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The Gamblers 5

Author: Diana

Filed in: bondage, sm, series, rage

That evening when I got home, she met me at the door dressed in black pants and a white silk top. The pants hugged her behind, highlighting her long legs. The outfit included a short jacket that made her small waist look tiny. She was a classy dream… a Park Avenue debutant… no one would ever guess that she was a CELT.

“Is this okay, Howard?” she asked innocently.

“It’s perfect,” I replied enthusiastically. My relief was enormous. I wanted to kiss her and more, but held back. We hardly knew each other.

She waited and then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you, again,” she said. Then she began to describe her day as we walked to my bedroom. She was effervescent, bubbling over with enthusiasm, talking lightly all the way to my door where she waited modestly while I got dressed.

Being in New York City with time and money was an exciting experience, especially for a stunningly beautiful young girl. I knew that she would have been propositioned at least half-a-dozen times. In fact, a part of me thought that she might be gone when I got home, contract or not.

For the next hour we talked continuously without saying anything important. I forgot that she was a professional escort and despite my clumsiness around women, I felt a real rapport growing between us. She made everything easy and fun and there was no mention of yesterday’s events or the prior evening’s discussion. It was as if we were old friends.

Dinner was even better. We talked about everything and nothing; it was a real date. It turned out that she was 22, three years younger than me. Her family was from California with Russian roots. She had originally come to New York to get the East Coast educational experience. It was fun to talk about the stuff we’d done in college, and to exchange opinions on just about everything.  She was incredibly sharp and smart, much smarter than I had imagined. For the first time in a long time, I was having fun.

Later, over coffee we discussed her “situation.” She was open and unembarrassed. After college, she had been looking for a job when her father had been accused of embezzlement. Between the legal fees and fines, the family, which had been reasonably well off, lost almost everything. He went to prison for eight years. Two month’s later her brother was diagnosed with cancer. The treatments needed to keep him alive were costly. She tried everything, but the only way she could get enough money for him was to become a CELT. Even then, the non-transferable contracts didn’t pay enough, so she needed to agree to the more lucrative transfer clause. Such a contract had come easily with her looks.

The only sad moment in our conversation was when she talked about her mother and brother, who she had not seen for two years. Apparently, both had naturally fought her decision to become a CELT, calling his illness “God’s will.” When she refused to listen, they broke all contact with her. Her money was now funneled to them through a charitable foundation which, on her strict orders, took full credit for the charity. There was no bitterness in the explanation. “Just my bad luck,” she said with a sad smile.

Stupidly, I asked her if she was happy as a CELT. She looked at me almost with pity and then said, “Some parts of it are OK, like now. Others are a nightmare. Most women, for example, look at me as if I were a used condom.” She looked around the room at the other diners.

“It doesn’t help to think about things in terms of ‘happy’ or ‘sad,’ Howard. It doesn’t work that way. I just try to get through each day, one at a time, and deal with what comes along. As I said, some are good, other days I would be very happy to die. Unfortunately that option isn’t available to me—CELT contracts terminate on accidental death or suicide.” There was no self-pit in the explanation.

“That part of your life is over, really Jess, I mean it,” I reassured her. “It’s unbelievable to me that anyone could mistreat a beautiful and talented girl like you.” She just smiled and nodded. Then she asked me about “my story.”

It was boring by comparison, but she encouraged me to talk. I told her about my family, which was wealthy; my job, which had been arranged through family connections at the bank; and about my Grandfather’s Manhattan townhouse, which he had left for me, his fifth grandson, to use. I explained that even though I was “from money” and might someday inherit something from my parents, I wasn’t rich myself…just an ordinary working guy with a fabulous Manhattan townhouse and a small but regular trust-fund allowance. Encouraged, I talked even about the little things—private school in Boston, summers in Rhode Island, high-school football, tennis (and my small triumph getting to the Northeast College League’s Semi-Finals), and my few love affairs, all of which had ended unhappily.

