Sweet Gwendoline

Author's Note:

This story is a tribute to John Willie and the bondage stories that he wrote and illustrated back in the 1950s and 60s. Sadly, John Willie died back in 1962; however his contributions to the world of BDSM have made a huge impact on bondage enthusiasts decades after his death. Submissive Gwendoline and dominant Agent U-69 are role-models for many of us in the bondage community.

* * * * * * * * * *

My name is Gwendoline Schön. As far back as I can remember I always loved to be made helpless and tormented. I remember being a huge fan of the story of Cinderella as a girl and used to have dreams at night where I was Cinderella and my cruel stepmother and her abusive daughters kept me naked in their house and forced me to scrub the kitchen floor on my hands and knees and each of them wore a leather belt around their slender waists. And if I failed to scrub the kitchen floor to their satisfaction, those leather belts would come off and be used to swat my poor naked bottom until I yelped in pain.

Sometimes I still have this dream.

While other girls in my neighborhood wanted a Prince Charming to come marry them and take them off to a beautiful castle to live happily ever after, I was the girl who wanted an evil step-sister to tie me up and take me to a dark, forbidding dungeon where I'd be stripped naked and chained up and tormented forever.

I didn't take long before I realized that my desire to be stripped naked, bound and tormented would never be understood by society at large. Girls who want to be tied up and abused are

weird

or some sort of

freak.

I learned at a fairly early age to keep my mouth shut about my desire to be humiliated and subjected to physical abuse.

And then I met Christina.

I never had to tell Christina that I had a desire to be dominated, humiliated and abused. She figured this out all by herself.

It all started out one weekend when I was at McKenna's buying clothes. I took a mini-dress into the changing room to see how well it would fit. It actually fit quite well, it was snug in all the right places and showed off my slender waist and flat belly quite nicely, but when I took it off my near-naked reflection in the full-length mirror caught my eye and I was sort of hypnotized by it.

Standing there in just my bra, panties and high-heels in the small changing room, I looked quite vulnerable. It was quite easy for me to imagine that this small changing room was actually a prison cell and that I was a prisoner, forced to strip by a cruel jailer.

The door to the changing room was kinda thin, but there was a lock on the door. I locked the door from the inside to ensure absolute privacy and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked vulnerable in just my bra and panties; however I decided; not vulnerable enough. With trembling hands and a rapidly beating heart, I undid the clasp on my bra and freed my breasts from their bondage. Then I took each of my nipples, closed my eyes and I pinched them

hard,

imagining the hands that abused my flesh were actually the hands of a cruel jailer. I pinched and twisted my poor nipples until they ached horribly and there were tears welling in my eyes. When I finally opened my eyes, my nipples were swollen, throbbing and erect and several shades darker from their normal pinkish color.

I had never done anything like this in a public place before and I found it much more exciting than doing it in the privacy of my own home. The fantasy seemed more real and I felt more exposed and vulnerable somehow. I suppose it was being in an unfamiliar place that did it. I was standing on somebody else's territory and whoever owned that territory was in authority here. I was just a naughty girl who was intruding in their dominion.

I decided then to get completely naked. I took off my shoes and then hooked my thumbs into the tight, flimsy fabric of my tiny hiphugger panties and pushed them down my bare legs and stepped out of them once they hit the floor.

Once I was completely naked, I got down on my knees and placed my hands behind my back, crossing my wrists as if they were bound together. When I looked in the mirror I saw a naked, panting, submissive girl on her knees.

With my wrists crossed behind my back my breasts were pushed forward almost as if I were inviting somebody to fondle them or to abuse my already sore nipples. My excited breathing highlighted my strong stomach muscles. My shaved labia were glistening with wetness as I knelt there with my knees far apart.

I was so hot and bothered what I really wanted to do was finger myself to orgasm, but I'm not the kind of girl who can do that quietly. When I masturbate, I pant and moan and sometimes at the moment of climax I even make inarticulate wailing sounds. I would have to wait until I got home to masturbate, either that or suffer the humiliation of allowing dozens of store patrons and employees know that I had an orgasm in the fitting room at McKenna's.

