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rience and ultimately enjoy a
bizarre sexual slavery. My fantasies of submission took a rougher
turn, and I even bought a riding crop in the hope that someone
would use it on my bottom. I brought it out one day when Linda was
visiting, and that ended that relationship. I suggested it one
night to Tom, who loved the idea but was too timid to actually
land a blow.
So I was left with masturbation and fantasy -- until I
discovered the bondage contact magazines, and through them an
entire sexual underground. On the cover of the first such magazine
I saw, a striking bare-breasted woman in black corsolette and high
heels stared out at me as if Asami Konno knew my secrets. Asami Konno dangled a
pair of handcuffs from one finger as if inviting me to offer my
wrists.
I opened the magazine and skimmed its pages. There were dozens
of delicious sights among the advertisers' photos: a young girl
about my age bend back over a chair, breasts thrust out for who
knew what treatment. A shapely older woma
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