Second Thoughts

Author’s Notes:

*It’s been quite some time since I last updated this tail. When I sat down to begin the continuation of the saga, I struggled with what direction to take it. I became intrigued with the idea of switching the perspective from that of the kidnapped slave to that of one his captors. I settled on advancing the story by having it told through the eyes of Janet, Tom’s wife.

*For any who missed it – Part 7 of this story is not entirely a re-print of Part 6. There is additional story added on that moves the events forward.

*The last chapter of ‘Second Thoughts’ concluded with Tom and Janet almost complete with their objective of kidnapping and enslaving Mike. A year has passed since their plan unfolded over the course of that fateful weekend. We pick up the tale now from Janet’s perspective.

The days can sometimes pass so quickly! I happened to glance up at the clock above the librarian’s check-out desk. It pointed to the fact that it was almost 4pm. Almost time for my shift to end. I turned to my co-worker.

“Barbara, would you excuse me for a moment, I want to go grab something before I leave today. If Linda shows, would you let her know that all the periodicals over there need to be logged back in?”

“Sure thing, Jan” 

And with that I scooted from my chair behind the desk and made my way back to towards the reference section. I loved it there at the <City Removed> Local Library. I’d only been there part-time for about 3 months, but Tom had been right, it truly was a pleasant distraction for me and it was good to get out of the house. The pay isn’t anything spectacular but it gave me a little extra spending cash and the other women there were delightful and fun to talk with.

I made my way to the section on Health & Maintenance. I was quickly learning my way around the place and really found it to be tremendously helpful….So much information right at your fingertips! Plus, with everybody relying on the internet, the library had become even more quiet than I remembered from my youth.

The book I was seeking jumped out at me as I scanned the area devoted to first aid.

‘Cuts, Gashes, Bruises – Wound Care 101’ read the title.

I pulled the item from the shelve and headed over to the copier. I fumbled in my pocket for my employee scan card and placed it in the machine. As I thumbed through the pages I thought ‘this is a waste of time, just check the darn thing out’, but I remembered Tom’s words clearly – don’t ever check out anything we’re using for him, simply make copies.

That’s why I loved my Tom so, he was much smarter than me and I relied on him to always steer us right. I found the pages I was looking for and proceeded to copy about 7 or 8 that seemed particularly relevant. Finishing up I took the warm pages and folded them over. Returning the book to the shelf I made my way back to the front desk.

Linda had yet to arrive (she typically ran late) and I gave my best to Barb as I took my purse and clocked out for the day. Leaving the building I was greeted by the warm sun, such a pleasant contradiction to the ultra-cool temperature we maintained in the building.

‘What a beautiful day for an anniversary’ I mused to myself. I headed to the parking lot and quickly found the large Chevy Avalanche parked in my usual space under the tree. I had almost forgot that Tom had taken my car to get work done on it this morning and I was stuck driving this behemoth of a vehicle. I never minded it when Tom was driving, it was nice to be up high and to have all that cargo space, but it was a little much for me. The peaceful scenic drive home through our little suburban town was always such a nice end to my days. I was always out ahead of the rush hour, which wasn’t much to begin with anyway, and it took only 10 minutes door to door.

Pulling onto our street I found I had butterflies in my stomach. I was almost giddy and bubbling over with anticipation of getting home. Sure, most days I felt a similar tingle when I came to our block as I was always looking forward to getting back home – but tonight would be different – tonight would be special. 

Our house came into view as I neared the end of the block. Pulling into the driveway I opened the garage door via the opener. I surveyed our house as I waited patiently for the door to come up. Tom would have to mow the lawn before the weekend, I had seen they were calling for rain. The one level rambler was also in need of a new paint job and we could probably also afford to address the roof which had started to show a missing shingles. Of course Tom would say that money was too tight and that we had spent too much on the ‘other’ renovation, but these things are important, and if it meant cutting back in a few other areas, I was on board.

Parking the large vehicle inside I let myself down and into the house via the door in the garage. The scratching on the other side let me know that my babies were itching to get out. I opened the door and both dogs came bounding out, almost knocking me over. I greeted them with the daily routine of hugs and kisses and let them set about doing their business outside. I left the door open since they knew to come right back in if they cared for supper and entered the abode.