I didn't play with my pussy, but before I got dressed I tried a few more submissive poses in front of the mirror. While still kneeling I raised my arms up as high as they would go, as if my wrists were shackled and held high above my held from a chain suspended from the ceiling. This posture lifted my breasts and made them more prominent. I imagined that some sadistic captor might like keeping me bound this way so that he might fondle my breasts or even punish them with some sort of leather belt or strap.

I tried one more position in front of the mirror before I got dressed. I stood up and placed my bare feet approximately thirty inches apart, baring my shaved sex quite thoroughly, leaving it open and available. I also laced my fingers behind the back of my head with my shoulder back, my spine arched and my breasts thrust forward. This position left every inch of my nude body available.

I imagined that I was a naked slave being inspected before a slave auction and that prospective buyers were examining my nude body. Every inch of my naked flesh was available to be ogled, fondled, fingered, pinched, squeezed and cupped. I got excited just thinking about all of the clothed strangers who would pinch my nipples, cup my breasts, squeeze my buttocks and separate my buttocks so that they could insert a finger in my anus and wriggle it around inside of me. My breasts heaved up and down as I thought about being treated like property and inspected and evaluated by uncaring strangers. At one point I reached between my widespread legs and pinched my exposed labia and pretended that it was a cruel prospective buyer who did it just to make me flinch.

I quickly got too excited and had to get out of there. I needed to get out of there and deal with the frantic throbbing in my sex. I got dressed rapidly and walked over to one of the cashiers, feeling feverish and panting almost as if I were going to pass out. I paid for my dress and the very nice girl at the cash register asked me if I was alright just before she gave me my receipt.

"I'm feeling kind of hot and feverish," I admitted, not explaining the reason for my body heat. I could feel sweat forming on my torso and causing my shirt to cling to my skin. My legs felt shaky and I felt flushed as I attempted to walk out of the store.

However as I attempted to exit the store, I was intercepted by two security guards. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to come with us," the female security guard said as she stood in front of me, blocking my path.

"Why? What'd I do?" I asked, urgent to get home as quickly as possible and deal with the urgent need in between my legs.

"The store manager needs to speak with you," replied the security guard in an officious manner. "Please just follow me, Miss and don't make a scene."

I was outnumbered two to one, both of the security guards were bigger than me and they had guns, handcuffs and pepper spray. As much as I really wanted to go home immediately, I was overwhelmingly intimidated by these two. So I followed the female security guard as she led me to the store manager's office.

The manager's office was way in the back of the store, in an area most patrons never see. I felt a grim sense of dread and foreboding as the security guards knocked and announced that they had intercepted me before I could leave the store.

"Bring her in," called out the manager from the other side of the door. Her voice sounded firm and commanding.

The uniformed security guard ushered me in while her partner remained outside. The manger was a woman in her early thirties with high cheekbones and angular face and full lips. Her eyes were intense and seemed almost as though they could look right into my soul. She wore a two-breasted business suit and had her raven-dark hair pinned back in a bun. She made eye contact with me and suddenly I felt like a little girl who had gotten caught cheating and sent to the principal's office. I hadn't actually done anything

wrong,

but she looked at me with those eyes and I just felt guilt-ridden and ready to repent. It was like I was in the fifth grade all over again.

"Alright, young lady, let's see some ID, please," the intense woman said. Legally I wasn't even certain that she had the right to demand to see my ID, but the way she looked at me and the tone of her voice made me feel like a ten-year old girl that had just been sent to the principal's office. I reached into my purse without thinking and with numb fingers took hold of my driver's license and handed it to the store manager.

She stared intently at my license as if judging it somehow and finally said, "Gwendoline Schön, born June 6th 1993. That would make you twenty-one years old."

I had no idea why she would be concerned with my age, but apparently she was.

"I can take it from here, Connie," the store manager said to the female security guard and soon I was alone in the office with the woman who made me feel like a guilty schoolgirl.

"Do you know why you're here?" the assertive woman asked.

