then…

Justine walked unsteadily into her condo, so stunned that she didn’t shut the door, staring ahead of her in shock. There was a hole in her wall. There was a hole in her wall!

It was a big square hole in the brick wall, perhaps four feet above the floor, a foot by a foot, smooth on top and bottom, uneven on the sides where the overlapping bricks had been removed. It was in the wall adjoining her quiet, weird, mousy little neighbor, the spooky one whom Justine privately called, “Marion the Librarian.” She was taller than Justine, so perhaps the “little” was unfair, but the rest was true as true can be. She was shy, never making eye contact, never speaking above a whisper, always brushing quietly past with a barely perceptible nod whenever she and Justine met in the hallway. And the only sounds ever emanating from the mouse’s condo had been those of construction, and even those had been muffled, and only for the past few days. But this – this hole – as a result! Justine was furious. What in the hell had the little idiot been thinking? Justine decided to find out.

Justine stalked up to the hole and bent over, thrust her head through and up, determined to have a good look at whatever the hell had been going on, determined to find out why her wall now had a goddamn big hole in it.

With the sound of smoothly sanded wood sliding together, two pieces of wood slid up and down along the far side of the wall toward Justine’s head with the ominous speed of a guillotine. They met with a solid “thunk,” and Justine froze in fright and shock. She recovered almost instantly, only to find that the solid wooden slabs had semi-circles carved into their meeting ends, forming a small hole now trapping Justine’s slender neck within. She scrabbled at the wood with her long fingernails and found that the panels were thick and solid and gave not at all.

Justine pressed against the wood with all her might, tried to pull her head back through the hole, found the effort useless. She was trapped. She twisted her head up and down, to the left and right, but saw no one within the adjoining condo. And then she heard a giggle.

Justine looked to her right and saw her neighbor, Marion. She was standing in the doorway to what was probably a bedroom, holding one hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. In her other hand, she held a large power tool.

Marion strode toward Justine, held the tool upright, and with quick, graceful motions, drilled four large screws into the wooden panels imprisoning Justine’s neck, locking them in place. Justine watched this in mute horror, opened her mouth to scream or to shout or to curse, and at that instant found a long piece of duct tape slapped upon her mouth, followed by another, and then a third. And then Marion walked to the door, and left the condo without a word – but with the drill.

Justine’s beautiful eyes were wide for long seconds in astonishment, and then she resumed pulling and pushing on the wooden panels holding her captive. They seemed more solid than ever. And then she felt her short skirt folded up over her hips, her thong pulled down about her knees, followed by a hard swat upon her bare bottom.

The swat was followed by others, equally hard, and Justine flailed her arms and kicked her legs in a vain attempt to stop the spanking. All was to no avail. And once the spanking was done, she once again heard the sound of the drill, somewhere behind her, in her own condo. Then, she felt hands upon her, seizing her left wrist and wrapping it in rough hemp rope, and stretching it out along the wall, finally binding it in place. Her right wrist was similarly captured, and Justine’s hands were bound and no longer of any use to her. She wriggled uselessly, wondering what was next to come.

Her clothing. Not to come, but to go. Justine felt the smooth coolness of metal sliding along her skin, and faintly heard the sound of scissors, cutting her clothing off her body. The scissors didn’t follow the seams or obvious points of cutting, but cut haphazardly, starting and stopping, twisting and turning, their purpose being not only to strip Justine’s body of clothing, but to destroy that clothing, to turn it into useless rags. In seconds, Justine was naked.

Hands explored Justine’s naked, helpless body, the slender, strong, long-nailed hands of a woman, the first time she had ever felt a woman’s hands upon her. She was pinched and caressed, stroked and groped, fondled and penetrated. And despite her captive, unwilling state, her head on one side of a wall and her naked, defenseless body on the other, she found herself growing aroused.

The caressing stopped and the hands upon Justine’s body now seemed to explore her with more definite purpose. She felt a nipple pinched tight with slender fingertips, succeeded by a sensation of something slickly cool clinging to her nipple. Similar sensations followed upon her other nipple, her pussy, upon her bare butt, a score of places. And then the hands vanished.

Justine squirmed, trying to pull her head free, trying to pull her hands loose, stomping her bare feet in frustration.

There was motion to her left. Justine looked to see her neighbor approaching, and she stared in astonishment.

“Marion the Librarian,” the quiet mouse, had let her hair down, both figuratively and literally. She was stark naked, wearing nothing but a pair of six-inch stiletto heels – Justine’s best shoes! – and was looking at Justine with hands on hips, a wide grin on her face. She walked up to Justine, took with her fingertips the edge of the duct tape covering Justine’s mouth, and yanked.


The tape came free and Justine howled in pain, and continued to howl, as the pain suddenly rocketed from her face to her breasts, her pussy, her thighs, her butt, an intense, sharp, ceaseless pain. She could feel the muscles of her bare body jerking of their own volition, as though she were a marionette at the whim of a puppetmistress controlling her strings.

Her beautiful naked neighbor put her face close to Justine’s and grinned at her.

“Electrical play is my favorite. Ever try it before?”

Between howls, Justine saw through her tears that Marion held a small remote control in her hand. Each button she pushed brought Justine new pain as she felt her naked body twitch and convulse in complete indifference to her will.

And then her neighbor hit the remote’s big red button, and Justine’s entire body seemed to catch flame; she let out her loudest howl yet.

Without warning, the electrical pain ceased, but a new pain began, as Justine realized that Marion had inserted a clamp into Justine’s wide open mouth and taken a firm hold on Justine’s tongue, right in the middle of her loudest yell. Justine went wide eyed in fear and astonishment as she felt her tongue pulled slowly and irresistibly down. She watched in horror as Marion attached two more clamps to her tongue, clamps with wires leading down to a black box on the floor below. Justine felt her tongue stretched to its utmost, the wires pulling it taut and holding it taut. Horrified, Justine could not take her eyes from the black box as she watched Marion fiddle with its dials, could not move her body, held helplessly captive by ropes and by the wooden collar, could not move her tongue, held fast by its clamps.

Justine watched with humiliation as she saw drool begin to slide off her tongue to the floor below, as the sight of her own drooling, and her completely inability to keep from drooling, simply served to emphasize her absolute helplessness.

And then Marion looked up at Justine with her widest grin yet, flipped the switch, and laughed aloud as bolts of electricity galvanized Justine’s tongue, her body, her mind…


now…

Marion curled up in her favorite leather armchair, picked up a small silver bell from atop the side table, and rang for her maid. Instantly, justine appeared from the kitchen. She wore a narrow leather collar about her slender neck and a white frilly apron which emphasized more than it concealed, being not much larger than a pirate’s eye patch, about her slender hips. She wore nothing else, nor had she in over four years. She approached her mistress and curtsied.

“You rang, Miss?”

“Yes, justine. I find I’m running short of cash this month, and all your bank accounts are empty now. Go on-line and transfer everything you have left in the way of stocks, bonds, real estate and whatnot into my accounts. Do it promptly, and I’ll allow you three spoonfuls of honey in your tea at bedtime instead of just two. Go!”

“Yes, Miss.”

And justine scampered away, eager to please, eager to obey…