THE AGONY OF PARADISE

     My name is Hillary Wilson.  In my business career, I have


provided a service, a very exclusive service, indeed, a very


exclusive AND unique service.




     People pay me to give them pain!




     No, I am not a professional dominatrix.  I accept no clients


who expect me to diminish them.  I will agree there are elements of


my service which are similar to what the professional dominatrices


do, but the major difference is that my role is to support my


clients achieve orgasm at their pain plateau.  Indeed, I will often


encourage my clients to exceed the plain plateau they thought they


had.




     Yes, what I do is dangerous but before I entered my present


profession, I was a neurosurgeon.  Hence, not only am I able to


care for the needs of my clients, I also can competently examine


them for an analysis of their health to see if they can undergo


their planned ordeal.  There have also been occasions when I have


been able to advise my clients of ways to improve their ordeal as


well as to accentuate their feelings.




     Why did a neurosurgeon drop her practice and enter the field


I am in?  First of all, I got tired of the bullshit of  the


medical game.  I saw too many quacks get away with varying


degrees of incompetence, and nobody punished them.  I also made


a lot of money, so much that I simply retired.  Well, maybe


retired is too strong; more correctly, I semi-retired.  Many of


my clients have become patients as well.  This works out well for


both of us.




     It is true that my service is very expensive.  It is that so


that only the most serious pain seekers can afford me.  This


eliminates the simple thrill seekers who might be troublesome at


some time in the future.  But there are ways for those who


cannot afford me to gain their fulfillment through a sort of


scholarship fund.  I'll explain that later.




     My business is strictly referral.  Only  an introduction from


an existing client will even get me to talk to a potential


client.  When we agree to meet, it's done in a very public place in


some large city.  I carry an electronic device which will identify


any nearby recording device or radio transmitter.  Only once did I


detect any such device and my client who had referred the potential


client had been hoodwinked.  Even so, I punished her by abandoning


her for a full year.


     When an agreement is reached, I tell the new client to meet me


in Caracas, Venezuela.  I do have to do my work outside the


country and Venezuela is just right.  I have a coffee plantation,


and nearby, in a totally private location, I have my pain palace. 


The client is told to never attempt to locate my establishment, and


this goes for all my clients, not just new ones, but the


established ones too.  They then sign a self-incriminating document


which would make it just about totally unlikely that any would


disclose me.  When we leave Caracas, we do it in my luxury fitted


van (I tried a limo but the limo just couldn't stand up to the


terrain).  We drive for an hour into the jungle and, by use of


darkened windows and strategic turning, I lose most of them


quickly.  Nevertheless, at a moment, I put a blinding hood over


their heads so that they can't see a thing.




     We then stop at a remote jungle airstrip where I pilot a small


plane the remaining distance to my coffee plantation.  The


final location, when we reach it, may not even be in Venezuela. 


The client is then taken from the plane, with the helmet still on,


to another van and is driven the final twenty miles to the


pain palace.  In this way, they don't even have the chance to


see the airplane or note its markings.  When we arrive at the pain


palace, a regimen is started that will lead up to the particular


pain event within one to three days.




     My annual income is never less than one million per year, and


all that is tax free.




     Well now, after all the introductory remarks, you might wonder


how I came to get into such a business.  You already know why I


left the medical profession, but my entry to my present field was


sort of bizarre.  A man with whom I had been keeping company asked


me to check him out one day.  With both of us nude, I completed 


the check up, although it took a couple hours with time out for


various erotic activities.  When I pronounced him fit, he pressed


me to test his heart.  I listened again, but found nothing.  He


insisted he had to know if he was likely to have a heart attack


under intense stress.  I told him I simply could not guarantee


that, but if he wanted to come by the office, I could do an EKG and


do some other tests that would identify his propensity for such an


attack.




     Two days later, I did the tests and again pronounced him fit. 


I then asked him why he wanted to know this.  At first, he was


evasive; but, when I became angry with his simplistic


nonsensical answers, he finally confessed that he was about to


have a flogging.  A what, I asked.  He repeated, a flogging.  He


then went on to add that he was into serious pain, and he was going


to undergo a flogging to take him to his limit.




