The note came in the morning mail, laser printed on a sheet of copier paper. The message was short and to the point. 'I know about all about you. If you don't want your husband to find out you'll follow these instructions to the letter.' The message went on to specify when and where I was expected to make an appearance. It promised no harm would come to me. But If I failed to appear my husband would receive a phone call the following day.

I decided to do as instructed. The next morning, at precisely 10 a.m., I arrived at 100 Garden Street and rang the bell for apartment G1. I was buzzed in and took the elevator up to the 7th floor. The door to apartment G1 was slightly ajar. I entered and closed the door behind me, engaging the deadbolt and safety chain as the instructions had specified. I set my purse down on an end table and picked up the blindfold I found there. The barstool was there in the middle of the room as the note had mentioned. I sat down on the stool and put the blindfold in place.

I sat there for a couple of minutes, alone with my thoughts. I was dressed as demanded in the note. A blouse that buttoned in front, front hook bra, thong panties, garterbelt, white nylon stockings, short skirt, black medium-heeled pumps. I knew I must look attractive and vulnerable sitting there with the blindfold on. I'm thirty-one years old, a brown-eyed blonde, and rather pretty. I'm 5'8" tall, weigh 125 pounds, and I have a nice, athletic body. My legs are long and sleek, my best feature.

It seemed like an hour before anything happened but it was probably only a few minutes. I heard the creak of a hinge and then sensed movement in the room. The carpet muffled any footsteps, but a moving body creates a faint breeze and then there are faint sounds created by the rustling of clothes. A low, husky voice warns me not to move or speak. I nod my understanding. Fingertips caress my cheek for a moment then pull away.

I take a deep breath as I feel my blouse being unbuttoned. I remain motionless, my hands hanging at my sides. My blouse is removed. My skirt is unbuttoned and a tug causes me to lift myself for a moment while it is pulled down over my hips. My panties go next, followed by my bra. I sit there wearing only garterbelt, nylons, and shoes. My nipples harden as the cool air hits them. My breasts are small, 34b, but pretty, without a trace of sag. My nipples are pink and sensitive. They quickly harden to still little points.

A hand pushes my knees apart. The voice warns me to keep them apart. I puzzle over the voice as I wait for the next move. It seems too soft for a man's voice, too deep for a woman. A teenaged boy? No, the voice is too confident to be someone that young. Fingertips caress my nipples and I begin to breathe more deeply. I am becoming aroused.

My.... captor? Tormentor? I can't find an appropriate word to describe this person. Captor doesn't seem right, I'm here by choice. Blackmailer seems right, but too crude. Tormentor? I haven't been tormented, just stripped. I decide that captor will have to do.

My captor moves around behind me and my wrists are pulled back and cuffed together. Now I am truely a captive. My captor places both hands flat on my back. The hands are neither small nor unusually large. No clue there. The hands move across my back and around to cup my breasts. They squeeze gently and lift my breasts, thumbs teasting my hard nipples. I let my head fall back and moan with pleasure as my breasts are fondled a little roughly, the way I like it.

The hands leave my breasts and I sigh audibly. The response is a brief chuckle. I am prodded and told to stand and slip out of my shoes. I do so. A collar is fastened around my neck. It is wide and fits snugly. It forces me to hold my head up straight. I feel something being fastened to the collar and then a tug followed by a steady pull. I am forced up onto the tips of my toes. After a mintue, the hands cup my breasts again and fondly them roughly for a couple of minutes. I feel a warmth in one ear, warm breath followed by the flicker of a tongue. A single word. "Slut."

I shiver and whisper, "Yes?"

A chuckle. "Good, you acknowlege it."

With a final squeeze, the hands abandon my breasts. Then my buttocks are parted and I feel something press against my anus. "Please, no," I whimper but I'm ignored. A long, thick butt plug is forced into my ass as I whimper and plead.

A hand slips between my legs. I am very wet. I moan as knowing fingers slip between my labia to explore my tight cunt. A fingertip caresses my clit and my moans increase in volume. My captor chuckles. The hand withdraws. I sigh in bitter disappointment. The voice demands, "Beg for it."

I take a deep breath. "Please," I whisper, "Please, I want to come. Please masturbate me. Please! Oh god, please!" I moan as my captor flicks the butt plug a couple of times. The hand returns and I moan and trust my hips, pushing myself onto those knowing fingers. I continue to moan as I am masturbated to orgasm, a long shuddering climax that leaves me limp.

When it is over, the cuffs are removed. Then the collar. I stand there, sweaty and panting, and the voice instructs me not to move for five minutes. Then I am told that I can remove the blindfold, dress, and leave. I am ordered to leave the butt plug in until I am out of the building. A last instruction is given. I am told to shave my cunt before our next appointment which will be two days later at the same time. I nod and whisper, "Yes, I will."

When I remove the blindfold I find that my underwear is missing. I slip my blouse and skirt back on and survey myself in the full length mirror in the hall. I look calm and collected, much calmer than I feel. My bare breasts are perfectly visible through my sheer blouse and I look sexy. I leave the apartment and walk down to the elevator, praying that it will arrive empty. The butt plug keeps me aroused.

The elevator arrives with one occupant, a tall athletic looking young woman with red hair. She smiles as I enter and I see her glance flick downward and back up. She is taller than me and younger, maybe 25 or so. Green eyed, freckled, pretty. We ride down in silence. As we leave the building, I turn right and she turns left. Then I hear the voice from the apartment. "Don't forget to shave." I whirl around and the redhead smiles as she turns the corner and disappears from sight.

The ironic part of the whole epsiode is this. I am not married.

The End