Entering the kitchen I made sure to stomp my feet a bit on the floor. I always liked him to know when I was back. I set my bag down on the kitchen table and got myself a drink of water. Looking out into the backyard I thought about some weeding that I should do and wondered if the azalea bush needed a trim. It would be a while before Tom was home and the preparation for that evening’s meal could wait a bit. I checked the steak I had left defrosting by the sink that morning and confirmed this.

The dogs came running back into the house and I went back into their room to set out their dinners. Afterward I would put them out on the runner in the backyard. Exercise was important for them, especially after being cooped up inside for most of the day.

Which reminded me, I had things to tend to. 

Tom and I were much like any other working couple who left the house for the day. We had a routine and it was important. Just like anybody I loved getting home at the end of the day, enjoying a nice meal, having a drink and unwinding. However, there was quite a difference between my daily routine and that of the typical suburban woman.

I left the kitchen and walked through the living room. I stopped over by the stairs to the basement and gave myself a once-over in the half-mirror in the dining room. My short dark hair seemed like a mop upon my head. I turned sideways to review my 48 year old figure. I had lost about 10 pounds in the past month but I knew I could probably afford another 10-15. Tom always said he liked me just the way I was, but I knew I could be better. I wore a white blouse and black pants. I always wore flats when working since I was on my feet for most of the day. I kicked these off where I stood and opened the door to the basement.

I flicked the light switch to my right and it illuminated the steps downward. We had re-carpeted the place a little over a year back and the plush material was comfy beneath my stockinged feet. It was only about 15 steps down and reaching the bottom I flicked another switch. The room came into view. It was rather plain and drab, much like any basement. The carpet gave it a “roomier” feel and the lights along the ceiling gave us nice light. We had cleared a great deal and removed much of the clutter when we were putting  down the carpet and now there were only a few pieces of furniture remaining as well as a treadmill. The exercise machine wasn’t intended for me, although I did use it on occasion. We had put a small black and white tv in front of it although it didn’t get many channels and the reception wasn’t very good. I would much rather walk through the surrounding neighborhoods than be confined to working out in the basement. Confined! That reminded me.

I made my way back towards the far wall. We had decorated this area with two large book shelves on either side and a large afghan rug had been hung against the wall. Walking over to it I stopped and picked something up off the floor.

‘How careless’ I thought as I picked up the leather item. Tom must’ve left it from this morning since I didn’t recall being down here since the prior evening. A warm smile came to my face as I thought about last evening. An even warmer feeling spread to my loins as I thought about what lay ahead for this evening. Fingering the leather material in my hand I decided to put it on.

I’ll admit that most women probably don’t have ‘donning a leather mask’ as part their after-work routine each day, but then again, most women probably didn’t do anything similar to what I was about to do. I tugged the mask tight over my head, adjusting the eye spaces until I could see clearly. I snapped it tight in the back and it pinched my hair slightly. I pulled back the zipper that kept the mouth hole shut and licked my lips. There really was no logical reason to wear the mask, at least as far as identity concealment was concerned. But there was something about its smell, and the way it fit to my head that I enjoyed. I think it also helped put me in the right frame of mind; Tom had always said it made us look much more intimidating. I reached for a chord that hung down one side of the large rug and pulling it sharply the material was cast aside and revealed another door. It was only about 5 feet high, smaller than a typical doorway, but this was so the top frame would not be noticed above the decorative rug (again, Tom’s ingenuity). There was a combination - lock much like you would find on a gym locker - on the door that latched above the knob. I slowly turned the combination and it clicked open. I smiled as it always irritated me if I had to try it more than once. I gave the lock a rough shake, letting the metal clinking give further notice that the lady of the house had returned. Casting the lock aside, I slowly opened the door and stepped into the space. 

“Hello slave…mommy’s home” I spoke as I fumbled in the dark for a string hanging from the ceiling light. It took me a moment but my hand soon found it. I pulled down and a dim light came on.

The room was not particularly big, but it was larger than a closet. We had spec’d it as a “guestroom” but even the builder had mentioned it’d be difficult to get a bed and anything else in there. That was ok, what would we need a bed for when we had a cage.

