Young Lady

Young Lady 3

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Cast of Characters :

Marisa Torres, 17
Daniel Torres, 15 (Marisa's younger brother)
Raymond and Elena Torres (Marisa and Daniel's parents)

Henry Barlowe (The Torres family's next door neighbor)
Riley Sullivan, 18 (Mr. Barlowe's grandson and Leigh's cousin)
Leigh Barlowe, 17 (Mr. Barlowe's granddaughter and Riley's cousin)

Brad Wilder, 18 (The Torres family's neighbor and Marisa's athletic rival)
Edwin Connor, 11 (The Torres family's neighbor and Marisa's admirer)
Pam Elliott, 17 (Daniel's girlfriend)

* * * * *

Chapter 3

"You missed a spot."

Marisa scowled.

"Sorry." Mr. Barlowe grinned. "Couldn't resist."

Without taking her glaring eyes off the old man, Marisa wiped the spot he had been pointing to.

"That's a good girl," said Mr. Barlowe, patting the girl affectionately on her rear.

He paused, giving Marisa's bare backside a most approving look, before turning his gaze back to her face. Neither his smile nor her scowl wavered as he slid his hand down her back to cover her bottom.

"Very nice," breathed Mr. Barlowe as his hand gave Marisa's butt a lingering squeeze, followed by a few more firm pats.

Marisa reddened, but she stood resolutely, her hand on the table, her penetrating eyes stubbornly refusing to break contact with Mr. Barlowe's.

After a full minute or so, Mr. Barlowe's shoulders slumped as he finally took his hand off Marisa's rump. With a disappointed sigh, he turned away from Marisa and walked over to his desk next to the living room window.

The moment that Mr. Barlowe's back was turned to her, Marisa began rubbing her behind with a grimace. She inwardly sighed. The old man couldn't know how close he had come to winning that contest of wills. Another half minute or so, and Marisa would have let him stare her down. She would have done anything just to get his damn hand off her ass.

Trying her best not to think about it ... about any of it ... Marisa finished straightening the chairs around the dining room table and then walked over to the nearby fireplace. As she dusted the mantelpiece, shivering at the occasional gust of cold air enveloping the bare skin of her ... well, just her, really ... Marisa's eyes were drawn to the framed pictures above the fireplace, in the bookcase, and hanging on the walls.

Most of the people in the photographs looked vaguely familiar to her. Marisa figured that she must have seen them coming and going from her neighbor's house over the years.

There was only one who Marisa knew by name - Mr. Barlowe's granddaughter, Leigh. The two girls were the same age, and bore a remarkable resemblance to each other. Many times, people chanced to see Marisa and Leigh in the same place and mistook them for sisters, or maybe cousins.

But that wasn't the main reason that Marisa knew Leigh ... It was because, for as long as Marisa could remember, Leigh had been openly hostile to her every time they ran into each other. Marisa always figured that she would probably be giving it right back to Leigh, if Marisa had even the slightest idea what it was they were supposed to be fighting about.

The only clue that Marisa had as to the source of Leigh's animosity toward her was that she had sometimes seen Leigh hanging out with Brad Wilder. Marisa had thought that the two were perhaps - ugh - dating ... until one day she saw Brad attempt to kiss Leigh, and she slapped him hard across the face. Never one to quit while he was behind, Brad tried to kiss her again, only to have Leigh ram her knee into a most vulnerable place on the boy's body.

Marisa had puzzled over it many times. Although she had seen Leigh and Brad hanging out on occasion, they never seemed to be ... all that friendly ... with each other, at least not enough for Leigh to be so icy toward Marisa on Brad's behalf. But Marisa could think of no other reason for it.

As she dusted the bookcase shelves, still gazing quizzically at the picture of Leigh, Marisa felt a tremor run through her body. With her back turned to Mr. Barlowe, Marisa could practically feel his eyes fixed on her rear end. It was still stinging from the spanking she had gotten from the old man, as much as Marisa was still fuming about it, and it felt like Mr. Barlowe's unwavering gaze was somehow making it sting even more, making Marisa fume even more. Her scowl only deepened at the memory of his hands fondling her butt.

Unfortunately, the only way Marisa could see to make Mr. Barlowe stop ogling her backside was to turn around to face him, and if she did that, she would be giving him even more to look at. With a heavy sigh, Marisa simply continued her dusting.

There was one other person in the photographs who caught Marisa's eye - a very handsome, dark-haired young man wearing a suit and tie. He looked slightly older than Marisa, and had a strong, athletic build. Marisa tilted her head at the picture, feeling very much like she had seen him somewhere before, some place other than her neighbor's house. Try as she might to remember, though, Marisa could not place his face.

Eventually, Marisa ran out of shelves to dust. Steeling herself for the sight of Mr. Barlowe's leering gaze, the naked girl turned to face him. Much to her surprise, he wasn't looking in her direction at all. Marisa wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or insulted.

"You know, I was kind of surprised that you didn't spank me for calling you 'old man' before," commented Marisa as she walked over to Mr. Barlowe's desk.

"Why should you be punished merely for speaking the truth?" Mr. Barlowe looked at Marisa curiously. He held up his hands as he went on, "I am old, Marisa. There's no denying that."

Marisa simply shrugged, but inwardly, her thoughts were racing. Truth be told, she had been trying to provoke him earlier into punishing her, just to show that she could handle anything he could dish out to her. Marisa had felt certain it would work, that Mr. Barlowe was looking for any excuse to spank her again. And yet ...

Then again, she had also pictured Mr. Barlowe getting his news the old-fashioned way - sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper while smoking a pipe. Instead, he was scrolling through a news site on his laptop computer, and he seemed to be oddly more absorbed by that than by the naked teenaged girl standing near him.

"I've finished the dusting, Mr. Barlowe," said Marisa idly.

"Excellent. Why don't you take a break for a while, Marisa? Here, come sit with me."

"Well, I - WHOA!"

Before Marisa knew what was happening, Mr. Barlowe had pulled her to his chair and sat her down on his lap, her bare rump falling squarely on his knees. She could only stare at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open, as he smiled at her, gently caressing her long brown hair before wrapping his arms around her naked body. Within seconds, Marisa was grinding her teeth as Mr. Barlowe's hands began to eagerly explore her luxurious curves. She could not believe that she didn't see this coming.

I am not going to let him get to me, Marisa silently vowed, looking up at the ceiling. I am not going to let him get to me ...

She paused as she felt his hands sliding across her tight stomach, and then added, But if his hand dips below the waist, he won't be getting it back ...

Marisa folded her hands in her lap and sat perfectly still, barely seeming to even breathe, as Mr. Barlowe's hands continued to roam ...

" ... Aren't you going to say anything?" Mr. Barlowe finally said, sounding exasperated as he dropped his hands to his sides.

Marisa very slowly moved her gaze from the ceiling to meet Mr. Barlowe's agitated eyes. Without a word, she folded her arms in front of her chest and looked at him resolutely.

"Get up," sighed Mr. Barlowe, taking the unflinching girl by the arm and pulling both her and himself to their feet. As he did so, Marisa turned her face away from him and bit her lip, not wanting to let him see how close it had been. Another fifteen, maybe twenty seconds, and her resolve would have broken.

