Thanks @Binderscreek for the awesome image to work with!!
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My life is shit. It’s my fault. I push everyone away. I know this truth and I hate myself for it. And now, I’m taking it all out on my last friend and sparring partner, Jake. He grunts his complaints as I reign strikes and kicks into his padded arms and chest. My thighs are burning but I don’t let up, finally delivering a front kick that knocks the strike bag out of hands and sends him reeling back into the fence.
“What the hell Tina? This is just a workout.” Jake turns away from me partially but keeps his eyes on my hands. I was still in a fighting stance. He doesn’t trust me and who can blame him. “I’m done.”
I instantly felt regret. Unfortunately, I’m currently being controlled by my inner bitch.
“You’re a pussy, Jake.” My friend makes a disgusted look and turns toward the lockers.
“I could say something really mean right now Tina.” I know EXACTLY what mean thing Jake was talking about. It’s the thing I’m avoiding dealing with. It’s the thing I can’t face but I have to.
“Fucking say it then.” Jake leaves me in the gym, alone. Just then, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Never has strength looked so frail as I do in this moment. My legs barely support me. “Why can’t you fucking say it,” I whisper.
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The tri-folded sheet of orange paper stuffed into my locker is an invitation to they gym Halloween party. I heard people talking about a costume party off and on through the week. I slouch into a chair and go limp. My arms flop over the armrests and my head falls backward. But I don’t drop the flyer. “Don’t be stupid, Tina. Nobody wants to see you there.” These unspoken thoughts of mine interrupt my perpetual state of numbness with a tiny pang of self-pity. Still slouching, I lift my hand and the flyer back up in front of my face. I take a deep breath and my eyes flick open. “Drinks. Food. Prizes. Friends.” I recognize the address. It’s in a new development going up around a lake. Big houses. I didn’t think any were finished yet, but I guess one of them is.
According to the flyer, the party starts in an hour. It’ll take me at least two hours to pick up a costume at the Halloween store, get home, get ready and make it there. And that’s if I hurry.
“Just go, Tina. What do you got to lose?”
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Options are very limited at the Halloween Store at 7PM on Halloween. That’s why I approached the brightly lit house surrounded by future, but presently undeveloped, building lots, decked out as a “sexy cop.” I almost aborted the whole thing when I saw my choices. It was “sexy cop,” “sexy bunny,” or “catholic school girl.” I actually was a Catholic school girl, which I’m sure is a major reason I’m so fucked up today. So I had no interest in revisiting that nightmare from my past. And as for the “bunny,” I have my kinks but animalization is NOT one of them. So that left the “sexy cop.” Thank goodness the costume was “Discounted for Quick Sale!” Even so, I spent $120 on a top I could barely button, a skirt that barely covered my ass, black pantyhose, blue heels, a hat, a badge, a belt and toy handcuffs.
The subdivision is still being developed. There aren’t any sidewalks. I had to park a few blocks away and walk to the house.
I haven’t been to a party in a long while and I don’t know if I should ring the doorbell or just go on inside. How do you make you entrance to a party when you don’t even know the name of the host? Confident that whatever I decide will be the wrong choice, I go with the easiest path and simply open the door. The music is LOUD. I can feel the vibrations in the walls. I step into the entry. The front room is unlit, unfurnished and empty. The party seems to be going on in the back.
“Happy Halloween,” I declare apologetically, cringing at how meek my voice sounds. I suddenly feel stupid and vulnerable. Thank god nobody saw me yet. “Maybe I can get my money back for this thing,” I think, referring to my costume.
I pivot and try to open the door so I can escape the party I came so very close to joining, but didn’t quite make it. But the door knob doesn’t turn. I tighten my grip on the knob to try again. I barely have time to consider it strange that brand new door hardware is already sticking when I’m suddenly plunged into darkness and thrown sideways and off balance by what I instantly recognize as a large person crashing into me from the side. I don’t have a chance. Disoriented, I tumbled onto my side, and the assailant lands on top of me. I try to roll to my back so I can wrap him up with my legs and try to defend myself but he expected that and already had the counter measure. He wrenched my arm behind me and used it like a lever to push me onto my stomach.
“Get off…” was all I could get out before he grabbed me by the hair through the hood and bounced my forehead off the floor. I lose track of my arms and legs. I think they’re still struggling but my head is too full of clouds now to control their actions. Even though I can’t feel myself, I CAN feel him. He climbs up onto me and sits on my back, flattening my body onto the floor and pushing the air out of me. The man is heavy. He’s over 200 pounds, easy. His hands are huge. He grabs both my arms and pulls my elbows together behind my back. I feel half of the buttons on my too-tight top pop open. He holds both of my elbows in one hands and starts wrapping some kind of cord around them.
“Welcome to the party, Tina.” Badly dazed, blinded, and hopelessly overpowered, I struggle just to maintain consciousness as he methodically ties me up.
