|by Van © 2018
So... I was
naked and elaborately, artistically box-tied in several yards of
conditioned hemp rope from the Winifred Wilde Collection.
Also, my hands were encased in locking leather bondage mittens
that were incorporated into the box-tie, making me even more
helpless. My quite understandably pouting mouth was
plugged by one of Winnie's "standard-damsel-silencer" ball-gags,
my barefoot steps hobbled by hemp rope binding my knees
together, and with a single-strand hemp rope leash knotted
around my neck with the free end in Winnie's right hand.
And, of course, I was still wearing my glasses.
Woe was I! Poor Molly Schmeck!
I padded behind Winnie, my hostess, superior member of The Club,
and captor. She was still wearing the same pretty,
dusky-olive mididress and brown sandal-heels she'd worn to our
breakfast date and subsequent hummingbird feeder shopping
expedition and looked absolutely stunning!
I was confused (as well as helpless, flustered, and a little
horny). We'd left Winnie's Restrained Meditation Studio
behind, but were not headed for her bedroom. Huh?
In fact, we seemed to be headed for Winnie's kitchen.
She'd said there was something she wanted to show me, but
what? A new waffle maker? Her George Foreman®
Grill? I'd already seen the 12-inch wok-like frying pan
she used to cook pronto paella and stir-fried whatever
(and was seriously considering shopping for something
similar). So, what did she want to show me in the kitchen?
We entered the food preparation and casual dining space in
question and Winnie led me to a closed door. I'd noticed
the unremarkable portal earlier, but had assumed it led to a
pantry, or possibly a broom closet. Turns out it led to
the basement! I didn't even know Winifred's Lair had a
basement. My bungalow across the street has a basement,
and now, as it turns out, Winnie has one too. Not that it
was a stunning revelation or anything. I just hadn't
thought about it.
Winnie clicked on a light switch, untied my knee-bonds, and we
started down the stairs. Why she tied my knees together in
the first place I'll never understand. Does she even know
what she's doing? Obviously, the knee-hobble was so I'd be
hobbled, but why did I need to be hobbled? It wasn't like
I was gonna kick her or anything. But maybe I should
kick her. She's an Evil Rope Genius who takes Erotic
Liberties with her tied up, naive, across-the-street
neighbors. By now Winnie had more than earned
herself a swift kick! (Even if she is nice.)
Anyway, we reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a brief
pause while I pouted and she retied my knee bonds, and
now I couldn't kick her. I guess Winnie does knows
what she's doing.
Then, we started across the basement, and it was a big basement
that seemed to encompass the entire footprint of the
house. I noted the usual air conditioner/heat pump,
electrical panels, plumbing junctions, water heater, washer and
dryer, and a standup freezer. None of them looked
particularly shiny or new, so they weren't what Winnie wanted to
show me. There were also the usual clutter of cardboard
boxes and plastic storage tubs with unknown contents, some
resting on steel shelves and some on the concrete floor.
Several six-inch steel support columns were strategically placed
to support the load bearing beams overhead (or so I assumed),
and off to one side I noted a second set of steps leading up to
the underside of a slanted steel bulkhead door.
Yes, all of this I noticed, but mostly I continued stumbling
after Winnie in naked bound and gagged helplessness. She
led me on across the semi-dark, semi-cluttered, semi-open space
to the far side of the basement. Soon, we were well away
from the utilities and laundry area and the stairs leading up to
the kitchen were mostly hidden by the shelves, boxes, and bins.
By the way, Winnie's basement was reasonably clean, but it was
a basement. Who has a fastidious basement? I
know I don't. Anyway, I could feel the grit and
dust under my bare feet. It wasn't too bad, but I
knew my soles were now almost certainly filthy black.
Eventually, they'd need a good scrubbing. I wasn't looking
forward to it. It would tickle, meaning it would tickle
unless I did it myself. Everybody knows you can't tickle
yourself. That's Science.
And then, we approached a solid steel door set in the concrete
wall. It looked commercial, as opposed to residential, and
fairly screamed "High Security" with its sturdy steel
construction and the formidable lock set in its L-shaped
handle. I hate L-shaped door handles.
