“Madam, don’t forget your bags”. She gave me a knowing look as she handed me bag after bag, filled with all the outfits, lingerie, toys, costume... and bondage gear he’d used on me. My humiliation was complete. I tottered out clutching the bags, red faced, beads of sweat coating my brow and drops of cum trickling down my leg again. On a lamppost outside was a dirty picture of me and a handwritten message; “Say thank you for all your gifts and that lovely orgasm or these pictures will follow you. Only the truth it was considered reasonable to tell animpressionable early teenager. And, though I would never have admitted itthen or later, the tales I had heard of humiliation and rape had turned meon as a budding woman and had me caressing my sex when abed, as I imaginedmyself helplessly bound in the hands of drunken Japanese soldiers who neededme to tell the plans of the upcoming attack. Of course I always told them,crying out as I orgasmed, such was their erotically imagined brutality. More

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