1. Escape From Waco

I met Professor Harrington at a conference on the discovery of previously unknown Greek manuscripts in Austin, Texas. I had been researching this area for a while, and managed to get the Classics Department at one of the big London colleges to pay my fare to the USA. If only I had done something else, things would have been very different. "If only" - we can always say that.
There was an instant attraction between us - he could see I would enjoy his punishment, I could see he understood my need to suffer. He was tall and dark, clever and famous. His eyes were bright and penetrating. When I let his stare in, it was obvious where his tastes lay. His probing gaze, and the way he pinched my finger as he shook my hand, betrayed a taste for the pleasures of punishment and pain.
In the raucous music district of the city, we spent several evenings together in a lively student bar inhabited by enthusiasts of bondage and slavery. Here, I learned of his dedication to bondage, and, in our conversations, he found in me an eagerness to submit to a variety of humiliations he had learned on his travels throughout the world. He kept me with him for two months early in 2004. Once, he bound me with tape and shut me in a small cupboard in his office for two whole days. I remained there as his students came and went, and as his secretary brought him letters to sign or reports to read. I had never before experienced the levels of joy that Professor Harrington brought to me with his harsh techniques, humiliating and imaginative practices. Especially, he aroused in me a love for confinement in small spaces which, to this day, is never fully satisfied.
During this time, he would take me to conferences or to parties with his academic friends. It was as though we were an item - partners. But his friends and colleagues did not know that when I was out with him it was only because he had released me from bondage or confinement. And they did not know that when we went back to his house in Austin, he locked me away again, sometimes for days perhaps in the dark of a wardrobe, or beneath a sink, or chained in a bath with a turned on electric heater perched on the shelf above me.
One day, he shut me into a steel locker in his garage. As far as I could tell, I was there all day and he did not return to feed me or check my bonds. From a chink of light that came through the hinges, I worked out that he didn't come the next day either. I was gnawingly hungry. I urinated into my panties. I fell into despair. I was barely conscious when the door was burst open by policemen and I was dragged from the wardrobe into the blazing light of the Texas sun. I stood naked on the front lawn of the house as the neighbours stared and pointed at me.
After the tragic death of Professor Harrington, I stayed in Austin, Texas with one of his colleagues, a senior lecturer in the Archaeology Department, Dr Werner Harris. Dr Harris, for that is what he always insists I call him - and then only when he gives me permission - not only worked with Professor Harrington professionally, but also shared his interest in sexual experimentation and depravity. Before his untimely death, Professor Harrington had been thinking of handing responsibility for me over to Dr Harris. With this in mind, he had already passed instructions on how I should be dealt with, together with notes on how he had kept me since we met.
Immediately after Professor Harrington's funeral, I went willingly to Dr Harris' house seventy miles or so north of Austin in Waco.
Mostly, Dr Harris kept me shut up in a heavy wooden wardrobe. I had to sit naked with my knees up and my hands folded around them. Sometimes, he gagged me with a leather strap, but not always. Most nights, if he left me there, he pulled a black hood over my head. It got hot. My breath warmed the skin around my mouth, and my cheeks flushed with the moist heat. When I inhaled through my nose, I could feel the hotness around the edges of my nostrils. When I was like this, in the middle of the night, I took my hands from around my knees and pushed them between my legs. I would lay my fingers against my flesh - it was always wet and warm. I did not have to push my fingers in, I simply had to touch the soft flesh at the edges of the crack, or sometimes perhaps just the tip of my clitoris. That was enough. I had to be careful then, not to make any noise, not to gasp too loudly, or cry out. Once, when I did, he came to me, took me out and bent me over his knee. He held me down with one of his hands while he thrashed me with a thin cane. I squirmed and cried out, but he only stopped when he was satisfied I had been sufficiently punished. I had to stand in the corner of the room for the rest of the night and, when it was light, he thrashed me again in the same way, before he would allow me to sit. He told me to sit on a hard chair and I could hardly lower my stinging buttocks down against the smooth surface of the seat.