She related to everything, laughing and sighing at just the right times. It was as if we were best friends, catching up with each other’s lives.

Then it was time for desert.

“I’ll have a piece of blueberry pie a la mode,” she told the waiter.

“And I’ll take the chocolate mousse,” I said.

“Did you take care of the contract today, Howard?” she asked in the same carefree tone she had used all evening.

“No, sorry, I didn’t get around to it. The office was a madhouse today. I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning,” I promised cheerfully. I had romance on my mind and felt sure that we would be lovers tonight.

She smiled. “Thanks for this evening. I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night. You’ve been wonderful.” Then her voice lowered to a whisper. “And thanks as well to that wonderful queen-of-hearts. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be hanging from Max’s rope right now, dancing to his whip.” This was the first time she had directly referred to the B&D part of a CELTs life. I was amazed at how casually she could talk about such a horror.

“Let’s not talk about that stuff, Jess. I hate to even think of you being hurt that way. Anyway, its ancient history, no one is ever going to hurt you again,” I promised.

She nodded and smiled. “You promise?” she said, reaching for my hand. “Not even a little spanking?” She was obviously just teasing me, but the thought of it was stimulating… “Maybe you can tie me up in the shower, Howard, and make me suck your balls. Men seem to like that.”

I was shocked! This was pretty crude talk for two people basically on a first date. I was also disturbed that she had guessed the kind of thing that was on my mind; the shower scene was one of my strongest sexual fantasies.

But I answered with equal nonchalance as if she were joking, “Nope, nothing; as you will see, I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“There are no perfect gentlemen, Howard,” she said carefully, “only those too repressed or too scared to give free rein to their real feelings.” Then her voice lifted and she laughed, “You seem a little repressed yourself, Howard. I’ll bet you a kiss that I could turn you into a Max-like sadist in an hour.”

I laughed with her and replied, “That’s just about the last thing I want to be, but feel free.” I was still joking around, trying to get us back to a normal conversation. “I hope Max has gotten over losing last night. I suspect that you were his walking bankroll for his next game.”

She nodded then our deserts arrived. “Pie-a-la-mode for the lady and chocolate mousse for the gentleman,” the waiter intoned.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Jesse said pleasantly to the waiter. “I ordered the apple pie.”

"No Miss, I’m sure you ordered the blueberry, but I will be happy to bring you apple instead,” he said politely.

“No, I ordered the apple,” she insisted, her voice still pleasant.

“Well, maybe you did,” he said in a placating way, humoring her. “In any case, I’ll be happy to swap it for you.”

I could see that she was getting annoyed. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “since you want to be right so badly, let’s just say that this fucking pie is your fucking tip.” She was talking loudly enough now so that people in the surrounding tables started turning their heads.

“Jesse,” I said, “Take it easy, it’s not worth getting upset over.”

“Sorry, I just don’t like people who can’t admit a mistake,” she was perfectly cool, but determined. “Like this asshole here.”

That was when the waiter made a fatal mistake. “Look Miss, maybe it will mean my tip, which I can’t afford to lose, but you ordered the blueberry. I’m certain of it.” Now everyone was glancing over.

She looked at him for a moment and then seemed to collect herself. “Yes, I guess it’s possible that I said blueberry without thinking.” I was relieved and the small room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief; finally she was being reasonable. I hated scenes. “Maybe you’re right. I’m really sorry, Sir. I like blueberry too, why don’t you just leave it?”

The waiter gave a little bow and turned around. The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion. Horrified, I watched as she dumped the pie into her hand, stood up, and smeared it over the back of his white jacket.

For half a second the room froze then it was pandemonium. Everyone was shouting and moving at the same time. After a time, I managed to pull Jesse into the foyer to deal with the manager. It took every ounce of personal charm I had to get out of there without police action. Of course, the two hundred-dollar bills I passed the waiter for his cleaning bill and tip didn’t hurt.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” I asked her angrily in the cab, confused at the sudden turn of events.