     I knew about masochists.  I hadn't ever expected to meet one


of such intensity.  He explained that before the person who was to


flog him would do it, he had to produce a doctor's written


certificate as to the condition of his health.  I was somewhat


concerned with this turn of events.  I really had no idea of


the effect of a serious flogging on the physiology of a human


being.  I knew that people had been flogged as late as the


nineteenth century and most of them had not died, but I was


unaware of the intensity.  And I was convinced my friend wanted


a very intense flogging.




     On a whim, I said I would sign the certificate but I would


have to go along just in case anything went wrong.  He starred at


me, and then smilingly agreed.  The arrangements were made and two


nites later, I found myself in a country home.  The owners were a


couple.  Both were dressed in leather.  My friend presented his


certificate and introduced me.  They wanted to know what I wanted


to have done to me, but I assured them I was just there to observe


my patient in the event of anything unforseen happening.  They


shrugged.




     Very quickly, my friend was stripped and then tied, face in,


to an upright post in the middle of the room.  When he was


secured, the woman brought forward a cat-of-nine-tails.  The man


took it, and then began to flog my friend.  The first stroke left


angry red marks.  The second stroke brought flecks of blood.  I sat


there, with some apprehension, and even more amazement, as my


friend was struck forty times by the fearsome instrument.  When he


passed out, she was immediately at his side.




     After several minutes, and he had been released, he was


comfortable enough, but he laid on his stomach.  After a drink of


whiskey, he said he was ready for the rest.  I was shocked.  It was


unbelievable.  He got to his feet and again embraced the post.  He


was again secured.  The flogging re-commenced.  This time it took


only twenty strokes before he passed out.




     When he came to, he asked what I thought.  I knew he didn't


want me to tell him I thought he was crazy. I wouldn't have done


that anyway since I knew he had gone into this with his eyes open. 


Ordinarily, he would have stayed at the home in the country until


the next day but he asked if I would drive him home, which I did,


with him laying and kneeling in the back.




     Back at his home, I treated his back.  It was a real mess.


Several of the cuts were deep enough to scab over and I thought


two of them might leave scars.




     He reminded me I hadn't answered his question about what I


thought. Stalling, I asked him where he had met the couple, and he


told me through a mutual friend, the name of whom also amazed me. 


















                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE




                             Part 2


     I stayed the weekend.  The fuck that nite was incredible.  I


knew he was hurting, but it seemed to add to his staying power.  I


know I had two huge cums while he fucked me before he let himself


go.  Later, I commented on his staying power, and he laughed that


it was always like that when he was whipped.  He admitted to


several sessions at the country house before but none of those had


been as good as this one, nor anywhere as near severe.  Finally, I


asked him how much he had paid.  He laughingly questioned if I was


interested in getting into the business but I simply blushed.  He


then told me an incredibly high sum.




     Once again, he reminded me that I had yet to tell him what I


thought about it.  I bought additional time by asking him what in


particular he expected me to say.  Laughingly, he said, well, for


openers, have you ever seen a bed mate of yours whipped before.  I


laughed, and admitted that I hadn't.  I told him that I didn't


think he wanted me to patronize him by simply saying that how he


chose to get his pleasure was his own business.  Instead, I told


him that each of seeks our pleasures in our own ways.  Pleasure is


an elusive thing, and if any of us find tried and reliable ways to


get pleasure, then we should not be concerned what others might


think.




     He nodded; then added that most people would not understand


him; and I agreed with that.  Worse, he said, many people might


stick it out once, but that they would never want anything to do


with a person into it again.  I told him that if that was


worrying him, the fuck the nite before was too good for me to


not want to see him again.




     That evening was a turning point for me.  The thought had been


planted in my head.  A couple months later, my friend asked me when


he would be strong enough to undergo another flogging.  I


checked him out and said anytime he wanted to do it.  He asked if


I wanted to go along this time too.  I said no, I didn't want to go


along, but I would do the flogging myself if he was willing to put


up with my inexperience.




     For several moments, he said nothing, then he said we would


have to buy me the tools of the trade.  I agreed, but where I asked


would we find a cat-of-nine-tails.  Easy, he replied, and that nite


we were shopping in a store that would delight any fetishist.  We


bought all kinds of gear, some of which I


recognized, some others things I figured out, but some I had no


idea what they were supposed to accomplish.




