Plunder of Gor Read Online Free PDF Page A

could be depended upon to keep a secret. So I would call her, and, when she arrived, which she would, I was sure, acquaint her with my surprising, untoward predicament, and send her forth to obtain what tools might be appropriate to free my wrists.
    How easily then might things proceed!
    I looked down at the handcuffs, so large, thick, heavy, and plain. How clumsy, simple, and ugly they were. How disproportionate they seemed to my wrists. How unlike they would be from the light, lovely restraints, so attractive, and perhaps even more secure, designed with the enhancement of beauty in mind, in which I would later, frequently, find myself helplessly emplaced.
    I must call Paula.
    I was so distraught I feared I might stumble, were I to stand.
    I crawled toward the telephone on the night stand near the bed. It was an awkward business, my wrists pinioned before me. But I could move, a bit at a time, reaching forth, again and again. Then I was at the phone. I reached up and placed it on the floor, before me.
    Next I must find Paula’s number.
    This would be easy.
    In the drawer to the night stand was a small notebook containing my personal numbers. It contained, amongst others, the numbers of my frequent luncheon companions. Once, early in our luncheons, held in one restaurant or another, but usually in the restaurant on the fourth floor of the building, we had exchanged numbers. We had supposed this might prove a convenience for our small group, if it might prove desirable to contact one another, as if we would ever be interested in doing so. Certainly, hitherto I had never used any of these numbers. But Paula’s number, I recalled, would be amongst them.
    It was only necessary, now, to call her. I was sure she would be accommodating. It was her way. Surely, too, she, poor, plain Paula, should be flattered to receive a call from me, for I was smart and chic, and I stood near the pinnacle of our small hierarchy. If she were otherwise engaged, or had other plans, she must change them. That must be clear. Yet I should tell her nothing. My tone would be pleasant and social, and betray no inkling of my distress. The matter should be as if no more than if I were thinking of her, and felt like chatting, which chat could then lead naturally to an invitation, and a proposed afternoon’s outing. We could meet at my apartment, perhaps for coffee, first. I might then, she having arrived, reveal my discomfiture to her, and explain, as I could, what I needed. If necessary, over the phone, though I trusted it would not be necessary, I might give her some sense of my earnestness.
    I reached to the drawer of the night stand.
    At that moment I cried out, startled, for the phone, placed before me on the carpet, rang.
    I lifted the receiver. It was Paula!
    â€œI hope I am not disturbing you,” she said.
    â€œNo,” I said, “not at all.”
    â€œAre you all right?” she asked.
    â€œYes,” I said. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
    â€œSomething strange has happened,” she said.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œYou sound different,” she said.
    â€œHow so?” I asked.
    â€œUpset,” she said.
    â€œNo, no,” I said. “I’m fine.”
    â€œGood,” she said.
    â€œIt is nice of you to call,” I said, struggling to speak calmly.
    â€œI don’t mean to bother you,” she said. “But I thought I should call. Something strange has happened. A messenger delivered an envelope to me, only moments ago, and inside the envelope was a smaller envelope, with a note, that the smaller envelope was to be delivered to you. Do you know anything about this?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œDo you want me to open the envelope?” she asked.
    â€œIs it a letter?” I asked.
    â€œI do not think so,” she said. “It seems to contain something, a small, solid object.”
    â€œHold it up to the light,” I said.
    â€œThe envelope is