They're an open invitation to hungry Velociraptors.
"This place is older than it looks," Winnie explained as she
produced a keyring and opened the door. Beyond was a
small, decidedly gloomy space. The walls, floor and
ceiling were more poured concrete. "One of the previous
owners installed a fallout shelter, believe it or not,"
Winnie said, favoring me with a rather feral smile (which wasn't
at all disturbing). "I've put it to an alternative
And with that cryptic remark she led me across the threshold and
down what I now realized was a short corridor to another steel,
commercial-grade door. It had no handle, L-shaped or
otherwise, but was secured by three heavy-duty sliding
bolts. One was horizontal, and secured by means of a hefty
padlock. The other two were vertical and slid into the
ceiling and floor. Any Velociraptors roaming the
neighborhood weren't getting past this door—Gulp!—and
anyone inside wasn't getting out.
I watched nervously—No, ya think??—as Winnie unlocked
the padlock, drew all three slide-bolts, and opened the
door. Its heavy-duty hinges squealed. They needed
oil. Did I mention the hinges? They were heavy-duty
The space beyond was more poured concrete and was maybe... eight
by sixteen feet? I noticed a rectangular patch in the wall
to our left. The concrete didn't quite match the rest, but
it was obviously fully cured and not at all recent. Also,
a small, dimly glowing, circular light fixture was set in the
ceiling, directly overhead, and it was the only light.
Winnie pointed at the patch. "That used to be the
shelter's emergency exit," she explained. "I had the
bulkhead door removed and the stairwell filled in." She
pointed up. "And that used to be the outlet for
the shelter's air filtration system. I replaced it with a
sun tunnel that leads up to the underside of a cute little
garden globe in the side garden. That's where we are, by
the way, under the side garden. It's a shade garden, so
I'm afraid it never gets very bright down here, even at high
noon. After sunset, of course, it's pitch black."
That was all very fascinating, but I was transfixed by the wall
of iron bars completely enclosing the back half of the space!
It was like one those jails in the back of the sheriff's office
in a cowboy movie, with closely spaced, thick, vertical iron
bars with a couple of horizontal iron cross-braces and a
locking, door-size gate in the middle! The wall and gate
were also like a dungeon, of course, so I decided to go
with dungeon rather than jail. Winnie has a dungeon!
I shifted my nervous, blinking gaze from the rather small and
cramped looking dungeon cell beyond the bars to Winnie.
Winnie's smile remained disturbing. "This is my Private
Restrained Meditation Studio," she explained. "It's quite
soundproof. Once, as a test, I placed a boom-box down
here, blasting at full volume. In the main basement, with
the inner and outer doors closed, I could hear nothing.
The same up in the shade garden. Not a sound. Not so
much as a peep."
"Mrrrk?" I reiterated, but Winnie continued ignoring my urgent,
emphatic, and entirely reasonable inquiries. Also,
"Private Restrained Meditation Studio." Cute.
Winnie led me across the, uh, outer-dungeon ("dungeon-alcove?")
to the wall of bars. I watched as she unlocked the gate
and pulled it open. Its hinges also needed
oiling. Oh-by-the-way, a two-inch grid of heavy wire
completely covered the inside of the gate and the rest of the
bars. I'd later be able to confirm that the thick wires
were spot-welded in place at countless points in a regular
pattern. A hypothetical damsel incarcerated in the cell
would be able to stand at the wall and pathetically clutch the
wires, but not the bars—assuming her fingers weren't
encased and locked in bondage mittens, of course.
"Mrrrk?" This time my invitation to conversation
was even more urgent and emphatic, but it was still
Winnie led me into the cell—the dungeon cell—and
pointed to the floor. "Down," she suggested (ordered).
I blinked and once again reiterated my request for additional
information regarding my immediate fate (as if it wasn't obvious).
"Mrrrk?" This time the tone was more like my usual
dusgustingly pathetic whine.
