Note:

This is not my work.  It was originally published in the H.O.M. magazine Hogtie  vol. 4, no. 6.

  Written and illustrated by Robert Bishop.

“Don't move, please.”

Martin!  That bitch Martin!  How the hell …! The blonde slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder.  Sure enough – Martin.  And with an oh-so-trendy among the macho set, P7.  The new one with thirteen rounds.  Watts slung herself in behind Martin, all one hundred and sixty black pounds of her.

“Ms. Mars, whatever can you be doing?” Martin asked.  The pistol didn't move a fraction of an inch.  Martin's eyes flickered from Jan's eyes down to the little Minox camera she still held in her hand over what had become a somewhat considerable pile of blue lines with the cryptic don't-you-dare-look imprecations at the edges.  Martin dolefully shook her head at Jan and made a moue of distaste at a small motion from her hand, Watts strode around her and advanced, a small smile beginning to form.

All the setup, all the time, all the effort - all the risk - down the drain.  Her empty-headed blonde routine hadn't worked.  How?  She couldn't believe it!  How!  Martin said nothing, and Watts set to work.

Martin caught the thrown camera and dropped it into her small shoulder bag.  After a quick but very thorough search, Watts yanked Jan's arms behind her back and bound her wrists with a thin, sharp-edged handcuff.  The thing was painful in the first place and Watts made certain to draw it excruciatingly tight.  Jan winced but kept silent.  Pleading would just have been humiliating.

Watts produced more of the plastic bands, made a short chain of the things, and used the open cuffs at the ends to confine Jan's ankles.  A hobble from the oil fields and labs of your friendly Petro-chemical multi's.  The wonders of modern chemistry.  These, too, were yanked very tight.  Jan knew her steps would be short.  And painful.

The last plastic band was thankfully a bit wider and much longer.  Watts jammed Jan's elbows together and slid the large loop up her arms until the loop was at the center of her arms, and then drew the thing down tighter and smaller until Jan's arms were literally one.  She hissed through her teeth.  Martin smiled and put the P7 away.

They went down the short hall connecting the security room to the main bulk of the building.  Martin on one side and Watts on the other.  Jan hustled along as best she could against the hobble.  As they reached the door to Mr. Bailey's office, Martin stopped them, got a key out of her bag, and opened the door.  Inside, she quickly walked to the rear wall and got out another key.  Jan didn't really watch her, still a little dazed, and becoming more and more frightened.  She wasn't supposed to get caught!  A small elevator was behind the door that now swung open.  The three of them barely fit inside.  Watts didn't seem to mind at all as her shoulder rubbed up against Jan's breasts.  Martin scowled and Watts stopped, flipping Jan a wink.

“Gag her,” Martin, again.  She began shrugging out of her raincoat.

“Oh, God,” Jan whispered in a small voice.  The reality of just what the hell was going on was finally sinking in.  This was no joke!

Watts grabbed her ponytail and jerked her head back.  Jan gasped.  Instantly, a huge rubber pear was jammed against her teeth.  The force was tremendous.  She had to open her mouth wider and then wider again to prevent the loss of her teeth.  With a jolt, her jaws snapped down around the narrower head of the pear; there was no way she would ever be able to force the thing out of her mouth.  To ensure it, a broad leather strap attached to the front of the gag was strapped around her head, forcing the thing even farther in.

She felt as if she had a rubber grapefruit in her mouth.  Following this, a broad band of flesh-colored adhesive tape covered her mouth and lower face.  From a distance of some yards, a casual glance wouldn't have revealed the fact that she was gagged almost to the point of silence.

When the elevator stopped, Martin went first, with her hand on the pistol in her pocket.  The underground parking lot was wet and filled with grey pillars and echoes.  No people.  She signaled and Watts bundled Jan out into the cold and damp.  She looked around frantically, but the only thing she could see were cars and more cars.  Watts was already forcing her toward a van near the door.

By the time they had reached the street and Watts had gotten into the right seat, Jan had become a mute, blindfolded, and hogtied bundle in the back.  The hobble had been replaced by a single, broad band of plastic with another at her knees and another long one forcing her legs double.  Another band pulled Jan's wrists snug to her ankles.  She found she couldn't even wiggle.  The blindfold was big and thick and padded.  Boy, I've got 'em right where I want 'em, she thought, ruefully.

When they finally got to wherever it was they had in mind as a destination, Jan was untied enough to be barely ambulatory.  Neither the gag, nor the blindfold were removed.  They were indoors - that was about all she could figure out from the sounds.

