Synopsis: a DeviantArt writer attends a convention where she meets a particularly insistent fan, who'll do anything to be heard.

Hi! My name is Alexandra Hunter, although everybody calls me Alex, for short. I’m a bondage writer and I’ve been keeping my identity a secret for a long, long time.

However, one day, I received a private message in my DA account, inviting me, once again, to the BondCon for artists. I had always declined those invitations, determined to keep my identity a secret. However, I felt like it was time for me to come out the closet. So, still unsure, I accepted the invitation. AlexHuntStories’ real face was about to be met by the great public. If only had I known…

Several months later, the BondCon arrived and I was met by many people who claimed to love my stories and my characters. However, there was a specially intense fan. Her name was Carrie and she insisted in the fact that she had several ideas that would love for me to listen to.

“I’ve sent you tons of messages, I really really had to meet you. You should listen to me, for real, I have so many ideas!!”.

She spoke rashly, excited. I would have liked to pretend I was interested in whatever she had to say, but the queue was long and more people were waiting.

“I’m sorry, miss…”

“You can call me Carrie”.

“Carrie, there are lots of people waiting here. I’m sorry not to be able to give you the time I’m sure you deserve, but I’m afraid I can’t”.

“But, but…” she began to protest, but said nothing as the security staff approached.

I looked at her and saw some insanity in her look, but I didn’t think about it for too long and focused on the queue again.

The convention went on and I was signing copies, taking pictures, and listening to readers' interpretations of my stories until my hand cramped and my voice turned hoarse. Finally, the day came to an end, and as I packed my things up, I felt a strange mix of relief and exhilaration. The thrill of being recognized for my work was something I hadn’t thought about before. The event staff helped me into a taxi, and I gave them my home address, eager to get out of the crowded hotel.

I got home several minutes later, all I could see was my bed waiting for me to lay on it. Suddenly, I felt something pressed over my mouth. It was a cloth that had a strange scent and got inside me. I struggled, my heart racing, but it was too late. The world grew fuzzy around the edges, and my knees buckled. The last thing I heard was a whisper.

"Now, you'll have to listen".

I woke up several hours later, of course I didn’t know how long it’d been. I tried to stretch my body but found that was impossible. My whole body was strictly tied to a chair with rope. My feet were bound together with rope and to one of the legs of the furniture. Also my knees, calves and thighs had been tied together. My thighs, at the same time, were bound to the seat of the chair. My waist was also bound to its back, and so my torso. My hands were severely tied in front of me and to my knees, and whoever had put me in this position, although I had a candidate for that, had given me a notebook and a pen.

“Mphhhhh” I tried to ask what was going on, only to learn that my mouth had been stuffed with something and a ballgag had been attached to my nape.

I felt the stuffing expanding and realized that I had been gagged with a sponge. I calmed down a bit realizing I was still in my house. I hadn't been kidnapped. However, I got scared again when I realized I was almost naked. Whoever had done this to me, had left me with just my lace lingerie, red panties and black bra. That creep had even bound my toes together.

"Well, well, sleeping beauty is finally awake" a sudden voice claimed.

I looked at my right and there she was. Carrie, the woman from the convention.

"MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I yelled behind my gag, cursing her.

Carrie chuckled darkly as she approached me. She was dressed in all black, a stark contrast to the brightness of her hair. Her eyes gleamed with a feverish excitement that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Now, now, no need to get hysterical," she said, her voice a patronizing coo. "You see, I've been a fan of your work for a very long time, and I have some... suggestions."

"MPHHHHHHH MPHHHH MPHHHHHHHH!!!!" I kept yelling.

"Well there are two ways of doing this. I keep putting you to sleep until you feel more... willing to listen to my ideas, or you behave, take notes, and, specially, LISTEN TO ME".

I lowered my head, I knew I had no choice.

"Of course, both options end up with me freeing you when we're done. So, one mph for option one, two for option two".

That bitch would never leave me alone until I fucking listened to her stupid tale. It hurt my pride but I knew I had no choice.

"Mphh mphhhh".

"Good girl".

Carrie took a chair and sat down in front of me, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she began her story. She leaned in, her breath hot on my face, and I could see the crazed look in her eyes as she spun her twisted tale.

"Once upon a time," she began, her voice a singsong whisper, "there was a writer named Alex. She wrote the most amazing bondage stories that I had ever read. But she was so caught up in her own world that she never had time for her most devoted fans."

I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, too much introduction. Let's get to the story" Carrie said mockingly. "So, here it goes. This writer has this psycho fan who gets tired of being ignored and decides to have her story listened to".

I looked at her, stunned. Was she serious?

"Why aren't you taking notes?"

She was serious. I began writing, didn't even know where to start, but I did.

"So this fan sneaks into the successful writer and chloroforms her. She ties her up and gags her tightly and makes sure she has no chance of escape. When she awakes and realizes her predicament, she tries to fight but it's too late".

As she spoke, I found myself getting drawn into the macabre narrative she wove. It was like listening to one of my own stories coming to life, except I was the protagonist, and the plot was unfolding without my consent. She kept describing my current predicament, the way I was bound, the panic, the realization of my helplessness. And to my surprise, she didn't miss a beat. She had an eye for detail, for the way the ropes dug into my skin, the way the gag made my mouth feel wet and full.

Her words painted a picture that was eerily accurate and, as much as I hated to admit it, a little bit thrilling. The fear of what she might do to me was still there, a constant buzz in the back of my mind, but there was also a strange curiosity. Was this a twisted homage to my work, or was she just a sadistic nutcase with a penchant for live-action roleplay?

“I have a question for you though, miss writer. Let’s consider this a brief pause in the story”.

“Mph?”