“I hate liars,” she replied with amazingly calm.

“And that’s the way you show it—by going crazy in public.” I was incensed.

“That waiter was a liar, just like you!” She looked at me with eyes blazing. I was amazed at the transformation. Twenty minutes ago we were like two kids on a first date.

“You promised me that you would take care of my contract today, but ‘somehow’ you just couldn’t find the time.” Her mouth had shaped itself into an ugly snarl, or at least as ugly as her beautiful face could manage. “Like I told you, Howard, the men I know make lots of promises that they just ‘don’t get around to,’ at least with CELTs. It’s really amazing how many times it’s happened. You are just a younger version of those same pricks.”

Then she paused and continued with real hatred, “No, I take that back, Howard. Most of them have not been as hypocritical... as cowardly!”

“Jess, I want you to be quiet now.” I was steaming and thinking about how this was sounding to the driver. “I told you I would take care of it, and I will,” I said in forced whisper. “And look, I use that restaurant all the time. You embarrassed me in there; not only that, it was totally unnecessary.” I was pissed.

“…and by the way, you did order the blueberry.”

She turned a bright red, turned her face away and stopped talking. I was happy to let things settle down. When we reached the house, she jumped out and ran to the door, opening it with a key that she could only have gotten from my desk. Realizing this, I was furious. She had rifled through my private things!

This had to stop… right now.

I handed the driver a twenty dollar bill and waited for my change, mostly to give myself time to calm down. Then I followed her slowly into the house. The light was on in the library. I was thinking about my opinions: …throw this crazy bitch out in the morning; …take her to a hotel; …call my lawyer; …call the cops. This scene was definitely not my style, and she was definitely too emotional, too erratic, too volatile for my taste. I was a quiet introverted kind of guy; loud, aggressive people turned me off.

It was sad though, I thought. She was someone I could have enjoyed being with. Why did she go nuts all of a sudden?

I was prepared for more craziness, but the scene in front of me when I reached the library door was way beyond crazy. Jesse was squatting on the rug, naked from the waist down, pissing on the Oriental rug in front of my desk. Max’s leather bag was nearby. I was dumbfounded, quick-frozen to the ground. Strangely, my first though was that the bag had been moved.

“This is what I think of your promises, you little coward,” she screamed at me across the room. “You’re just another fucking liar. And don’t ever tell me to be quiet again; I’ll say what I want.” She was in an insane rage, but now so was I. This CELT bitch-whore was pissing on me, on my Grandfather’s rug…

For the first time in my amazingly gentile life, I literally saw red. Enraged, I crossed the space between us in a second (tennis players are incredibly fast over short distances) and pushed her hard to one side. She hit her head on the desk and was momentarily stunned. Seizing the advantage, I sat on her back and pinned her arms in the small of her back. She recovered within seconds and started to scream. Not just scream, to buck, kick, bite—I had a wildcat on my hands.

Desperate to control her, I franticly looked around the room. The only thing within reach was the bag. I pulled it to me. Inside, right on top, were the soft leather binding strips. Hadn’t I pushed them to the bottom when I got her clothes? Whatever…

She was incredibly strong, but fortunately I was stronger. (I had been playing tennis since I was five.) In a minute, I had her wrists tied. Unbelievably, she was still trying to kick me with her bound feet. Grabbing another strap, I tied her ankles, bent her legs at the knees and tied her wrists to her ankles. It wasn’t painful, just restraining.

“Let me out of this you fucking coward!” she screamed. “You’re a weakling and a liar. When I get out of this, I’m going straight to my lawyer. Your fucking family will never forgive you.”

