(Art “borrowed without permission” from the fabulous @lurvig -Love you!!)
Something you need to know about me is that I talk to myself when I’m stressed. And right now, I’m stressed the fuck out. You remember why, don’t you? Here, I’ll refresh your memory. See that picture below this paragraph? That’s me. Tina. The super bondage escape artist, TOTALLY not able to move a muscle.
I think I’ve been this way for three days, even though it feels more like three weeks. After the first night, I noticed my shadow on the barn wall across from me when the moon came up. It was eye-opening because it gave me my first comprehensive “look” at the rigging job that @Lurvig had done. Between the tight ropes around my throat that constrict and choke me whenever I turn my head and the network of tethers attached to my nipples and clit that pinch and cut into me whenever I try to move anything else, I haven’t been able to examine my bondage all that much. I’ve been able to get a rough idea from gently testing my range of motion and feeling where the resistance is….which is pretty much fucking everywhere. But I didn’t get the full picture of the beauty of what Lurvig had done to me until I saw the perfectly symmetrical lines of his ropes and cords and the post and cross beams projected by the moon for me to see.
After that, I realized it was hopeless. There wasn’t a weak point. Lurvig had taken away the use of almost every major muscle group with the bondage. My thighs, my calves, my shoulders and arms had all been completely immobilized. I was left with only my back and my core to struggle with. And the intricate network of tethers made all but the smallest twist or bend I could make excruciating by inflicting punishment on some sensitive part of my body. And the post itself was reinforced with stabilizing cords that connected the ends of the cross posts to the main post and to my “noose” and my pain tethers threatening to strangle me should I actually succeed at compromising the integrity of my hated perch.
It was perfect. And I had given up. A fact that seemed to equally delight and disappoint my captor.
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“Come now little arrogant one! You’ve barely fought at all. This is not what I expected from the renowned self-bondage whore of DeviantArt!”
I wanted to spit at him, but my mouth was too dry, not to mention stuffed with a penis gag. There was no point. Nothing I could gain. I remained limp on my cross.
“Not so arrogant now, I see. Good. That is very good.” Only, he didn’t SOUND happy about it. Lurvig moved in close and leaned on the cross beam that I hung on by my arms. I groaned as it shifted under his weight, dipping two inches, and tightening the already tight strings pinching my nipples.
“It’s like I told you little Kentucky flower, others will learn. And the respect I deserve will not be withheld from me any longer.” He leaned forward. His leverage was enough to twist the cross beam forward two inches as well. I shrieked and then coughed as the gag found the soft tissue at the back of my throat. Tears immediately ran down my cheeks from the intensity of the pain and the instinctive panic that comes from gagging. Lurvig laughed.
“We are learning so much now, aren’t we Tina-slut? We’re learning about your limitations, yes? You are perhaps less strong than you liked to think you were.” Now I was getting mad.
“You can escape many things, but not everything. Not and artist, like me. You cannot endure absolutely anything. Especially not the constant application of pain.” I heard the ropes creak…and something else, higher pitched. Lurvig leaned harder on the cross beam dipping it again and jerking the cruel tethers. My body’s self-defense mechanisms kicked in from the pain overload and flooded my head with natural pain suppressors before I even felt the biting ropes. I was putting myself under to save myself from feeling it. My consciousness was fading, but I could still hear him.
“No, no. Don’t go yet little slut. Little pain slut. You need to feel it to grow. You can’t learn to love it if you run from it.” Lurvig was raving. What did he mean about “loving it?”
“This is the purpose, Tina. You think I’m here because you defied me and disrespected my art. And this is true, yes. But I heard about you before that. Months and months before that.” Darkness was overtaking me, but I forced my eyes open. Lurvig was inches from my face. He held a picture of me in a party dress.
It was not a picture from online. I’d only worn that dress the one time. Something I borrowed for a wedding over the summer. Months and months ago.
“Everyone said you couldn’t be contained. That you were the next Houdini. I had to see for myself. I came here then, and I was…less than impressed, eh little one?” Wait, Lurvig had come here before? How long has he been planning this?
