Surfing the Internet for bondage so you don't have to

She was a gifted young software designer who happened to work part time as a nude dancer.

One hour before her level-3 sleep period is to end, I enter her cell with a head harness training ball gag and the Single Sleeve Glove.

Very soon after this, she is led to me by a silver chain locked to her collar like a struggling mare.

This twenty-two year old girl's three-inch high heels tap out their staccato sound on the hardwood floor announcing her arrival on the scene.

She snorts, spittle sprays around the ball gag in her mouth. The other end of her leash is quickly locked to a brass bolt embedded firmly in the mirrored wall.

This brass bolt now with it's brass padlock and silver chain running to pretty girl's neck is very near the corner of the room. The adjoining wall also has a similar eight-foot wall to ceiling smoked mirror.

It is always entertaining to watch the expressions that played over their faces, as they became aware of their situation.

The mere fact of finding oneself bound and defenseless is terrifying in and of itself.

First her eyes travel to me and then to the mirrors reflecting her image.

She jerks and flops about in an effort to free herself, but finding that this only serves to increase the helplesness , she soon desists, followed by an inevitable groan of defeat.

I have dressed her in open toe red heels with matching red straps, a small brass lock hanging just above each anklebone. Her long bare legs have never looked so wonderful. She no doubt feels doubly naked with her crotch completely debilitated only yesterday.

I know that her elbows are crushed together, giving her All American girl figure a very curvy, feminine look.

Seeing me seated in the chair, she turns momentarily to face me. I see full heaving breasts on an armless torso with an extremely pretty face, especially her wide eyes and pert nose encased by the Red Head Harness and small (1-inch) training ball gag which fits totally in her mouth, locked deep behind her teeth.

Pretty Girl is not her name; I haven't decided on her name just yet, during a slave girl's training, her attitude and personality often suggests an appropriate name.

This story starts some time after her capture and initial introduction to the Compound, which I refer to as My Ranch.

Comments and suggestions are welcome, but remember, she is mine. I own her.

Candidates have to be gagged at this stage of their training; there is simply no other way. After a few minutes she pauses, reflecting on her situation.

She decides to stand facing the wall to my right where she cannot see me in the mirror, giving me a side profile of her beauty.

Suddenly she curls her leg and tries to roll up in some form of a standing ball as the situation she finds herself in begins to overwhelm her. Her gloved arms follow the curvature of her bare back as she leans forward and kneels down until the chain on her collar stops her.

The tether is too short to be on her knees since she is not standing near the wall.

With the sharp pull on her neck, she recovers and again stands sideways, continuing to reveal her profile, a sleek, perfect butt, pointed breasts, each with a hard nipple.

She is nude, except for the single sleeve glove, collar and heels. With all three pieces bright red in color, this is the perfect uniform to begin training new candidates.

Her costume makes a statement, and at the same time, I am making a statement to her. She is under my control. I watch her suck in her breath to gain composure, and as she stands more fully erect, her body language tells me that she is formally acknowledging my presence.

“That's it girl, stand up straight, relax. I told you I would not move until you indicate that you feel it is safe for me to do so."

A new flurry of blubbering comes forth, but it is quick and short, as large slurry of spittle runs down her chin and I can tell that this embarrasses her.

I remain quiet and ignore the drips to her chest. She does not face me but stand at about a 40-degree angle to the wall on my right, her neck chain looping to the same wall.

With an audible moan she turns away from me and pushes her front into the far wall trying to wipe the spit from her lower face and upper torso. She has caught the chain between her body and glass, the hard steel links bruising her.

She stops and remains against the wall, her back to me, the V of her red-gloved arms silhouetted against her bare white skin.

"When you are ready, I want you to kneel down beside the wall and pay attention to what I have to tell you."

She does not react which is quite normal. I take another hit from my cigarette; I can no longer smell her.

“I want you to be on your knees facing me. You have to be near the wall so the chain will not choke you. I know this is new to you and you are scared, but we are going to do this my way. I know your elbows are hurting, but we, you and I pretty girl, have all day to do this my way.”

This is generally a calming influence and I soon have them on their knees as directed.

With the mention of her elbows, the burn in her shoulders will come back to her.

Nothing forces a girl to deal with helplessness like the simple elegance of a single sleeve glove.

The growing pain in her shoulders helps her to submit while enforcing a posture suggesting of a regal stance. If she is not ready to deal with her situation, pressure can be applied, perhaps an hour's ride on Le Horse, but only after four to six sessions of this kind of training effort.

Like I told her we have all day, and tomorrow and the next, I have beer, joints and a large supply of steaks, but she won't see any of this.

It is cute to watch a woman in a single sleeve and heels try to get to her knees for the first time.

Like most, this one sits with her knees close together, up on her heels. The spittle on her chest and breasts is now running towards her navel.

She is trembling so hard I think that she may fall over.

"Lean against the wall, pretty girl. Get your breath, relax."

Many women once again struggle to their feet, denying the totality of their situation.

Time for another joint, she must realize we can continue this all day.

Tears erupt, but my manner is calm, I know that I need her to be on her knees so I can begin to train her with my voice.

"Pay attention woman. I expect you to listen and learn. This is why you are gagged. I don't want to have to be telling you the same thing twice. I expect you to listen and learn.

You are much more than a kidnapping victim, which of course you are. We are talking about ownership here pretty girl. I own you; you are a slave, my slave girl. Beginning right now, how you deal with this concept determines how I treat you."

This one continues to kneel against the wall, trembling in almost total, exhausted defeat as she turns her face to the mirror and struggles to get her breathing under control around the ball gag.

I watch approvingly as her right ankle slowly spreads away from her left and she sinks down further on her knees.

Comments and suggestions regarding her training are welcome, but remember, she is mine.

I own her.

Sir James