I was shaken. Now I was part of a legal dispute. This was scary stuff. Where was the wonderful girl that I had been with tonight? …the one who had cried on my knee last night in the plane? I needed her to stop talking, right now. Dumping the bag’s contents on the floor, I found a huge ball gag and pushed it against her closed mouth. She refused to open and with a sudden shake of her head, knocked it out of my hand.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Little Coward” she was almost laughing in her rage. “I’ve been tied by real men, men with balls. You think you can compete with them?”

Again I saw red and in an insane moment of my own, I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Then I held roughly shoved in the gag into her mouth, dropped her head and tightened the gag’s strap behind her neck. Still in a rage, I spied the leather hood and pulled that over her head as well, fastening its collar around her neck.

Emotionally drained and exhausted, I sat back in a chair to calm myself. Jesse also quieted slowly. What an incredible mess. Did I really need to tie her up this way? …just ‘til she calms down, I told myself. She really could have hurt me, or herself. Maybe she needs psychiatric help. She must be bipolar or something, an hour ago we had been laughing, sharing personal experiences even secrets.

When I was sure she had settled down, I walked over and removed the hood. She looked at me normally, even a little embarrassed. I took out the gag.

“I’m sorry, Jesse, I thought you were going to hurt yourself,” I was embarrassed and started to move to untie her wrists.

“Don’t worry about it, Howard,” she said in an absolutely calm and rationale voice. “People get carried away and abuse their CELTs all the time. We’ll let our lawyers sort this out. I’ll try to keep it out of the newspapers.”

I froze. What’s this? Newspapers… My parents will be devastated. I’ll be fired. I returned to the chair and sat down, shaken.

“Let me out of this, Howard, or I’ll call the cops tonight. How good do you think its going to look to have flashing lights on your street. Every additional second that I stay in this is another…”

I jumped up and roughly shoved the ball gag back into her mouth and replaced the hood. I couldn’t handle any more graphic detail of exactly how my life was going to be flushed down the toilet.

I returned to my chair and watched her. Was this really as bad as she implied? I would need to explain what had happened, but people would understand. It wasn’t as if I went to a CELT auction and bought myself a contract. My family also had some of the best lawyers in the country.

As I calmed myself, I watched her. She certainly had great legs and a great ass; not only that, but her oversized cunt was now bare and fully visible …

“Fuck this,” I said out loud still angry and retrieved a pair of scissors. I paused for a moment watching her ass then I used the scissors to cut off the rest of her clothing. She struggled violently and tried to say something through the gag.

Do I really care what she has to say? I thought. Not really. I was finished with her now, what difference did it make?

I returned to my chair once again. What a magnificent body! I took my time and examined every inch of it. I also paused to admire my hurried bondage. Without thinking about it, I had crossed her ankles and wrists; splaying her knees and elbows to the sides and preventing her from rolling over. Not a bad job for a novice, I thought. She was completely restrained.

Is that all I wanted—to restrain her? Shouldn’t she pay in some way for her behavior tonight? Isn’t this why CELT contracts allowed physical discipline? I examined my feelings. The small oriental that she had pissed on was probably ruined. It had been worth a lot of money. The scene she had created in the restaurant had embarrassed me in front of a lot of people, some that I knew. Not only that, but her insults and threats were clear challenges to my, albeit temporary, authority. Wasn’t I entitled to the respect due an owner until she was emancipated? Fuck all that, wasn’t I entitled to the respect due someone who had risked everything to help her, a CELT?

The more I thought about it, the more incensed I became. If any CELT ever deserved to be punished, it was her. I really would be a coward if I let all of this go by without responding in a way that was expected with a CELT. Was I really the coward she kept calling me?

I spent a few more minutes thinking then I walked over and hooded her once again. Untying her arms, I brought them over her head to her shoulder blades and bound her wrists once again. I also tied her elbows together behind her head. Surprisingly, the hood made her quite manageable—a lesson learned. Using a long strap from Max’s bag, I looped her wrists and ankles together again. By lifting her legs while pulling on the end of the strap, I was able to arch her back until her body was pulled into a tight bow. I stopped when her knees were fully off the ground and all of her weight was on her chest. Lastly, I tied a strap to the loop at the top of her hood and pulled her head back hard tying it off to her elbow strap.

