Meanwhile,
at Tori Ballantine's townhouse...
Tori had risen early and
gone for a brisk run of four miles—followed by an hour of
pushups, situps, and sparring with her martial arts
dummy—followed by a breakfast of toast and coffee. The
rest of her Saturday was free, other than doing her
chores. Tori had plans for Sunday, but Saturday was free.
So... what to do?
Tori's workout clothes were a sweaty mess. Her skintight,
black running shorts and matching sports bra didn't look too
bad—they were Lycra—but the heather-gray, cotton tank-top,
clinging to her breasts and torso and knotted in front to bare
her tummy, was damp and stained. Her blond hair was pulled
back in a ponytail and didn't feel too bad, but she knew she was
badly in need of a shower and shampoo—but not yet. Getting
herself clean could wait.
Tori made her bed, dusted and straightened the bedroom, the
living room, workout room, kitchen, and entryway, then ran her
vacuum over the carpets and floors. Self discipline aside,
Tori knew she was indulging in delayed gratification, but so
what? Her townhouse needed its weekly cleaning and it was
important to keep on top of such things.
And speaking of keeping on top, tomorrow, if her plans came to
fruition, Tori would do just that. But not today.
Today, Tori would be topping herself, and she was out of
excuses.
It was Tori's little secret, one she had thus far shared only
with Sally. Lillian Steele knew Tori as an honorable and
worthy rival. After a fashion, Tori and Lillian were BFFs,
but officially the two "security experts" were rivals for the
title Top-of-Tops. The Pervy Profs—Tori's circle of
faculty friends who shared her interest in recreational
restraint—knew that Tori liked to "test herself," but
undeniably, Tori was a Top.
Yes, only Sally knew the truth: Tori Ballantine was secretly
into self bondage!
It had started in her early teenage years. None of her
friends even suspected, but young, blond, popular, athletic
tomboy Tori Ballantine routinely fantasized about finding
herself in the role of a movie or TV heroine captured by the bad
guys—and at night, in the privacy of her bedroom, she did
something about it. Her finger fiddling sessions were
augmented by a little bondage, but mostly it was all in her
mind... and between her legs.
In later years, the actual physical bondage escalated, as did
the sophistication of Tori's timing devices. She'd
discovered on the internet ways to make herself helpless for a
specified period of time. Once a smart house avatar was
available—that is, once Sally discovered her secret—for the
first time Tori had an actual "safety," someone to watch over
her in case something went wrong. However, Tori never
relied on Sally sending a message to one of her friends (like
Little Mouse or Doc Pappas) to come rescue her if things went
wrong. Tori made damn sure things never went
wrong.
The centerpiece of Tori's current restraint system was a harness
and cuff set of leather and neoprene rubber with lockable steel
buckles. The neoprene was stitched to the interior of the
harness straps to cushion and protect her skin, but the harness
was otherwise conventional in design. When in place,
lateral straps yoked her shoulders and horizontal straps hugged
her torso above and below her breasts and encircled her
waist. Lastly, a vertical strap passed between her legs
from behind, cleaved her butt cheeks and labia, and buckled to
the front of the waist strap. The leather wrist and ankle
cuffs were wide, stiff, and lined with neoprene, like the
harness. The ankle cuffs had the added feature of long,
narrow, attached straps that buckling across her thighs and
locked her folded legs in the frog-tie position. Also, a
long, wide strap was attached to the back of the harness and
positioned to pin her upper arms against her sides and compress
her breasts.
Three additional elements completed the ensemble: a posture
collar, a gag, and a vibrator.
The collar wasn't the widest or most restrictive of such
products on the market, but Tori liked the way it felt when
buckled around her throat. Like the harness and cuffs, it
was lined with neoprene.
The gag was a work of art. It had a large, neoprene
mouthpiece to trap and cushion both her upper and lower teeth, a
neoprene-lined, mouth-covering leather panel, a wide strap that
buckled at the nape of her neck, and a narrow strap that
crisscrossed under her chin and also buckled in the back.
In place, the gag filled Tori's mouth, compressed her lips, and
forced her to bite down on the mouthpiece. It was a highly
effective silencer, and worked well with the posture collar.