I gazed at the metal contraption in the center of the room and quivered…I never ceased to be excited by the vision that greeted me each day. There, securely positioned and restrained was our slave! Such a wonderful sight to behold! The scene was something I came home to every day and cherished. He was inside our steel cage. We had bought it specifically for him. I had thought our old dog cages would suffice but Tom, once again, new better. He said those would allow him too much movement…and boy did Tom go to lengths to ensure our slave stayed put!

I strolled over to him and took a closer look at how Tom had left him for the day. The cage itself was in the style of a crate with interlocking pieces that latched into a box. It was padlocked as well and functioned with the same key I wore around my neck. Inside he knelt in a bound and locked position. Tom had bought him knee pads some time ago after we noticed significant bruising from the cage bottom. 

He was hooded, although not with the type of leather mask I currently wore. His was a stocking knit hood with eye and nasal slots and a mouth hole that snuggly fit to his now smooth head. We had begun to shave his head about five months back since we found we enjoyed the smooth bald cut much better to his old full head of hair given the numerous types of hoods and gags we would use on him. Tom had tied a blue bandana securely over his eyes as a blindfold and in his mouth was our new harness ball gag. I was particularly fond of this one as it had a large bright yellow ball and red harnesses that buckled under the chin and laced together up above the bridge of his nose. Leather straps pulled his upper arms almost together behind him and a simple pair of steel cuffs secured his wrists. 

Around his neck was a large, black posture collar. There were ring circles all around it. When Tom would put him “away” for the day he typically ran a chord or a lock through this circle and locked it to the top of the cage. Today he had used a piece of rope that he ran through the collar ring and up and under the slave’s upper arm leather bindings. He tied it off on the top bars of the crate effectively keeping him immobile and secured to the top. His head drooped slightly past the posture collar although it did not allow for much give. I continued to circle the cage. He knew I was there. I had heard a slight rattle as I opened the door and I knew this meant he was stiffening and making sure he was upright and demonstrating good posture (well, as much as could be expected for someone in his position.) I loved to tap the cage with my foot as I walked. His head would tilt in that direction, craning to hear and to try and deduce what was going on. 

His ankles and thighs wore leather cuffs that we had hobbled with 8 inch connector chains. This would allow for him to hobble when he was on his feet, but there was no concern of too much movement. I moved to his backside and looked down. His beautifully firm and shorn anus was empty.

“I see Master left you unplugged today. You must have done a very good job pleasing him this morning, slave” I mused. There came no reply. He had learned quite some time ago that a gag meant ‘be silent’, and he no longer fought to speak through them. There was a time when he constantly failed to acknowledge this. Hell, just transporting him to the house he would mew and whine so often that we damn near choked him to death keeping him quiet. And then there was the adjustment period. It took a good deal of time for him to finally break. There was a many a day that I would come home and just listen outside the door to his room and hear his faint sobs muffled against whatever gag we had felt like using that morning. But now….now it was just silence. He had been broken.

I continued my observation by kneeling down next to the bars and clutching them between my hands. I strained to see in the dim light of the room whether the towel beneath him appeared damp. From what I could detect it appeared dry.

“And I see you held your water today. That pleases your Mistress. Looks like you won’t have to get THAT punishment again.” I emphasized the word so he would know what I was referencing. There was no movement or response on his end except the faintest rattle of chain as he shifted his weight ever so slightly. The only sound that escaped was the gentle, deep breathing through his nostrils.

I stayed silent just looking him over. I could watch him for hours like this (and in fact I probably had). He was a great source of pride for me, for Tom too I suspected. Sure Tom was rougher than I in dealing with him, but I knew that was a male thing. We had both set out to make him ours and we had succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. It seemed like only yesterday that we had met him in that parking lot, but truth be told it was a year ago. A full year ago today in fact, and that was the cause of our planned little celebration this evening. Tom would be home in a while, and there was much to prepare before that. And, of course, there was a routine to tend to.

I knelt down to the front of the cage and looked directly at the blindfolded and gagged face of my beast. 

“Time to get you out” I informed him. My key entered the lock and I twisted it free. Unhooking a latch I slowly opened the door. I rose and walked to the side. I dug my nails into the chord that lashed his arm bindings to the roof of the cage. After prying for a few moments the knot loosened. Whipping the chord away he lurched forward slightly, catching himself on his knees and grunting into his harness ball gag. 