"Look, young lady, I think that if we could just come to a - "

Mr. Barlowe's thought was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Instantly, both he and Marisa froze.

"I thought you said nobody would come here today," said Marisa, alarmed.

"I didn't think anybody would." Mr. Barlowe looked toward the front door. "Okay, I was wrong."

"Well, what should - mmmppphhh!!"

"Quiet," said Mr. Barlowe, not that Marisa could say anything with his hand clamped over her mouth. Thinking quickly, he kept his hand over the protesting girl's lips as he half-carried, half-dragged her over to the chair where he had spanked her earlier.

Marisa's eyes widened in consternation when she saw him grab the cloth and duct tape that he had used to gag and bind her before.

"Don't worry, Marisa, it's going to be okay," said Mr. Barlowe in what he seemed to think was a soothing tone as he once again stuffed the cloth into the girl's mouth. In a matter of seconds, the old man had taped Marisa's mouth shut again and bound her hands behind her back.

Mr. Barlowe squatted down and wrapped his arm around Marisa's knees, and a moment later, she let out a muffled yelp as he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder, before heading up the stairs. Gagged and bound as she was, with Mr. Barlowe's powerful arm tightly around her legs, Marisa could only squirm and make stifled - but still very clearly indignant - protests, as she felt blood rushing to her head. It seemed to her that her hair was nearly brushing the floor as Mr. Barlowe carried her down the second floor hallway ...

... and with her bare backside over the old man's shoulder, Marisa suddenly felt even more acutely aware of how naked she was. That feeling was only intensified when she realized that Mr. Barlowe was carrying her into a bedroom.

Marisa let out a whimper as Mr. Barlowe laid her down onto the bed.

"Take it easy, Marisa." Mr. Barlowe could plainly see the girl suddenly becoming a bundle of nerves, and he knew perfectly well why. "You're quite safe here. I just wanted to put you somewhere nobody will see you."

Mr. Barlowe glanced at the door, hesitating. Several people knew he was home today, and whoever was ringing the doorbell might start to think something was wrong if he took too long to answer. However ... Mr. Barlowe quickly decided that he didn't want to leave Marisa with all of that duct tape on her soft skin if he didn't know how long it would be before he could return to her.

"Marisa, I'm going to take your gag off," said Mr. Barlowe, lightly touching the side of the girl's face. "Please, don't scream, okay?"

Marisa nodded, but she couldn't help letting out at least a small yelp when Mr. Barlowe pulled the tape off her mouth, before pulling the cloth free.

"What the hell was that all about?!" demanded Marisa furiously.

"I'm sorry, Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe sincerely. "I couldn't take the chance of you drawing any attention."

"Well, Mr. Barlowe, if you've gotten this caveman thing out of your system now," snarled Marisa, "let me tell you something, don't you ever tie me up - and especially don't you ever gag me - with that damn tape again!"

"I won't," promised Mr. Barlowe as he freed the girl's hands. He went over to the dresser and returned a moment later.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Marisa began backing away from him on the bed when she saw the long cloth strips he had in his hands.

"Hush. We don't have much time."

"Hey!" exclaimed Marisa as Mr. Barlowe pulled her hands together behind her back and began binding them with a long cloth. "What are you - You promised! - You said you weren't going to tie me up again!"

"With the tape," Mr. Barlowe reminded her. "I promised I wouldn't tie you up with the duct tape, and I won't. That stuff's bad for your skin."

"Why are you doing this?" whined Marisa.

In just seconds, her hands were tightly secured, making her wonder just how much experience the old man had at this. A moment later, she was watching in increasing dismay as he tied her legs together at the ankles, and then at the knees.

"Why are you tying me up?"

"I'm afraid I have to, Marisa. I can't risk anybody seeing you naked."

"Ha, YOU can't risk it," muttered Marisa.

"The last thing I want is to have to explain to a visitor in this house why I have a naked teenaged girl in my living room."

Marisa blinked.

"Oh, good thinking," she said sarcastically. "Because having a naked teenaged girl tied up in your bedroom will be so much easier to explain."

Mr. Barlowe took a long strip of cloth and wrapped it tightly around Marisa's upper body, pinning her arms to her sides.

"You don't need to wrap me up like a parcel," she complained.

"Marisa, this is for the best. I really need you to just trust me here."

"Oh, sure. A few minutes ago, I was tied up, gagged, and being carried, naked, into a bedroom, over the shoulder of the man who's had his hands on my ass all day long. What is not to trust?"

"My word, Marisa, when you phrase it like that, you make it sound so unreasonable."

Mr. Barlowe finished tying the cloth strips above and below Marisa's breasts, making them stand out even more.

"You know," said Marisa, shaking her head, "you wouldn't need to worry about it at all if you'd just let me get dressed."

"Perhaps, but what would be the fun in that?" asked Mr. Barlowe wryly.

"I knew it." Marisa scowled. "This was never about my clothes being inappropriate at all. You just like keeping me naked."

"Now, what would make you imagine that?" Mr. Barlowe gave the girl's butt a quick squeeze, making her scowl even more.

Mr. Barlowe picked up a strip of pink cloth.

"Wh-What are you going to do with that?" asked Marisa apprehensively.

"I need to make sure you stay quiet," said Mr. Barlowe, sounding almost apologetic.

"I am being quiet," protested Marisa. "I don't need to be gagged - "

"I can't take any chances, Marisa. You are a girl, after all. You're genetically programmed to blab."

"You know, Mr. Barlowe, that was a very anti-female remark."

"Yes, it was intended as such."

"Mr. Barlowe, do you really think I'd want anybody to see me like THIS?" Marisa glanced down at her naked, thoroughly bound body.

"I can't take the chance, and besides, I've been looking forward to the opportunity to gag you properly, Marisa."

Marisa blinked, and then blinked again.

"There's a 'proper' way to gag a girl?" she asked.

The old man simply smiled as he held up the cloth. Knowing that protesting would do no good, Marisa sighed in resignation and parted her lips to accept it. A moment later, she let out a small whimper as Mr. Barlowe tied the pink cloth tightly in and around her mouth.

"There," he said. He gazed admiringly at Marisa's gagged face, and remarked, "I think pink is a very flattering color on you, young lady."

A small growl emerged from behind Marisa's gag.

Mr. Barlowe paused thoughtfully, not quite sure if the gag would be enough to keep her quiet. After a moment, he got an idea. The old man reached down, slipping his hand between Marisa's legs, and a fraction of a second later, the girl let out a yelp.

Ordinarily, it would have been quite a loud yelp, but the gag muffled it enough to be just barely audible to Mr. Barlowe, and he was in the room with her. He felt satisfied that nobody downstairs would be able to hear her.

"Good, that will do fine," he said.

Marisa could only stare at him in disbelief.

"Marisa, I did not enjoy doing that."

She tilted her head at him.

"Well, I didn't enjoy it much."

She raised an eyebrow.

"All right, fine, I could have enjoyed it more."

Marisa paused, and then shrugged.

"Just one more thing," said Mr. Barlowe, picking up another cloth. A soft squeal came from Marisa as Mr. Barlowe blindfolded her with it.

"This serves no purpose at all," he said frankly. "It's just for good measure, young lady."