Finally, there was the vibrator. Technically, it wasn't
part of her bondage, but in Tori's opinion, helplessness without
ravishment was rather pointless. Anyway, the
self-contained device was a rabbit. It had separate,
independently controlled motors, one for the clitoral stimulator
and one for the main shaft; however, it looked nothing like the
color-coordinated rabbits with which J-Lou had gifted the
Rapscallions. Tori's rabbit, nicknamed "Vorpal Bunny," was
stainless steel, and the business end was sheathed in
translucent rubber gel. Once it was inside her pussy, the
harness' crotch strap slid through a slot in the base, the strap
was buckled tight, and Vorpal Bunny was in to stay. Its
rechargeable battery allowed up to twenty hours of full power
operation, and like the Rapscallion's rabbits, the motors were
independently controlled by Sally via Wi-Fi. Vorpal Bunny
could vibrate on a wide range of intensity and frequency
settings. Add simple and complex patterns of cycling
between the two motors, and the stimulatory possibilities were
virtually infinite.
As for Tori's timer, the old "key, string, and ice cube trick"
might be a self bondage cliché, but it was simple, reliable, and
virtually foolproof. Also, Tori had refined the technique.
The principle remained the same: a handcuff or padlock key tied
to a long string with an ice cube secured to a hook or eye-bolt
in the ceiling and holding the key out of reach of the self
bondagette until the ice melted. However, Tori used
braided, 130 lb. test, synthetic fishing line in place of
string, a dozen hollow stainless steel tubes roughly the length
and diameter of drinking straws, and a pair of one-inch steel
rings. The "straws" added weight and made it impossible
for the fishing line to tangle. One end of the fishing
line was tied to a steel ring—and Tori knew the correct
fisherman's knots—the line was threaded through the steel
straws, and the second ring tied to the end.
And as for the ice cube, Tori filled a plastic, 12 oz. drinking
cup with crushed ice, folded the steel straws, accordion wise,
and thrust the bundle into the ice with the two rings pointing
up. She then filled the cup with ice water and placed it
in the freezer. Overnight, the crushed ice and water fused
into a solid block with the bundle of tubes in the middle.
The ice block was removed from the cup, one ring was clipped to
an eye-bolt overhead, the keys to her restraints clipped to the
other ring—and then it was all up to air temperature, time, and
gravity. The ice would melt, the straws would fall apart,
and the keys would eventually drop within reach—emphasis on
eventually.
Tori stripped to the skin—her funky, sweaty skin—dropped her
exercise togs in the hamper, pulled the packing case containing
her bondage "costume" from under her bed, and dressed for her
session.
Soon, the now empty case was back under the bed, the harness was
in place, its straps buckled tight enough to dimple the flesh of
her torso, the collar was around her throat, Vorpal Bunny was
lodged in her pussy, and the cuffs were buckled tight around her
wrists and ankles. The broad, upper arm strap and the
narrow, frog-tie straps remained loose, dangling from the back
of the harness and the ankle cuffs, respectively. The gag
was waiting on the neatly made bed, next to a pile of open
padlocks.
Most of the padlocks were the size of luggage locks, but they
were the real thing, neither cheap nor flimsy, impossible to
pick or spring without the use of tools. However, two of
the locks were much larger, but they were equally solid and well
made. Using the small padlocks, Tori locked the buckles of
the harness and cuffs. Finally, seven padlocks remained,
the two large padlocks and five of the smaller. She tucked
the open hasps of the locks in her harness straps, grabbed her
gag and a keyring with the padlock keys, left the bedroom, and
made her way to the kitchen.
The harness straps were tight, and as she walked the vibrator
was mildly distracting, even though the device wasn't yet turned
on. The loose straps dangling from her ankles were the
only impediment, if one could call them that. Truth be
told, they were more of a distraction than Vorpal Bunny as they
rattled and slid across the floor with every step. Once in
the kitchen, Tori opened the freezer compartment of her
refrigerator and pulled out the timer. She rinsed the
outside of the cup in warm water, then headed for the basement.
