It was dark in the musty closet, and breathing was becoming
difficult. By now, Amanda had grown used to the strong flavor of rubber in her
mouth, but every inhalation of breath seemed to coat the ball’s saliva-slick surface
with a fine coating of dust, nearly making her retch.
Amanda had already given up trying to pound on the closet door to
attract attention: there was no hope of getting enough leverage for that, not
in this cramped space, lying on her stomach, with her hands and feet fastened
to each other. She had tried banging her head against the door, but the slight
sound didn’t seem worth the headache; anyway, the music was probably loud
enough to drown it out. Sobbing in frustration, Amanda tried one last time to
shriek for help, producing only slobbering gibberish that would never be heard
over the sound of the stereo in the next room. She clamped her eyes shut to try
and contain the flood of tears, and slumped back to the floor.
The ballgag had been a disappointment.
Amanda had
breathlessly opened the brown-paper parcel, her hands shaking, and she felt
just that little bit let down: the red rubber ball seemed less shiny and exotic
than it did in the pictures she had seen online. Lying there in her lap, it
looked more… odd, than it did anything else. Still… she rubbed a finger across
it… at least it didn’t seem that there was any paint or polish that would come
off in her mouth.
Gingerly, Amanda took the strange toy by the black leather straps on either side,
and held it experimentally to her lips. Well, it certainly tasted rubbery—what
else would she have expected? It was unpleasant, but not overpowering; Amanda
wondered idly if anyone had ever tried to market a flavored ballgag. Pulling it
against her teeth, she was surprised to find that the ball was actually larger
than it seemed. Amanda had always thought her mouth was too big, but she found
that she had to strain her jaw to get the ball past her front teeth. --Great--
she thought-- why didn’t I think to see if they come in different sizes?
-- She took a breath, and pulled harder; Amanda grunted as the rubber snapped
against her back teeth; now, though, she found that she was able to close her
jaw a bit as her rear molars sank into the rubber. She wouldn’t have called it
comfortable, exactly, but the strain on her jaw was less than she had feared it
might be; she could actually imagine herself wearing this for a while.
Amanda was inordinately proud of the idea she’d had for binding her wrists. One
day, while out shopping, she’d noticed an older couple walking a pair of very
tiny dogs; the dogs wore small collars made of what looked to be nylon, and
which attached with velcro. Perfect!, she thought. A pair of those collars,
hooked together, could be made into handcuffs.
That trip to the pet store was one of the strangest experiences Amanda had ever
had: standing before the vast array of colors and styles of pet collars, she
found herself getting light-headed and breathless; she glanced furtively around
at the other patrons, with the insane thought that they knew just what she was
planning to do with the collars. The trip home had never seemed so long.
After a little
experimentation, Amanda found that, indeed, the little collars were just about
perfect. When pulled tightly, they cinched around her wrists, making it
impossible for her to pull them free. As long as she wore them correctly,
however, it was possible to reach the velcro with her fingertips; it took a few
minutes to peel the velcro apart, but that was actually perfect: it kept it
from being too easy. There was no point in waiting any longer. Time to get
started.
Amanda reached into
the pillowcase and took out one of the lengths of clothesline, crossed her
ankles, and bent down to begin fastening them together. She had to shift once
or twice, to keep the ankle bones from colliding painfully, but after a few
minutes, she had found a position that allowed them to nest together without
too much discomfort. She’d briefly debated with herself about clothing, and
decided that it was naked or nothing: no point in trying only half a fantasy.
Studying one of the photos she’d downloaded, she wrapped the cord several times
around her ankles, then passed the cord between her legs, looping it three
times around the ankle bonds, cinching them tightly.
For a moment, Amanda could only stare at her feet—what on earth had she done to
herself? Looked at in the cold light of logic, her attempt to duplicate what
she saw in the pictures seemed silly at best, tawdry and unhealthy at worst.
She tugged a bit at the bonds, though, and the “cold light of logic” seemed to
melt away, replaced with a warming that exceeded the expectations she’d formed
while just looking at the pictures.
She continued to immobilize her legs, noting with some amusement that it got
easier as she moved up her body... and also a lot more interesting. Cords were
now tied above and below her knees, and she was certain that was more than
enough to keep a captive from running away, so it was more of a “finishing
touch” when she ran some of the clothesline around, and then between, her
thighs. The sensation as she pulled that rope up inside her took her breath
away; Amanda thought about chucking the whole rest of the project and just
ravishing herself with the rope. But, no… there was so much more to do. Amanda
took a deep breath, eased the crotchrope a bit, and resumed.