“You, as the bondage expert you are, you that have written so many wonderful and realistic stories about this art, have you ever experienced it yourself before?”

I felt my face blushing.

“You haven’t, right?”

“Mph…” I shook my head ‘no’.

“Well, from now on, your stories will have an extra point in realism. But can I know if you are liking this?”

I couldn’t even move. Yes, I was enjoying it. It was like I had always thought it’d be. However, given the situation, I didn’t want to give this psycho any more power than she already had.

“You don’t want to answer, but your red face and embarrassment are telling me what I need to know” I blushed even harder. “So, let’s get back to the story, shall we?”

She kept talking and I kept taking notes, still touched by her teasing. I couldn’t help by getting deeper into the story, the characters -one of them happened to be me- and the plot itself.

After several minutes, it came to an end. 

"And then, after a while and when the writer herself has sank into the narrative, the psycho fan just unties her and leaves the house".

"Mphhhh?" I mumbled.

No way. I would never end a story that way. Not at all, there was something missing. A very important part that most of my stories had.

"Well? What do you think?" she asks as she began untying my gag. "Is it worth it?"

I opened and closed my mouth as I felt my mouth free. I was trying to find the right words. What should I do? Curse her? Yell the hell out of me? Wait for her to free me, if that was the case? Or should I correct her ending?

"Well... that was good" I found myself admitting. "However, about the end... I don't know. I feel like something's missing".

"What's missing?" Carrie asked, a hint of fun in her voice.

"The ending needs a plot twist. Something that changes the whole story. A betrayal, for examp..."

I looked at her wide-eyed and she smiled at me, as she held a pink pair of panties.

"Indeed, a plot twist is needed, Alex".

"WHAT ARE YOU MPHHHHHHH!!!!" I couldn't finish my sentence, as the panties were stuffed inside my mouth.

Carrie leaned back on her chair, stroking her chin. She took out a roll of microfoam tape and began wrapping it around my head, sealing the panties inside, pressing it tightly. She looked into my eyes, enjoying the moment, a smug smile painted on her face.

"How do they taste, Alex? Sweet? Salty? Or perhaps a bit... used?" she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement.

"MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" I yelled in panic.

With surprising agility, Carrie hopped up from her chair and moved behind me. I felt something cold press against my nose and the unmistakable scent of chloroform filled the air. My heart pounded in my chest as the room began to spin, the edges of my vision blurring. I struggled, desperately trying to break free from the ropes that held me, but my efforts were futile. The panic grew as the world around me grew darker and quieter, and my body went limp once again.

When I woke up again, I was lying on my abdomen in my basement, the cold concrete floor pressing against my bare skin. My eyes widened in horror when I realized I was in a hogtie. Carrie had taken the liberty of removing my lingerie and had replaced it with a crotchrope, my most sensitive parts exposed and vulnerable. My legs were tied up together, and so my elbows, that I felt a bit painful. My breasts were bound and my ankles were up, bound to my bound elbows, tyint me in a tight hogtie.

My hands had even been taped up and so my feet. However, I wasn't gagged. Not yet, at least.

"The plot twist, probably the most unique part of your stories" Carrie said mockingly.

She had changed clothes, taking off her black catsuit and taking some of my clothes instead. Right now, she was wearing a tight short skirt with a black top.

"Carrie, please, you don't have to do this".

"You said it yourself, Alex. This story needs a plot twist".

I watched in horror as Carrie approached me with a sadistic grin, her skirt riding up to reveal her bare thighs. With one swift move, she bent over and pulled off her panties, revealing her bare crotch to me.

"Wait, nopmhhhhh!"

My eyes widened in horror as Carrie reached for the duct tape. The sticky sound of it unfurling filled my ears, and I felt a moment of pure panic before she slapped it over my mouth, pressing it firmly over the fabric of her own panties. She wrapped it around my head up to twenty times, ensuring that no sound could escape, except for the occasional muffle and whine. The tightness was uncomfortable, but I could still breathe, and I glared at her with all the fury I could muster through my watering eyes. She then reached for a scarf and put it over my nose and mouth, leaving me OTN gag. My favorite type of gag, my favorite type of binding. All of it used against me.

"So the plot twist is I'll be you. Online, of course".

"MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"Yep. The psycho fan impersonates the successful yet mysterious writer on her DA account, keeping the bound and gagged victim for herself, for as long as she wants".

"MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" I yelled as much as I could, although I knew it was useless.

With a final, sadistic chuckle, Carrie gave a sharp tug on the crotchrope, sending a bolt of painful pleasure through my body. She took a step back and admired her handiwork, a twisted artist with a macabre canvas. I felt my cheeks flush with a mix of fear and arousal, my bound form writhing slightly against my will. The crotchrope had done its job, heightening my sensitivity and leaving me in a state of vulnerable excitement.

"I'll be coming around, honey. Enjoy your story!"

With those parting words, Carrie flicked the basement lights off, leaving me in complete darkness. The only sound was the echo of her footsteps as she ascended the stairs, leaving me to stew in my own fear and arousal. The crotchrope, a cruel twist on my favorite form of bondage, sent waves of both pain and pleasure through me, leaving my body taut and trembling.

As the reality of my situation sank in, the initial shock began to wear off, and the full weight of my predicament came crashing down on me. I was bound, gagged, and at the mercy of a fan who had clearly taken her obsession to a frightening new level. The coldness of the floor seeped into my skin, and the tightness of the ropes only served to remind me of my helplessness. Yet, I couldn't deny the traitorous thrill that shot through me every time the rope pressed against my sensitive areas.

I struggled a bit longer and then closed my eyes. It had been too many sensations in too little time. I had to take a rest and try it again in the morning. Sooner than I'd have thought, I fell asleep.

So, may I ask you now. Who wrote this story?