Marisa grumbled. She felt the old man's hand on her bare shoulder as he whispered in her ear, "You be a good girl now, Marisa. You stay quiet, okay?"

Mr. Barlowe finally got up and walked to the bedroom door. Even though he had already taken far longer than he should have to answer the doorbell, he still took a moment to glance back at the beautiful teenaged girl sitting on his bed, completely naked, tied up, gagged, blindfolded ...

... He just couldn't resist. Trying to be as quiet about it as he could, he took out his phone and snapped a picture of Marisa, to remember this wonderful moment by.

* * * * *

Brad Wilder rang the doorbell for what seemed like the tenth time, glancing impatiently at his watch.

What was going on? Old Man Barlowe was definitely home. Brad had seen him opening the door for that little ... for Marisa Torres ... when she went to his house. And Brad had been out in front of his own house for the whole day since then. If the old man had gone anywhere, Brad would have seen him leaving. So why wasn't he answering the door?

Maybe he had a heart attack or something ... Nah, we couldn't be that lucky.

Brad grumbled. He would have already turned and left by now, if his father hadn't insisted that he deliver this bill to Old Man Barlowe.

Finally, Brad heard the door unlock, and it swung open.

Took him long enough, thought Brad sourly, although he put on the usual fake pleasant grin he wore when talking to one of his father's customers.

"Ah, good day, Brad," said Mr. Barlowe with a cheerful smile, although inwardly, he was cursing whatever unkind fate had prompted this boy to pick this particular day and time to pay a call.

"G'morning, Ol - Mr. Barlowe," said Brad.

"What can I do for you?"

"My dad wanted me to give you this." Brad handed Mr. Barlowe a sheet of paper. "It's your bill for replacing that stained glass window that Marisa Torres broke."

"Oh?" Mr. Barlowe locked eyes with Brad. "By any chance, did your father give me the discount on it that I asked for? Because, if I recall correctly, YOU were partly responsible for the damage, Brad."

"Hey." Brad held up his hands. "All I did was throw her the ball. She was the one who sent it through your window."

"As I understand it, you challenged her to hit your fastball."

"Yeah. In other words, we were playing baseball, like millions of other kids on weekends." Brad shook his head. "Look, if I could control where exactly a batter hits my pitches, I wouldn't be a second-stringer on my school's baseball team. And anyway, yes, my father gave you a discount. Ten percent off, that's as far as he was willing to go."

"So what's the total, then?" sighed Mr. Barlowe. "How much do I owe your father for the replacement window?"

"It's not too bad," said Brad. "About the same as your original window, only about a hundred bucks and change."

"Brad, please, keep your voice down." Mr. Barlowe looked around anxiously. "I, uh, I sort of led the neighbors to believe that that window was a very valuable antique."

"Yeah, yeah," said Brad in a bored tone, although he did lower his voice. "I know, Mr. Barlowe. Everybody who buys my dad's cheap imitation stained glass always tells people that it's real antique stuff."

"Well, this is different," said Mr. Barlowe hesitantly. "I, uh ... I sort of allowed Mr. and Mrs. Torres to think that the window Marisa broke was very, very expensive ... "

"Oh, I get it." Brad grinned again, this time for real. "You're letting your neighbors pay you big bucks for that damaged window so you can pocket the difference. That's smooth, Mr. Barlowe."

"No ... It's not like that, Brad. The Torreses are good, hard-working folks. I wouldn't cheat them out of their money that way."

"Then what are you ... "

"Well ... " Mr. Barlowe scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Marisa's parents aren't paying for that window. Instead, they're having Marisa come over here and work it off."

"Oh, yeah, I saw Marisa coming over here this morning," said Brad. "So ... You're using this to get some free housekeeping work, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"Man," chuckled Brad. "The great Marisa Torres, working as a maid. I'd enjoy seeing this."

"I have no doubt you would," remarked Mr. Barlowe.

Brad's smile wavered. Something about the old man's tone of voice when he said that didn't strike Brad quite right ... After a moment, Brad just shrugged.

"Well, anyway, there's your bill, Mr. Barlowe. My dad will have his workmen install your new window next week."

"Thank you very much, Brad."

As the door swung closed, Brad hopped off of Old Man Barlowe's porch. He walked across the street back to his own house. Just as he reached his front door, Brad paused, looking back at the old man's house. After a moment, he turned and went inside his house, a puzzled frown still on his face.

* * * * *

Mr. Barlowe quietly placed the paper Brad had given him into the hidden safe in his den.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't consider a bill for a replacement window worth only a hundred dollars or so to be sensitive enough to warrant being put into his safe, but in this case ... The last thing in the world he wanted was for Marisa or her parents to find out how much that stained glass window had actually been worth.

When Mr. and Mrs. Torres had first offered to pay for the broken window, Mr. Barlowe had been quite impressed. He knew that the Torreses didn't have very much money, and yet, they had been willing to pay for what they must have thought was thousands of dollars' worth of damage.

In response, Mr. Barlowe had told them to just forget about the window, it was no big deal. He had been just about to tell them that the stained glass window was actually a cheap imitation rather than a real antique. He hadn't even been planning to ask them for the hundred or so dollars that the window had actually been worth.

But before he could, Mr. and Mrs. Torres had suggested that Marisa could work off the debt by spending a Saturday in Mr. Barlowe's home, doing chores for him. They further offered to let him punish her however way he wished.

Mr. Barlowe remembered struggling with his conscience for a long moment ... but in the end, it had just seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. He was thrilled at the chance to have a little fun with the gorgeous teenaged girl, not to mention teach her a real lesson that her parents didn't seem to be doing. He still felt a twinge of guilt over what he was doing ...

... He just didn't feel guilty enough to stop.

As he walked out of his den, heading back toward the stairs, the phone rang.

"Hello, Henry Barlowe speaking ... Oh, hello, Mr. Torres ... Yes, Marisa's been good, everything is going very smoothly here ... Oh, yes, Mr. Torres, I am quite pleased with Marisa's work. She's done a fine job of cleaning my living room ... No, I'm afraid that she can't come to the phone at the moment. You see, she's sort of ... "

* * * * *

Mr. Torres hung up the phone. He felt puzzled, but also grateful.

"Did you talk to Marisa?" asked his wife, walking into the living room.

"No. She was too busy doing chores."

"Busy?" Mrs. Torres raised an eyebrow. "With chores? Our Marisa? That's remarkable."

"I know, but it sounds like she's really working hard over there. Mr. Barlowe said he was very happy with Marisa's work."

"Well, how wonderful."

As Mrs. Torres went back into the kitchen, Daniel looked up from his laptop computer.

"Marisa is really doing chores over there, Dad?" he asked.

"Apparently so, son, she's really busy. Mr. Barlowe said she was all tied up."

Mr. Torres shrugged and went up the stairs.

"Tied up ... " Daniel paused for a long moment, and then shook his head.

"Nah," he said, getting back to work on his computer.

* * * * *

Mr. Barlowe gazed at the picture he had on his phone of Marisa, the pretty teenager bound hand and foot, wearing a blindfold and gag, all while completely in the nude ... He hesitated, and then, with a heavy sigh, he deleted the picture.

He had wanted to keep it. He had wanted that very, very badly. But he knew that he couldn't. No matter how careful you are with pictures like these, they always wind up getting out, somehow, eventually.