“Everyone said you were a warrior. That you were like Demi Moore in GI Jane. But I could see you were not so strong, really.” My eyelids weighed 1,000 pounds. They slid shut. My head fell forward as much as the ropes around it would allow.
“So, I posted my art where I knew you’d see it. And I waited. I waited for you to choose. And you chose, little flower. Little Gi Jane. You chose to disrespect me. Do you remember now? Do you?”
Just before I passed out completely, I experienced a brief moment of clarity. I remembered noticing his compelling images on DeviantArt. I remembered zooming in and examining them. Dissecting them. They impressed. I started watching for his art. I didn’t comment on it. Not at first. Until I did. I picked an image that looked flawless. And I studied it. I examined every tiny detail until I found a weak spot. And I made the stupid boast that I could escape him.
That was it. Lurvig has had all the leverage, all this time. Even at the wedding where he saw me in person. I never had a chance.
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Time was passing outside of the barn like normal, but to me, it was coming and going in brief scenes that played out in slow motion. Sometimes I was inside my body, listening and reacting to Lurvig as he tested me over and over, always applying more pressure. Always pushing me to my breaking point. And sometimes I watched the scene like a disembodied ghost floating nearby. Which is impossible unless you’ve died. Which has happened to me before. Or so I was told the next day in my hospital room. But that wasn’t happening here. I was experiencing the warped perception brought on by Lurvig’s mental conditioning of me, the sedatives he was using to keep me docile and the pain blockers my body was learning to produce on demand. Coupled with exhaustion and starvation and desperation, there was very little left of me but pliable putty for Lurvig to use. Just clay for an artist. Just as he planned.
I came back in pitch darkness one time. I was blindfolded. Lurvig changed the accessories on me constantly, probably to keep me off balance. And if that was the goal, it was definitely working. I remembered him tying me. I couldn’t remember where I was. I wasn’t here in the barn though. I was still in my own clothes and not this course body suit he’d dressed me in to hang on the cross. Correction, by the time he was tying me, I was only in my underwear. I don’t know how he’d gotten the advantage over me. But I’m sure that I was already helplessly bound before I realized what was going on. He must have drugged me. But I’m always so careful. I don’t know how he could have. And yet, there I was, his foot in my back, pushing me forward as he pulled the ropes tightly, cinching my wrists together.
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“You need to be controlled Little one,” Lurvig explained to me. His voice was gentle. “This is not a need for me. This is a need for YOU.”
I heard that higher pitched noise again. Or perhaps I felt it. How does one “feel” a noise?
“Listen Tina!” I focused on him again. “Is it your pain that controls you or is it your submission? Which one do you fight against more? Do you fear one, or both? Are they your strength? Or are they your weakness?” My head was splitting. I always get migraines when I am dehydrated. I wondered if Lurvig knew about those, somehow. I wondered what secrets of mine were safe from him.
“You are a special one pretty little flower. Aren’t you? Let’s pluck another petal and see how much that hurts. There. We’ll pull right here now.”
“Yyyyeahhhhhhhhhaaaoowwwwwww!”
My vision was flooded with red that shifted into complete black.
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I felt pretty that night. I rarely ever feel that way. I’m always too busy. I’m always too bossy. How can a southern belle feel pretty and bossy at the same time? Tee Hee! I hate that about myself. It’s why I’ve lost boyfriends.
It’s why my high school classmates wait until I’ve walked past before they start to whisper about me. Not that I don’t hear them, because I do.
“She can’t even walk straight in those shoes!” God, I hate that catty bitch. She’s right of course. I’ve always preferred tactical boots to heels. But not tonight. Tonight was the Police Officer’s Ball. And even though I’d broken up with Officer Kyle, I wasn’t going to waste my ticket. I’d given up too much this year to surrender my other friendships on the force.