Winnie tripped me and I landed on the hard, dusty, concrete
floor with a resounding crash. Okay, she gently but
forcibly lowered me to the floor. I didn't wanna go and
tried to resist, but you try being difficult when
you're naked, box-tied, knee-bound—"Mrrrf!"—and
ball-gagged! I blinked and watched as Winnie untied my
neck-leash, pulled my feet together, and used the rope to bind
my ankles. She also took a cinched ladder-hitch around my
feet and finished with a flourish by binding my big toes.
Okay, there was no "flourish." She was methodical and
professional, as always.
"There," Winnie purred as she finished tying the final knot and
rocked back on her heels. She was still smiling, of
course. "You're probably wondering why you've gagged,
seeing as how my Private Restrained Meditation Studio is
Now that she brought it up...
"Helplessness focuses the mind."
This was a reasonable proposition, of course, but I was
distracted by unfolding developments, specifically...
Winnie stood, brushed
the dirt from her knees, then stepped back and closed the gate.
- The revelation
that Winifred Wilde has a Secret Dungeon!
- The fact that I
was naked, bound, and gagged in Winnie's Secret Dungeon!
- The high
probability that Winnie was going to lock me inside
her Secret Dungeon!
- Woe was I!
"Well, enjoy your session," Winnie said as she turned the
lock. I noticed that the same rather substantial key fit
every lock we'd encountered since entering the basement.
Despite the dim light, the grid of wires, and the vertical bars,
I could clearly see Winnie's Evil and Disturbing Smile. It
was bloodcurdling. And Winnie was beautiful.
Dimly lit from behind by the sun tunnel, her ginger curls were
With a mocking wave of the hand (which included finger wiggling)
she spun on her heels and made her exit. The steel door
without an L-handle thudded closed and I heard its three
heavy-duty bolts slide home. "Thunk.
Thunk. Thunk." There was a pause... then the
outer door closed with a barely audible thud. I
hadn't been able to hear Winnie use her key to lock the inner
door's padlock or the lock in the outer door's L-shaped,
Velociraptor-friendly handle, but it was a safe bet she had.
My heart pounded, my rope-framed breasts heaved, I panted (and
drooled) around my superfluous ball-gag, and my thoughts were
OMG! OMG! OMG! Etc.
settled down (sort of) I accomplished one physical task, one
mental task, and made a firm resolution.
Struggling and Dirt Distribution.
I wiggled, squirmed, twisted, and rolled around on the dungeon
cell's concrete floor. In the process...
1. I confirmed that Winnie had done her
usual masterful (mistressful?) job of rendering me 100%
2. I also confirmed that the floor
hadn't received a good sweeping in a very long time,
3. I dirtied a significant portion of
my naked, fair-complected, rope-bound body.
Naming things is important, so...
1. I decided Winnie's main basement was
the Main Basement;
2. the steel door with the
Velociraptor-friendly handle was the Outer Door;
3. collectively, the spaces beyond were
the Dungeon Complex;
4. the space between the two steel
doors was the Dungeon Entryway;
5. the steel door with the three bolts
was the Inner Door;
6. the space immediately beyond was the
Gloating Antechamber, and;
7. the space behind the bars and gate
(my current location) was the Dungeon Cell.
From now on I would insist that Winnie tell me exactly
how long any future sessions were going to last, either
before or after stripping myself naked and hanging my clothes in
the Hidden Clothes Closet up in the Main Restrained
Meditation Studio. I'm easy either way, but it was getting
embarrassing that I kept forgetting to ask until the inevitable
gag came out and it was too late.
A word about Winnie's Dungeon Cell, and that word is:
An enraged grizzly bear couldn't have gotten past those
bars, assuming in the first place that he or she could have fit
himself or herself through the Outer Door, the Inner Door, and
the Dungeon Cell Gate. And what was with the grid of heavy
wires? Properly mounted, it alone would have kept
me in the Cell, and the idea that the bars needed protection
from little-ol'-me was simply ludicrous. Like I said,
overkill. The rectangular steel frame supporting the bars
was bolted to the concrete in several locations on the left,
right, ceiling, and floor, and the gate's lock and hinges were
obviously quite solid. I was impressed... and not going
anywhere... and was completely helpless.
