She is tied up on his bed.

She came here to help decorate his house. That was all. Now she is spread-eagled, face up. Naked. Helpless. She is quivering with excitement. And filled with fear.

How did this happen to her? This is TOTALLY wrong. How is this predicament even possible?

She had been putting up art in his house. She was alone, because he had gone to work. Then he came back around lunch time. He surprised her, but it wasn't anything abnormal that he came into his own house. So she started showing him what she had been doing.

He was interested, which was really nice – most men don't care that much about art. So she showed him everything and tried to explain what she was doing.

"That's beautiful," he said about one painting he had been studying.

"Yes! I found it in one of your closets. It deserves to be on your wall."

"I agree," he said, smiling "I like beauty."

That was an odd phrasing, but everything else was normal. They moved from one room to the next. But then . . .?

Oh! My! God! She realizes now – he saw THE PICTURE. The picture she brings to every job. The picture she puts up when no one is there, the picture NO ONE is EVER supposed to ever see.

It's a picture of a woman tied up on a bed. Spread eagled. A man is standing over her, menacingly. The picture is very strong in mood – it spoke to her about the emotion of power, the power of a man over a woman.

But she didn't want to actually BE the woman in the picture. It was just a FANTASY. A private fantasy. Something to think about.

But now? It was real. And horrible. And totally wrong. She was three times as excited as in her fantasy, but she was ten times as frightened.

She struggles against her bondage. But the cuff is locked on, and the ropes are tied securely. She remembers . . .

She was still talking to him, explaining a bookending effect she had created around his computer. She assumed it was a normal interaction.

Then he put his hand on her shoulder. She thought it was just one more male being inappropriate. She shook his hand off her shoulder.

But, to be honest with herself, she LIKED his hand on her shoulder. His strong hand, his hand feeling her bra strap under her blouse. His palm on her collar bone. A strong male hand. A hand that could . . . She shook off the feeling – those thoughts were wrong and she shouldn't be thinking them.

Then his hand was quickly on the small of her back as they walked. He had touched her before she knew he would, so she couldn't stop him. Then he took his hand away before she could object. She should have objected anyway.

Then his hands kept touching her. He quickly brushed a strand of loose hair out of her face as she was talking. His hip bumped her hip when he walked past her. His index finger touched the top of her hand once when he wanted her attention.

"So, these pictures are shallow. Everything talks like that's bad in a painting, but it's not. It's just an effect, and it can be . . . "

He put his full hand on her ass. She pushed it off. Her skin there was tingling from where he touched it.

"But shallowness is good here.The shallowness gives the room . . ."

His hand was on her ass again. She pushed it off and tried to stand farther away. What was she saying? "The shallowness gives the room a feeling of being cozy."

His hand was on her ass AGAIN! She pushed it off.

It didn't push off.

Ominous. Her heart started hammering. He was stronger than her, and she couldn't push his hand off of her!

She tried to pull away from him, but he followed her. His other hand suddenly appeared on her breast, groping her.

She was NOT going to tell him how much this excited her. What he was doing was wrong. "Stop it," she whimpered. "Stop it right now."

"No," was all he said.

And then they fought. It was erotic, because it was her fantasy. It was scary, because she didn't know what was going to happen to her. It was so frustrating, because she couldn't stop him and he kept on touching her and groping her and holding on to her so she couldn't get away. He was too strong. He ignored her when he told her to stop.

She tried to scratch his face, but he caught her hand in his, and then he slapped her across her face. SLAP!

Real pain was never a part of her fantasy. She was shocked, stunned, hurt emotionally and physically. No man had ever hit her. She was so afraid he would hit her again.

He shoved his hand down her skirt, breaking off the button and tearing the fabric. She felt his hand go under her panties and straight to her pussy.

"So wet," he said. She was going to die with embarrassment – her body was betraying her.

She tried to remember what she was supposed to do. Yes! She tried to knee him in the balls. But he somehow knew she was going to make that try and was already moving away. He always won.

Then he wrapped his strong arms around her and started carrying her to his bed. She tried to fight to get away from him, and she almost did once. Then he bit her neck, and she stopped fighting.

He grabbed something out of his drawer, then threw her on the bed. Her eyes grew wide with horror as she saw a handcuff. He was going to handcuff her to the bed! She started fighting as hard as she could to get away, but she was too late. One handcuff was around her wrist and the other end was locked to the bedpost.

And then he got a piece of rope and sat on her other hand. She could feel him tying up her other hand. She tried to fight him, but it was hard with one hand already cuffed. She tried to kick him, but he just ignored her thigh pounding into his back. One time he put his finger back into her vagina and smiled. So he knew how wet she was.

And now she was tied spread-eagled on the bed. He had left the room, his reasons unknown, but she was sure he would be back. And now he could do anything to her. Rape her. That was her fantasy, but it was just a fantasy. She of course would not really let him rape her.

But she did not have a choice.

He came back into the room. He was holding something that had pieces of leather at the end. Those leather straps were for whipping her.