     Two nites later, I was at his place.  He lived in a house,


somewhat set apart from his neighbors.  I had dressed as he had


asked: white silk, front-buttoning silk blouse with no bra;


jodhpurs with riding boots and kid gloves.  He showed me into his


living room, which had a cathedral ceiling.  In the middle of the


room was the upright whipping post.  We had a couple drinks during


which he suggested I use the paddle on his ass first to get the


feel of swinging it.  Then, a small tawse on his ass after which I


was to move up to his back.  When I got the feel of that, then I


was to use the cat, increasing the force as I felt more comfortable


in doing so.




     Naturally, I was concerned that I do it right, and I worried


I might seriously hurt him.  Reading my mind, he said I would


learn quickly and that if I was worried I might hurt him, it


would be better if we didn't start.  He said that the first


strokes were always super painful but after he got into the


session, he welcomed the strokes and it would be most


unsatisfactory if I found myself unable to go on once we had


started.  I nodded, and said that while I couldn't guarantee what


might happen, I was committed to carrying it off.  Beyond that, I


couldn't say, and it was up to him to stop now or go on.




     In answer, he took off his clothes and went to embrace the


post.  Following his directions, I then tied him to the post.


Twice he insisted I draw the ropes tighter.  




     Finally, it was time for me to lay on the first stroke.


Flexing the paddle in my hand, I studied the target.  Then I


swung.  There was a loud thwack, but he didn't even flinch.  I


studied his ass, and then hit him again.  Still no reaction, so


I hit him ten more times, very rapidly.  When I finally stopped, I


was panting, his ass was red, but he still hadn't given any


indication that he wanted me to stop or that it was too much.




     I took the tawse and began to work on his ass.  As I swung it,


I grew more confidant and so I began to hit his back.  Then,  only


a few strokes, I threw down the tawse and took up the cat.  I knew


I could do it!  A thin bead of perspiration had formed on my upper


lip and I had become slightly breathless; but, since I already knew


he could take it, I really began to swing that cat.  Although my


first few strokes were somewhat tentative, with my knew found


confidence, I began to lean into the task.  By now, sweat had


soaked through my blouse so I simply took it off.  




     When I was satisfied with the tempo, I began to watch him


closely.  When he appeared to be weakening, I slowed the strokes


and let up slightly.  Then, when he would revive, I would pick up


the pace and increase my effort.  In this way, I took him to eighty


strokes before he said he had enough.  I must have been quite a


sight, swinging that whip with my tits bouncing from side to side. 


I left him tied to the post and quickly checked him out.  Other


than an accelerated pulse, there was no indication of distress.  I


decided to try something so I told him he would get an additional


five strokes.  He gasped and I told him to try to do it. 


Instinctively, I had hit on my gold mine of success: the


encouragement for the client to try to go a little past what they


thought was their limit.


     After the five additional strokes, I suggested a further five,


which he handled, but he declined to go further.  I let him down,


cared for his back, and then sucked his cock.  It was incredible. 


Later, after a rest, he ate my cunt for an hour.




     My steps from my medical practice to my coffee plantation and


pain palace in Venezuela took six months  I was in business.












                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE




                             Part 3






     My first client was a referral from my friend.  Because of my


relationship with my friend, I wasn't especially careful with


this second client; but, afterward, while he was recovering, he


warned me against being so careless ever again, even when the


client was a referral from the person I trusted most.




     Anyway, client 2 had a very simple request.  He wanted a large


enema.  I was quite surprised for that seemed a relatively


simple request.  I said as much, but he smiled and said he


wanted two gallons.  At that, I was shocked.   As a doctor, I


knew anatomy, and I had never heard of anyone who could hold


that much enema.  He reassured me that he had a two gallon


enema three times before, and had suffered no ill effects.  I


shrugged and told him to prepare himself.




     He knelt on the table, and then bent forward until his


forehead was on the table also.  He then had me tie his hands to


his ankles.  He then told me to fill him up, chuckling somewhat


nervously.  I noticed that his cock was fully erect.  I greased his


ass-hole, and then filled an enema bag with two quarts of warm


water.  He suggested I might want to hang it on a higher post than


I had it so that the water would have a greater pressure to force


itself into his intestines.  I did so.  Then I pushed the bardahl


nozzle into his ass-hole and pumped it up to lock it in place.  I


then opened the clamp, and watched the first of what was to become


eight quarts of water flowing into his ass.  As the bag would begin


to thin out, indicating the fluid had run into him, I added


additional quarts.




