© Copyright 2010 - Tony-B - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f; MF; chain; bond; sex; magic; transform; cons; X
Her name was Carolyn, although she preferred to be called Carol, and she was the first girl I had sex with on a regular basis. She never told me her last name; she said she didn’t want me to track her down when we broke up. So I knew that it wasn’t going to be a lasting relationship, and that I’d have to enjoy it while I could.
World War II was finally over, and it came time for me to leave home, and start my own life. I managed to talk my way into a good job – good for the times. I was making a little over a dollar an hour in an electronics manufacturing plant. After taxes were taken out, I ended up with forty dollars and change, which was quite good back in those days, considering my age, and the times.
I was looking for my first apartment when I ran across an ad in the paper for a small studio apartment for only twelve dollars a week. (How times have changed.) It sounded okay, so I drove over to take a look at it. At the time, I had a used Triumph motorcycle, and was still making payments on it. Anyway, the “Studio apartment” turned out to be more of a sleeping room than anything else. The landlord had converted space above a two-car garage, and subdivided it into two sleeping rooms. Little more than room for a double bed, small table and a couple of chairs. No kitchen or cooking facilities, and no TV or Home Box Office. And there was an “efficiency” bathroom….. a tiny tub, sink, and toilet in what might have originally been a closet. But the apartment, if I can call it that, also included the garage space downstairs where you could park a car, or store stuff in boxes if you had more than you could keep upstairs.
But basically, the room was the kind of place you could move into with a suitcase and by paying the first week’s rent in advance, few questions asked. The Landlord would provide clean sheets and towels once a week, and that’s all. Other than that, you were on your own.
As I was talking to the landlord, an old Ford car drove up that had seen better days, and a girl got out. (Back in those days, and probably because of my age, young women were still “girls” to me. And the days of liberated women were still years away.) To me, she was very pretty, with short hair. She was wearing shorts made out of cut-off jeans and a blouse with red polka dots open at the throat. She was what would be described later as “a liberated woman”. But what immediately caught my eye was that she was wearing a chain necklace. Literally, a chain – like the kind you use on dog leashes, and it was locked around her neck by a small, silver padlock.
As a young man in the early 1950’s I had already been exposed to the pulp magazines of the day, those featuring beautiful women tied up and threatened on the covers, and the less than fulfilling stories inside such magazines. I had already been exposed to the bondage concept by the whack-off material my dad kept out in his tool shack. So that locked neck chain intrigued me. As she climbed the stairs to go up to the apartments, I watched her tight body ripple with the muscles in her legs, and imagined what I’d like to do to her.
The landlord mentioned, “That’s Carol. She has the other apartment.”
As I reached for my wallet, she glanced at me and smiled. That smile would be the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I whipped out the twelve dollars, and handed it to the landlord. (I was very impressionable at the time…..)
I drove home to get a few things for my new apartment, and some clothes. I threw them into an old suitcase my mom had in a closet, and drove back to the apartment, juggling the suitcase on the handlebars of my motorcycle, or “bike” as all the smart kids called them.
As I arrived at the apartment and climbed the stairs, I noticed that Carol’s door was slightly ajar, and she was sitting on the porch in a straight-backed chair, with her foot on the railing, exposing her leg completely.
“So, you’re the new tenant”, she said offhandedly.
“Yes, it’s my first apartment”, I said. Pressing my luck, I said, “My name is Tony.”
“I’m Carol”, she replied. “You’ll find it’s hot here in the summer, but you do get a nice breeze in the afternoon, out here on the porch.”
She smiled, and my hopes ran up the scale a dozen points that I’d be able to date this girl.
“Get settled in, and come out on the porch and we’ll talk for a while”, she said, and she smiled again.
That smile was enough to get me fantasizing again, and I felt a slight stirring in my own jeans. I knew right then, that she was going to become my whack-off fantasy that night.
I entered my half of “the apartments”, and threw the suitcase on the bed to be unpacked later. I grabbed a chair and dragged it out onto the porch to catch some of the breezes that Carol had promised, and to catch a better look at her. She was sitting there, chair pushed back a bit, with her head tilted back, and her eyes closed, lost in her own thoughts. She looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. That position fully exposed her throat, showing the white skin of her cleavage, and widely spaced, braless breasts. The chain held the padlock neatly at the top of the curves between them. I fantasized snuggling my face between them. Hearing me nearby, she lowered her head and opened her eyes.
“It’s a hot day”, she offered.
“Yes”, I said. “I hope you’re right about the afternoon breeze.”
“Oh, I am”, she said, “but it also helps to have a cold beer handy.”
Well, I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but I agreed. I’d had beer before – you know how kids are, sneaking one out of the fridge when they could, and buying beer at a convenience store using someone else’s ID card on party nights at school. Now, of course, I could buy beer legally, but wasn’t really into drinking.
