Grin. Smile. Dance. Laugh. Cheer. Yell until your voice goes hoarse. Somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed. Tonight, there’s no anxiety and no self-doubt. It’s a good feeling. Supportive people surround you. You’ve cut loose. It feels phenomenal; to dance and cheer and never once feel like you’re being judged. It’s not clear why it’s so easy tonight. Maybe it’s the people, maybe it’s the location. It’s definitely the location.
The ambiance definitely has something to do with it. Dim lights and laughing, music that isn’t too loud but is so loud that you do kind of have to yell. Other people in costumes make you feel downright normal in comparison. Your red qípáo is trimmed with gold. You were worried that it wouldn’t match your glasses, but in the dark nobody noticed. Maybe it matched after all.
It certainly helped to hear others say that the outfit was nice, too. The feeling of cheeks reddening and a bashful “th-thank you!” wasn’t a faux pas, it was just a start to a great night.
The night ended when you took a wrong turn down a dark alley.
You were turning around to go the other way when a small canister rolled against your feet. Instantly, you felt woozy. The alleyway was filled with billowing smoke and noxious gas. You tried to avoid breathing it in, but failed and fell to your knees.
A woman walked through the gas, completely immune to any of its noisome effects. She had spiky golden hair, a skintight catsuit of black and orange, and a black gas mask over her face.
She has the hungry walk of a predator. Your weakened form feels numb; limbs anaesthetized and unresponsive. The lump growing in your throat seems far away. Your eyes lose focus as if you were asleep. The long tap-tap-tap of her forward motion is hypnotic. It’s as though you were awake, collapsing into a dream.
The woman moves close, studies your face, places her gloved hand on your cheek. Her skin is cold; her breath is warm. Her mouth is invisible behind her respirator. Green eyes sparkle with fecund cruelty.
“I could have just knocked you out... or worse.”
She puts a hand over your open mouth. “Don’t thank me. And don’t scream, either. You’re going to want to save all that energy for later.” The taste and smell of her glove enters your mouth; the smell of thick rubber wafting into your nostrils.
Movement. Hazy awareness of being picked up, or at least dragged. The loud sound of a shutter closing and the heavy k-chunk of a locked door.
The assailant lets you recover your breath for a moment, now out of the gas-filled hallway. You’re regaining sensation across your body. For example, you can feel a growing redness in your cheeks. She steps away for a moment, and then back to you. She has a wide roll of silver tape in her hands, and a glimmer of greed in her eyes.
She shoves your arms behind your back. As close as possible, she forces your hands to your elbows, stretching your shoulders back. The sound of silver tape being unrolled, and a tearing as she winds the first strip around your wrists. Then another, and then another, and then another. Her hands wrap your arms before stretching the roll around your body. She winds the tape around your shoulders and above your breasts, steadying your body with one firm hand and unrolling tape with the other. Then she does it again, and then again. She does the same around your stomach too, each time tightening your box-tied arms in place.
“You’ll have to wait for a better gag,” she says. “This will do for now.”
The woman tugs on your hair, forcing your head back and up so that she can apply a small section of tape across your lips. Before you can get it off, she winds the roll two times around the back of your head and to the front of your mouth.
“Be lucky I didn’t cover your nose.”
You’re busy trying to scrape the gag off your face when she uses the rest of the roll around your legs, pinning the back of your calves to the bottom of your thighs. With a huff, she drops the empty roll of tape to the ground. It rolls away into the darkness.
“Mmmnnnnnnggh!” You can hear your gagged grunts echoing in the garage.
“Like I said before,” she says. “No need to thank me.”
You huff and heave, squirming on the concrete floor. The tape squeaks, but doesn’t give. You’re getting warmer, blushing as you wriggle in her web.
“All right. Here’s the first round of our game. I’m off to get my car. You get to try to escape. You have... hm, maybe five minutes if I rush, ten minutes if I take my time. Ten minutes to squirm and moan and groan and try to get free. Don’t bother making any noise; nobody is going to hear you. If you’re skilled, you’ll get that tape off and be gone by the time I return. If you’re lucky, I’ll find someone else to take, and you’ll have a few more minutes to escape. Think of what a story you’ll have if you do make it out!”