     When six quarts had flowed into him, I stopped the flow and


inquired how he felt.  He said he felt very full; but, when I


asked how full, he asked how much I had put into him.  When I


told him six, he grunted and told me to flip the switch again.  I


did, and soon, I had put the eighth quart in the bag.




     He appeared to be in some distress, taking great breaths, but


since he made no request, I did not stop the flow.  At last the bag


was empty.  I told him so, and he exhaled with some relief.  I then


asked him, what happened then.  He told me he held it as long as he


could, and then I had to release him so he could go shit.




     I thought there should be something more to this so I began to


gently rub his ass cheeks, and tickle his balls.  He started to


moan, finally saying he was enjoying himself too much, that he was


going to cum.  I kept up what I was doing, and soon his cock was


shooting semen.




     When he finished, he asked if he might be un-tied so that he


could go shit.  Instead, I asked him if he wanted to try for a


new level.  When he replied that he was in no condition to object


to whatever I wanted to try, I knew that he was interested.  The


room we were in had a tile floor and the table was steel, with a


padded cushion.  I removed my clothes and then greased up my right


hand.  I then removed the bardahl nozzle.  He started to squirt


immediately, but I put my fist to his ass hole, and began to


insinuate my fingers to his ass-hole.  He gasped, but beyond


wiggling a little, said and did nothing.  I pressed first two


fingers into his ass-hole, and then a third.  He was leaking from


the ass all the time, but the flow was slow.  Finally, I had all


four fingers in his ass.  I then put my thumb tight against my


palm, and began to push my fingers in.  He moaned loudly, but still


made no objection.  With steady pressure, I managed to push my hand


into his ass, over my thumb knuckle.  I then spread my fingers a


bit.  I could feel all the water in his rectum, plus a turd, but I


pushed further.  My hand was now into his ass as far as my wrist.




     I had paused frequently, but when I was in to my wrist, he


asked how far, and when I told him to my wrist, he gasped.  I


then asked if he wanted me to go further.  In reply, he literally


pushed back against my hand, so I pushed hard.  I knew I was in


dangerous territory now.  A tear in the intestines could be fatal. 


Still, I decided to push further.  At last, when my hand was in


half way between my wrist and elbow, I stopped.  Then I pulled out


a bit, and then began to push and withdraw with a gentle motion. 


He had another cum.




     After fifteen minutes, I withdrew my hand.  He shit out the


whole enema.  He offered to clean it up, but I declined, saying


there were servants for that.




     It was after he had cleaned himself (and I had cleaned myself)


that he gave me the advice.  But he also affirmed my feelings about


myself by saying I had taken him to new levels.






                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE




                             Part 4




     My third client was a husband and wife team.  The wife


explained her husband wanted a whipping, and she couldn't do it,


but she had heard I would.  I agreed, but I asked why she


couldn't bring herself to do it.  She tried to convince me she


didn't want to hurt him.  But, I asked, wasn't her refusal a


form of hurt.  She admitted she hadn't looked at it that way.


I told her to consider it and then prepared her husband.  I


learned he had never had a serious whipping, so it was agreed I


would proceed slowly.




     The first twenty strokes were with a paddle.  He handled that


easily.  I knew he felt it, but I also knew that all but those with


the lowest of pain thresholds could  handle that sort of paddling. 


While I was doing the paddling, his wife asked if


she might watch.  After a half hour of rest, during which I left


them alone, I returned and began to use the tawse.  This was more


severe and his ass began to shift from side to side.  He also let


out with a cute little squeak a couple times.




     Again, I left them alone for a half hour and, when I returned


this time, I used the riding crop and he frequently moaned loudly. 


I looked sideways at his wife and saw that she was in no way


put-off by what she was witnessing, rather she seemed to be avidly


interested.




     After the next half hour rest, I used the cat, and began to


work on his back as well as his ass.  He moaned and groaned, and


even screamed once.  His wife had leaned forward, and she was


breathing heavily.  This time, when I finished the twenty


strokes, I just dropped the cat and walked out.




     I waited for an hour before I returned this time.  The whip


was in her hand, and it was clear she had just delivered a stroke. 


She blushed but I told her to continue, and she did.  She was


obviously inexperienced, but she loved him and I knew she would


learn.




