(Amazing art by my dear friend @leapservice )
To refresh everyone’s memory, Tina is still evil. She may be on a mission to battle a semi-mythical, “Mad Men”-influenced, mini-monster scourge, but that doesn’t make her good. Evil sometimes makes an enemy of evil. Besides, these monsters are screwing with the IRS, so how evil can they ACTUALLY be?
Anyway, despite her tactically sound efforts, evil Tina managed to get Brownie-ambushed on her way to a meeting with IRS Supervisory Special Agent Agatha Andrews. After a brief and entirely futile struggle, Tina was stripped, bound, kneeling and gagged by the nasty little Office Brownies.
Now, Tina is on the “wrong end” of a Brownie leash, waiting for the Brownie ringleader, presumably a criminal known on the Dark Web as “Leapservice,” whose approaching footsteps echo down the hallways just outside the room.
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Agatha reached down and took the leash from the cackling Brownie.
She smiled down smugly at me. I probably should have been furious about my friend’s act of betrayal, but to be honest, I couldn’t quite get past the fact that she was dressed like a Dominatrix, 8-inch stilettos and all.
“It’s Brownie camouflage, Tina. They sense submissiveness and it drives them nuts. This outfit projects dominance. All they see in me is another predator. Unlike you who is just a submissive little toy for them to play with. Just like the office damsels.”
It was all making sense now. Young office workers hired by older male partners into submissive clerical jobs requiring them to work late in empty offices would be the PERFECT Brownie fodder. Submissiveness would be dripping out of their pores. Add a little bondage and humiliation and you have yourself a Brownie feeding frenzy!
“When I called you, I really was hoping you’d be able to just murder all of these gross little peckers to clean up my mess. Yes, by the way, unleashing the Brownies into the American business world was totally my fault.” That last line stopped me in my tracks.
“YOUR fault?” I mmmffphed. Agatha must speak “gag talk,” because she proceeded to explain.
“Yes. I was looking for the most ruthless auditors I could find. I looked everywhere. Eventually, I got connected to someone known as “Leapservice.” I’ve never met him. But we chatted through an ancient form of communication, faxes. He controls all manner of devious creatures, but the absolute worst are the Brownies. I accepted a deal with him to unleash them on the American taxpayer, and I didn’t even read the fine print. At first, everything was great. They audited the heck out businesses and voluntary compliance with the tax code spread like a fart across the American sky. But once they started, I couldn’t get them to stop. They were an unstoppable virus. Soon, they were interfering with EVERY taxpayer, not just the cheaters.”
The Brownies produced a large, Tina-sized crate. Some of the other Brownies began dumping a huge bag of Styrofoam peanuts into it. Looks like I’m traveling coach on Brownie Airlines…
“The only thing that slowed them down was their appetite for submission and humiliation. That gave me hope. A damsel in distress could theoretically keep the Brownies occupied long enough for us to contain the Brownie crisis. But no matter how slutty a bimbo I sent them after, no damsel could hold out for long before total humiliation set in, and the Brownies moved on. Even your friend Kate only lasted a few days.”
Oh shit. Days??? Sorry @KatieBlake !
“But I think you’ll do better than that, Tina. I mean, you’re a LEGENDARY bondage slut. You put the “sub” in submission. The entire government has seen those videos posted by that villain you run around with, @V3399 . A French Maid? So embarrassing!
And, just to be sure, I reached out to him, and he confirmed it. Your natural submissiveness and your absolute insatiable thirst for bondage are the perfect combination to keep you helplessly teetering on the edge of total humiliation,indefinitely! And that means you can keep the Brownies occupied, and tax returns being filed, for however long I can keep you tied up.”
The Brownies were really excited as they finished packing me into the crate. As the lid closed, compressing the peanuts all around me, I couldn’t help but relish the restricted pressure wrapping me up like my alpaca firm”after-care” blanket. I don’t know where they’re taking me, or how long it will take, but I’m going to pass the time sliding up and down on this crotch rope and moaning into my gag.
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I don’t know where I am other than being told it was a top secret, highly secured, government facility. Based on the length of the elevator ride, I’d say we’re at least a football field deep in the ground. Agatha told me that V helped come up with the design and the technology for the “vault” the Brownies and I were contained in. Agatha was hopeful the submissive energy output could be harnessed as come kind of perpetual motion electric dynamo. Apparently, her friends at the Department of Energy are very excited about its potential as a clean, renewable energy source. Color me excited. Not!