“Where do you hide your Glock in that dress, sexy pants?” I heard Lou’s warm smile as surely as I felt his strong arms wrap around me. “Sarah and I are so glad you came, Tina. I hope you have fun tonight.”
Lou and Sarah are married. They’re my best friends.
“Locked in my car.” What was that? A pinch?
The ball was in a city building and although the sworn officers in attendance were permitted to carry, I am a civilian contractor so I cannot. Rules are rules. My gun was stowed securely in my biometrically locked gun safe in my trunk.
The room was spinning, and I was being supported by someone other than Lou. I was walking but I was not in control. Where did Lou go? Out the door. Into the parking lot. Why are we leaving? The van door slid shut behind me.
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I seriously doubted that I would fit in the tiny metal box Lurvig had wheeled into the barn. No, I guess if he retied my arms in a reverse prayer, and used a harness gag or a hood to pull head down hard into my chest, that MIGHT work.
“There isn’t much more I can do to you here GI Jane.” Lurvig’s words sounds like a taunt, but his tone was very matter-of-fact. “We haven’t learned everything we came to learn little helpless cunt. And I am disappointed.”
I bit down on the mouth filling gag and resisted crying out as Lurvig tugged on the tethers to my nipples. That’s been the one constant during my trials. He always “greeted” me this way.
“Is there some slack in these lines now? Hmmm. Cheap cords here in America.” Lurvig pulled the tethers until they were taught again.
“Ahhhhh! AHhhrrrrrrrrrrgggg. Mmmmmmphhffff.” He tied them neatly, so they’d stay that way.
“I have to go make ready for our journey.” Lurvig’s mind was not on me. It was on what he needed to do. Lurvig is calculated in that way.
“I would have preferred we finish here. It would have been poetic. There would be art in you finding your truth here. Learning what your pain can give you. But you’ve resisted. Your body keeps going to sleep before you can learn.”
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“I’m going to fucking kill you. You’re a dead man you fucking ghmmmpphfff!!!”
He slipped the gag between my teeth and the insults I spat at him with practiced smoothness. OK. He’s gagged a few people. And his rigging is pretty tight. I squirmed and pulled. There was a little give. There was also a knot in reach. I started turning my wrists and trying to pull one hand out. If felt like I could squeeze loose if he gives me a little time.
Unfortunately, Lurvig was watching and had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
“Oh, my captured escape artist, don’t waste your time. This is crude. I know. I apologize to you, one artist to another. You deserve better than this. And you will have it. We will be home soon. And then we will make art together, like Kentucky flower. Little bondage slut.”
Lurvig left me in the back. He was a bad driver. I rolled around, occasionally bouncing into a wall. He was in a hurry. And with all of the police in the county at the ball tonight, his reckless driving would go unnoticed.
After 10 or 15 minutes, my ropes were only slightly looser, and road had become much rougher. We’d left the street and were on a dirt road. After a short drive, the van came to a rapid stop. I rolled up against the seats.
“Here we are!” Lurvig was soon sliding open the cargo door. We were in my farm. My grandfather’s old tobacco drying barn was right in front of me. What are we doing here?
“Let’s go little arrogant girl. Time for your lessons to begin.” Lurvig pulled me by a leash.
I struggle with my frogtied legs to move across the van floor to him. He kept pulling and I flopped out onto the field, stunning me from the impact. But he didn’t wait. And I had to scramble on my belly like a worm as he half dragged me into the barn. Once inside, I felt a slight pinch.
“I can’t wait for you to see Little One.” And I was out.
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Lurvig sighed a heavy sigh. This “special” girl in Kentucky had proven to be much less special than advertised. Yes, she had spirit. But her resistance undercut the claims of a PURE submissive spirit. How can her spirit embrace service while her body shuts down every time her limits are approached? He’d have to try something else. Lurvig walked only a few paces into the barn and stopped suddenly. The post he’d anchored into he ground in the middle of the barn was no longer occupied by his former captive, Tina.
“Good Girl,” Lurvig whispered as a smile crept across his face.
TO BE CONTINUED……