into her room to climb atop her helpless body and use her for his pleasure.

And a quivering thought occurred to her as she contemplated that unlikely possibility. She knew she would never, could never tell anyone if that happened. She was helpless in more than a physical way.

But no, that was most unlikely. Perhaps the woman was merely trying to teach her a lesson? And surely this was punishment. Yes, that made sense. The maids were Catholics, weren’t they? Didn’t she see them crossing themselves sometimes, in the Catholic way? She would be too embarrassed to tell her parents, perhaps even frightened that she would be punished, even fired. So she was punishing Emily for her wickedness.

The antique clock in the corner chimed the half hour, and she lay still, panting, sweating, chest rising and falling shakily. Her thighs ached. Her groin felt tight, and throbbed. And the soft pink flesh of her pussy was being squeezed painfully by the rope.

How long, she wondered, would Isabella keep her like this? It was unlikely any of her family would come to check on her but the possibility existed they would want something, so there was a danger.

The clock chimed again, striking eight o’clock, and still she lay alone, tightly bound, her jaw aching now from the ball. She had never lain tied for quite this long, and the ball was holding her mouth wide.

Whenever she moved, the rope between her throat and groin tightened, pulling just that much harder. She arched her back slowly, experimentally, gurgling weakly as the knot ground against her clitoris, as the rope tightened around her throat to the point she could hardly breath.

She relaxed, gasping, red faced, gulping in air through her nose. The knot - hurt - when it ground across her clitoris - and yet - and yet it hurt in a delicious way.

Emily arched her back again, groaning, the groan turning into a choked gurgle as the rope tightened around her throat, as the knot ground over her clitoris.

Again and again, in long, slow, agonizing stretching motions, she ground the knot against her swollen, aching clitoris, her body growing hotter and hotter as she banked the fires of lust and excitement within herself. Her movements became less restrained. She began to arch her back more and more quickly, pulling her head back to tighten the rope further, gurgling in pleasure as the hard, hot sensations of liquid pleasure burned in her groin.

And then it hit, and she arched her back violently, eyes bulging as the rope tightened even more around her throat, choking off her breath, her voice, as her hips bucked violently, her body convulsing with the intense sensations ripping through her nervous system, flooding her mind, seething through her body in wildfire orgasmic release.

So good! So good! So good!

The orgasm seemed to wash over her like a churning ocean wave, and she gurgled wildly, a choked, muffled cry of intense passion and pleasure issuing from her gagged mouth as she forced her head back and quivered in violent release.

Over and over again her head pulled back, her body straining against the ropes, her chest thrust skyward as her bottom rolled and thrust upwards and the orgasm howled around her mind. It was the longest, most powerful orgasm she had ever had.

And when it finally faded she slumped dazedly on the bed, face red, skull throbbing, aching from the lack of oxygen, sweat coating her body as she frantically pulled in air through her flaring nostrils.

For long, long minutes she lay, still but for a faint trembling in her limbs and the unsteady rise and fall of her chest, silent save for the rattling of her breath. Tears slowly filled her eyes, tears of misery and guilt and shame, and the awareness that she was still bound helpless, unmoving, at Isabella’s mercy.

There was a faint sense of outrage at that, too. For was she not a scion of the Harper family? Why should she be at the mercy of a Latino servant of absolutely no importance, power or influence? Yet pride was hardly a strength in her, so ground down had she been over the years by her family, and so her outrage was slight.

She was sweating and aching, her hair matted against the sides of her face. Her jaw ached, her legs ached, her pussy ached, and she longed to breath more deeply, and to take a shower, to get the sweat off her, to be cool, to be comfortable.

The clock chimed again.

A minute passed, then another, and there was the sound of a key in the lock. She raised her head blearily, feeling the blood rush to her face again as the door opened. Surely it was Isabella! Surely she hadn’t brought anyone to witness Emily’s humiliation! Or worse, to abuse her!

But it was only Isabella, and she closed the door behind her, then crossed to Emily’s bed. She smiled at her again, then undid the knot beneath her throat. Her fingers went to the knot binding her wrist, and she undid that, then with a silent finger shaking, turned and left the room.

Emily twisted her hand again and again to unravel the rope, then reached across and untied her wrist from the other post. With a gasp of relief she undid the rope around her throat and then sat up, fumbling at the knot of the scarf around her head. She undid it, then gently, wincing with pain, worked the ball out of her mouth.

What a relief!

She quickly untied the ropes binding her legs apart and, with a terrible groan of wonderful relief, pulled her legs together.

She got out of bed as soon as she was able to work her limbs properly, then wrapped up the rope and put it away.

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A very good story from a very good writer

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