Amanda had always
hated Sarah’s taste in music. To lie hogtied in this miserable closet was bad
enough; to do it to the sound of Sarah's collection of Time-Life “soft
rock” hits was unbearable.
Suddenly, the sounds from the next room grew louder, and Amanda could tell that
someone had opened the door to the bedroom. Exhausted though she was, Amanda
had to take the chance that it might be Jack, and she lifted her head as far as
she could, once more screaming herself hoarse through the ball in her mouth.
It was impossible to know if the sound she had made could even be heard outside
the closet. For a moment, there was so sound in the room.
Light flooded into Amanda’s tiny prison as the door flew open. Sarah stood the
doorway, but it was Sarah as Amanda had never seen her, and doubted that few
had. Her blond hair was loose about her face; her expensive designer clothes
must have been in a heap on the floor somewhere, and she was drunker than
Amanda had ever seen her.
“Well, h’lo li’l Miss Sick Pervert.” Sarah was trying to focus her pale blue
eyes on the bundle on the floor, but seemed to having trouble focusing at all.
“I jus’ thought I’d tell you that me an’ Jack are… we… well, thanks a lot for
the steaks. Were great…” Amanda roared as loudly as she could through the
ballgag, but nothing seemed to be penetrating her inebriated roommate’s skull.
“Anyway, he ast about you, but I tole him we’d talk later,” she slurred. “Now I
gotta go. Just wanned to make sure yer comfy before I take off Jack’s pants,
an’…” she dissolved into a fit of giggles, turned unsteadily, and slammed the
closet door behind her, but slammed it just a bit too hard.
As Amanda heard
Sarah leave the room, it took her a second or two to realize that the dim
sliver of light she saw was an opening to freedom: the door had been shut so
hard that it bounced back off its catch without latching: incredibly, she now
had a chance to try and get herself--and Jack-- out of this mess.
Her first attempt at movement told her, though, what a slim chance it might be.
The closet was
narrow enough that Amanda’s bundled body had but a few inches of clearance on
either side; in fact, if her legs had not been tied over her back, she’d
probably have been stuck. As it was, her only option was to begin rocking on
her side, trying to angle herself closer to the door each time. She summoned
all her strength, and twisted up on her left side, then let gravity pull her
down to her right; by straining her head, she was able to gain a few inches of
clearance as her bare breasts slapped down on the coarse carpet.
Once, twice, three
more times Amanda rolled and twisted; the whole front of her body felt like it
had been scraped raw by the carpet. The last time, though, she was able to land
with her head pointing toward the partially-open door. Once more she raised up,
and fell forward, this time her head connected with the door.
The carpet pile was
too high for the door to fly open altogether, but it budged a few inches, enough
for her to wiggle so that her body was now nearly perpendicular to its original
position.
Now, she braced her toes against the back
wall of the closet, and pushed with all the strength she could manage from her
bound legs. This time, the scraping of her breasts on the carpet was much
harder, with all her weight on them, and she drooled a whimper past her gag,
but as her head collided with the door, forcing it open another foot, Amanda
found she was now able to stretch her body to nearly full extension. There was
room, now, to move her legs, and she desperately pulled her ankles this way and
that: the amateur knots she had tied around her ankles were likely to be the
bondage’s weakest link. As she rolled and writhed, she could feel the ropes
around her arms slackening, too, but her wrists remained imprisoned within the
nylon and tape. Finally, with a great heave, she was able to pull her right
ankle free; her left remained tied to the bonds on her wrists.
Now, strength wouldn’t help, only slow, deliberate patience. Amanda bent her
right leg back, and felt around with the tip of her big toe until she located
the cord that Sarah had used to join her wrists and ankles. She couldn’t hope
to undo the knots, but she ought to be able to slip it off her left ankle, now
that there was so much more slack.
Sweat ran down Amanda’s face, mingling with tears of frustration as she looped
her toe around the clothesline. Two attempts failed, the second after her left leg
cramped up, and left her wailing in pain as the muscles spasmed the cord out of
her reach. She bit down as hard as she could on the ball in her mouth, and
forced the leg back into its bent position; trembling with the effort, she
reached out once more with her toe, and was finally able to slip the loop of
clothesline off her ankle.
Her left leg exploded back to its full extension as though it had been shot
from a gun; Amanda rolled to her back, and planted her foot on the wall of the
closet, straining to ease the cramping in her calf. Her body shook with the
tension, but after a moment or two, the pain reduced itself to a sort of dull
ache, and Amanda decided it was time to move.
Rolling to her side, she planted her right foot beneath her, and staggered
upright. She allowed herself no more than a few seconds to get her balance,
then put her head down and tottered toward the bedroom door. She had no plan,
no thought for what she might find. She turned her back to the door, felt for
the knob with her bound hands, and twisted it open. She pulled the door ajar,
turned herself back around, and staggered through.