Tori's townhouse basement was one large, open space. The
washer, dryer, deep sink, electrical panel, water heater, and
plumbing tie-ins were against one wall and near the
stairs. Four steel support columns were evenly spaced
around the otherwise empty room. The walls were cinder
block and the floor poured concrete. Both had been painted
with a clear sealant. Light came from a few overhead
fixtures. The area over the laundry was reasonably bright,
but most of the basement was somewhat dark and dim.
The wooden stairs were the only means of egress, so the
municipal building code didn't allow the space to be finished as
a rec room, spare bedroom, or used for any purpose other than
utility and storage. However, in a shocking legal
oversight, the code didn't directly address the question of
dungeons. Was a dungeon storage? Anyway, sometime
ago Tori had gone shopping and returned with eight feet of stout
steel chain and a bicycle lock that took the form of a large,
deep, capital "D." One end of the chain was threaded
through the bicycle lock's shackle and the lock closed around
the support column farthest from the stairs. Add a
helpless damsel and a padlock, and voilà, instant
dungeon.
The ice had melted to the point that Tori could extract the
cylindrical block from the cup. She clipped the keyring to
one ring, tossed the plastic cup in the deep sink, then carried
the fist-sized ice block and her gag to roughly the center of
the basement. A steel snap-hook dangled from a short,
light chain attached to an eye-bolt screwed into an overhead
beam. It was just within Tori's reach when she
went up on her toes. She did so and snapped the second
ring through the snap-hook.
The timer was now in place. Inevitably, the ice would
melt, the steel straws would separate, and the keys would
drop. This usually happened abruptly, with the event
signaled by a rather musical clatter. By a not so
remarkable coincidence—in fact, due to Tori's careful
measurement—the attachment chain, clips, rings, and
steel-sheathed fishing line were the exact length
required for the keys to not quite reach the floor. The
keyring would hover just above the concrete, within easy reach
of any helpless damsel who happened to be writhing on the hard
and now slightly wet floor.
"Sally, I'm about ready," Tori announced to the empty air.
"Ready?" Sally's disembodied voice responded. "Ready for
what?" Even the basement of Tori's townhouse was "smart,"
wired with discretely placed pinhole cameras, sensors,
mini-speakers, and microphones.
Tori smiled as she readied her gag. "We're not going to
discuss this again," she muttered.
"Discuss what?" Sally asked innocently. "Discuss the fact
that self bondage is dangerous, even with a smart house avatar
watching and ready to dial 911 in the event of a mishap?"
"I do not want a human safety," Tori huffed. "I don't want
anybody to know I do this."
"Any one of your friends, your human friends, would be
more than happy to—"
"Wait 'til I'm helpless," Tori interrupted, "then have their way
with me?"
"Oh yeah, that's never happened," Sally purred.
"Nobody ever 'has their way' with poor, helpless, naked,
bound and gagged Tori."
"Testing myself is one thing," Tori said. "This is
different."
"Oh yes. Wouldn't want your Bottom friends to know you're
not actually Top of all toppy-top-tops."
Tori smiled. "Enough. We've had this discussion
and—AH!" Suddenly, abruptly, Vorpal Bunny was buzzing on
full power!
"Testing," Sally announced, "one, two, three—"
"Enough!" Tori yelped, and Vorpal Bunny went still. "It
works. Now... no more chitchat."
"Very well," Sally huffed, "but we will talk about this
again."
"In nagging, tedious detail," Tori sighed, then knelt close to
the support column with the chain. She lifted the chain
and used one of the two large padlocks to lock the terminal link
to the ring in the front of her collar. She then buckled
the ankle straps around her upper thighs, enforcing the planned
frog-tie, and used two small padlocks to secure the
buckles. "Going off line," Tori announced, then opened her
mouth and inserted the gag's mouthpiece.
"Whatever will I do for sterling conversation?" Sally drawled.