The gag was next.
By now, she knew what to expect, and though she doubted she’d ever get “used
to” the taste, it was at least possible not to be distracted by it as she
considered what remained to be done. Amanda fitted the ball between her teeth,
and drew the straps behind her head. For some reason, she’d always thought gags
looked especially sexy when tied over a woman’s hair, rather than under, but
that seemed to restrict the motion of her head, and for a first time, she
wasn’t looking to make things any harder on herself than necessary. Carefully,
she pulled the straps together, lifting her mane of dark hair on the backs of
her hands. She buckled the gag into place, giving an extra tug to be certain
that she could feel it pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Well, Amanda, she thought—here we are. This was the point of no
return. If she went ahead, she would be truly bound and gagged; able to free
herself, but neither quickly nor easily. Oh, who am I kidding?, she
thought—I have to know what it feels like!
Tying her body
would be easier after she got that book on knot-tying that she’d ordered from amazon.com,
but until it came, she’d have to improvise. Her breasts had to be tied, she
knew that—of all the feelings she’d imagined, none was so vivid as the thought
of the ropes criss-crossing the bare flesh of her chest. It wasn’t easy to get
the proper leverage, but running the ropes behind her back, and anchoring them
to her upper arms, she was able to use the crude knots she knew to approximate
the sort of bondage she had studied. Of course, if she could get someone else
to do it for her…
She reached beside her on the bed, now, and picked up the dog collars. The
nylon was wide enough not to bite her skin too badly, but would certainly leave
marks of some kind; she’d have to wear a long-sleeved shirt until after dinner.
She slipped one of the collars around her left wrist, and pressed the velcro
down, closing the collar. Carefully, she threaded the second one through the
first. It was trickier, now, since the aim was to have them end up behind her
back; by straining her shoulders and twisting to the side, she was able to see
well enough to wrap the other cuff around her right wrist, and close it. The
tips of the velcro strips were just within reach, so she could undo herself
when she needed to, but she until then, she could pull at the bonds all she wanted
without loosening them. She relaxed her muscles, now, and leaned her bound arms
back against her pillow.
She’d done it. Amanda lay back on her bed, “helplessly” bound and gagged. She
tried writhing against the ropes, and found she that the more she squirmed the
more aroused she became. She tried a few experimental sounds through the gag—it
didn’t silence her, but she couldn’t help noticing how tiring it was to try and
communicate while wearing it.
Damn, she thought, why didn’t I think to do this closer to the
mirror? Her breath came more quickly, now, as the realization sank in that
she had finally done what she’d fantasized about. Of course, there was one more
thing needed to make the fantasy complete: she closed her eyes, pulled at her
bonds, and took herself away…
Salt wind whipped
Amanda’s cheeks; her mane of dark hair billowed about her head, but the fierce
bindings on her arms and wrists prevented her raking the tresses back from her
face. She wanted to curse the mangy sea-dogs who had hold of her two arms, but
her mouth had been stuffed full of strips torn from the expensive gown, which
now hung in ragged tatters from her voluptuous frame; her head and mouth ached
where the villains had used more of the fabric to bind her gag in place. Most of
the bodice of the gown had remained intact… until now. Now, the captain of this
band of brigands was swaggering towards her, the leer on his face leaving no
question as to what his intentions were. A lock of dark hair spilled over his
forehead, and pale blue eyes regarded the high-born beauty who was now his
bound prisoner. His hand, so deceptively delicate for such a scoundrel, took a
firm grasp on the bodice, now, and… and…
Damn! Amanda cursed to herself. Even in her fantasies, she couldn’t get
Jack to act!
Jack. So beautiful; maybe too beautiful.
She’d always had a terrible crush on Jack, and only her respect for Sarah as a
friend had kept her from making a play for him. Of course, the friendship that
she and Sarah had enjoyed as college freshmen roommates had strained itself
more than once over the years, until now, a full year after graduation, it was
clear to Amanda that the parting of ways had to come soon: the two fought
often, and over trivia. The one thing Amanda had sworn they would never fight
over, though, was men. Jack was Sarah’s and that was just her tough luck.
That had all changed last weekend. After too many glasses of wine, Sarah had
told Amanda the story—she had broken it off with Jack, for good. Amanda was
surprised—Jack’s lack of assertiveness, which Amanda regarded as about his only
flaw, had always seemed one of the things Sarah liked best about him. The
astonishing part came when Sarah told her what had finally precipitated it.