Another word, this time about the Dungeon Cell's floor: "warm."
I realized the smooth concrete under my naked, bound, and gagged
self was filthy but not cold. I surmised the
Dungeon Complex, or at least the Dungeon Cell, had some form of
radiant heating. A warm floor certainly wasn't the case in
Winnie's main basement, but had been the case in Mistress
Irene's Playroom. That made it two-for-two. Is
subfloor heating a de rigueur feature of all contemporary
dungeons? One wonders.
Yet another word: "languishing."
I languished. What else did I have to do? I'd
languished before, of course. In fact, by this time I
considered myself an old hand at languishing, but most of it had
been accomplished up in Winnie's Restrained Meditation
Studio. Granted, to date the sum total of my languishing
career had only encompassed a few hours, but I felt like
an old hand. In any case, this was different. I was
languishing in a bona fide dungeon! Granted, it
was a somewhat Modern dungeon, as opposed to a Medieval dungeon
with stone masonry and hand-forged iron bars, but it was
subterranean, so it qualified! It was a dungeon!
Woe was I!
Getting back to the languishing, I did. Time passed.
More time passed. I filled in some of that time with
struggling. It was something to do. In the process,
I reconfirmed the dirtiness of the floor and became even more
convinced that the floor was heated. I'd started glowing,
and the sweat was expediting the dirt redistribution
program. What I could see of myself in the dim, somewhat
bluish light of the sun tunnel filtering through the bars and
wire grid was increasingly smudged and glistening. Also, I
was now drooling on said floor, despite the solid and
slightly-larger-than-usual nature of my ball-gag. I could
feel a small, wet, slimy pool of drool whenever I rested my head
on the concrete. Logically, it wasn't helping me keep my
I languished for at least an hour, maybe even two, but I was
finding it difficult to judge the passage of time. There
were zero external clues. The glow of the sun
tunnel was dim but steady, and I knew sunset couldn't be all that
close. In fact, it was probably currently no later
than mid afternoon. I assumed I'd notice when the sun
finally did set and the light faded to nothing.
But Winne wasn't gonna leave me down here that long.
Was she? Was she??
Finally, after I'd clocked at least two solid hours of
dungeon languishing (maybe), I heard the faint sound of what I
surmised was the Outer Door opening—"creeeak"—followed by
the somewhat louder and unmistakable sound of the Inner Door's
bolts sliding back and the door itself opening. "Snick.
Snick. Snick. Creeeeak!" At that time,
I'd squirmed and heaved myself upright and was resting with my
bound legs and naked butt on the floor and my shoulders and
box-tied arms against the Cell's back wall, and was fully
prepared to start visually sending ultra-sharp, exotic, and
ethnically diverse imaginary cutlery in Winnie's direction as
soon as she crossed the threshold.
Instead, I blinked in wide-eyed astonishment!
Winnie had crossed the threshold into the Gloating
Antechamber, as expected. She was still wearing her
pretty, dusky-olive mididress, but had removed her pretty brown
sandal/heels and her strong, perfect, freckled feet were
bare. More importantly, she wasn't alone!
So, why was I amazed? Padding into the Antechamber on
Winnie's heels was Micki Booker! Micki the hot
librarian! And she was naked, elaborately box-tied, her
hands encased in leather bondage-mittens, her knees bound, a
ball-gag plugging her mouth, and with a rope leash around her
neck, the end of which was in Winnie's strong, perfect, freckled
One more word: "bazooms."
Micki has bazooms. Naked Micki was very nice bazooms.
Naked Micki with her bazooms bulging between neat, symmetrical
bands and strands of hemp rope has exquisite bazooms.
bulbous, floppy, overly big,
but perfectly shaped, firm, two-hands-full bazooms. Tits,
jugs, hooters, kahunas, bimbo-bongos, call 'em what you
will. Micki has a nice pair.
