by Switchman2002 ([email protected]) © 2014
based on an original story entitled “The Trap” by Wanda


“What an awful night!” I thought as my temple rested against the window of the passenger door.

The sun hadn’t broken over the horizon yet, but I could see a faint glow that would become sunrise within the hour.  I closed my eyes to gather my scattered thoughts and remember the night before.  It came back in pieces - mostly in reverse order.

The last thing I could remember was Tara dressing me and helping me to the car.  And then there were those mistresses who helped her take advantage of me.  Even though Tara told them horrible lies about me, they never should have helped her enslave me for the evening.  Who would do such a thing?

Really, though, I also blamed myself to some degree.  I should have known better than to trust Tara.  Except for the ride to the show, which was clearly just a ruse, she had never been nice to me.  I never should have fallen for her “Oh Wanda, save us!  Save us!” routine.

At least I was dressed normally again, though I didn’t remember anyone removing that mask.  I reached up to make sure it was off, but my hands were trapped in my lap.

I was suddenly wide away, and I sat up to take stock of my situation.

That bitch!  I tugged uselessly at my wrists which were locked in leather cuffs and secured to a belt around my waist!  My ankles were similarly restrained in locked cuffs connected by a hobble!

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Tara said cheerfully.

“Oh my God!  Why are you doing this to me?” I cried.

“You really are pretty stupid if you haven’t figured that out yet,” Tara responded derisively.

“I know that you’re trying to get me fired, but it can’t be worth going to prison,” I said as a veiled threat.

Tara didn’t flinch.  She just kept driving.  She pressed her garage door opener and turned up her driveway into her two-car garage.

“Honey, I’m not going to prison.  You are,” she said without emotion.

She pressed the garage door opener again and the door began to close as Tara got out of the car.

Frantically, I fought with the cuffs that held me!  I tried to bring one leg up to my lap so that I could remove the connecting tether or squeeze my foot out of the cuff, but the hobble was too short.  My leg kept tugging at the tether and falling back down.  I tried the other leg with the same results.

Tara was taking her time.  She opened the trunk and casually took the bags one by one into the house.

If my legs couldn’t come to my hands, I would reach my hands down to my legs.  I tried to bend over to reach down, but the seatbelt held me fast, and my hands were fastened together so close to that damned belt that I couldn’t reach the seatbelt release button.

“Aarrgh!” I screamed as Tara continued to unpack the car.

“When I get loose, I’m going to see that you go to prison for life!” I screamed at Tara as she opened the passenger side door.

“I told you.  The only one who’s going to prison is you,” Tara said calmly.

And without a word more, she produced a can of mace and pointed it directly at my face.  I closed my eyes and turned my head as far away from her as I could.

“Now shut up, or I won’t hesitate to mace your ass,” she said menacingly.

“And don’t think you can avoid it.  I can move my hand anywhere you can move your head.”

I began to hyperventilate.  I needed to calm down.  I could see no good coming from resisting at that point.  I decided that reasoning with her might work better.

“Okay, I’ll do what you want,” I started.

She quickly grabbed a handful of hair and quietly hissed “I told you what I want.  I want you to shut your fucking mouth.”

Still holding on to my hair, she tossed the can of mace on the seat next to me, and reached behind to her back pocket.

Before I could react, she tugged on my hair.  I screamed, and while my mouth was open, she stuffed a compressed foam rubber ball into my mouth.  She held it there with her thumb as she let go of my hair and retrieved a roll of duct tape from her other back pocket.

Now, I was terrified.  I silently watched her wrap yard after yard of duct tape around my mouth and head.  When she was through, the lower half of my face was mummified, and my cries were nearly inaudible.

Tara released the seatbelt and tugged me out of the car.  Once I was standing, she clipped a leash to the collar that I was still wearing from the night before.  She led me like a dog between her car and my own that I had left there the day before.  As I shuffled behind her, I caught a glimpse of the two of us in the reflection of my car’s window.

We looked like something from a website catering to damsel-in-distress fantasies, but this was anything but a fantasy.  We walked the back of her car and up to the door to her house.  The tether between my ankles barely allowed me to navigate the two steps up from her garage.

We entered her kitchen and she wrapped the leash around the hanging light above her breakfast table.  There I stood like some dumb animal watching her close the door to the garage, water her plants and check the thermostat.

I’m sure that it was mostly an act to show me that even mundane tasks took a higher priority than me.  Even though I knew it was a show, it made me feel small nonetheless.  I was frustrated and scared, and I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me.  I tugged at my wrist cuffs pointlessly.

Eventually, she led me downstairs to her basement.  The descent down the stairs was even harder than the steps into the house.  After nearly toppling down the first couple of steps, I learned to position my feet as close to the edge of each step as possible to ensure that the tether would allow my other foot to reach the next step.