In the picture, Marisa's face was largely obscured by the blindfold and gag, and her body didn't seem to have any easily identifiable characteristics like a tattoo or a birthmark. It would not have been easy for a casual onlooker to tell who the girl in the picture was ... But Mr. Barlowe knew that, if the picture ever did get out, he could not count on somebody not figuring out who the bound, naked girl was ... and then, poor Marisa's life would be ruined.

He knew that he could not do that to her.

* * * * *

Marisa shifted on the bed, moaning through her gag, squirming with every muscle in her body but still finding no slack in her bindings. Even though Marisa knew that she couldn't possibly get free of her captivity, she could not help struggling nevertheless.

The worst part was being unable to see. Marisa felt a tremor of panic run through her body every time she heard even the slightest noise, feeling sure that somebody was coming into the room, somebody whose lascivious intentions she was terrified to even wonder about.

In fact, blindfolded as she was ... For all Marisa knew, there could already be somebody, or several somebodies, in the room with her right now, ogling her naked, bound, helpless body, imagining what they might do with her ...

Suddenly, Marisa let out a yelp, one that might have been audible even to people out on the street, if not for the gag in her mouth.

"How are we doing here, young lady?"

Marisa could not believe that she actually felt relieved to hear Mr. Barlowe's voice ... but the idea that the man who had just slipped his hand between her legs - or, rather, had done so again - might be somebody else had sent chills of terror through her.

Mr. Barlowe could scarcely understand the tirade of muffled, but clearly very unflattering, words emerging from Marisa's gag, but he was more entranced by the very enticing sight of her tight, shapely body squirming against her bindings, shivering occasionally.

He gave her a minute or two to tire herself out. Once Marisa had seemed to calm a bit, Mr. Barlowe gently pulled off her blindfold ... and quickly felt grateful that looks couldn't kill. As he untied the girl's legs, followed by her hands, the icy glare she was fixing on him never wavered once.

Marisa growled, well aware of the fact that Mr. Barlowe was purposely leaving her gag for last. As soon as her hands were free, she reached for it, anxious to get the muzzling cloth out of her mouth, not to mention give the old man a piece of her mind.

"Stop." Mr. Barlowe caught Marisa's wrist before she could pull her gag loose. "Don't touch that gag, young lady."

Marisa slowly lowered her hand, looking at Mr. Barlowe quizzically.

"Marisa, you will leave that gag alone," said the old man, locking eyes with her. "Let me tell you something. I am going to make a proper young lady out of you, even if it means you won't be able to sit down comfortably for the rest of your life. And the first lesson you need to learn is to mind your tongue."

Mr. Barlowe folded his arms.

"To that end, you will be gagged, Marisa, for the same reason that you are naked ... Well, not just because I, admittedly, enjoy it ... I took away your clothing privileges because of your refusal to dress like a proper young lady. In the same way, your privilege of speech will be revoked until you learn to speak like a proper young lady, meaning to speak with respect, speak with dignity ... and speak only when given permission to."

Marisa's eyes turned round, looking like they were about to pop out of her head. In one swift motion, she reached up and yanked the gag out of her mouth, her confusion now replaced with outrage, indignation, and anger beyond description.

"Who the hell do you think you are, old man?!" raged Marisa. "You know, I can understand how somebody as ancient as you might still be living in a previous century, but in this one, women have actually been known to get jobs, wear pants, and even say what's on our minds! And speaking of which ... "

Marisa glanced downward, her face reddening, before she shot another icy glare at Mr. Barlowe.

"Don't you ever touch ... there ... again!"

Mr. Barlowe gazed levelly at the furious girl. Throughout her entire tirade, he had remained completely silent and motionless.

"Very well, Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe, nodding. "If you are so eager to be vocal, young lady, then I will give you something to be vocal about ... "

He turned and closed the bedroom door.

A few moments later ...

... "Oh, no, not again!" ... SPANK! ... "Come on, my butt's still sore from last time!" ... SPANK! ... "You can't do this to me, you dirty old man!" ... SPANK SPANK!! ... "Stop spanking me! I'm not a little girl!" ... SPANK SPANK SPANK!!! ...

... "You just love doing this to me while I'm naked, don't you? Gee, aren't you going to fondle my butt like last time?" ... "That wasn't an invitation, you pervert!" ... "Ow, that hurt! Don't do that!" ... "I don't care how tight it is, stop pinching it!" ...

... "What makes you think you can manhandle me like this?" ... "No, my having a really nice butt is not a reason!" ... "Hey, that's not my butt!" ... "Those aren't my butt, either!" ... "Get your hands off my butt!" ... "I didn't mean put them there instead!" ... "Stop fondling me!" ... "ANYWHERE!!!" ...

... "No, please, don't do that again!" ... SPANK! ... "Please, I don't want to be spanked again!" ... SPANK! ... "God, stop spanking me, this is so embarrassing!" ... SPANK! ... "Come on, it's hard enough for me to sit down as it is!" ... SPANK SPANK!! ... "I said stop spanking me! I am not a little girl!" ... SPANK SPANK!! ... "Stop spanking me!" ... SPANK SPANK SPANK!!! ... "Sob" ... SPANK! ... "Sob" ... SPANK! ... "Sob" ...

* * * * *

"Now, I'm very sorry to have to have done that, Marisa."

Mr. Barlowe came down the stairs, leading Marisa gently by the arm. Her hands were bound again, this time in front of her. The naked girl was sniffling, her face red to match her backside. When they reached the bottom of the stairway, Mr. Barlowe took Marisa's hands in his.

"It's just that we had that ... er, conversation ... once before, young lady," said Mr. Barlowe as he untied the girl's wrists. "And it just hadn't seemed to sink in."

"It will this time," said Marisa softly as she gingerly rubbed her bottom. "Thank you very much for the reminder, Mr. Barlowe."

When Marisa saw the front door, it reminded her of something.

"Mr. Barlowe, I was meaning to ask you, who was that at the door before?"

" ... I think it's better that you don't know, Marisa."

Mr. Barlowe had a feeling that Marisa would have nightmares if she knew that Brad Wilder had been anywhere remotely close to her while she was naked and tied up.

Marisa gave him a curious look, and then shrugged.

"I thought I heard the phone ring, too."

"That was your father, Marisa. He was asking how things were going over here. I told him you were working very hard, and I was quite pleased with the job you did cleaning my living room."

"Didn't he ask to talk to me?"

"Certainly, but I said you were busy."

" ... You told him I was all tied up, didn't you?"

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

Marisa sighed as she let Mr. Barlowe take her by the hand and lead her to the dining room.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Mr. Barlowe?" she asked, shivering as she rubbed her bottom again. Marisa wrapped her arms around herself, trying to cover up as much of her nakedness as she could.

Mr. Barlowe looked at his hands, feeling a rush as he remembered what it was like to have Marisa over his lap, especially in the nude as she was.

"I can only imagine how many boys would enjoy spanking you, Marisa," he said honestly. He gave her a meaningful look as he added, "for more reasons than one."

Marisa blushed, feeling embarrassed ... for more reasons than one.

"You really are a very beautiful girl, Marisa."

"Thank you, I guess."

"I expect you're used to being told that."