Her body whipsawed violently during this entire process, but each new tie restrained it a little more until the whipping motion turned into minor jerking. Hesitantly at first, I ran my hands over her breasts. They were incredible. Then for some reason, I pinched her nipples. I could hear her grunting through the hood. I did it again, harder. Her body jerked violently in protest. I did it again, even harder. I could hear her protests turning into a cry of real pain. I enjoyed it.

I stood back to admire my work. Her breasts and ass were rock hard under the strain of the bow; in fact, all of her muscles were straining to relieve the pressure on her back. Her knees were pointed to her sides allowing me an unrestricted view of her cunt which I noticed was dripping wet. What did that mean? I wondered.

I returned to my chair to watch her. There was something mesmerizing in her jerking motions, in the muffled groans coming from inside the hood; it was hypnotic, like watching the flames in a fireplace. In fact, why shouldn’t I have a fire for this? I got up and lit the simulated-wood fire, lowering the lights until the flames cast her bare, glistening skin in a romantic glow.

I was absolutely calm now and surprisingly happy with myself. Her muffled cries had become part of the room’s ambiance, contrasting nicely with its soft leathers and dark wood. I had a vision of Jesse as a party decoration, naked, hooded, and hogtied on the stone table, writhing in the fire’s glow as people stood around talking with their drinks in-hand.

I got up and removed the hood; I wanted to see her eyes.

Without the hood and its built-in loop, though, I needed to tie a strap around her forehead to keep her head up, which I did. She tried to say something while this was going on, but the leather gag made her grunts incomprehensible. No matter, I could tell from the mix of pain and rage in her eyes that she wasn’t happy.

In fact, it was even better for me that she was still acting like a wildcat. I wasn’t totally sure that I could handle it if she were to become normal again, to plead with me. Reaching into the bag, I found the Piranhas and held them in front of her face. For a flickering second, her rage was replaced by fear. Good, she was finally beginning to understand that she had gone too far with me. Pushing her back by the shoulders, I grabbed each breast and slipped the Piranhas on as far as they would go. A high pitched groan came from her throat as they bit into her nipples. Then I slowly lowered her to the floor until her full weight was back on her chest. Now, every time she moved the Piranhas pushed against the hardwood floor and took a new bite. She tried to arch her back higher to take the weight off, but it was impossible. Slowly, she resigned herself to their gnawing pain.

I starred into her eyes. I could see that the pain in her nipples was gradually being overshadowed by that in her arched back and shoulders. I realized that each new pain had its own its own unique time and personality—more useful information.

I watched her suffer like this for almost five minutes. Gradually, the rage in her eyes was replaced by an unmistakable plea for mercy. This was the same look she had given me in the lounge. I ignored her for another full minute. Finally, I reached over and released the strap that held her in the hogtie. Her body went flat and motionless on the floor. She groaned as her over-stressed muscles relaxed; I removed her gag.

She lay exhausted on her stomach. Her wrists and crossed ankles were still bound and the Piranhas were still attached. I examined her hands and feet carefully to be sure that there was no loss of circulation and spoke to her in a voice devoid of all emotion.

“Are you ready to talk to me normally now?” I asked. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t the voice dripping with venom that said, “Fuck you, Howard the Coward. I’ll bet you enjoyed every minute of that.”

I was surprised and it showed in my face. She took my surprise as a minor victory and smiled. But every victory has its price. Without hesitation, I reinserted the gag and put her back into the arch for another five minutes. Her suffering this second time was even more excruciating.