I concentrated only on traversing the stairs and keeping up with Tara until I reached the bottom.  Once I had a chance to look up from my task, I watched as Tara unlocked and opened a thick metal door that separated the staircase from the rest of the basement.  As we stepped across the threshold, I was amazed, frightened, and sickened all at once.  Her full-sized basement was an elaborate dungeon!

It wasn’t just a game room with medieval furnishings.  It was a room specifically designed for restraint.  Bondage and S&M gear of every sort hung along the front wall and in display cases and racks to one side.  There was more variety in that basement than I remembered seeing in the fetish shop last night.  Belts, harnesses, cuffs and gags were in one section.  They appeared to be categorized, and I was pretty sure I saw several sets of restraints that I had designed.

Catsuits, maids outfits, belly dancing outfits and countless other costumes hung on a nearby rack.  And yet another section housed implements of pain - whips, clamps, pinwheels and worse.

In a corner along the back, there was an industrial strength prison cell - much more secure than the changing room where I was enslaved last night.  This cell included a small table, a cot, a sink, a plastic mirror and a toilet.  The bars uniformly stretched from floor to ceiling except for two rectangular holes - one where guards could restrain the inmate’s wrists before opening the cell door, and another where a food tray could be slid in and out.

Along the other corner in the back, there was a second cell, but that cell seemed to be a kind of prison office.  It included a computer, a printer, a work table and various leatherworking tools and supplies.  I figured that many of the restraints adorning the front wall were made in that little cell.

“Welcome to your new home,” Tara said with a smile.

I grunted an unintelligible protest as I took it all in.

“I’ll give you a personalized tour later, but for now, let’s get you acquainted with your accommodations.”

She ushered me into to the jail cell, and tied the leash off on one of the bars above the open rectangle next to the door.  Tara exited the cell, closing the door behind her with a tell tale clank that announced that the door had locked.

Walking along the outside of the cell to the open rectangle, Tara untied the leash and told me to stand close to the bars.  Apparently, I didn’t comply quickly enough for her taste, and she pulled sharply on the leash until my body was pressed against the bars.  In that position, my hands were naturally aligned with the rectangular openning.

Tara produced a large silver keyring like they used in old movies, and she unlocked and removed the wrist cuffs and belt.  She then tossed the keys onto the floor of the cell.

“Unlock your ankles and slide the cuffs and keys out of the cell,” she ordered.

I quickly complied.  I freed my ankles, and I slid the restraints and keys through what I had originally thought to be a hole for a food tray.

“You are now free to remove your gag and slide it under the bars like you did the restraints,” Tara said as she picked up the keys and left the basement.  She closed and locked the door at the bottom of the stairs behind her.

As I worked to unwrap the duct tape from around my head, I scanned the room looking for a way to escape.  There was no clock.  There were no windows.  The only exit was through the locked metal door at the bottom of the stairs, and to use that, I would need to get out of the cell.

Once I managed to remove the foam rubber ball from my mouth, I tried to remove the leather mask and collar.  There was no escaping them without the key to the collar.

Having the use of my mouth, I considered yelling for help, but I knew that Tara would likely be the only one to hear me, and I didn’t want to give her any more reason to punish me.  So, there was nothing to do but wait.  I laid down on the cot to rest, all the while regretting that I ever trusted Tara.

I fell asleep reliving the evening before.  I remembered how easy it was for Tara to use my enthusiasm for the show against me.  I was furious with myself for offering myself up to be handcuffed and gagged.  That simple and naive act of trust initiated a series of awful events that were out of my control.

I rested fitfully until I was awoken by laughter and the opening of the thick metal door.

Tara and Madison entered the dungeon like two school girls talking and laughing.  I sat up on my cot as they walked up to my cell.

“I don’t believe it.  You really did decide to keep her,” said Madison as she looked at me as if I was a homeless puppy.

“Well, it was actually a pretty easy decision when I found out that she was the one who had stolen my credit card,” Tara said angrily.

I was appalled!  I had never stolen anything in my life, let alone Tara’s credit card.

“I did no such thing!” I blurted out instinctively.

“Oh, yes.  I remember you told me about that earlier this week,  That was her?” Madison asked, completely ignoring my protest.

“It’s not true!” I reiterated.

“Yeah.  She accidentally pulled it out to pay for gas on the way home last night.  I recognized it, and I decided to continue her lesson,” Tara lied.

I put my head in my hands and began to sob.

“Why are you doing this to me?  You can have the job.  I’ll quit on Monday.  Please, just let me go,” I begged.

“That will be enough of that,” Tara said without any emotion.

She then instructed me to be silent.  I tried to reason with her and Madison a few more times, but she threatened me with such excruciating and unending pain that I knew I had better comply, at least in the short term.

“Strip and turn around, slave,” Tara said in a tone strangely reminiscent of the night before.