Whenever he opened the wardrobe door, the first thing I always saw was the wine-red flash of his large ruby signet ring. It was the colour of blood with the luminescence of pearl. For me, it was the sign both of my release and of my continued captivity.
At other times, he kept me in a steel mesh cage. It was hardly big enough for me. Sometimes the cage was suspended from the ceiling of the cellar beneath the house, sometimes he pushed it into the corner and dropped a heavy cloth over it. He brought me food in a bowl, and I had to eat it without using my hands. He brought me milk in the same way, and I had to lap it up with my tongue. Sometimes he called me his 'puppy' and stroked the back of my neck or patted me.
When, on rare occasions, he released me, I was allowed to walk on the thick-grassed lawn in his rear yard. I never knew how long he would allow me to stay in the open. I never knew how long I would have until he took me again and put me into captivity. I walked in circles, in a dream, just waiting for his orders to return.
One morning he unchained me and told me I could sit inside the house and watch the TV. He went out, locked the doors and left me alone. I couldn't concentrate on the TV and found myself lost for anything to do. I picked up an old newspaper - the Waco Tribune-Herald. I could hardly believe what I read. It had all happened so suddenly - Dr Harris, my new captivity and the suffering I had been subjected to - that I had put my time with Professor Harrington behind me almost instantly.
"University Professor found to be poisoned" read the headline. "Professor Ernest Harrington, found dead, naked, bound by the wrists and ankles, and chained to a pillory in a cellar outside Dallas, is now known to have died from poisoning. The County Sheriff's Department is now investigating this already sensational death as a murder. In their efforts to solve the case, they are trying to trace a young English woman who was seen with Professor Harrington on a number of occasions in the weeks prior to his tragic death. It is thought she may be able to help them with their enquiries. Anyone knowing the whereabouts of this woman should contact the McLennan County Sheriff's Office on N. 6th Street."
I shivered with fear when I read it. They must be looking for me! My mind went blank. For a moment I couldn't think. Within seconds I was overcome with a confusing and panicky terror. All I could think was that I must escape. I ran to the door and pulled at the handle. I screamed and shouted, hoping someone might hear me, hoping I could be saved from the terror of captivity, hoping I could get free from the false accusations which I could hear ringing in my head. Suddenly, the door was flung open. Dr Harris stood in the entrance. His eyes blazed with anger, his face was flushed with his determination to make me suffer.
I was only wearing thin pink panties. He gripped his fingers into the front of the waistband and twisted them hard. The thin material pulled into the crack of my cunt. I rose up, as if it would somehow ease the pressure. It didn't. He pulled harder. I drew in breath and clenched my teeth. The flesh of my cunt was parted by the drawn up gusset. My clitoris stung with pain. He yanked the material sharply.
'Going somewhere?' he said, smiling.
He gave an extra twist on the taut waistband. I tightened my buttocks to try and hold back the pain. I felt tears welling in my eyes. He pushed me back. I fell on the floor. My heart was thumping. I was trembling all over. I opened my mouth to speak, to try and apologise, but no words came out. A trickle of spit ran onto my chin. I licked it back. I could feel my lips trembling. I swallowed hard.
He bent forward and grabbed me by the hair. He turned my face upwards and shook me as he might a doll. He dragged me back into his bedroom and bent me forward over the edge of the bed. I twisted against him as he tied my wrists with rope to the ornate iron headboard. I tried to scream. I felt desperate. My efforts just made me choke. He wound more rope around my ankles and pulled it up tightly against one of the ornate cast iron legs. He pulled me so tightly across the heavy iron bed. I could hardly breathe.
'You need a lesson before anything else,' he said. 'You will be able to reflect on your punishment in the darkness of the wardrobe later. Now, are you going to scream? Should I gag you? Yes, I think so. It will give you something to bite on, something to suck on, something to pass your pain onto. Yes, let me see. What have I gagged you with before?'
I could not see behind me, but I heard him pulling out drawers and throwing items on the floor.
'Yes, perfect!'
He pressed his knee into the small of my back and bent forward. He pulled a large rubber ball against my lips. It had a thin leather thong through it.