My mouth was dry and I could barely speak. "No ma'am," I answered. "Am I in some sort of trouble?"

She ignored my question and went on to say, "Before I became the manager of this store, we lost over $72,000 a year to theft. Defeating the shoplifters was one of my primary goals when I first took over, with that in mind I had hidden cameras installed in all of the changing rooms. Thanks to the cameras and the fact that someone is almost always monitoring the video feed, losses due to shoplifting is now down to less than $1,000 a year."

My blood ran cold at that revelation. Her hidden cameras no doubt saw me abusing my nipples, pinching and twisting them like some sort of freak and then sticking my breasts out as if offering them up for somebody else to abuse.

"Now, I have video footage of you in one of my changing rooms. You weren't trying to steal from me, but your behavior in there was lewd and pornographic. It's the sort of thing that I'm sure you wouldn't want me sharing with my security team."

I felt my face grow hot and her words became faint and hard to focus on. I had spent years attempting to hide my sexual urge to be bound and tormented and now this woman had videotape evidence of exactly the sort of thing I'd been trying to hide.

At first I was too astonished to speak. For a few seconds I just stared at her. Eventually I managed to work up enough control over my tongue to say, "You're not going to show it to them, are you?"

"They're my security team," the manager said coldly, "They see most of the security footage that we record here."

I snatched at a tiny crumb of hope and asked,

"Most?"

The manager gave me an enigmatic smile. I was uncertain what to make of it; however I would do just about anything to keep my embarrassing performance in the changing room from being seen by anybody else.

The store manager steepled her fingers, looked me in the eye and said, "As store manager I have a certain amount of discretion in what video footage is shared with lower level employees. I could keep this video footage just between you and me; however I'd want something in return. Are you willing to engage in a little quid pro quo with me?"

I didn't actually know what quid pro quo meant. The store manager had to explain it to me. It's Latin; basically it means that if she does a favor for me, I have to do one for her.

"Of course," I said far too enthusiastically for my own good. "I'll do whatever you want in exchange for making certain that that video footage remains buried and never sees the light of day! My reputation would," I said faltering, flustered and having trouble finding the proper words.

"Well, my reputation would just be ruined. People would think I'm some sort of freak if they saw that security camera footage!"

"Then we have an agreement," the store manager said. She wrote down her name and address. I was to meet her at her home at 8:00 AM the very next day. If I was late or didn't bother showing up, she'd show the security camera footage to every member of her security detail.

I thanked her profusely for the deal and didn't even ask why she wanted me to come to her house. For all I knew she could have been a serial killer and she would slit my throat within seconds of showing up at her home, but I was so thrilled at not having my secret perversion shared with the outside world, that it never even occurred to me that I might be walking into some sort of trap or perilous situation.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The next day was a Saturday, so I didn't need to go to work and apparently neither did the store manager of McKenna's.

I showered, washed my hair, shaved my legs, armpits and vulva and got dressed. I was out of the house by 7:00 and made it to Christina's house in plenty of time to meet her deadline.

I hadn't mentioned that before, had I? The store manager's name was Christina Ward.

When Christina opened the door to her home she was dressed all in black; a long-sleeved black crewneck, black yoga leggings and some very stylish black leather boots.

I suppose I should have taken her black attire as a sign of dark things to come, however I was so pleased that my reputation wasn't to be ruined that I didn't even begin to suspect that something wicked was headed my way.

"Enter freely and of your own free will," said Christina, sounding very pleased. Once I had stepped over the threshold, she added, "You're early. I like that, it indicates a predisposition for obedience."

"Yes, ma'am," I said politely.

She paused as if expecting me to say something more. When I just stood there, she added, "Gwendoline, when we struck our deal you said that you would do anything to make certain that I kept your little secret and didn't share the footage from the changing room security camera with anyone. Is that still your position?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said again, wondering where this was going. If this was about money I was screwed. I worked as a bank teller and made very little money. I was hoping we could work out something else, possibly having me mow her lawn or clean out her garage for her.