I took the rope over to a box in the corner of the room. Lifting the lid I placed it neatly back in and surveying the contents I found the leash I was looking for. I was back at the cage door a moment later and found that he had already moved his head forward in anticipation of the leashing. I latched it to the ring collar and gave a slight tug. The naked male moved one knee forward and then the other until he was able to maneuver himself from the cage. He remained on his knees, awaiting my instruction. I withheld the command for a moment, appreciating the obedience bred by repetition.

“Up” I finally ordered.

This was no easy task with the two hobble chains, and the stiffness of being in such a compact position for the past 5-6 hours. I gave him space as he shifted his weight from knee to knee and planted a heel to push off on. He wobbled slightly but was able to right himself and finally rose to stand at bound attention beside me. A tug of the leash brought him a few steps forward to where I needed him. I took my end of his leash and looped the end around the hook that jutted out from the wall before us. Leaving him for a brief moment I retrieved an item from the other corner. I sat the bucket at his feet and nudged it against his shins so he knew it was there. I slapped his rear, commanding him,

“Piss, slave”

I stepped back and waited. Nothing happened. A few moments passed and the delay irked me. I slapped his bare ass again, this time with the intent to sting.

“Now slave!” in a stern voice.

“Mmmmphphpgggg” came a muffled plea. I moved to strike him in the face for the noise but my eye quickly caught something I had forgotten about.

“Oh…that…” I giggled aloud. “Well, I suppose this is my fault.” I admitted seeing that his manhood was currently covered in a nylon encasement and bound tightly with more chord. We kept our slave in constant chastity, and usually utilized a small metallic chastity device that locked shut. It appeared that Tom had favored an unusual method of bondage on his cock this morning.

“What do we have hear?” I queried as my nails moved to the bound genitals. I pulled and prodded as I looked for where to untie the chord and I felt his penis immediately strain against its bonds, longing for the release it had been denied for so long.

“This must be torture for you, slave. To have a woman fondling you and yet knowing that there’s no pleasure ahead for you” I teased as I began to untie the chord. It came loose and required much unwinding from around the nylon encased shaft. Tom had also tied it along the center of the scrotum and had tied each of his balls apart separately. I also noticed a hint of eucalyptus smell in the air and it dawned on me that Tom had rubbed him with the sensitizing lotion prior to packaging him. The burning sensation, coupled with the pain of the binding must have been excruciating for some time. I smiled to myself at how devious Tom could be.

I pulled free the chord and the nylon and cast it aside.

“There you go, now piss” I said stepping away again. He fidgeted for a moment but then the stream came spilling into the bucket. He finished and I picked up the bucket and left the room. I went to the old laundry sink at the far end of the basement and dumped it down the drain. I thought about using it for some other purpose, but I wasn’t feeling potentially sadistic today. There were times when Tom and I would place him in some sort of compromising position…say, bound standing on one leg with the other pulled up behind him. We would place the bucket atop his head and then watch him struggle to maintain his balance. Of course, if he was too successful, it might require the occasional flogger to the rear to see if we might be able to break his concentration. Another favorite involved a homemade toy that Tom had come up with. It involved taking a strong rubber balloon and filling it with his urine. Tying it off he would place it in our slaves mouth. While this wasn’t an extremely effective gag, if he moved his mouth too much the balloon would explode and spill Tom’s piss down his throat. We typically bound him to a chair for this and then would take great delight in clipping our most sadistic pair of alligator nipple clamps to his chest. He would writhe in pain and do his absolute best to keep silent, yet the clamps would always win and as he bit down in pain we would watch him suffer the additional torture. While both games were quite fun, I decided that I would not amuse myself with either at this time.

Walking back to the unveiled chamber I entered and pulled his leash from the wall. Tugging it, I directed him out. The hobble chains meant he could not move very quickly and I was patient with him as he stumbled forward blindly. I brought him into the light of the main basement and commanded him to be still. I considered re-binding his genitals but their bright red hue made me reticent; they had been through enough today. My hands went to his back and in particular to his shoulders. His back bore the marks of many a whipping. Some appeared particularly fresh and I noted their glassy appearance as a sign that Tom had put some Neosporin on them before he left. I reached to his right shoulder and a flesh colored band-aid that covered a patch. Peeling it back he could not help but cry into his gag. I did not reprimand him for I knew it must be particularly painful. The wound below the band-aid was quite deep and was the result of a repetitive whipping while he knelt. This had been my doing and I had actually felt a tinge of regret for hurting him so. Nevertheless, he was my slave; my property, to do with as I wished. Tom had chastised me for feeling bad for the mishap and as a punishment to the slave he had not treated the wound. Now it had become quite discolored and I was concerned about possible infection, hence the book I photocopied at the library. I placed a fresh bandage back over it and determined it did not look worse than the day before. I would review the literature in the morning and see how best to treat it.