'Open wide,' he said increasing the pressure. 'Or do you want me to force your mouth open with the dental opener. You always seem to like that. How many hours was your record? Yes, perhaps we could see if you could suffer it for longer?'
I opened my mouth and it was immediately plugged with the rubber ball. The scent of it filled my nostrils. I felt an acrid wave of sickness spreading up my throat. He pulled the leather thongs behind my head and tied them together tightly. Spit built up behind the ball. It ran over my tongue and down my throat. I tried to gulp on it, but the ball forced my mouth so wide it was impossible.

Every time he brought the cane down I bit hard onto the ball. Spit bubbled out from the sides where my choking breaths finally caused a tiny gap. The cane burned me, stinging at first but soon burning penetrating into my flesh. He did not hold back. He punished me for every moment that I had thought of escaping. Every whipping crack of the cane was meant to remind me of the misplaced idea of trying to get away from him. Every stroke warned me that he would not let me go. My eyes were bleary by the time he finished. I hardly knew that he untied me and saw only darkness as he threw me down into the bottom of the wardrobe.

The next few days were the worst of my life. I didn't think I would survive. I thought I would never get away. I had crouched naked and wet in the bottom of the dark damp wardrobe for what seemed an eternity. Suddenly, I heard the door knocker banging. I knew it was him, the postman. I had heard him before. I had heard him talking about religion to Dr Harris. He was some sort of religious fanatic - an evangelist. I realised that he was my only chance. If I did not act now, I thought, I may never have this opportunity again. If I did not take this slim chance to escape, perhaps I would never be free.
I struggled with the leather straps that held my wrists. It was impossible even to loosen them. After the first night, Dr Harris had dragged me out of the wardrobe, ducked me in the bath and got them wet before he re-tightened them and tied them off.
The door knocker rattled again. I shouted, but my voice was weak and muffled. I leant forward and banged my head against the wardrobe. It made my ears sing. I tried again. My head ached. I stopped and listened. I heard the door opening.
'Is there anyone there? Ma'am are you there?'
I banged my head repeatedly against the side of the wardrobe.
'Please,' I kept thinking. 'Please. Please, find me.'
'Ma'am. Is that you? Are you okay?'
I kept banging my head as hard as I could.
Suddenly the wardrobe door flew open and I spilled out onto the floor like a sack of beans.
The postman fussed around me. I could see he could not take his eyes off my naked body. His hands were shaking and he could not untie the gag so he cut the thongs with his knife.
Spit ran down my chin and onto my neck as the ball fell away.
'Help me,' I begged. 'Help me get away.'
I held up my hands.
Nervously, he cut through the thongs around my wrists. I stayed on my knees and dropped my arms to my sides. I looked up at him as he stared down at my nakedness.
I jumped to my feet, ran to the nearby desk and grabbed a handful of bills.
'I need to get away. Can you take me to the airport?' I ran to the door and stood waiting. 'Please. Can you take me to the airport? Please! I need to get away!'
He looked confused.
'Ma'am, you need some clothes.'
'Of course. Of course. How foolish.' I looked around for something to wear. 'But can we get going?' I urged, stepping hurriedly into a pair of jeans. 'Before he comes back.'
'I have my round, ma'am. I have my round to finish.'
The situation seemed ridiculous.
'What will it take?' I asked leaving the top button of my jeans undone as I sank to my knees at his feet. 'What will it take to get you to drive me to the airport?'
I undid his trousers. My wrists were encircled with thick red lines from the tight thongs. It excited me to see them. I pulled the zip apart and eased down the front of his boxers. His cock flopped into my hands. It was huge, heavy and hardening. I dropped the glans into my mouth. It was hot. I felt it expanding against my tongue. I sucked on it as it thickened. The shaft hardened between my lips. They opened as it grew.
I ran my hand along the stiff shaft, sliding the spit that I allowed from my lips along its length, lubricating it, accentuating the softness of my touch. The back of my throat tightened as the throbbing tip touched it. I held it there for a moment then drew back and took it from my lips. It pulsated in my hand.