"Very well," Christina said staring intently at me while stroking her chin. "For the next three months I shall expect you to come to my house every Saturday and Sunday morning. You will arrive no later than 8:00 AM and you will stay here until 5:00 PM. Also I'll expect you to be here at 8:00 on Independence Day. That's a federal holiday, so you shouldn't be expected at work on that day."

I actually breathed a sigh of relief at that. This would have nothing to do with money. This would probably just involve manual labor, something which I had been accustomed to doing ever since I was eight years old.

"But before we get you down to the basement, take off your clothes, all of them."

Once again I was dumbfounded and too astonished to respond. I stared at her, fairly certain that I must have heard her incorrectly.

While my tongue was tied, Christina rephrased the order in a very firm tone of voice, "I told you to strip. Get your clothes off, all of them. I want to see your body, see what you looks like."

Again, I hesitated, but finally found my voice, "But you've already seen my body...on the security camera video I was totally naked. I was..."

"Gwendoline,"

she snapped at me, interrupting me in mid-sentence, "while you are in my house you will obey all orders without question. You had agreed to do anything to keep me from releasing that video. Are you already backing out of our arrangement?"

"No, I swear,"

I stammered, panicking that I might have just ruined everything,

"Look, I'm doing exactly as you said! I'm taking off my clothes!"

I was too nervous to maintain eye contact with her and my fingers trembled as I attempted to unbutton my shirt. It was a long-sleeved button down shirt and it seemed to take an eternity to get all eight (or was it nine?) buttons undone. Eventually I got all of the buttons undone and I pulled my shirt free from my skirt. Still nervous and trembling I pulled my shoulders back, and shrugged out of the shirt. We were standing in her dining room, so I draped my shirt over a dining room chair.

With my shirt off, my racerback demi-bra was exposed and of course my uplifted breasts were spilling out of the demi-cups, exposed and perfectly visible to Christina's intense gaze.

The helpless feeling of surrendering my modesty and allowing Christina to strip me naked caused my pulse to race and my skin to heat up and become feverish. Her aloof, unsympathetic eyes on my exposed flesh gave me a feeling of vulnerability. Soon I would have my naked flesh exhibited to this demanding woman, much like my Cinderella fantasies of being exhibited naked in front of a cruel stepmother and her abusive daughters.

My shoes were next, followed slightly after by my skirt. My hands were still trembling; however I seemed to be able to work the zipper with less difficulty than the buttons on my shirt. I slid the skirt down my thighs and dropped it on the chair with my shirt.

With my bare thighs and high-cut bikini panties visible to Christina's gaze, she seemed to be burning holes into me with her eyes. She had a hungry look on her face, almost as if she wanted to eat me up.

I panted nervously, like a rabbit that's being stalked by a wolf however I couldn't deny that I felt a familiar warmth in between my legs. I just hoped that Christina failed to notice that I was becoming excited at the way she was humiliating and exposing me.

I was appalled that this woman might guess that I was as aroused as much as I was frightened and embarrassed, however I tried to push that to the back of my mind and continued to strip. I was almost naked at this point and since my bra fastened in the front I reached in between my breasts and felt for the clasps. My potent mixture of shame and arousal seemed to intensify as the clasp of my bra came loose and my breasts spilled out. Christina's cold, unpitying eyes seemed to be affecting me from across the room. It was almost like I could feel Christina's hands on my bare breasts. I placed the bra on top of my skirt and shoved my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. I pushed the bikini panties off my hips and down my thighs, eventually allowing my panties to fall to Christina's dining room floor.

Without thinking I placed a hand over my shaved vulva. My pubic lips had become swollen with arousal and I was embarrassed at the idea of Christina guessing that I getting turned on by the imperious way that she had just forced me to strip in front of her.

"Don't cover yourself," Christina snapped. "Put your hands behind the back of your neck. That's better. Elbows back."

My breasts rose and fell as my breathing became labored. This intimidating woman had left me feeling both humiliated and aroused. My heart was beating like a drum and I was overwhelmed by the powerful mix of emotions that Christina had forced me to experience.