“Mmnff! Lmmh mmh gffff!”
“Like I said, you’re welcome.”
She takes off your glasses and puts them on a nearby stool. She doesn’t want you damaging them while you struggle. Then she leaves you.
“By the way, the name’s Jilly.”
She pinches your nose shut as she peels off the tape. You’re forced to open up your mouth to take in air, and in that moment, she fits a wad of cloth between your lips. Then it’s back with the tape, and this time with another strip of black electrical tape to keep it all on. And, over that, a scarf that covers your nose, mouth, and chin.
“I’m telling you this since I don’t think you’re going to escape. Even if I go easy on you. And I never go easy on anyone.”
She’s strong; Jilly manhandles you out of the garage and towards her car. She can’t help herself though, and pauses to put you down. She wants to feel your body. Her hands tease over your dress and legs. She strokes at your gagged chin, running her rubber-gloved fingers through your hair.
“You’re a pretty nice specimen. I bet you’ve got a cute name. Not that I care.”
Her hands cup your breasts, gently massaging them at first before taking a heaping handful. She gropes you with increasing vigor, watching you squirm in your tape and moan into your gag. Her intimidating presence over you is intoxicating in its own way - less than the gas, but not by much.
“By the way, slave, you’re riding in the trunk. I don’t want you messing up my leather seats. It’s a comfy trunk - lots of slaves say so. Or at least, they would if I ever let them talk.”
Jilly winds some dark brown silk rope around your chest and waist, harnessing you further and covering up the tape. She takes great glee in hogtying you, running loops of rope from your ankles to your taped wrists. The rope slips between your cheeks, rubbing slightly against your rear. She gets a slight laugh out of that before picking you up one more time, and placing you in the trunk.
You squirm like crazy. The rope bites against your flesh, and the tight tape keeps you from stretching or getting any momentum. You’re moaning, grunting, grinding your body against the confines of the car. She pats your head once more.
Jilly flings a pair of safety scissors into the car and closes the trunk.
“Round two,” you hear her say. The car starts.
At first, you thought that this was her house. But after a few minutes, she opened up a closet, and you caught a glimpse of the owner. She was tied to a chair, wearing a black rubber catsuit, and rolling her head listlessly. An occasional gurgle comes through her gas mask as she inhales something from a black-and-yellow air tank.
She stares in your direction, but you can’t quite make eye contact through those panes. Jilly hangs up her coat and mask, then shuts the door on the owner. Her torment is a private one. Jilly’s just getting started with you.
You’ve been bathed and watered and stripped down. Thankfully, this home is much warmer and more temperate than the cold of that garage. But it’s private. It’s far away from the city, or even the town. It’s secluded. Jilly lets you see the windows, even leaving the curtains open. There’s nobody around - nobody to see you, nobody to rescue you. To the outside world, you don’t exist - just a guest for her to toy with and tease.
The gag between your lips is new and different. An inflatable rubbery bulb went into your jaw, attached to a heavy panel-gag that covers the lower half of your mouth. The pressure from its tight, padded embrace against your lips is quite intense. The fat inflated gag gives you something to chew on, keeping you from even coming close to enunciating any words.
Your bonds, too, are new. She stripped you just down to your underwear, and used a series of padded leather cuffs on your ankles and wrists to keep you hogtied like a piece of meat. She was kind enough to put you on the couch first, so you lay on your side while she helps herself to a drink. When she’s finished, she heads over and takes a seat on the couch.
She licks your cheek, grinning. Jilly carefully removes her glasses and rubs a gloved hand through your hair. You grunt, groan, and squirm. She likes it, and does it again. Fingers pinch your nose shut.
After a few seconds, your lungs start to ask for air. A few more, and they start to tingle. Your vision blurs slightly. A few seconds more and you’re squirming in place, trying to get away.