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At some point, he moved me to the basement. I was still mostly dressed when he slung me over his shoulder and carried me down. He took me through at least one room and into a small room, somewhere toward what I guess is the back of the house. It’s all dark and smells eerily sterile. He worked quickly while I was stunned. He wrapped my fingers into fists and used athletic tape, like what we use at the gym, to bind them up into little mittens. Then he ripped the napkin sized skirt off of my body. He tossed it in a pile with the blue heels. I like to think I lost those struggling but that’s probably just my prideful wishing. He zip-tied my ankles and then zip-tied my wrists. That’s around the time I started getting my sense back.
“What. What are you doing?” My voice is raspy and soft. Forming words is still a struggle.
He ignores me and continues working. He unties my elbows. Then he pulls the police costume top down my arms where it is stopped at my zip-tied wrists. Now he sits me up. The sack is still over my head.
“Who are you? What’s happening?” My bra is ripped open and also slid down my arms.
I can feel the cords being wrapped up around my elbows again. They are slowly pulled together behind me. He’s being more thorough with the elbow ties that with the temporary rigging he used on me upstairs. The loops are laid out carefully, with minimal overlapping, and covering my arms from nearly up to my shoulders all the way down to the elbows. He cinches the loops, pinching them into each other. The sudden force pulls my shoulders back further and takes my breath away. I gasp from the unexpected pressure the unnatural stretching applies on my chest. He secures the elbow ties with more ropework forming a harness across my chest and over my shoulders. This is the moment where the extent of my bondage really kicks in. He’s going to make me totally helpless. Any chance I have to escape is probably already gone already, but those chances are only going to shrink with each pass of more rope upon my body.
I wrench myself as hard as I can to the side and I feel his fingers lose their grip on me for a moment before he recovers and grips me harder. I summon even more resolve and prepare to flail again. Only this time, he releases me as I do so and I crash onto my back. He snickers. I feel my face turn flush inside the hood. It was stupid. I’m tied up. Writhing around accomplishes nothing and proves even less.
“Now what?” the man mocks. I lie still, my heart racing, panting, exhilarated.
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The hood is removed but my captor is wearing a simple cloth mask like a burglar. His jeans and black T-shirt have no identifiable characteristics. His build is impressive but I associate with health-minded people. He could be almost any guy that I have asked to spot me at the gym or any number of partners I’ve sparred with. Or he could be someone I’ve never even met. I just know that he’s from the gym since that’s where he baited his trap. But who he is is of less importance than what he wants. I’ve already tried repeatedly to ask for that information with increasingly harsh rebukes. But now, force into kneeling with my ankles tied up against the back of my thighs, and my arms thoroughly immobilized in a network of rope and taped hands, I don’t have anything left but my voice.
“Look, I just want mmmphhhh…..”
He stuffs a large wad of cloth into my open mouth. I recoil but he catches my head in one hand and then braces it against his body so he can use both of his hands to pack my mouth. I keeps compacting it tighter into every little crevice of my mouth, stifling my moans and whines. I shift my shoulders as much as the harness will permit. My arms are practically welded against each other. I strain, but the only movement I can muster is to flutter my taped up hands out to the sides of the thick layers of cinched rope locking them together. I feel my pantyhose catching on the floor as a slide and shift my weight under his assault on my mouth. My eyes are watering by the time he is finished packing me. And then he starts wrapping tape round my mouth, behind my head and encasing the entire lower half of my face. My cheeks bulge out from under the wrapping.
He seems like he’s finally satisfied. He steps back and looks down like a craftsman surveying a chair that he just finished assembling.
“Do you feel helpless now, Tina?” His question is unexpectedly personal. Why ask such a specific thing, and especially when the answer is self-evident. Yes! Obviously I feel helpless. But his question sparks me into a brief involuntary struggle. The results are the same as before. I push up onto my toes which enables me to sway slightly. I roll my head and twist at my waist. None of these movements create slack in my bondage or grant me leverage to pull myself free.
“MMmffphhhhh!!!” I scream as loud as I can in response to the doorbell ringing. My captor is not alarmed by either the bell or my pitiful and barely audible cries.
“It’s cute how you try, Tina. I’ll go get rid of the neighborhood watch. Don’t worry. I’m the homeowner and I have all of my paperwork. It’ll go smoothly. I’ll be back in a few.”
I watch from my knees as the unknown man turns and ascends the stair, removing the mask as he disappears from my line of sight. Now, alone, and forced into stillness, I am surprised by the rush of feelings. I am not panicked, as I should be, nor am I calm. I feel like something has clicked. For the very first time that my delirious mind can recall, the static of life’s questions that has overwhelmed my mind and fostered my anger and frustration has been quieted. And now I feel a yearning. I need to know. But not who my captor is. That might not matter. I need to know what he knows about me. Because he asked me the exact right question. It was the question I didn’t know I needed to be asked. “Do you feel helpless now, Tina?”
I have to know, how does he understands me enough to know the secret question my heart asks me each and every day.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to get that answer.
THE END?