Tugging further on the leash I led my slave back towards the laundry sink. I pushed him up against it and secured the leash to one of the faucet handles. I reached up to the back of the ball-gag harness and unstrapped it.

“Silence” was all I had to say as I pulled it forward from his lips. His compliance of late pleased me greatly. He had been trained quite well. Not that it mattered being down in the basement of our private home, but it was another sign of how broken he truly was. There were times when we first started with this daily protocol that he would attempt to talk and to plead with me. Tom said this was because he considered me the weaker sex. Nevertheless, Tom advised that he handle the daily routine for the next week just to help correct this behavior. I didn’t ask questions. All I know is the following week when I resumed tending to him in the late afternoons he did not attempt talking to me. Tom was good that way.

Removing the gag I set it aside and watched the drool spill helplessly from his mouth to his naked chest. His mouth was too stretched and sore to catch it. As he began to loosen his jaw I grabbed the bottle of Listerine we kept by the sink. Raising it to his mouth he instinctively tilted back and allowed me to pour him a mouthful. He swigged for about a minute until I gave him a pat on the rear and he leaned forward depositing it down the drain.

I raised the toothbrush with toothpaste I had prepared to his mouth as well. He opened wide and permitted me to brush. Tom thought this was a waste of time, however I was adamant about the fact that I wanted us to help him maintain good hygiene. If he was ours forever then we might as well keep him in usable shape. Nobody wanted a slave that would stink due to hours of confinement and laying in its own filth! I finished brushing and permitted him to spit. I put a hand to the back of his blindfolded and hooded head. I forcefully pulled him closer to me and reaching up I brought my mouth to his. Without speaking a word I forced my tongue into his agape mouth and kissed him roughly. His mouth made little effort to return the favor, but rather just permitted the invasion of my lips and tongue. It drove me wild to kiss him like this, I found it to be extremely passionate…at least for me. It added a flair of romance to the whole situation, that this was still about sex and sensuality, even though he was bound and chained. I bit down firmly on his lip for good measure and he whimpered ever so slightly. I released his head and he remained at attention with his head bowed.

I wiped my mouth a bit and brought my finger to his lips. He instinctively began to suck on it, reacting with haste. I ran my other hand over my breasts as he sucked my finger like a cock. I could feel myself getting moist and becoming immensely aroused. I knew I should cut this little interaction short and focus on more important items, but sometimes its just nice to enjoy the things that are yours.

“Good slave” I cooed. After a minute or so I pulled loose, playfully pushing him in the chest a bit as if I were being the tease. I took his leash from the sink.

“Let’s get you your exercise” and I led him by leash over towards the treadmill. As we reached it I allowed him to hobble ahead of me and he felt around blindly with his chained feet until he found the step up. He struggled up on it and walked forward a few feet. He had clearly memorized the space between him and the settings panel and he waited now for me.

I took the leash and tied it off to one of the heart rate sensor bars by the panel. I also reached down and removed the chain from between his ankle cuffs. The chain between the knees would remain. I also undid the leather strap that bound his upper arms together but was sure to leave his wrists secured in the metallic wrist cuffs. I undid his blindfold and cast it aside and also pulled the stocking hood from his face. His eyes winced shut in the blinding light, having been in darkness for hours. I ran my hand over his now bald head. It was becoming slightly stubbly and would probably need to be shaved again within the week. I glanced across the room where I had left the multi-strap harness ball-gag. Deciding I didn’t want to deal with all of the straps and buckles I opted instead for the roll of duct tape that rested on a chair by the treadmill. I tore loose a single piece and pressed it over his lips. I smoothed it over a few times to make sure it held and patted him on the cheek. I knew this wasn’t the most effective way of keeping him quiet, but it was more about instructing him to maintain silence. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the light and I stayed in front of him a moment. Our gazes met briefly, and he looked into my eyes that stared back through my leather hood. He quickly averted his glance. This was another Tom rule, he demanded no eye contact. I didn’t feel as strongly about it, but I understood the rationale behind the training. Always remind him that he’s in a position of inferiority.