“I guess I’ll have one”, she said as she rose from the chair. “Want one?” she asked.
Not wanting to discourage her, I said “Sure.”
As she passed through the door into her room, she invited me in. “Come on in, I’ll get you one.”
I followed her inside.
Her room was neat, and she had an old ice chest, sitting on the table. Opening it, she pulled out two longneck bottles, and offered one to me. The ice in the chest kept the bottles a little lower than the ambient temperature, but not really cold, the way beer is meant to taste.
As she passed me the beer, she stood close to me for a second and looked into my eyes, and said, “Please don’t hurt me.”
Taken aback, I didn’t know exactly what she meant by such a request. All I could think to say was “I wouldn’t”, which made little sense in the context of our first meeting.
Her scent lingered in my nostrils as she stepped away. She drank from the bottle, and I took a swig from mine, more or less just to wet my mouth. She stepped over and sat on the bed. Her chair, and mine, were still out on the porch, and there was no other place to sit, so I stood by the table that held the ice chest. It was the first time I took a good look around her room. There were girly things around, like dolls and teddy bears, and carefully laid out on the bed beside her was a little girl’s T-shirt. Much too small for her and much too large for the doll that was propped up on the pillow.
“Is that T-shirt yours?” I asked.
“Yes”, she said. “I wear it often.”
“Doesn’t seem like it would be large enough for you”, I managed.
“Would you like to see how well it fits me?”, she asked.
“Yes, sometime”, I managed.
“Well, now’s as good a time as any”, she replied.
She picked up the T-shirt, slid off the bed and went into her bathroom to put it on. I waited, and took another swig of beer from my bottle. A moment later, she came out wearing it, and nothing else. She had taken off all her clothes, and stood facing me with only that T-shirt on. It fit her like a glove – or more like the skin of a peach, molded to every curve of her body. I stood there in awe, looking at the best looking girl I had ever seen standing in front of me without any embarrassment or coyness about wearing practically nothing in front of someone she’d just met, and had spoken barely a dozen lines to.
“Close the door”, she said.
Almost in a stupor, I fumbled my way to the door and closed it. I turned and looked at her as she was slowly removing the T-shirt, revealing nothing underneath. She was totally nude, except for her chain and padlock.
“You promised not to hurt me”, she said, as she glanced down at the floor.
This was that first time I’d ever had a girl treat me as if she were my slave, and I liked it.
“I promise”, was all I could manage.
“But I want you to.” She said.
“Whatever you want”, I said in a moment of passion as my penis came awake. I knew, or had an inkling of what was about to happen.
She studied my face for a moment, made her decision, and sat back on the bed. She pulled her legs up, spun around part way and lay back. She raised her feet into the air, and spread her legs apart, giving me a full view of her genitals. It was the first time I had gotten a good look at a girl’s pussy, but not the first time I had gotten a piece of ass. But this was the first girl who had ever let me have a good look at what I would be pushing my penis into. With other girls, in school and out, it was always a secretive, surreptitious sort of thing. Something that happened in the dark, when and where we wouldn’t be discovered. But Carol was willing, and was about to give it to me.
I scrambled out of my clothes, dropping them to the floor where I stood, and eased myself onto the bed and between her up-stretched legs. She raised her arms and pressed her hands against my chest, stopping me from lowering myself on top of her.
“Just do what I say, and I’ll give you a good ride”, she said.
“I will”, was all I could manage. My hot rod was ready for the plunge.
“Okay”, she said, “Is this your first time?”
“No”, I replied.
“Okay, just put it in slowly, as I get comfortable with it.” She said.
As I thrust my hips forward, the head slipped easily into her.
“Stop”, she said. “Let me get used to it.”
I held my position, part inside her, and the rest at the ready. She slid her ankles over my shoulders, and pressed them tightly against my head.
“Now lean forward, and press my legs against my tits”, she said.
Obediently, I lowered myself onto her, letting the full weight of my upper body press her legs against her breasts.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and said, “Now push it all into me.”
As I did so, she arched her back, and slipped her hands behind her, into the small of her back. A moment later, she relaxed her back, pressing her crossed wrists into the bed. The weight of our bodies held her firmly down, and she was totally immobilized, with my penis fully extended into her warm pussy.
“Now hold me down while you fuck me”, she whispered into my ear, “and don’t pay any attention to whatever I say. I want you to come in me!”
“Okay”, was all I could muster. I started to pump her. Slowly, at first, then a little faster as she started to moan in what I assumed was pleasure.
“Oh, please don’t hurt me”, she cried out.
Thinking I was actually hurting her, I stopped my rhythm.
“No”, she protested….. “Don’t pay any attention to what I say. Just keep doing it.”
I had nothing to say --- I just started pumping her again.