     That nite, at supper, her husband was definitely in pain, but


they both were all smiles.  I knew that they had found themselves,


and that they had celebrated before supper with a


good fuck.  I said as much, and she, with little embarrassment,


nodded.  Then she added that I had opened the door for them, that


she had come to understand his need, and would meet it.  Then I


surprised her by asking her about her own needs.  She stammered


about not having a need but I said bullshit.  So she shyly told me


she wanted to eat my cunt.  I asked if she wanted her husband to


watch or not.  At this, he chimed in that he most certainly wanted


to watch, but he wanted to be restrained.




     We went to a bedroom (I refused to ever use my own bedroom


with a client) and she tied her husband to a stout chair, placed at


the side of the bed.  I then slipped out of my clothes and laid on


the bed, legs spread.  She knelt between my legs and began to


gently tongue me.  It took her a while, but she eventually took me


to a nice orgasm.




     They have become regular clients.  On their last visit, I


whipped her, and she enjoyed that too.








                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE




                             Part 5




     Client 5 was my first female client and was destined to become


both my friend and my most adventuresome client.




     Following my more cautious approach which I had adopted


following the urging of client 2, I met client 5 at a neutral


sight.  It was a subdued Japanese restaurant where we had our


own private room.  She was there waiting when I arrived.  As


was the custom, we had both left our shoes at the door.  While


I dressed in an elegant but conservative manner, she was


anything but conservative.  The first thing I noticed was the


leather bondage collar, followed by the handcuffs.  To my up raised


eyebrow, she merely shrugged and smiled enigmatically.  After we


had ordered drinks, during which the Japanese waitress exhibited 


no surprise or curiosity over client five's attire, she explained


she rather frequently wore her signs of masochism.  She insisted I


understand that she was not a submissive but a full blooded


masochist.  She gave me her interpretation of the difference: a


submissive accepted what the dominant wanted, while a masochist


sought out pain for its own sake.  The one approached mistreatment


from the passive view, much like a vegetable, while the other was


very active.




     I didn't disagree outright, but I did observe that some


submissives did originate ideas for their own discomfort.  She


agreed, but added that they did so to please the dominant, not


necessarily to generate pain for themselves.




     Obviously, we made arrangements for client five to visit my


plantation.  This occurred within five days.  She had said she


wanted to endure three things.  This, in itself, was unusual for


the prior clients only wanted one thing, but I encouraged her to


reveal her desires.  First, she wanted to spend twelve hours in a


pillory.  I agreed, realizing that woman was indeed very serious


for just six hours in a pillory would be severe.  Secondly, she


wished to hang suspended by her wrists for a minimum of six hours. 


Lastly, she wished to be placed in a strict hog-tie for six hours


and to be continuously sexually stimulated while she was in the


hog-tie.




     With no comment as to what seemed to me to be an excessively


ambitious program, I merely agreed, and asked what was to be


first.  The wrist suspension was elected.  Since it would be so


long, we chose to do it inside.  Without a word, she stripped off


her clothes, revealing she had her cunt shaven, with rings in


both her nipples and her cunt lips.  There was one ring in each


nipple and three rings in each of the lips of her labia.  She


surprised me by affixing a smallish ring in her nose.




        She accepted my recommendation of padded, leather wrist


cuffs; which I quickly wrapped around each of her wrists.  I


buckled them tight, and to add a little extra, I put padlocks in


each one.  She merely grinned.  I then placed an eight foot step


ladder under a ring that was at the end of a three foot chain


which was attached to a beam about twelve feet off the floor.  She


clumb up one side of the ladder and I went up the other.


She raised her wrists to the large ring and I hooked a padlock


through the large ring and the rings on both cuffs, and shoved


the shank home, effectively locking her to the over head beam.


When the ladder was removed, she would be secured to the over


head.  The three foot length of chain would make it impossible


for her to swing her body upwards to hook her feet over the beam;


but, at the same time, she would be well off the floor.  In other


words, all she could do would be to hang.




     I bade her remain still until I got down off the ladder, then


she was to back down the ladder herself until the slack went


out of the chain and I would then help lift her off the ladder to


begin her six hours of suspension.




     It didn't work out that way.  I clumb down the ladder, and, as


soon as I had done so, she jumped off the ladder.  This threw


her entire weight, but with added force, on her wrists instantly. 


All I heard was an "oof," but nothing else.  I said nothing, but


began to think that perhaps she would indeed go through all she had


planned.  I had been skeptical that she would hang suspended for


more than one hour, let alone six.




