More Whips; Fewer Chains

Chapter 1

STOP!!!

This book is intended for a MATURE, sexually liberated audience. Though its right to exist has been defended a myriad of times, the author concedes that it is NOT appropriate for everyone and NOT INTENDED FOR THE EYES OF CHILDREN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. It contains graphic descriptions of sadomasochistic sex, which is not in any way appropriate for children or some adults. It also contains GLBTQ themes, which may be distasteful to some readers. It is not the intention of the author to offend in any way, nor push any political narrative of any sort.

Many of the acts depicted in this book are in fact, dangerous and may cause permanent injury or death. This book is not intended to be an instructional tool, and should be considered for what it is, a work of fiction. Don't try this at home, folks.

It should also be noted that all of the sexual acts in this book are made by consenting adults. Remember: the first three letters of the word consent are "con". They are, coincidentally also the same as the word "convict". If you do not have consent, you may wind up a convict.  Not by coincidence.

Book I: Katie

Chapter 1:

An inauspicious beginning:

"It was many years ago, that I became what I am. I was trapped in this life, like an innocent lamb."

Moon over Bourbon Street, Sting

It was late spring of 1986, the year that my grandfather, the only man I've ever felt unconditional love for, died. From that moment, I have been truly alone. It wasn't a surprise. He had been lingering for months with one foot in the grave. Watching a loved-one slowly wither away and die, is a truly horrific ordeal for a nineteen-year-old college student to have to witness. Cancer is a bitch.

My grandfather, Charles Stephens, was a widowed WWII veteran who in his late fifties, suddenly found himself the sole caretaker of an orphaned nine-year-old girl; my mother having swallowed an entire bottle of pills one night.

I never knew my father. My mother, when she wasn't completely smashed on wine, would always say that he got hit by a train. Once, I asked my grandfather what he knew about my father but being the wall of stoicism that he always was, told me I was better off not knowing the truth. Though Grampa Charlie had his faults, I knew that he would never do anything to hurt me. Except for when he died.

When Grampa Charlie died, I was left with a meager trust fund. Charlie, a B-17 pilot in WWII and winner of the distinguished flying cross, was also a successful businessman. Over the years, he had a hand in everything. From bars to laundromats. Grocery stores to motels. If there was money to be made, Charlie could smell a deal. From what I can tell, he was just a guy out hustling for an honest buck; part of what would later be coined as "The Greatest Generation". It's safe to say that the men in my life have had some very high standards to live up to.

Charlie was also a devout Catholic. Due to his conservative nature, he believed that people should learn the value of hard work. That is why, when he died, he left most of his money to the local diocese. He made sure that I was provided for; most of all that my education was paid for and that I wouldn't go hungry. However, no granddaughter of his would ever just be handed a blank check. He had already made that mistake once.

My name is Kate Stephens. I'm five feet nine inches tall, with dark, naturally curly hair and a very average looking milky-white skin. Like most attractive women, I've never really felt beautiful. At times, I even resent people telling me that I'm pretty.