As for the Brownies, they seemed to sense that something was different. They slowed down. This wasn’t a damsel ambush where they just needed to slap some ropes on and binge on the sweet humiliation radiating from their victims. I was their victory lap. I was their last supper. And they came up with something extra special for me.
All thoughts of resistance melted from my overwhelmed Tina-mind when they locked the collar on me. It wasn’t just any dog collar. It was thick and snug and tapered like the shape of my throat. It was long and tight enough to make it difficult for me to turn my head. Between that and the ponytail hair tie which forced my head titled back to my strapedoed arms, it felt like my head was cradled and controlled by a dominant power.
Word to the wise, there are few things quite as demoralizing as having control of one’s head stolen away from them.
Can you picture me panting now? Between the ropes and my titillation, I’m so still I’m practically a living statue. Need some more? OK. I can give you some more.
My shoulders have been aching for a while now. My elbows are pulled together as part of the strapedo. My tightly bound arms are not only lifted up to my head level from my wrists but also tethered to my hair. Every little shift I make pulls at the roots of my blonde locks, and also causes my controlled head to struggle with the thick strap of leather locked around it. And if that overload of opposing forces wasn’t enough, my arms are ALSO being pulled down at the elbow by tethers running under the spreader bar both of my ankles are secured to.
This network of ropes prevents me from even EXPLORING options for escape. The Brownies delight in how I’ve been rendered so helpless.
For my part, the bondage is, as Agatha anticipated, a complete and total fucking turn on for my bondage-loving spirit. And even though I know that feeling “humiliation” is my key to ending my Brownie torment, I simply cannot muster any shame in loving the treatment I’m enduring.
And there’s more!
Besides the bondage, there’s also the torment. It’s a full-out assault on my body, inside and out. There’s some kind of crotch-rope nipple clamp tether combination where a Brownie bounces between the ropes, toggling between excruciating,
pinching jerks on my fully erect nipples and ever deepening, piercing rope burns between my pussy’s lips and into my slick vaginal walls.
Exasperating the crotch rope “problem” is the short length of the tether. I’m forced to stand on my toes. When I fatigue or simply lose my balance and settle down onto my heels, the rope is pulled completely into my pussy and hard between my cheeks, scraping roughly against my ass. Anal play is the worst, right girls? Honestly, this is probably what comes the closest to humiliating me. It was the element I’d hoped would actually put me over the edge and cause the Brownies to move along. But to my dismay, it turns out that I’m kind of liking the forbidden stimulation. Fucking Catholic school upbringing lied about the missionary position being the only kind of sex that is acceptable…
I can feel another nasty Brownie pricking his claws into the back of my leg where he rides my rhythmic bouncing and cracks a whip HARD onto my ass. My cheeks clench and I yelp from the sharp pain and the intense excitement with every strike. I’m like his pony. The strong Brownies, pretty prancing obedient blonde pony. Oh, the rush!
But the real money maker is the wand. That’s a Hitachi “magic wand,” damsel breaker 3000 with the money back orgasm-or-die-trying guarantee.
Strung up on my toes and forced to lean forward as I am, my crotch is resting right, square on the pulsing head. The sweet vibrations pulse all through me. My most sensitive parts tingle while my muscles just ripple and go numb. Like I said, I’m a living statue, captured by the incomprehensible sensory input even more than by the ridiculous bondage.
All of this domination is further compounded by the knowledge that the Brownies who have reduced me to this quivering, nearly thoughtless, object have no sympathy whatsoever. They can’t be begged or bartered with. They can’t be threatened. They won’t be moved by any appeals to humanity. The more desperate my situation, the more excited and enthusiastic they become.
The perfectly balanced ordeal combined with my insatiable desire to be sexually dominated has truly created a self-fueling furnace that’s burning white hot. I’ve tapped into the deepest wells of orgasms that may not even have a bottom. I glisten with sweat and other fluids as my skin turns pink in thin lines from the ropes and the lash. I have lost all sense of time. I’m losing my self of identity. I am positive that I won’t miss it or even notice it once it’s gone.
With what might be my final moment of clarity I realize that I am not getting myself out of this. I’m a vessel to contain the Brownies. I’m nothing but their plaything. And they will never, ever become tired of me.
THE END ????