"Well ... " Marisa hesitated. "The boys at school don't usually say I'm beautiful."

"Really?" said Mr. Barlowe incredulously. "My goodness, there is just no accounting for taste."

"No, that's not what I meant, Mr. Barlowe. I meant they don't say 'beautiful.' They, um, they use other words that are ... "

"Less eloquent?"

"You could say that."

"I see. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I'm sorry that you have to endure that, Marisa. There's no excuse for such poor manners."

"Oh, I like this." Marisa rolled her eyes. "The man who keeps groping my ass looks down on the manners of the boys who aren't 'eloquent' when they're talking about my looks."

It was a fair comment.

Mr. Barlowe wrapped his hand around Marisa's as he walked her over to the bookcase. He gazed at the framed pictures on the shelves, wall, and mantelpiece.

"Marisa ... You remind me very much of two of my grandchildren. I believe that you know my granddaughter, Leigh."

"Yes, I know Leigh, all right," murmured Marisa, looking down.

For a moment, the old man was silent. Marisa wondered how much, if anything, he knew about why Leigh seemed to hate Marisa so much.

"I know I'm not the first person to say that you resemble Leigh a great deal. Now, she has very different interests than you do, and a somewhat different outlook on life, but ... Much like you, Marisa, she is very strong-willed, and she is often quite ... averse ... to our family's traditional expectations of females."

Marisa glanced at Mr. Barlowe, and then looked at the picture of Leigh. She wasn't sure what Mr. Barlowe was expecting her to say, if he was expecting her to say anything at all. After a long moment, the old man turned and headed toward the kitchen, still leading Marisa by the hand.

"You also remind me a great deal of my grandson, Riley," continued Mr. Barlowe. "He's Leigh's cousin. Much like you, Marisa, and like Leigh as well, Riley is a very driven person, very hard-working, very motivated. Also, while I might be a bit biased here, I would say that Riley is a most charming young man, and quite handsome, too. I would very much like you to meet with him, Marisa. I think he would take a liking to you very quickly."

"Well, as long as I'm naked, I'll bet a lot of boys would."

"Marisa, I'm sure you know that's not what I meant."

The girl lowered her eyes, unable to think of anything to say.

"Honestly, I think that if you got to know him, Marisa, you would like him, too. He's very kind-hearted. Riley is nice to just about everybody, but he has a particular soft spot for girls. He's always going out of his way to do things for them."

"Sounds like the kind of guy who'd already be spoken for," observed Marisa.

"Actually, Riley doesn't have a girlfriend. He's ... a bit shy. Finds it difficult to ask girls for dates, despite just about everybody in our family trying to encourage him otherwise. Riley usually winds up being friends with the girls he knows."

Mr. Barlowe gazed at Marisa.

"I would like you to meet with him, Marisa," he said, in what almost sounded like a pleading tone of voice.

Marisa's eyes widened slightly. Well, this was different. Where was the mean, domineering disciplinarian she had been chafing under all day long? Suddenly so ... mushy. It looked like he was trying fix Marisa up with his grandson, and practically begging her to let him do it.

"I ... I think I would like that, Mr. Barlowe," said Marisa, with sincerity that surprised even her. She smiled. "Your grandson sounds very nice."

"Well, I'm sure you and Riley would find much in common. He's an athlete, like yourself. Riley is a pretty fair runner, though he mainly plays basketball and soccer."

"Really? I've played a little soccer, but it's not really my thing."

"Well, you'll find out soon enough. Riley should be arriving here within the hour."

Marisa instantly turned chalk-white.

"H-He's coming here?" she stammered. "He's coming here now?"

"It can't be helped, Marisa. I wasn't planning to leave this house today, but there's been an unexpected ... complication. So I called my daughter and asked her to send Riley over here to babysit you for a while, until I return."

"... Babysit me?" Marisa bristled. "Cool. Is he going to spank me, too, if I'm not a good little girl?"

Marisa's voice was dripping with sarcasm ... but Mr. Barlowe didn't seem to notice as he turned to her, his eyes lighting up.

"What a wonderful idea! I hadn't thought of instructing Riley to do that, but now that you mention it - Thank you very much, Marisa!"

Marisa cringed.

"He was right, I do have a big mouth," she muttered.

"Ah, just what I was looking for."

Mr. Barlowe took a long pink dishcloth out of a drawer. Marisa gazed at it in dismay.

"I sure hope that's clean," murmured Marisa, guessing what the cloth was for.

"Fresh out of the laundry," promised Mr. Barlowe.

"You're not really going to keep me gagged, are you?" asked Marisa, in a pleading voice, accompanied by equally pleading eyes, that Mr. Barlowe would never have imagined coming from the normally hard-headed girl.

"Marisa - "

"Please, Mr. Barlowe, please don't do this, I don't want to be gagged - "

"It's for your own good, Marisa." Mr. Barlowe put a finger to Marisa's lips to forestall her protests. "As I said before, it's discipline. You have to learn to mind your tongue."

Marisa lowered her head. As if moving of their own accord, her hands covered her bottom and rubbed it gently. After a long moment, she reluctantly nodded, and Mr. Barlowe smiled in satisfaction.

"Wait," said Marisa, holding up her hand as Mr. Barlowe began to bring the pink cloth to her lips. "Mr. Barlowe, could - could I possibly get dressed before your grandson arrives?"

"I'm afraid not, Marisa."

"But - "

"Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe firmly. "I said that if you would not wear clothing appropriate for a young lady, then you would wear nothing at all, and I fully intend to stand by that."

He paused.

"Of course," he went on, "if you don't wish to be here, as you are, when Riley arrives, then you are free to get dressed and leave my house at any time."

Marisa stood perfectly still, staring unblinkingly at Mr. Barlowe for over a minute. She felt torn.

Being naked in front of this old man had been bad enough. The last thing she felt she could take was to have to be naked in front of a boy her own age, too, not to mention whoever else Mr. Barlowe might be planning to bring to the house.

But as tempting as the idea of getting dressed and leaving the house was, it would mean giving in. Marisa wasn't sure if she would be able to look at herself in the mirror, knowing that she had allowed Mr. Barlowe to win their contest of wills. And besides, quitting now would mean that Marisa had endured everything she had that day for nothing.

Mr. Barlowe was holding his breath. He had not wanted to give the girl an out, but in some sense of fairness, he had felt an obligation to at least remind Marisa that she had the option to leave.

Finally, Marisa lowered her head, saying nothing. Mr. Barlowe breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he'd hoped, Marisa's pride would not allow her to throw in the towel.

"Very well, then," said Mr. Barlowe. "Riley should be here relatively soon."

He paused, and then added, "I think Riley is looking forward to meeting with you, Marisa."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll make a great first impression on him like this," she murmured, glancing down at her naked body.

"I don't think you need to worry about that," said Mr. Barlowe quietly. "Marisa, come here ... "

Marisa let out a soft whimper as Mr. Barlowe tied the pink cloth tightly in and around her mouth.

"There you go," he said, adjusting the gag a bit. He brushed her long brown hair aside, taking a moment to caress a few strands of it. He smiled as he said, "You know, young lady, you look so adorable with a gag in your mouth."

Marisa growled slightly.

"Especially pink."