About a week before, Jack had finally worked up the courage to ask Sarah
something: he wanted to tie her up, and make love to her. As Sarah had
described Jack’s fantasy and her disgusted reaction, Amanda did her best to
sympathize. As the story went on, though, Amanda began to find herself
strangely stirred by it. Maybe it was the wine, but she began to find herself
drifting off into a sort of dream, featuring herself as a bound and gagged
prisoner, at the mercy of… Jack?
That’s where the fantasy pulled up short. Amanda wanted to savor all sorts of
guilty visions of Jack running those icy eyes hungrily up and down her naked
form, as she was displayed for his pleasure… only, she couldn’t! Try as she
might to imagine herself writhing under Jack’s control, it was simply not
possible to picture him as anything but his sweet, deferential self.
Since his conversation with Sarah, Jack had been unhappy and uncommunicative,
and Amanda feared that Sarah’s rejection of him might cause him to repress his
desire altogether. That would be too unfair—he couldn’t give up his interest in
bondage just as Amanda was discovering her own! No, she had to do something.
That was what had finally driven Amanda to further explore the world she came
to understand as “bondage.” The sights, sounds, and stories offered to her on
the Internet confirmed that it was more than just wine that she had felt that
evening— this was something that she found terribly sexy, and if Jack wanted
this, too, then she was just going to have to learn enough about it to get him
into it herself. With Sarah out of town on business for the week, the
opportunity was perfect.
Jack was reluctant to accept Amanda’s dinner invitation; probably, she
thought, he still has some idea that he and Sarah will get back together
again. Still, he was lonesome, and he and Amanda were friends, weren’t
they? She’d finally persuaded him, though, and had spent her morning shopping,
and setting the table romantically for two; the afternoon would be devoted to
her “experiment.”
But, now, as the pirates and their ship disappeared on the winds of her
imagination, Amanda gave a little whine of frustration behind her gag. She was
breathing heavily, monstrously horny— and could not get the “man of her dreams”
to do anything about it!
No, it HAD to work. After all, Jack had wanted to tie Sarah up—didn’t that mean
he had SOME abilities to assert himself with a woman? All right, so he had
evidently retreated like a mouse as soon as she said “no”, but this would be
different. Amanda would gladly accommodate him—if she could only get him to try…
The sleek black
catsuit was bunched up around Amanda’s chest where the thin cords bit into her
breasts. She rolled on the floor, a ludicrous sight: the great Amanda, world’s
finest jewel thief, lay trussed in a ball like a child’s toy, plastic cuffs
fastening her wrists to her ankles, a man’s handkerchief stuffed in her mouth,
held there with his silk tie. Her latest run-in with Special Agent Jack
Thompson had proved her undoing, as the gorgeous FBI agent had subdued and
bound her. Now, though, he made no move to read her her rights, or take her to
jail. Instead, she lay helpless as she heard him call his boss, and relate the
story of her “escape.” Hanging up the phone, he turned to her.
“We’re quite alone, now, my dear. I think it’s time you paid your debt, not to
society, but to me.” He approached her, closer; Amanda panted and whined
through her stuffed mouth as… as…
Oh, God, NO!!! Amanda was sobbing now, as the vision crumbled again. Dammit,
Jack—why can’t I ever imagine you saying anything but “I’m sorry, let me help
you out of that”?!?!
After a moment, Amanda collected herself, and did her best to catch her breath.
No point in crying—it’s either going to work, or it’s not. Trying and failing
would be no worse than not trying.
Amanda had just decided to start untying herself to finish getting dinner
ready, when she heard a small “click” from the next room, and the sound of the
apartment door opening.
Oh, no! Amanda thought. He’s here already! Why the hell would he be
three hours early? Frantically, her fingertips sought the edge of the
velcro to peel it away… and then, they stopped.
Maybe this is
best, she thought. After
Sara’s rejection, Jack would probably be reluctant to even discuss the subject.
All right, Jack, Amanda thought, as she tried to call his name from
under the gag, here’s your chance. You’re going to walk into this
bedroom, find a naked female bound and gagged, just like you’ve always
fantasized, and then you can…
The door opened,
and Amanda heard, “What the hell?”
Behind her gag, she asked the same thing; it had only now occurred to
her that Jack didn’t have a key to the apartment.