I wish I had bazooms like Micki's, but unfortunately I
lack the globular volumetrics to qualify for bazoom
status. I have boobs... modest boobs.
I know, I know, I see you shaking your head and asking:
Where have you gone, sweet, innocent, charming, and arguably
attractive Molly Schmeck? What has become of you?
Why are you sitting there on the hard, dirty, albeit comfortably
warm floor of Winnie's dungeon, naked, bound, gagged, and
leering at naked, bound, gagged, and buxom sexy
librarians? What happened?
I'll tell you what happened. Curiosity happened.
Seduction happened. The Club happened.
But mostly, Wicked Winifred Wilde happened.
(Actually, she's very nice.)
Anyhow, I scanned Micki's bondage, noting the details of
rope and hitch placement, the bondage mittens of expensive brown
leather, and the solid black rubber ball-gag, and reached the
conclusion that Micki and I were Bondage Twins! We'd both
been rendered utterly helpless in exactly the same manner with
exactly the same materials and accessories! Our bonds
weren't quite the same, as Micki's leash hadn't yet
been repurposed as ankle-foot-toe bondage, but not for
long. Winnie unlocked the Dungeon Cell, led Micki inside,
Cruelly and Callously forced her to the filthy floor (just like
she'd done with me), and quickly, deftly corrected that
deficiency. That is, she untied Micki's leash and tied her
ankles, feet, and big toes. Rope slithered, tightened, and
was knotted, and now we were true Bondage Twins.
Then, Winnie shuffled behind Micki, unbuckled her ball-gag, and
rebuckled its strap on the first hole. Next, she forced me
to lean forward, away from the wall, reached behind my
head, and did the same thing. And then, while Micki and I
struggled to force the mouth-filling-black-rubber-balls from our
mouths, she stood, smiled as she brushed the dirt from her knees
and the front of her dress, and left! That's right, she
exited the Dungeon Cell and locked the gate behind her!
Then, she strolled across the Gloating Antechamber to the Inner
Door and paused in the threshold.
"You girls have fun," she wished us, then closed the Inner
We continued working our jaws and trying to expel the slimy
balls with out tongues. They were big! Micki was the
first to succeed, having a few seconds head start. The
ball popped from her mouth, fell as far as its strap would
allow, and bounced against her chest (above and centered between
her bazooms). She grimaced, licked her lips, and made her
Too late. We could hear Winnie throwing the bolts. "Thunk.
I paused in my efforts to unplug my mouth to gaze at
Micki. How unoriginal. At least she wasn't
whining. I returned to my ball expulsion efforts and
succeeded just as we heard the faint sound of the Outer Door
My ball bounced against my chest, I licked my lips and
worked my jaw, then Micki and I locked eyes. Mine were
blinking. Micki's weren't.
Several seconds passed... then I broke the silence.
"Winnie has a dungeon!" I gasped.
Yes, that's right, Molly Schmeck has a keen grasp of the obvious.
Micki smiled. "She does."
I heaved a sigh and squirmed in my bonds. Dork! I
silently admonished myself. "Sorry," I muttered.
"Quite understandable," Micki replied. Her dimpled smile
was quite charming, by the way. As were her bazooms.
I squirmed a little more. Micki watched.
"I've figured out why Winnie locked us in these mittens," I
announced. I tried wiggling my fingers for emphasis, but
it probably wasn't noticeable.
Micki was still smiling. "Yes?"
"I've already tried untying one of her 'puzzle knots' with my
teeth," I confessed, "without success. Anyway, with our fingers
inside these mittens they're unavailable and we can't untie each
"Winnie's knots can be quite intractable," Micki purred.
I heaved another sigh, then pouted. "Stop it," I muttered.
Micki's smile was unchanged. "What?"
"I know that smile," I huffed. "You think I'm naive and
adorable. Stop it."
Micki continued her dimpled, highly irritating smile.
"I'll stop noticing your adorableness when you stop leering at
How did I respond? Time for another visit from Captain
Obvious. My cheeks blushed crimson red, I blinked through
my glasses, and my heart pounded. "Stop," I whined.