I complied.  Tara provided the key to my collar, and I removed the leather bindings that I had been wearing for more than 12 hours.  To my great relief, the air felt cool over my face as I removed all of my clothes and left them on the cot.  I approached the rectangular opening where I knew that Tara would bind my arms again, and I allowed her to handcuff my hands behind my back just like before.

Tara and Madison led me over to a section they called the “play area.”  I didn’t dare speak for fear of angering one or both of them.  It turned out that they did enough talking for all of us.  As they prepared me for what appeared to be a private and uninhibited demonstration, they described in great detail the purpose and effect of every accessory they applied to me.

Even with the two of them working on me, it took considerably longer to prepare me than it did the night before.  Of course, Tara had considerably more gear in her dungeon than the fetish shop stocked, and Tara’s gear was absolutely top notch.

They replaced the leather hood with a rubber one.  It blocked nearly all sound from the outside world, and it had a rubber penis gag that nearly choked me.  A thick rubber posture collar that they attached to the hood prevented my head from moving more than an inch or so in any direction.  Integrated goggles turned the outside world into mists and shadows.  Even though I knew that Tara and Madison were nearby, the hood made me feel as though I was the only thing that existed.

When they were done, I found myself encased in rubber bindings and hanging spread-eagle from chains.  The chains were fed through pulleys installed in the high, drywalled ceiling.  My hands were in thick rubber suspension cuffs.  They had integrated handles, and unlike most such cuffs, these had outer coverings that forced my fingers to perpetually grip the handles.  They were essentially suspension fist mitts, and they made my hands useless except as attachment points.

My arms were pulled away from me at 45 degree angles, which caused my shoulders to begin aching rather quickly.  Fortunately, most of my weight was borne by a rubber body harness that encircled my torso at several different angles.  The harness included straps that encircled the base of my breasts and others that encircled the highest part of my thighs, just under the curve of my ass.

My ankles were also restrained with tight rubber cuffs, and my legs were similarly pulled away from me at 45 degree angles.  The ankle cuffs were chained to rings mounted in the hardwood floor.  In this position, I was helplessly suspended so that my sex was on display at roughly the height of Tara’s shoulders.

I hung there for quite a while without any stimulation.  I was startled when my nipples began to be stimulated.  It felt like a liquid was massaged into my nipple and areola.  It was pleasantly cool to start, and it became even more pleasantly warm over time.  Then, I felt something sucking at my nipples.  The suction increased in steps until it stopped and became a constant pressure.  Coupled with the heat from the liquid, I was getting incredibly turned on.  I felt so conflicted that I was turned on by a situation that was fundamentally wrong.  I wanted to enjoy the feeling, but I was constantly on guard for the punishment that I was sure would follow.

It seemed as though the same liquid was applied to my helpless anus.  Even if I squeezed with all my might, I would not have been able to stop them from doing anything they wanted with my holes.  To my surprise, something warm was inserted into my ass.  Whether it was the intruder or the liquid, it made me feel incredible.  Again, I found myself turned on, but waiting for pain to follow.

The only parts of me that remained untouched were my back and my vagina.  I expected them to whip me or shock me or pinch me, but I couldn’t help but enjoy what had been done so far.

Finally, I felt someone massaging my back.  The hands were skilled, and my entire body began to relax.  It was blissful, and after a while, I felt someone else tending to my sex.  I couldn’t tell whether it was a finger or a tongue or some other implement, but my sex was being manipulated like an artist molds clay.

The massaging from both sides, and the constant reminders on my nipples and in my ass caused a slow eruption to build within me.  I tried to suppress it, but it was relentless.  I began to writhe, and moan, and scream into the gag.  It built to a thrusting shudder before I saw bright sparks fly before my eyes.  It seemed like it would last for ever, but it finally subsided leaving me drenched in perspiration.

I couldn’t think straight after that.  I was confused why I wasn’t punished.  I was conflicted that it felt so good.  I loved the helpless feeling of having to take whatever was given to me, and I began to wonder why I had never tried on more of the gear that I created.

Then I remembered that Tara had taken credit for all of the creation at the show last night, and I became enraged.  I tugged at my wrists and ankle.  I threw myself back and forth against the chains that held me in mid-air.  “Let me go!” I screamed into the gag, but it was pointless.

Just as I was starting to run out of angry energy, I could feel the hands on my back again.  They worked my muscles and brought my heartrate back to normal.  I was relaxing again.  Then, the maestro resumed her work on my pussy.

“No!  I can’t do that again,” I pleaded into my gag.

I felt so good that I began to cry.  I really didn’t think I could do it again, but I didn’t have a choice.  Again, the waves of pleasure washed over my being.  First, as ripples, but they grew.  And by the end, they were crashing upon me once again.

That cycle played itself out several times.  I lost track after six, but it could have been as many as twice that.