When I released the gag, she cried hysterically, unable to catch her breath. As before, her wrists and ankles were still tied and the Piranhas were still in place. I wanted her to believe that I was ready to do it again. I watched her with mixed emotions—on one hand she deserved it, in spades; on the other, did anyone have the right to cause this much pain in another human being… for any reason? I didn’t know the answer; all I knew was that I needed to come out of this contest a clear winner, for both our sakes.

When the crying subsided I said, “I can keep this up all night, Jess, how about you?” There was real fear in her eyes now.

“Listen to me. I fully intend to emancipate you as soon as I can. But until that happens, I need you to act like a human being. I can’t have you making scenes, or threatening me with lawyers, or newspapers, or stealing my keys, or pissing on my Grandfather’s oriental rugs. It seems to me that the only way I can prevent those things is to temporarily exert my legal rights over you as your contract owner, and for you to act like the CELT that you are.”

I paused; there was no answer from her. I was frustrated. Did she really want me to do it again? Then I realized my mistake. CELTs speak only when invited, typically in response to a direct question.

“Do you agree to act like my contract-girl until I emancipate you?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said respectfully. This time I didn’t correct her. I really was her master, at least for a while. It would be better if we both remembered that.

Gently, I removed the Piranhas and untied her. Then I lowered her arms and retied them behind her back. I wanted to be sure that she was herself. She didn’t move or make a sound. After a while, I helped her to her knees. Then I sat back down in my chair. She was naked with her hands tied, sitting back on her haunches in the firelight. She was incredibly beautiful. Slowly, she raised her head and looked at me. Her mouth was partly open and I could see her tongue moving between her teeth. She was breathing heavily. Her pointed nipples looked amazing.

“You owe me a kiss, Howard,” she said softly.

It took me a moment to understand. Then I remembered her challenge at dinner to turn me into a Sadist within an hour. Was that only an hour ago?

“Look, Jesse, we need to talk about…” I started to say.

She interrupted me, “No more talk, Howard. My kiss…”

I stood up and walked over to her. Then I reached under her arms and lifted her to her feet. We looked at each other and then kissed eagerly as I ran my hands over her naked, bound body.

At some point, she dropped to her knees and started to nuzzle my crouch. I stepped out of my clothes. She moved to me on her knees and turned her head sideways, gently sucking my balls into her mouth. I could feel her teeth and mouth pressing softly as her throat made a low purring sound. I was ready to come, but I held back, knowing that this was not the right moment.

After a time, she took my cock into her mouth. As I had imagined, she was accomplished and used her lips and tongue to massage and stimulate every part of the organ. She had also been trained to suppress her natural gag reflex, allowing me to push my cock deeply into her throat. It was necessary pull back occasionally to give her time to breathe, but eventually we found the right rhythm and soon it seemed as natural as fucking her pussy.

At exactly the right moment her eyes lifted and I knew that, for the moment at least, she was subjugated. It was an incredible moment of insight. She was fulfilled, helpless, on her knees, sucking my cock. This was not a conscious or voluntary act; it was the result of 50,000 years of human evolution.

I felt an incredible rush of strength and power and grabbed her hair in both hands as I came in her mouth; every muscle in my body was straining. She didn’t choke or struggle to pull away. Just the opposite, her body began undulated as she hungrily swallowed my cum. Then, as a conclusion to our “mating” she sucked me dry.

I kept her hands tied and carried her to her room, laying her gently on the bed. She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t fully conscious either. It was a kind of stupor, almost as if she were drugged. That night, I kept her tied and fucked her until my balls turned blue. Then I freed her and went to my room.

The next morning, I left early again, before she was awake. I left her all the cash I had in the house, about $1,500, and a very different kind of note:


I’m not sure exactly what happened last night, but it was incredibly wonderful. I would love to have you as my CELT, whatever the consequences. However, I also want you to stay of your own accord.

Consequently, I reaffirm my promise to emancipate you with no financial penalty if you so choose.

We can talk about it when I get home.

The money enclosed is a gift for clothes and other essentials you may need.


Howard Lowe

July 15, 2115

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