     I left her to hang by herself, but checked back often.  Once,


when I asked her how she felt, she suggested I might want to feel


her cunt.  I did, and though I expected her to be aroused, I was


unprepared for the dripping nature of her cunt.  At the end of


three hours, I clumb up the ladder and offered her a drink.  She


declined, saying she had to pee and anymore liquid would make it


very difficult to hold it.  I suggested she simply pee on the


floor, that it could be easily mopped up.  She smiled gratefully,


and did drink the liquid.




     When I returned the next time, there was a large pool of piss


on the floor.   While she hung above me, I got a mop and mopped it


all up.  I then got a small switch and hit her on the ass ten


times.  The first stroke surprised her but she simply hung straight


down during the other nine.  When I finished, she said she


understood.




     At the end of five and half hours, I found another pool of


piss, which I mopped up, and I hit her ten more times.  At the end


of each half hour, I announced how much time she had been hanging


and if she was okay.  Each time, she assured me all was well.  When


I announced the sixth hour, I asked her how she felt, and she said


fine.  Then I suggested that maybe she would want to extend the


time.  There was a sharp intake of breath, and her body convulsed. 


It was obvious that my question had caused her to orgasm.  When


finally she quieted down, and hung limply again, she thanked me,


and said she wasn't going to go anywhere anyway until I let her


down, and that the duration of her suspension was in my hands.




     Very quickly, I disabused her of that idea.  I would support,


but I refused to dictate.  I made to pull the ladder under her, to


lower her, but she quickly agreed that she was the one in control


of her own destiny and asked that I let her hang


another hour.  At the end of seven hours, I did help her to climb


up the ladder; after which I unlocked her wrists.  I then helped


her down for her arms were numb.






                      THE AGONY OF PARADISE




                             Part 6




     We visited at dinner that nite.  She thanked me for urging to


go for more and wondered if that was to be my habit.  I told


her that, yes, that was my general approach; but I would do so


only, if in my professional judgement, she was capable.




     She had a normal childhood, though she was an only child.  At


about age eight or nine, she and her friends began to engage in


games where one or more of them were tied up.  At first, she tied


others as often as she was tied;  beginning at about age ten, she


had begun to be the one tied up by the other kids most often.  At


first, she had protested why she was always the one to be tied up,


but, eventually, she became reconciled to it.  Once reconciled, she


began to seek comfort (she was yet too


young to seek pleasure) while she was bound.  Fortunately, her


friends were as inexperienced as she, so her bondages were seldom


difficult to endure.




     From time to time, she would daydream about her situation.


Mostly, she thought of herself as the heroine who had been


captured by the bad guys.  She was left alone several times, and


not infrequently, she managed to wriggle out of her bondages.  They


used the backyards of each other, but, occasionally, they used a


nearby woods.  One time, when she was twelve, her two closest


neighbors, a boy of her own age and a girl a year older, asked if


she wanted to try to get lose from a special tie-up.  Sensing a


challenge, and knowing her friends wouldn't hurt her, she accepted


the idea.




     Very quickly, it was clear this was to be no ordinary tie-up. 


They went to the woods where she was placed with her back against


a tree.  They began to use yards and yards of rope.


When they finished, they told her to have fun trying to escape


as they thought there was no way she was going to get lose by


herself.  They were right: she had no hope of escaping.  She just


relaxed in her bonds to await the return of her friends.  But they


left her there long after they should have returned to untie her.


       She began to worry that she might not make it home before


her deadline.  She tried again to free herself, and became very


frustrated when she couldn't.  And, for the first time, an


element of fright entered her mind.  Here she was, a girl


helplessly bound to a tree, in a woods where very few people


ever came.




       At last, her friends came back to untie her. She was angry


with her friends the next day, and didn't talk to them. At lunch at


school, her girl friend asked what was wrong, and she angrily


told her friend she was mad because they had left her so long.


Her friend said she was sorry and they wouldn't do it again.  Since


she wasn't really angry, she quickly made up with her friend.


     The tie-ups continued intermittently over the next two years. 


She noticed that while she occasionally was tied by the


original group, more and more often it was just her girlfriend


and the boy next door.




     It was three weeks later when next she allowed herself to be


tied again.  She did set a condition; however, that they would


return to untie her before five in the afternoon.  Also, since it


would be getting dark soon, she asked that they tie her to the


clothes line pole.