Marisa growled more loudly.

"I see we still have a way to go. Now, Marisa ... "

Marisa reluctantly let Mr. Barlowe take her by the hand and lead her over to the kitchen sink.

"I want you to wash and dry this big pile of dishes in the sink, and then just clean the table and the counter, okay?"

Marisa hesitated, and then her shoulders slumped slightly as she nodded.

"Marisa." Mr. Barlowe took Marisa's wrists in his hands and locked eyes with her sternly. "If you so much as touch that gag, young lady, then you will be going over my lap for another spanking. Do you understand?"

Marisa visibly swallowed, and then nodded.

"If you wish to speak, just make a little noise or something and point to your gag. When, and if, I give you permission to speak, or Riley does while he's here, then you may remove your gag. But not before that. Do you understand?"

Marisa nodded again.

"Is there anything you wish to say right now?"

Marisa paused, and then shook her head. What was there to say, really?

"All right. Now, you don't want me to spank you again, do you, Marisa?"

Marisa shook her head again, this time with no hesitation at all.

"Good. You're going to be a good little girl for me now, and for Riley as well, aren't you, young lady?"

Mr. Barlowe detected a slight shudder through Marisa's body, but she simply nodded again.

"Excellent," said Mr. Barlowe, giving Marisa two affectionate pats on her rear, followed by a lingering squeeze. "Now, get to work, princess, and remember, leave that gag in."

* * * * *

"Hey, Riley!"

Riley had been walking up the path to his grandfather's house when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

"Hi, Pam, how are you?" Riley smiled, as just about every boy ever did when they were treated to the sight of the petite, curvaceous red-haired girl. Today, she was looking radiantly beautiful in a long, flowing light blue dress.

Riley and Pam were classmates. They weren't particularly close friends, but they had always gotten along well with each other.

"I'm all right," said Pam. She glanced at Riley's grandfather's house. "Um, how's Marisa doing?"

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah, Daniel told me."

Riley inwardly smiled. He figured that young Daniel Torres had to be the envy of all of his friends, most of the boys in his school, probably every guy who ever saw him and Pam together. A 15-year-old boy with a girlfriend who was more than two years older than him - not too far from three years older, in fact - and gorgeous besides.

"I was just about to go in there," said Riley, looking at the house. "My grandfather wants me to look after Marisa while he goes to pick up my cousin."

"Your cousin?" echoed Pam, her eyes wide. "You don't mean Leigh, do you?"

"I'm afraid I do."

"Your grandfather is bringing Leigh here? Today? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, I'm sure it's a bad idea, but you know how my grandfather is. Once he gets something in his head, there's no talking him out of it." Riley sighed. "Honestly, from what my mom tells me, it sounds like Marisa's had a pretty rough day in there already."

"Well, if Marisa was dressed the way she usually is, I doubt she made a great impression on your grandfather today."

"From what I hear, I don't think that's much of a concern." Riley looked at the ground, twisting one leg awkwardly.

Pam looked at him, puzzled, but chose not to press the matter.

"So, um, Riley, while you're looking after Marisa, what are you going to ... " Pam's voice trailed off.

"I don't know, Pam, I really don't." Riley sighed. "When Marisa sees me, she probably won't even know who I am."

"If you're lucky," said Pam with a mild snort. "Every time Marisa sees me, she does know who I am, and she treats me like something she just scraped off the bottom of her shoe."

After a moment, though, Pam sighed.

"I still don't think it's fair they're doing this," she said. "I think it was more Brad Wilder's fault than it was Marisa's."

"I don't know," said Riley with a helpless shrug. "But right now, I've got something more immediate to worry about."

"Good luck," said Pam sympathetically.

"Thanks, Pam."

Pam smiled and nodded before turning away.

As luck would have it, just a moment after Pam resumed her walk toward her boyfriend's house, a strong wind blew by, making Pam's normally loose-fitting dress cling very appealingly to her seemingly perfect curves.

Riley took a moment to admire the view before, with some reluctance, he turned back toward his grandfather's house. As he reached the front door, Riley wryly reflected on how it was too bad that Pam didn't play baseball ...

* * * * *

After washing and drying what seemed like her 30th plate ... Oh, that's right, it WAS her 30th plate - Just how long did Mr. Barlowe wait before washing his dishes? ... Marisa glanced at the clock on the wall. She could not believe it wasn't even noon yet. Marisa felt like she had aged about ten years since she walked in Mr. Barlowe's door that morning. It seemed like time was barely moving.

Constantly naked. Repeatedly tied up. Spanked again and again. Marisa couldn't think of a single inch of her body that hadn't had that old man's hands on it. Even when she was doing something as mundane as washing the dishes, Marisa could feel her humiliation threatening to consume her.

Wearing this gag in her mouth made her feel ridiculous, absurd ... More than that, it made her feel vulnerable, as if, being unable to speak, she had been stripped of her most important means ... of any girl's most important means of defending herself ... Gagged as she was, deprived of the power of speech, Marisa felt exposed.

And speaking of exposed ... There was nobody in the kitchen with her, but Marisa still felt as if a hundred eyes were exploring her naked body.

She shook her head, sighing through her gag as she turned off the sink. Marisa stood for a long moment, her hands gripping the sides of the sink, her head lowered. In spite of everything, she knew that she could not give up. Not now. She had come too far, she had endured too much.

Marisa took a deep breath. There was only a handful of hours - while it would seem like days to her, it was still only so many hours - and then she would be able to leave, with her head held high, having shown that old man that she was able to bear every torment he threw out at her. She just needed to get through ...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a raised voice from the living room.

"Riley, don't call me 'Gramps,'" said Mr. Barlowe in annoyance.

A moment later, Marisa heard him call out, "Marisa, dear, please bring your very lovely self out here."

Marisa grimaced.

Show time, she thought, glancing down at her very lovely, and very bare, self.

* * * * *

"Ah, Marisa, there you are. Still naked and gagged, that's a good girl."

Marisa let out a small whine as Mr. Barlowe pulled her hands behind her back and began tying her wrists together yet again.

"I'm sorry, young lady, but I've noticed that you seem to have a compulsive tendency to try to cover up your nakedness."

Marisa could not roll her eyes far enough to do this moment justice.

"There. Now, come, Riley's over here."

Blinking back tears, Marisa reluctantly let Mr. Barlowe lead her by the arm to where his grandson was waiting. As they approached him, Marisa recognized him right away - the very handsome, dark-haired, oddly familiar-looking boy she had seen in Mr. Barlowe's framed pictures earlier. Marisa still felt sure that she had seen him before, some place other than Mr. Barlowe's house. But it turned out that seeing him in person did not help Marisa place his face.

"Riley, Marisa here has been looking forward to meeting with you."

That was true, as far as it went. Marisa had genuinely been interested in meeting Mr. Barlowe's grandson ... This just wasn't quite the way she had in mind.

"Wow," breathed Riley. The teenaged boy felt as if he was frozen to the spot, his eyes seeming to move without his conscious control, sliding from Marisa's beautiful face down and back up her sublimely sexy body, laid unimaginably bare to his sight.

Marisa felt her face burning. She felt embarrassed beyond words to be standing, in her birthday suit, in front of the handsome young man, who was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and slacks. Being gagged and having her hands tied behind her back did nothing to alleviate her blushing.