Tori moved her lower jaw from side to side, making sure her
teeth were properly situated in the grooves in the
neoprene. She then buckled the main strap at the nape of
her neck and the smaller crisscross chinstrap. The padded
front panel pressed against her lips, the mouthpiece filled her
oral cavity, and the chinstrap prevented her from opening her
jaws. The gag truly was a masterpiece. Two of the
three remaining small padlocks clicked closed through the
buckles, and Tori was silent for the duration—not counting a
little well-muffled mewling.
Next came the broad, upper-arm pinning and boob squashing
harness strap. It was a little awkward, but she managed to
find the ends of the strap, thread the buckle and pull out the
slack, and engage the buckle's tongue. She groped for the
remaining small padlock and clicked it home. The strap
dimpled the flesh of her upper arms and covered her
nipples. Her breasts bulged above and below the thick,
black leather.
Tori knew she was already helpless. With her ankles
strapped to her thighs and her arms pinned to her sides, she
could shuffle on her knees and drag her collar chain directly
under the melting ice, but until the keyring dropped, she was
stuck. Tori was already past the point of no return.
She might as well finish the job.
Tori leaned down and retrieved the last padlock. It was
tricky, but she fumbled until the steel rings dangling from the
ankle and wrist cuffs were in the shackle. She
accomplished this by feel. The posture collar made it
impossible for her to look over her shoulder. After
several seconds of effort, she confirmed that all four rings
were together—paused (for the drama)—then clicked the padlock
closed.
Kneeling on the hard concrete, strapped and padlocked into a
reasonably stringent hogtie, all Tori could do was wait... wait
for the ice to melt and the keys to her freedom to drop.
Only then would she be able to extricate herself from her
bondage. She carefully leaned to one side... there was a
brief pause... and she flopped to the floor.
"Mrrrf." It wasn't pleasant to fall like that, but the
alternative was to remain kneeling on the hard concrete, and
that got very old. Better to be hogtied on the
hard concrete where she could roll around a little.
A minute passed. Tori tested her self-imposed bonds.
Yes, the laws of physics, engineering, and materials science
remained triumphantly intact. Tori was helpless.
Another minute passed... then five.
Tori knew what was happening. Sally was playing with her,
when she should be... playing with her. Vorpal Bunny was
an ever present but inert presence—emphasis on inert.
"Mrrrf?"
"What's that?" Sally's voice inquired. "Did somebody say
something?"
"Mrf!"
"Why, I think there's somebody in the basement. Who could
it be?"
"MRRRF!"
"Okay, don't have a cow," Sally chuckled. "Is this what
you want?"
Tori flinched, then shuddered in her bonds. Vorpal Bunny
was finally buzzing. For the moment it was rather
low key, a simple rhythm strumming her strings, so to speak,
with the vibrator's motors alternating power setting and
timing. The feeling was... remarkable.
"We didn't discuss the number of orgasms I was to extract from
your pathetic, helpless, sweaty little body, did we?" Sally
noted. "I guess that makes it dealer's choice."
Tori continued shivering and struggling. The leather
creaked, the padlocks clicked, and the chain rattled as she
squirmed on the hard floor.
"So..." Sally continued. "How many orgasms.
Decisions, decisions. Seven? Eleven?
Forty-two?"
Vorpal Bunny was now mixing things up, alternating power setting
without settling into a distinct pattern—not a pattern Tori's
increasingly distracted brain could discern, anyway.
"I know," Sally announced. "I've been meaning to test the
calibration of my biometric monitoring routines. We'll go
for... zero orgasms. I'll let Vorpal Bunny tickle
and tease you 'til you're juuust on the edge... then
stop... then give you time to settle down... then we'll do it
again."
"Nrrrf!"
"I'm glad you agree," Sally purred. "One more
thing." The overhead lights winked out, plunging the
basement into total darkness. "Let's see if you can find
the keys in the dark, shall we?"
"Mrmpfh!" Tori knew it wouldn't be that difficult
for her to find the keys, once the ice melted and they
dropped. All she had to do was blindly squirm and roll
around until she found the puddle from the melted ice, then
grope for the dangling keyring—but it was the thought that
counted. "Mrrf!"
"You're welcome," Sally said with a chuckle.
Bitch! Tori thought. Cyber-bitch!
by Van ©2013