The sight of that took away all of her sexual excitement. She felt only fear. She didn't like pain and she didn't want pain. But she was helpless to avoid whatever pain he wanted to give her.

He sat down on the bed, and one of his hands started crawling up her thigh. His touch was creepy and cold. His other hand started on her stomach and creeped up towards her breasts. His touch wasn't exciting. Her skin felt dead to his touch.

The first hand found her pussy, and this hand started softly rubbing her clit. There was no sensation and no sexual excitement, because she was too frightened. His other hand reached her breast and started fondling her breast and playing with her nipple. She still had no sexual excitement.

And then she did feel sexual excitement. His fingers on her clit started to feel good. He started occasionally putting a finger into her vagina, and this insertion felt good too. She started to love the stimulation on her nipples.

As he played with her helpless and exposed body, she became more and more excited. And she started having a familiar feeling, the feeling she had often had when a man excited her. She wanted to give herself to these hands and give herself to this man. She felt like she would let him do whatever he wanted. Her body was his. Her mind was his.

WHIP. A horrible sharp pain ripped across her stomach. She opened her eyes – he had whipped her stomach! WHIP. He whipped her stomach again. She could see red marks starting to form. Tears came to her eyes. She lost all sexual excitement, and instead she had a new feeling. This feeling she had never had before.

She felt powerless. She was powerless and now she knew that certainty &ndash he could do whatever he wanted to her. And now she wanted to make him happy, so that he wouldn't hurt her, that he didn't even want to hurt her. She didn't have words for this feeling, but she felt: Let him do whatever he wants to my body; I give it to him.

The neurons in her brain were firing in an ancient pattern, the pattern of a woman submitting to a powerful man who controls her. Nowadays scientists, who think everything they discover is new, call this the Stockholm Syndrome. In primitive times, this reaction by the neurons was called survival.

mmmm. She hadn't noticed that his hands were back on her body, because her skin was so dead to his touch after his whipping. But now his touch was exciting her. The excitement started sooner this time, and it was stronger.

She didn't want him to excite her, she didn't want that feeling of giving up her body to him. But she couldn't push him away and couldn't escape. And her body was again betraying her – her body wanted to be excited.

And then she didn't want to push him away. And now her neurons were following another ancient path, the path of a woman being sexually conquered by a man, when a man has excited her so much that she will gladly open her legs for this man and let him penetrate her and shoot his sperm into her.

She knew this touching of her was wrong, and she knew what he was doing to her was wrong, but this touching felt so good, and she just wanted more, and she lost her mind in the pleasure of everything. She was so needy, and so –

WHIP. He whipped her breast! The pain was so bad, so strong. She screamed in pain and began to cry. And she started being smaller as a person, shrinking in her mind. She would do whatever he told her to do. She gave up on her hopes. She gave up on wanting. She had wanted more sexual excitement and he had taken it away.

He controlled her completely. He could make her happy, and she could not stop him. He could make her want his attention so much, and she could not stop him. He could give her pain, as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted. And she could not stop him. A powerful man, with complete control over her, making her brain dance the dance of a woman submitting to man.

And she hated him. And she did not want his hands on her, but he put them back on her, running up and down her body, across her face, cold hands, his hands on her clit and her nipples, and his finger into her cunt. And then she did want his hands on her, more and more. She wanted him so much. She was GLAD she was tied up so she couldn't escape, she was GLAD her body was completely exposed to him.

Her mind melted, this pleasure took her over. As he excited her, she was even smaller, and she was weaker, and the pleasure was too much for her. It drove her crazy with desire, and her desire just made her smaller and more needy. Her mind contained only pleasure and a single thought of need.

And her pleasure just kept on increasing.

WHIP. He whipped her pussy! The pain was excruciating. She screamed and howled and sobbed and yelled. It wasn't fair. She gave up. Gave up everything. Gave up any thought of controlling what would happen to her.

And he touched her clit, and began to rub, and it hurt because she had been whipped there, and it felt great.

And he rubbed her more, and it hurt and kept feeling even better and better, until she had the biggest orgasm she had ever had in her life. She was just pleasure and pain, swirling together. Her body screamed and thrashed, and her inability to escape just make her orgasm harder.

And then finally her orgasm was over. And her senses came back, a little. WHIP. He whipped her stomach, but she didn't care. She could feel it, she knew it hurt, she didn't like it, but at the moment it wasn't important. She would try not to make him angry, that was all she could do.

And then he used her sexually. In the past, at the end of a date, she sometimes choose to let some guys fuck her. And she sometimes choose to tell some guys they couldn't. Now she never thought to even make a choice. She had already accepted that he could do whatever he wanted to her.

He thrust in and out of her. And then she started to get excited, because he was stimulating her. And this was, after all, her fantasy. And now there was no pain. And she did not have emotion, or thoughts, she was just letting him fuck her, but when he thrust hard into her and shot his sperm into her, she had another orgasm.

She had been destroyed. All she remembered was wanting to please him. She would always crave his touch. She had learned to be sexually excited by pain. She would obey him – he had completely conquered her and her brain had made him her Master.