“No, don’t fuck me”, she cried out. “Please don’t rape me – don’t make me pregnant!”
She begged. And cried. And thrashed about under my weight. But I held her down firmly, and continued pumping, growing ever more excited at that girl crying under me….. begging me to stop, to get off her, and begging me not to make her pregnant.
We didn’t know that much about birth control back then – or at least, I didn’t. Some sort of “pill” had been on the market for a while that could prevent a girl from becoming pregnant, and I sure hoped that she was on it. But at the time, it didn’t matter. There was no HIV, and no STD’s. There was just this girl that I was fucking, and her crying, pleading, begging me to stop – and she didn’t MEAN a word of it. She wanted me there. She WANTED me to hold her down, to fuck her, and to splash my come all up inside her.
And I was willing!
I came! I throbbed! Over and over! It was the best fuck I’d ever had. It was the best girl I’d ever fucked!
As I spurted out the last of my energy, I fully collapsed on top of her, pinning her down to the mattress even harder. She was crying. I don’t know whether it was tears of joy, of pleasure, or tears of pain and shame at what had happened to her.
“Don’t move”, she said. “Just stay there and hold me down for a while.”
I obeyed. I didn’t move. As my penis grew soft, she cried softly, and raised her lips to mine, and told me that she loved me, and that she would be mine for as long as I wanted her. At that exact moment, I wanted her forever. I wanted our union to last, and in a burst of love – or passion, or whatever, I asked her to marry me.
“No”, she said, “but you can fuck me any time you want to.”
“I’m going to want to a lot.” I said.
“I want that, too”, she replied.
- o -
Fast-forward a few weeks…..
She finally told me about the chain and padlock around her nick. She rarely took it off, mainly only when she bathed, and then she put it back on right away. It seemed, she told me, that her first boyfriend had been a little older than she was, and was into bondage and wanted her to be his sex slave. Being hot and lusty, she was willing. She liked playing the bondage games he introduced her to, except that she didn’t really like to be tied up very much. But he liked her begging and pleading, so she adopted that method of sex play with him, and she found that she liked being hurt. Not as in beaten up or anything really dangerous, but in playing that she was a helpless victim being used by her master.
In fact it became more of simulated bondage than real bondage, with the exception of the chain. He had fashioned it from a dog leash, as I suspected, and locked it about her neck once during their sex play, and refused to give her the key, or allow her to remove it herself. It was not uncomfortable, so she came to accept it because it pleased him, and eventually it became part of her everyday wear. She often told her friends about it when they asked why she wore it by saying he had forbidden her to ever take it off, which was partially true since she didn’t have the key.
But there were a few actual bondage scenes she participated in. For example, about once or twice a week, I would use another padlock to secure her, standing against a wall, locked to an eyebolt screwed into a stud in the wall. I would lock her to the wall when I left for work, and unlock her when I got home, using the chain around her neck. She would have to stand there, locked to the wall, and nude, for the day, unable to move, or even go to the bathroom until I got back. Nothing to eat, nothing to drink, she just had to stand there, locked to the wall. Sometimes back to the wall, sometimes front to the wall, depending on my mood. She was always ready for a good fucking when I got home.
Unknown to me, the landlord had discovered her one day, and introduced her to some other pleasures, primarily in the area of oral sex, to which she was willing. After I had left for work, he would check her room, and if she was chained to the wall, he would use her for his own pleasure, and she was unable to resist. (Not that she had much inclination to resist.) But there was no intercourse involved, only oral sex and a bit of real bondage. Then one day, when I got home from work, she was gone. She had packed up her suitcase, and disappeared in that old rattletrap car she had, along with everything she had in storage in the garage.
- o -
Several days later, I was sitting on the porch, trying to get some air and escape from the summer heat, when a young man drove up on an old Triumph motorcycle, balancing a suitcase on the handlebars. This would be the young man the landlord told me about – the next tenant in the apartment next to mine.
I watched him as he struggled up the stairs with his suitcase.
“So, you’re the new tenant”, I said offhandedly.
“Yes, it’s my first apartment”, he said. Pressing his luck, he said, “My name is Ralph.”
“I’m Carol”, I replied. “You’ll find it’s hot here in the summer, but you do get a nice breeze in the afternoon, out here on the porch.”
I smiled at him. “Get settled in, and come out on the porch and we’ll talk for a while”, I said, and smiled again.
He entered his half of “the apartments”, and threw his suitcase on the bed to be unpacked later. He grabbed a chair and dragged it out onto the porch to catch some of the breezes that I had promised, and to catch a better look at me. We had done this before.
The Wizard had caught another one with his “Apartment For Rent – Cheap” sign, and soon I would be on my way, in that old rattle-trap car, a woman without a care in the world, as this new guy would take my place in The Apartment.
“It’s a hot day”, I said…..