I commanded him to begin walking as I turned the machine in. He moved at a very slow place, still hobbled slightly at the knees. I set the machine for the usual level 2 setting which provided him with little more than the challenge of keeping a regular pace. The machine hummed and he began to keep up. I set the timer at 20 minutes and walked over to the small TV in front of it. Turning it on I flipped through a few channels before finding one where the black and white screen had the least static interruption. It was showing some infomercial for a series of books from Time Life. Turning the volume up slightly I headed for the chair from which I pulled the role of tape. I picked up a magazine that lay on the floor and sat down to begin reading. I began to feel warm inside the hood I wore and I unzipped it and pulled it off. My brow was damp and my hair was matted atop my head. I cast the hood aside and glanced up at him to make sure all was in order. Just like everyday he was walking straightforward and did not have to exert himself much to keep up with the tread. I smiled to myself as he could not see me. He intently watched the tv. I often wondered what went through his mind during this activity. Tom said he appreciated it and would come to crave it as his daily release the same way a prison inmate would savor time in the yard. It was also important that we have him using his muscles on a daily basis to prevent long-term atrophy. It simply is not practical to keep someone in a cage 24/7. He seemed to appreciate the modicum of freedom that this provided him. Sure he was still collared and leashed to the machine. Yes his wrists were also restrained and I had gagged him, but this was truly one of the more free positions he would typically find himself in and he probably appreciated it.

Plus, he knew that one of us remained in the basement with him at all time any time he was brought out of his “room”. I would observe him a great deal and Tom had told me to specifically see if his eyes were wandering or if he seemed to be testing his bonds. Tom was overly cautious. It had been one full year and we had not once witnessed an attempt at escape. Not like that weekend back at the cabin when we first took him. Back then he had not yet been broken and had not yet grasped the permanent nature of his situation. That was when we had to control him with the old electric fence collar, now simple restraints was all it took. I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He was our slave. Tucked away in our basement where no one would ever find him.

I thumbed through the pages of a magazine rather haplessly. The goal was to give him about 20 minutes. The only noise in the room was the whir of the machine and the sound of his breathing through his nose. It tended to increase in volume and pace as he went. I wondered if it was absolutely necessary to have him gagged during this but Tom assured me it was. We had one ‘job’ or ‘responsibility’ as he put it, and that was to keep our secret slave silent. In my opinion, we did an excellent job of that. Looking back over the past year, I was amazed at what a thrill I derived from others not knowing about our slave. Tom and I led a fairly typical life outside of the basement. We enjoyed having company over for dinner and entertained quite frequently. I loved the idea of sitting down to a table with two other people who were completely oblivious about our secret. As talk would drift in and out of the mundane I often found my thoughts wondering to the bound and gagged man in a cage one floor below us. Tom would catch my eye and seem to know where my head was. He’d give me a fleeting wink of acknowledgement from time to time to let me know he was thinking the same thing. As soon as we said our goodbyes and were alone once again we’d find ourselves racing to the basement to play with our toy.

Tom loved to taunt him on nights like these.

“You know there were just people here, sitting down in our dining room right above you” he’d tease while taking him from behind. Our slave’s response was only to grunt into his gag. 

“Too bad you got there ball in your mouth, or maybe you could’ve told them you were down here.”

There was a time when he used to protest these rear violations. He would buck as best he could against his bonds and would endeavor to cry out, but Tom had a way of quickly correcting this. He would simply inflict more pain, or tie him more tightly. Eventually he learned.

Tom had developed an interesting relationship with our slave and I think it came from the fact that he used him in such an aggressive and sexual manner. Sure I loved the gratification our slave supplied, and I could let him eat me for hours on end, but Tom was addicted. Having this slave had changed his life. We had played and experimented with different forms of power exchange in our sex life, but as spouses there was always a limit. Now, with him, Tom was limitless and could push and explore all the boundaries he could think of. And explore he did. Tom, like me, enjoyed using many tools in his games…..