She could not help feeling struck by how very cute Riley was, and found herself wishing that they could have met under any other circumstances but these.

"And, Marisa, I'm sure you can tell that Riley is very pleased to see you. Riley, don't be impolite, greet the young lady properly."

"Oh, right." Riley reddened, dropping his gaze. He took a moment to catch his breath before focusing his eyes on Marisa's face. "Um, hello, Marisa, it's good to see you - Um, I mean, it's nice to, uh - "

"I think that will do, Riley," said Mr. Barlowe with a sigh. "Marisa, please excuse my grandson. He gets a little tongue-tied around girls he finds appealing."

Riley's face reddened even more.

"Speaking of tongue-tied," continued Mr. Barlowe, "Riley, you'll have to excuse Marisa for not returning your greeting. As you can see, she's a bit speechless at the moment."

"I kind of figured she would be," said Riley with a small sigh.

"Well, it's a bit past time for me to leave," said Mr. Barlowe, glancing at his watch. He gently pushed Marisa toward his grandson as he said, "Riley, she's all yours for the time being. Feel free to have some fun with her if you like."

Marisa's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she visibly gulped.

"Uh, I think I'll pass on that, Gramps," said Riley, gazing nervously at Marisa's apprehensive eyes.

"Don't call me 'Gramps,'" said Mr. Barlowe testily.

"I'll just ... I'll take care of Marisa while you're going to pick up, Leigh," said Riley.

It didn't seem possible, but Marisa's eyes widened even more.

Leigh? thought Marisa in alarm. She was coming here, too?

"Very well," said Mr. Barlowe. "Be sure to maintain a firm hand on Marisa, my boy. You are to keep her naked and gagged at all times. She has to learn to mind."

"Got it."

As Mr. Barlowe stepped out the front door, he added, "Riley, I want you to take Marisa to the master bedroom upstairs and tie her up thoroughly. Blindfold her as well."

"What does she need to be blindfolded for?" asked Riley.

"It's just for good measure, Riley."

"All right, if you say so, Gramps."

"Don't call me - Oh, never mind. Just take care of Marisa, Riley. If she gives you any trouble, you give her a good spanking. I'm sure you can handle that. Lord knows you've been through it often enough with your sisters and your female cousins."

"No problem."

"Now, you're going to be a good little girl for Riley, right, Marisa?"

It was setting Marisa's teeth on edge when Mr. Barlowe spoke to her as if she was a child, but she managed to simply nod.

"That's a good little naked girl," said the old man, giving Marisa a pat on her head, followed by another affectionate squeeze and pat on her bottom before closing the door behind him.

Riley looked out the window, watching his grandfather's car depart, before turning to Marisa.

"Well," he said softly, "I guess it's just you and me now, Marisa."

Marisa looked at Riley for a moment before slowly nodding, her lips closing tightly over her gag. Still not knowing what this would mean for her, Marisa could feel her heart pounding ever louder as Riley took her by the arm and led her into the living room.

* * * * *

"You look tired, Marisa, why don't you have a seat?"

Riley gently sat Marisa down on the soft sofa in the living room. He sat down next to her. She looked at him, still blushing intensely at being naked, unable to cover herself up, gagged and bound.

"This is a little awkward, Marisa," understated Riley.

He was looking at Marisa's face. She could tell that he was struggling not to let his eyes wander below her neck, which she felt very grateful for.

"You're even prettier than I remember you," said Riley softly. He made sure to look into Marisa's eyes as he said it.

Marisa felt herself blushing even more now. Riley had just confirmed that they had met before, but where?

"Look," said Riley, "I'm not supposed to take your gag off ... but if you don't tell my grandfather, I won't either. Deal?"

Marisa nodded eagerly.

"Okay." Riley untied the pink cloth and gently pulled it off of Marisa's head. "There you go."

"Oh, thank you," breathed Marisa.

"Your voice is as pretty as I remember it, too," said Riley, rubbing his neck self-consciously.

Marisa was blushing again.

"Nobody's ever told me they like the sound of my voice before," she remarked.

"Is there a reason for that?" asked Riley.

Marisa's face reddened once more, but this time for a very different reason. She looked down, not saying anything.

"I never would have imagined that I'd ever be able to see you this way, Marisa."

"We have met before," said Marisa, looking up at Riley again.

"Yes, we have."

"Could you tell me where?" Marisa's curiosity was really getting to her now.

Riley hesitated, and then shook his head.

"It's not really that important, Marisa. We only met once, just kind of briefly."

He looked squarely at Marisa.

"I wouldn't expect you to remember, anyway. You, uh, you don't really seem to notice people, do you, Marisa?"

Marisa stiffened.

"Look," she said, her voice becoming sharp, "if the only reason you took my gag off was so that you could lecture me - "

"No," said Riley. "I'm sorry, Marisa, I was just ... It was an observation."

Marisa looked down.

"I suppose it wasn't an unfair one," she admitted. She hesitated, and then decided to ask about something that was really agitating her.

"Is Leigh really coming here?"

"Uh, yeah, my grandfather should be picking her up soon."

"You, uh, you know that your cousin hates me, right? I swear, I really don't know why, but she does."

"I am aware," said Riley, wincing slightly.

"Oh, God, Leigh is going to have a field day when she gets here." Marisa was shivering now. "She'll be lording it over me that I have to be naked."

"Marisa ... " Riley shook his head. "Oh, Marisa, I really don't think you need to worry about that."

Marisa looked at him quizzically, but decided not to press the matter. She could only hope that he was right.

"How have you been holding up?" asked Riley. "I know what my grandfather can be like, and from what my mom told me before I came over here, it sounds like you've had a pretty rough day here today."

"'Rough' is one word for it," murmured Marisa. She drew in a breath. "I guess I've been holding up okay. Your grandfather isn't forcing me to stay here. I can leave any time I want ... I just don't want to give in. I feel like I can tough this out."

Riley nodded in understanding.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "As soon as my grandfather gets back, we'll be making lunch, but if you're hungry right now, I could - "

"I'm not hungry." Marisa shivered again. "I am a little cold, though."

"Well, I think we can do something about that," said Riley thoughtfully.

"Like giving me something to wear?" asked Marisa, raising her eyebrows.

"Actually," said Riley, gazing into Marisa's eyes, "I was thinking of a different way to keep you warm."

Marisa tilted her head as she stared at Riley, her lips parting slightly.

"Well," said Riley, in an apologetic tone, "I, uh, I didn't want to insult you by not at least trying."

Marisa stared at Riley for a moment longer, and then she smiled at him, giggling slightly. He smiled back at her. She wasn't sure why, but she was finding herself warming up to him.

"Your grandfather ... He, uh, he didn't seem to feel any need to come up with excuses for putting his hands on me," said Marisa ruefully.

"I'm sorry about that," said Riley sincerely.

"Well, I think it's kind of a pride thing," said Marisa. "You see, I sort of ... challenged him ... this morning. I said I could handle any punishment he could dish out to me. I'm pretty sure that your grandfather enjoys groping me, but mainly he's just trying to get me to crack."

Marisa looked down.

"He doesn't know it, but he came pretty close to breaking me a couple of times. If he had kept groping me a little longer, I would have given in."