She cups your head with her other hand. You’re desperate, eyes watering, when she finally lets you have air. Jilly licks her lips. You blush. The rush from that was intense. You want it again; you want to feel your fate in someone else’s hands. To be totally controlled and utterly at someone else’s mercy... to feel your head get light from a lack of breath, to enjoy only the pungent odor of her rubber-gloved hand over your face.
You’re wearing it plainly on your face, because she does it again. This time she goes for a few seconds longer. You breathe deeply and greedily when she lets go.
“You’ll grow to love and value oxygen. Every moment you get is a gift from me, slave.”
You can feel those hands all over your body again. This time, she knows your form. Those hands know your curves. In just your underwear, there’s nothing to hide. Fingers slip to sensitive spots. Palms rub and caress. Intense, thorough molestation of your chest is interspersed with the occasional brush of her fingers across your face.
I’m not choking you, she seems to say. But I could. Any time. You’re my plaything.
“All right. Round three. I think you can get out of this one, no problem. I’m going easy on you this time. You’re not in a car, you have perfect visibility, and you’re way, way less bound. But you won’t be - not for long. You lose this game, and I get to do anything I want to you. Round four is going to be tight - tighter than you’ve ever felt, probably. So, all you need to do to win this round is to get the key to your cuffs.”
Your eyes narrow. Is she telling the truth?
Jilly gets to her feet and goes to the kitchen. She gets herself another beverage; a tall glass filled with something sugary-sweet and ice. She also brings a can back for you.
No. It’s a metal cylinder - more gas.
“This time you’ve got five minutes. After that, I crack this gas grenade, and it’s bedtime until tomorrow - when I try round four. Got it?”
“What was that?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” You’re nodding in understanding. Squirming, moaning, groaning, and erotically charged at the thought of whatever ‘round four’ will be, but you understand her game.
“Good. Anyway, here’s the key.”
Jilly finishes her drink. Inside one of the ice cubes is the key to your cuffs.
After about four minutes, she goes back to the closet to get her mask. The captive is still there. You wonder what game she is playing.
The ice is almost halfway melted when time’s up.
“All right. Comfortable in there? You feeling alright?”
You groan. You’re not sure if she heard you. The fat plug-gag is bigger and a bit more suggestive. It’s part of a thicker harness, too. You squirm a bit. She definitely heard that.
“Good. Please, listen carefully. I want to explain what I’ve done.”
You can already feel it. She doesn’t need to go over your situation. But she wants to.
“You, unfortunately, lost all three games. Round four is rather inescapable. You’re sitting on your side in the fetal position, packed up in a nice padded box that’s just a tiny bit too small. I hope you’re not claustrophobic. Your box’s lid is a 5mm thick sheet of plexiglass, and the second I’m done, I’m going to lock it and put you away for the night. It just barely fits underneath the master bed, so you can stay close while still completely out of the way.
While you were out, I got you properly geared up for your encasement. A layer of plastic-wrap felt right for your box. Besides, I had a lot of extra saran wrap, so what else was I supposed to do with it? It was a nice canvas to get you going, especially after I heated it up so it shrank. Trust me, watching you squirm was adorable.
Over that I mixed it up; some silver duct tape here, some ropes there. I was just sort of doodling, if you know what I mean. That padded blindfold doesn’t really match the rest of the outfit, but it’s for the best. If I’m going to deprive you of anything, it’s gotta be your sight, right? I mean, I’m being nice and giving you air...”
You struggle, fruitlessly.
“Besides. I was really nice and gave you that magic wand vibe. It’s off right now, but I figure I’ll let you stew with the knowledge that it will turn on... but only when I feel like it. You’ll just have to enjoy total and complete solitude and confinement for a while before you get a treat.
You groan. You can’t take this. It’s so tight, you can barely move. You wriggle your fingers in bondage mitts. Your body aches to be touched and teased. You’re sure it’s showing now; your desire, the way you react to this incredible, utter, and complete bondage.
Someone leans down. You can feel a tongue licking your cheek and laughter. Jilly fits a plug in your ear, then closes the lid, leaving you in silence. It’s quiet... at least until she turns on the toy.