Description
by John Savage
A beautiful young woman enters the underground world of specialized sex outcall services for the very rich, but it’s not for money. Lynn had a very different purpose in submitting herself to tight ropes, spankings, whippings, forced lesbian sex, and other pastimes of those wealthy enough to pay for such services. From the first time Mistress Holly binds her young and lush body tightly and locks her in a small, dark room as a test, Lynn is searching for her missing sister, Penny.
Will she find her younger sister among the clients of Mistress Holly’s unique service? In her search, she has to endure prolonged, strict bondage from an expert with the ropes, a rough night with a raven-haired Italian girl of fiery temper and decidedly lesbian tendencies, a frightening night swim in the ocean while completely bound, and other incredible ordeals.
There are plenty of tight ropes, sore bottoms, forced submission and strange sex. All of which leads up to an action-filled climax featuring a naked avenging angel positively ruining the bad guy’s day.
** “Missing Penny” was originally published in paperback in 1996 and was the first of John Savage’s many BDSM novels to be published. **
Published: 11 / 2009 No. words: 71,000
The girl was a prisoner, tightly bound with ropes in one of the most painful and constrictive positions of all, the hogtie. Numerous wrappings of cotton clothesline held the youthful arms firmly behind her back, elbows pulled painfully together, wrists tightly pressed against each other. More rope crushed her ankles together and even more cut cruelly into the soft flesh just above her knees, a wrapping made even tighter by the bending of her legs back towards her arms. The link between her wrists and ankles, that rope which held her body bent into the arched contortion that is the hogtie, was very short. So short, in fact, that her open palms were pressed hard against her heels.
It was a strained and painful bondage position, executed with precision and a total disregard for the comfort of the prisoner; a position never intended to entertain even the slightest hope of escape. For an endless period the young naked body, a lass of certainly no more than twenty, lay quietly on the hardwood floor, forehead pressed against the unyielding wood in an attempt to ease the strain on her shoulders. Long black hair lay on the wood around her head, blocking her sight, but she did not care. The tension created by the girl’s body trying to unfold, by muscles aching to open out of the imposed arch, was an unending torment to the teenage girl held locked in this unnatural position. The shoulders, which would have been forced back by the cording of the elbows behind her alone, were held well off the floor by the constant strain. Even her fingers lay unmoving. Once, long ago, they had sought for knots to undo, loose ropes to be worked on, anything that might move her towards freedom, but now they lay half numb and exhausted from fruitless effort and discouraged by repeated failure.
Now and then over the long afternoon the young woman turned her head to one side or the other to search longingly for sign of human company, company that might release her from the painful ropes. At first she had struggled the little allowed her by this strained position and called out, demanding release. The demands had faded into quiet pleas and then into moans and finally into cries of agony as the hours passed. No one responded, no one heard, and she knew herself alone and completely helpless. That was why no gag had been needed. When the stress and aches became too much she cried, leaving tearstains across her cheeks for lack of fingers to wipe them away.
It was growing dark when she heard footsteps. Harsh, loud, male footsteps against the unprotected wood. They stopped near her and she turned, straining to look up. Through strands of black hair she saw him, the man who had put those ropes on her, who had condemned her an afternoon of anguish. She hated him, but had no strength left to express that hatred. He kneeled down and cupped her chin in one hand, pulling her head back so he could look into those blue eyes. Gently he brushed aside the black tresses and smiled, a smile warm and friendly and concerned. She felt like spitting in his eye.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
Her throat was dry and the words formed painfully, “You know I’m not.” Then, without hope, “Have I suffered enough?”
“My dear, you did commit a crime. You must be punished,” he said reasonably.
“A crime…?” She paused as if thinking about her misdeed. “Only to a bastard like you.”
A smile greeted her profanity. “You tried to escape. I told you the rules – attempted escape earns you punishment. You are being punished.”
She did not attempt to argue with the one-sided logic. But the lovely lips did form the words, “How much longer?” It was a plea more than a question.
“I think a while. Maybe until you’re ready to apologize and say you’re sorry you tried to escape.”
Her blue eyes flared with an inner determination but the fire faded quickly. There was not much fight left in the girl and they both knew it. The pain and enforced immobility had worn her down, sapped her strength and would someday break her. Not today, they both sensed that too, but someday.
“I’m sorry I got caught trying to escape.”
“You’re a little imp, you know that? That’s why I like you. You’ve got more fight inside that any ten other girls. But I’ll break you of it. And I’ll not in a hurry. I’ll take my time and enjoy it. Then, one day, you’ll be mine. Not just your body, but your soul. It is as inevitable as the coming of the snows in winter, as the death that waits each of us at the end of our days. You’ll be mine.”
“Go to hell,” she said, but with little force.
“That may well be. But meantime you’re the one in her own little bit of hell. Enjoy it. I’m going to dinner.”
He left. The girl lowered her forehead back to the floor and wept. From somewhere inside came tears where she had thought herself cried out. The evening turned into night and in the darkness the girl still suffered in her hogtie.