Marisa blinked. Why was she telling him this ... ?

Riley was gazing at her sympathetically.

"You know, I knew there was more to you than what you showed me before," he said quietly.

"Can't you tell me where we met?" asked Marisa, almost pleading.

Riley was silent.

"I'm still going to have to tie you up," he said, placing his hand very gently on Marisa's arm again.

Marisa sighed and nodded, resigned to her fate.

"Come on," said Riley quietly, getting the girl and himself to their feet and leading her up the stairs.

* * * * *

"Can't I have something to wear?" asked Marisa as she sat down on Mr. Barlowe's bed once again. "Anything?"

"I'm afraid not," said Riley. "My grandfather's instructions were very clear. You can't wear anything for the rest of the day ... and besides ... "

Riley gave Marisa a very sheepish smile.

"I kind of like you this way," he said.

"I'll just bet you do," said Marisa wryly. "Riley ... Could you at least not ogle me? It's so embarrassing."

"I'm sorry." Riley had been trying not to let his eyes wander over Marisa's body, but it wasn't easy. "It's just that ... You're so beautiful, and so naked ... It's a natural reaction."

"I guess I can understand," said Marisa.

After a moment, a mischievous smile played on Marisa's lips. She leaned back, looking Riley up and down, before remarking, "After all, if you were naked in front of me, Riley, I'd be looking for sure, too."

Riley's face instantly turned three or four different shades of red. Marisa's smile deepened. She felt happy to have made Riley blush for a change, and besides, he really was cute ...

"Hold still," said Riley, taking hold of Marisa's bound hands and pulling the knots free.

Marisa sighed as she rubbed her wrists. Riley picked up a soft white silk cloth he had gotten from a dresser.

"My grandfather just said I had to tie you up," said Riley. "He didn't say it had to be something tight, or even all that secure. I'll tie you up with this, it'll be a lot easier on you."

"Thank you," said Marisa gratefully.

A moment later, she was letting out a small sigh as Riley bound her wrists with the silk cloth. This wasn't the first time she'd been tied up in this room, but somehow it felt very different ... and, somehow, more appealing ... when it was Riley than his grandfather ...

"They look so pretty," said Marisa, gazing down at her bound wrists. "Where did you learn to tie a girl up?"

Marisa smiled as Riley blushed again.

Not one to miss pressing an advantage, Marisa continued, "Your grandfather didn't make any secret of how much he liked having me tied up ... Are you enjoying it, too, Riley? I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. I mean, I'm tied up, I'm naked, all alone in this big house with a boy I hardly know ... I feel very vulnerable this way, even though I'm sure you're a perfect gentleman."

Just as Marisa hoped, Riley's blush deepened.

"I, uh, I really should finish this," murmured Riley.

He took two more silk cloths and knelt down on the floor in front of the bed, binding Marisa's legs at the ankles, and then at her knees. It did not escape Marisa's attention that Riley seemed to be having trouble catching his breath as his hands repeatedly brushed against Marisa's long, bare legs.

Moments later, Riley seemed to be having even more difficulty breathing as he tied a long cloth around Marisa's upper body, trying his best not to let his eyes linger on her bare breasts right in front of him.

"Marisa," said Riley, sitting down next to her on the bed. He sounded relieved, a stark contrast to how most teenaged boys would feel at being finished binding a gorgeous naked girl's body.

"Listen," he said. "I'm going to have to gag and blindfold you, too, but I think that can wait."

"Not that I'm complaining, but why wait?" asked Marisa.

"I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk."

"And the blindfold?"

"You have really pretty eyes," answered Riley.

Marisa felt a shiver of annoyance that Riley was making her blush again, instead of the other way around. But she couldn't help it. Here she was, totally naked, and this boy chose her eyes, of all things, to compliment.

"Do you wear contact lenses?" asked Riley. "You know, I remember, when we first met, I was thinking that your eyes seemed too beautiful to be real."

Okay, this was getting a bit much.

"Dial it back a little, Riley," Marisa advised him.

"Sorry."

Riley was looking at his hands. Marisa could tell that he was trying to frame his thoughts into words, and at the same time, trying to draw up the courage to say what he wanted to say, whatever it was ...

Hoping to lighten the mood a little, Marisa decided to try teasing Riley again.

"You know, I don't usually let a guy tie me up on the first date," she remarked.

But this time, Riley didn't blush. Instead, he looked up at Marisa, locking eyes with her intently.

"It's funny you should say that," he murmured. "I actually asked you for a date once."

Marisa froze.

"Y-You did?" she asked nervously.

"Yes, and you turned me down."

"Please tell me I was nice about it," said Marisa, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.

Riley coughed lightly.

"Well, actually ... "

"Oh ... " Marisa groaned, closing her eyes tightly shut as she lowered her head.

"I guess I shouldn't expect you to remember, Marisa. You must have guys asking you out all the time."

"I do." Marisa flushed. "I hope that doesn't sound conceited."

"It sounds honest. But you really can't remember me?"

Marisa tilted her head, gazing at Riley's face, trying with all her might to place him ...

"I'm sorry," said Marisa finally, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. She shook her head as she added, "I don't even know why I would turn you down. You seem really sweet, and so cute."

Marisa smiled as Riley finally blushed again.

"Well, you definitely didn't think so then," he said after a moment. "Although I really did like you."

"Riley, please, just tell me where we met," said Marisa, half-needing and half-dreading to know just how much trouble she was in.

Riley gave Marisa a sad smile.

"Well, for what it's worth, Marisa ... I still think you ran a great race."

Marisa stared at Riley. Her eyes grew round, and her mouth fell open, as the last piece finally fell into place.

...

"I just wanted to say congratulations." The teenaged boy sounded nervous. "You ran a great race, Marisa."

"Thanks." Marisa smirked. "I wish I could say the same to you, but I don't like lying."

The boy reddened slightly, as a wave of small snickering came from the teenagers nearby.

"Well, I'll work on it, and hopefully I'll get better," he said. "Um, listen, Marisa, I was just wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go see a movie or something some time."

Marisa's eyes widened, and she let out a piercing laugh. The boy visibly winced.

"You expect me to go out with YOU?" said Marisa, chuckling.

"I, uh - "

"Gee, sorry, pal, but if you can't even keep up with a girl on the track, then I'm not about to expect you to keep up anywhere else, either," said Marisa dryly, giving the red-faced boy a meaningful look.

The boy's face turned even redder, as the giggles and sniggering among the teenagers became louder.

"I'm sorry," said the boy after a moment. "I'm afraid I made a mistake here."

"Yeah, loser, you made a real big mistake, all right, thinking I'd ever go out with you," snorted Marisa.

"No." The boy fixed a level gaze on Marisa. "The mistake I made was thinking that you might actually be worth going out with."

...

Marisa felt like her entire world was caving in around her.

"Oh, My God." Marisa's voice was barely louder than a whisper as she stared at Riley. "Y-You're the guy from the track meet last year ... "

Riley's only response was to gaze back silently at Marisa's anguished eyes. After a long moment, he got up and quietly closed the bedroom door.

"Don't worry, Marisa," said Riley softly, as he approached the tied up, naked, and shivering girl. "I will take good care of you ..."

(End of File)