by John Savage
A sorority stunt goes wrong and one beautiful young woman disappears, stolen from a shipping crate in which her sorority sisters had packed her naked and tightly bound body. A Private Detective is called in, and Sled Speed is on the case!
From a sorority house where the young coeds play more with rope than tennis rackets or text books, to a brothel down in old Mexico, Sled Speed follows the trail of the abducted young woman, encountering many kinky characters along the way. And more tightly bound and gagged women then he would have thought possible. And whipped women, punished women…
Aided by the sexiest housemother to ever grace a sorority, Sled hunts for the imprisoned Buffy, hoping to find her before she’s turned into a prostitute.
Mistress Wilma rose from the bed, and it was good that Buffy did not see the wicked grin upon her face. Rebellion in a slave is something most masters and mistresses like to see. It gives them both an excuse to punishment the rebellious woman and the joy of doing so. The riding crop was resting upon the dresser, conveniently at hand.
“Am I to understand that you refuse a direct order?” asked Wilma, sweetly.
Buffy said nothing.
“You will kneel by the bed and place your body upon it. Or will I have to force you?”
Buffy considered continued rebellion but decided that it would be better to rebel only when necessary. Leaning over the end of the bed was not the same as performing the ordered sexual act, and Mistress Wilma could easily force her. She could always call in slave to help. He would probably gladly hold her down while the riding crop was unleashed upon her bare bottom. She shuffled forward and tilted her body over the bed. The satin comforter felt cool and smooth against her breasts.
There was a sudden, violent sting in her left cheek, accompanied by a slapping sound. Buffy jerked upright and her fingers flew to the injured flesh.
“Get back down or I’ll tie you that way and give you an extra two dozen strokes as punishment for not staying down.”
Buffy lowered herself back to the bed, thinking that it did hurt but that it was not something she could not handle. If taking some pain in the ass would mean her being released, it would be well worth it; a small price to pay.
Buffy squealed as the second swat landed upon her other cheek. But she managed to keep from jerking upright. That seemed important to her, that she not be tied down to the bed. Being chained up was one thing, and it did make her helpless, but she could at least move around some and that gave her a sense of some freedom, however false. Being tied down would make her immobile and more vulnerable.
Two, she counted silently to herself. She wondered how many strokes of that riding crop it would take before Mistress Wilma would cease.
The count rose to ten, evenly distributed over both globes, inflicting considerable pain to those surfaces. Buffy found herself crying, the tears falling to make dark stains upon the red satin comforter.
As the count reached twenty, Buffy began to have doubts.