'What will it take?' I asked, still pulling my encircling fingers along the full length of his fully engorged cock.
'I would like to spank you,' he said moving back and sitting on the edge of the bed. 'Here, over my knee, with the palm of my hand. I would like to spank you as a punishment for what you are doing now.'
I stayed on my knees and dropped my head. I felt a wave of shame come over me. I would let him tell me to come to him. I would let him instruct me in whatever way he wanted.
'You know that you have done wrong. You were too forward. Do you know that?'
I nodded.
'Then come here and I will punish you for your wrongdoing. Bend over my knee. I will make you think twice before you do such a thing again.'
'And will you take me to the airport after you have punished me? I am so sorry for what I have done. Will you take me to the airport?'
'We shall see.'
I stood before him and dropped my head. I realised that what he was saying was true. I had acted badly. He had to punish me. There was no other way. I had to be made to see the badness of my ways.
'Over here,' he said motioning to his knees. 'Bend over.'
I lay across his knees. He pulled down my jeans and exposed my bare bottom.
'Lift your bottom higher. I want to see the shape of your cunt between your buttocks. I want to see the crack of your flesh.'
I lifted my bottom as he instructed. He rubbed the palm of his hand across its pert cheeks. I felt the smoothness of my own skin as he ran his hand lightly across the taut surface. I felt a shivering tingle pass through me. I squirmed slightly and he increased the pressure of his hand to stop me moving. I responded obediently. I waited for my punishment.
'Now, learn from your spanking.'
He pressed his one hand hard against the small of my back.
I gasped when his hand came down for the first time - solid, flat, stinging. The next one was sharper. I tightened my buttocks. It came down again, and again, and again. Each time the stinging was deeper, more penetrating. The initial burning on the surface of my skin, was quickly replaced with a deep, unavoidable anguish. I was filled with the fire of my punishment.
'Are you learning your lesson?'
'Yes ... Yes ... '
I did not know how much more I could take. It felt as if he would never stop.
'And this is for being like a tart ... and this is for taking a man's member in your hand ... and this is for laying your tongue on it ... and this is for inflaming a man's passion ... and this ... '
I watched a long trickle of spit running from my mouth. It dripped onto the floor and settled in a frothy pool. His stinging hand caught the flesh of my cunt. I squirmed but did not try to avoid it. I raised my bottom more. I opened my buttocks. I exposed my crack to his smacking hand. I encouraged his punishment and, at the same time, showed him I was not yet punished enough.
'Is there no end to your whorish behaviour?' he shouted as he brought his hand down even harder. 'What must I do to save you? Lord! What must I do to save this wretched girl?'

I could barely sit when finally we got into the postman's van, I was wearing a cheap pink T shirt and the jeans hastily pulled up after the spanking. The uncovered plastic seat was hard and my bottom had never been so sore. I held myself off the seat for most of the journey. When we went over a bump, or he braked hard and I could not stop myself dropping down against it, I winced with pain. He smiled when he saw my suffering. He did not speak on the journey and dropped me with a contemptuous toss of his head in the empty drop-off zone amongst a crowd of noisy Baptists.
I ran into the glass fronted entrance to Waco Regional Airport and looked up at the departure boards. "Continental flight CO9583 to Miami. Arrive in Miami International Airport 22.37. Depart Waco 16.40". Thirty minutes! I ran to the Continental desk paid my money and within ten minutes I was settling down in my seat. The man next to me looked down at my crumpled jeans. I followed his eyes. The zip was undone, the smooth skin leading to the top of my shaved crack was just visible. I did not attempt to do it up. He looked away haughtily as though I was beneath his contempt. I shrugged and smiled.
I knew who it was knocking on the lavatory door halfway through the flight. And he did not look away as he bent me harshly over the WC and thrust his cock inside me. Nor did he ignore me as I sucked his semen into my mouth and swallowed it down eagerly before bending over again so that he could spank me for my sinful, wanton behaviour.

End of Chapter One