When they were done with me, I couldn’t move.  I hung there limp, my head bowed as much as the hood and posture collar would permit.  One by one, Tara and Madison gently removed my bonds and other accessories.  Eventually, everything had been removed except the wrist cuffs and body harness from which I was suspended.

I opened up my eyes to see that a portable bath tub, filled with bubbles, was positioned below me.  Tara operated a silent winch to lower me into the water as Madison guided me into the tub.  Once I was lying in the tub, they removed the remaining restraints, leaving me naked, free and relaxed in a warm bath.

While I was bathing, Madison looked at her watch and told Tara that she needed to leave for a dinner appointment.  Tara said that she could take it from there, and showed Madison to the door.

Even though I had the chance to escape, I simply couldn’t manage it.  I felt much like I had the night before after drinking the sports drink.  After reflecting on it, I was sure that there was a sedative or sleeping pill dissolved into it since I slept the entire way home without noticing Tara restraining me.

There was no need for such precautions after the session with Tara and Madison.  I was having trouble controlling my own body.  I trembled with every effort to move.

Tara came back down to the dungeon with a pair of soft cotton pajamas and a fluffy towel.  She helped me out of the tub, dried me off, and helped me into the pajamas.  They were delightful.

“Don’t expect to be treated like this every night,” Tara said softly.

“It’s the first night of the rest of our lives, and I thought we might start it off better than we ended our last chapter.”

Her words scared me, but I didn’t dare spoil the moment.

It was clear that she intended to keep me as her prisoner for a long, long time.  Surely, she wouldn’t be able to keep me here without someone finding out.  Clearly, Madison knew about my captivity.  And certainly people from work would be looking for me if I didn’t show up on Monday.

Tara helped me back to my cell, tucked my into bed, and headed back toward the stairs, locking the cell door behind her.

“Good night, Wanda.  Tomorrow we will get ready for the week,” she said sweetly as she closed the heavy metal door, and everything went black.


Epilogue

I couldn’t believe it, but Tara was determined to keep me as her prisoner for as long as she wanted, and she was right that not every day would be as nice as the first.  On Sunday, she forced me to sign a letter of resignation, a letter to my landlord and my car title under the threat of severe punishment and withholding my meals.  I was easy to convince since I hadn’t eaten anything substantial since Friday evening.

Fortunately, it seemed that Tara didn’t actually want to follow through on her threats, although I knew that she would if she felt it was necessary.  As soon as I signed the papers, she served a lavish bacon and egg breakfast with fresh-squeezed juice, and she explained how she planned to make me disappear.

The two letters I had just signed cited personal reasons for my resignation and relocation.  As part of my resignation, I even apologized for shirking my responsibilities and skipping the Severe Discipline Fashion Show.  Tara would tell everyone that I had left immediately after we arrived, and that she had to save the company by stepping in as the announcer.  I was pretty sure that Dave, the fetish shop owner would corroborate Tara’s version of events.

She intended to send the letters to a friend in Arizona where her friend would mail them to my boss and landlord.  According to the letters, I was moving to Flagstaff to start a new life.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but while I was in ecstasy all Saturday afternoon, a team of movers were cleaning out my apartment and shipping the contents to a storage unit in Flagstaff.  Tara used my credit cards and checking account to fund the entire process.

Although I originally refused to believe it , in hindsight her plan was well thought out.  During our trip to the fashion show, she confirmed that I didn’t let my friends and family know about my job.  I kept it a secret since I didn’t think that they would approve or understand.  They probably would have thought that everyone I worked with was a psycho, and they wouldn’t have been far off the mark.

I am sure that they probably searched for me, but they would have had trouble finding me since I used an alias for all of my designs, and I lied about where I lived.  Sadly, it would be very difficult to link Tara with my disappearance.  Especially after she took credit for all of the designs that she stole from me.  Since she had several prototypes made weeks before the show, nobody would have suspected that they were not hers.  What’s more, nobody would have thought that jealousy was a motive since the designs were some of her, I mean my, best work.

I am just her pet now - her toy.  She doesn’t even call me by my name anymore, and she hasn’t for years.  I spend my days designing fetish gear in her dungeon.  When I have completed a design, Tara will take the design files into work, and claim them as her own.  Of course, she brings home the prototypes, and she loves making me wear my own strict creations.

I have become her personal slave doll.  Tara can be a mean mistress, but over time, I have come to appreciate that side of her.  She has unwittingly made me realize how submissive I really am.  Now, I try to push my limits as much as I can.  Whenever I design something from my cell, it turns me on to know that she is going to make me wear my own creation.  She will often hold parties for her friends when she unveils each collection, and I am the entertainment for her and her friends.

Every time she makes me perform, I wonder what my life would have been like if I just hadn’t trusted her that fateful Friday night so long ago.


Part 1 can be found Here.