Micki chuckled again, then squirmed in my direction. She really
was helpless, like me. Thankfully, it wasn't a long
trip. And while Micki hadn't yet had time to start glowing
like me, her efforts were redistributing some of the
dungeon dirt I'd missed to her smooth, firm,
rope-dimpled skin. Also, her bazooms were bobbing. I
ignored my quivering lady bits and watched. Anyway, it
wasn't long before she reached the wall, executed an impressive
(and entertaining), rope-impeded, tummy-and-thigh-tensing
crunch, and heaved herself up against the wall. She
wiggled close until she was nudging my side.
And then, she planted a warm, wet kiss on my startled
lips. It wasn't deep (with tongue), but was very friendly...
"Micki!" I gasped (in a near whisper). Unexpected?
Why was Micki kissing me in any way unexpected? What
else did I think she was gonna do? Anyway, during
the kiss her left bazoom had pressed against the side of my
right breast, so... that happened. My quivering lady bits agreed.
Then, I did the only logical thing possible: I leaned close and
returned the kiss, and this time it was long, deep, and
wet, with tongue.
languishing. I was still naked and helplessly bound, but
at least I wasn't gagged and at least I wasn't alone. I
had an identically naked and bound but not gagged Micki Booker,
recognized sexy librarian, to keep me company, and to make out
We did. A lot. That is, we sucked face and squirmed
our naked, dirty, rope-bound bodies together. Sweaty,
rope-dimpled flesh slid against sweaty, rope-dimpled
flesh. The balls of our ball-gag necklaces rubbed together
and slid around as our lips smacked and tongues dueled.
Our breasts rubbed and slid in a similar manner.
It was glorious! And it was frustrating.
Bondage mittens so we couldn't untie each other?
Hah! Hah, I tell you! Winnie did it to me so
I couldn't play with Micki's bazooms! Yes, we could squash
our sweaty, rope-framed boobs together and play Dueling Nipples,
but my hands couldn't squeeze her boobs... and she couldn't
squeeze mine! Wicked, wicked Winifrid
Wilde! And another thing: with our knees lashed together and
our fingers and hands mitten-encased, our lady bits were
completely unavailable! They could tingle all they wanted
(and mine did), but they were completely unavailable. I
don't know really about Micki's, but my lady bits very
much wanted to be available.
Eventually, we tired of making out. More correctly, we
decided to take a breather. The sun tunnel was still
glowing the same as before, meaning it wasn't any dimmer as far
as I could tell. We "relaxed" against the wall, rope-yoked
shoulder to rope-yoked shoulder, rope-cinched upper-arm to
rope-cinched upper-arm, and hip to hip. I rested the side
of my head against Micki's shoulder. Somehow, my glasses
were still firmly in place. Good ol' glasses!
"How are you doing, Molly?" Micki inquired.
I heaved a long, melancholy sigh before answering.
"Everybody keeps asking me that," I huffed. "I'm
fine. Okay?" I was staring into infinity, not
focusing on the bars, wire, and triple-bolted and padlocked
steel Inner Door. I felt Micki turn her head and plant a
kiss on my dirty, semi-tousled hair. She's nice... like
Wicked Winnie Wilde.
"We're worried we might be bringing you along too quickly,"
I smiled, even though I knew Micki couldn't see it. "We
being the senior members of the Rope Chapter of The Club?"
"We being all the members of the Rope Chapter of The
Club," Micki replied, "as well as the Oversight Committee at The
Club's World Headquarters."
I could hear the smile in her voice and I continued smiling as
well. "You mean the secret World Headquarters hidden
inside the crater of the extinct volcano on that otherwise
deserted tropical island? The one accessible only by The
Club's stealth helicopters and nuclear submarines?"
"The same," Micki chuckled. "But seriously, we want you to
be comfortable... so to speak."
"So to speak," I drawled, giving my inescapable and artistically
complicated box-tie a perfunctory squirm.
Micki's answer was to kiss the top of my head, again.
We leaned against each other... and relaxed. More time
passed. We made out a couple of more time ("snogged," as
Winnie would say)... but mostly we relaxed. Eventually, I
fell asleep (believe it or not).
Suddenly, I snapped
It was pitch back! Zero light! Obviously,
as far as the Dungeon Complex's sun tunnel was concerned it was
well after sunset!
I heard the screech of the Inner Door opening and surmised the
snick of the three bolts being drawn was what had woken me
up. Sneaker-clad feet scuffed across the dirty, unseen
floor of the Gloating Antechamber, a key clicked and turned the
lock in the Dungeon Cell gate, and whoever had arrived entered
"Okay, Winnie," I heard Micki chuckle, "very dramatic.
At the same time, someone had popped the ball-gag back in my
mouth and was tightening and buckling the strap!
"Mrrrpfh!" That's right, my reaction was identical to
Micki's. I was now convinced there were at least two
intruders, and apparently they could see in the dark! What
"Mrrrk!" Someone had dragged a hood over my head! It
was stretchy, possibly spandex, and while its actual color might
have been chartreuse, shocking pink, or international orange, as
far as I was concerned it was midnight-in-a-coalmine
black. Then, one of the intruders hefted me onto their
shoulder in a fireman's carry! "Mrmpfh!" I was
being carried away! And I heard the sound of the various
gates and doors behind us squealing and thudding closed behind
us, as well as the locks being turned! We crossed the
basement, climbed the basement stairs, and the journey
"Mrrrk." I'd returned to form. It was another of my
embarrassingly pathetic gagged whines.
I couldn't see anything, and I mean anything!
There wasn't even a faint glow penetrating the stretched
fabric. At least I could breathe. The hood
wasn't airtight, only lightproof, assuming there was any light
for it to be proof against. It was also skintight and was
doing a fine job of holding my glasses in place.
The journey continued and eventually we entered a tiled
space. I could tell by the echoes when I shared another of
my gagged whines. "Mrrrf!" I'd been heaved off my
kidnapper's shoulder and deposited on what I realized was a
commode. My knees were untied, I spread my knees as far as
my ankle-foot-toe bonds would allow, and... I waited.
Seconds passed, then one of my kidnappers juggled the handle of
the commode, dropping a not so subtle hint. I shivered in
embarrassment (and probably blushed under my hood), and
eventually managed to empty my bladder. It hadn't been all
that full, but I had needed to go.
And then, the toilet flushed, I was lifted off the commode and
back onto the kidnapper's shoulder—"Mrrrf!"—and the other
kidnapper used a wet and distressing cool washcloth to
reach between my legs and clean my crotch. I squirmed in
distress until I received a slap on my right
butt-cheek. Humiliated and unable to rub my offended
posterior, I took the hint, stopped moving, and did my best
I was carried from the bathroom, there was a brief pause, then I
was heaved off my kidnapper's shoulder and landed on a soft
surface that I quickly realized was a mattress. I squirmed
and struggled but couldn't prevent my kidnappers from changing
my bonds. They—and I was now convinced "they" meant two
and only two kidnappers (with grabby hands)—untied my
toe-foot-ankle bonds and lashed my legs in a frog-tie. I
fought like the proverbial tigress (meaning tiger cub),
but soon my knees were bent, my shins tied to the backs of their
respective thighs, and I was kneeling on the bed (obviously it
was a bed) with my knees splayed apart.
And then, more rope slithered, tightened, and was cinched, and a
pair of legs—I decided they were legs, specifically the backs of
two knees and thighs—were lashed across my frog-tied
thighs. Who the legs belonged to, I had no idea, but
whoever they were, their legs had to be widely splayed. My
kidnappers took their time. More rope slithered and
tightened. Some of it I could feel, and some of it I could
The end result was yours truly sitting upright on the soft
mattress, naked, ball-gagged, hooded, box-tied, frog-tied, and
with someone's widely splayed legs resting atop and lashed to my
Well... this was different.
And then, finally, the hood was jerked from my head. I
shook the head in question to straighten my hair as my blinking
eyes adjusted to the dim light, looked down... and screamed
through my gag!