All the restraints were removed except for the blindfold.  Jan rubbed her wrists and teetered in her private darkness.

“Strip!” came the command.

Watts snickered.

Jan had her mouth open to protest when a white-hot band of pain burned its way into her upper thighs.  She couldn't even scream.  Watts snickered again.  Martin pulled the whip back for another shot and quietly repeated herself.  “Strip!  And be quick about it.  Move one more inch toward that blindfold and you won't have enough skin left to hang your clothes on!” Jan stopped her hand.  A swish and a smack, and she received another band of white, clean agony.  Jan fumbled with her clothes.

“Put your hands together behind your back.  Palm to palm.”

Watts helped her and then held her hands together as Martin worked the small end of a single sleeve over Jan's fingers and hands, and then up her arms.  The sound of the zipper and Jan's small moan as her elbows went together, again, were as one.  Straps were buckled over her shoulders.

Watts lifted her bodily from the floor while Martin stooped to thread her legs through the opening of the next restraints.  The design was that of a waist-to-ankles dress, but made of some shiny synthetic that fit like a second skin, And, with its zipper at the hem pulled closed, restricted Jan's steps to little more than inches.  It wasn't called a hobble skirt for nothing.

Blind and tottering on the precipitate heels that were the next item of the wardrobe, Jan realized with a certain horror that her nipples were hardening!  She was enjoying this!  Watts spied the traitorous little knobs and pounced.  “No!” Jan gasped as the bigger woman cupped her breasts from behind and spun her nipples with a surprising gentleness, considering her lack of subtlety earlier.  Jan twisted, eel-like, but was simply lifted again from the floor.  Martin watched appraisingly for several moments before interrupting.  Watts was reluctant to separate from the new toy, but put her back on the ground and stepped away.  Jan was gasping from exertion and a bit more than exertion.  Again, the appraising look from Martin.  She nodded to Watts.

Another gag.  A mask kind of thing, Jan thought.  The packing was apparently some kind of dense foam rubber enclosed in what she thought was leather or vinyl that totally filled her mouth.  The mask part of the thing on the outside was squeezed tightly into her cheeks and actually seemed to wrap partly around her nose on either side, almost completely covering the lower part of her face from the chin to the eyes.  Watts hummed to herself as she pulled and pulled the strap-end to the last hole.  All Jan could smell – and taste – was leather.  Watts stepped back, and Jan heard Martin's heels clacking slowly, deliberately around her in a circle.  Sizing up the goods, she thought.  Oddly, she found herself curious about just how she did look.  Damn it, her nipples were like rocks!  This wasn't fair!  Watts snickered again.

And the blindfold was removed.  Jan jerked back with a start.  They had put up a full-length mirror directly in front of her, and her first view of the world was that of herself.  She was right, the gag was leather and almost wholly hid her face, except for her eyes.  Her mascara had run slightly.  Her forehead was damp and ringlets of hair were glued to the surface.  Her arms were invisible behind her in the sleeve.  The straps holding it up matched the gag in color and texture.  The hobble skirt was the same stuff and was as smooth and seamless as glass.  All in all, not bad, she had to admit.  Now, if the circumstances were just a bit better…

Watts was clearly enjoying the view.  Martin snapped her fingers, picked up her bag, and walked from the room, pausing at the open door.  Watts gestured in defeat and joined her after buckling a collar around Jan's neck and tying off the end of its leash to an eye bolt sticking out of the wall.  The door closed behind them with a dull click.  A few minutes later, Jan heard the van fire up and leave the building.  Through the walls she could hear it crossing some kind of gravelly parking lot and then silence.  They'd left her alone.  What the H was going on?

Worming her shoulders around to try to relieve the pressure on her elbows, she turned back to the center of the room and was jerked up short by the leash.  Oddly enough, it seemed to give slightly.  She walked to the eye bolt and saw that, incredibly, Watts hadn't really tied the thing, the boob.  It appeared that the leash had merely been wound through the eye bolt's hole a couple of times and left it at that.  That seemed awfully sloppy, she thought.  Watts didn't seem like a sloppy type.  Still - she had a horrible thought - if the door was locked, the sloppy leash tie became pretty academic.  She glanced at the door and then back at the leash.  Slowly, she took up the slack and began to back away with the tiny steps the dress allowed her.  And the leash just pulled right through and fell away from the bolt.  Jan found that she was panting both from the exertion of balancing on the top of these ridiculous high spikes and from the fear that somehow, some way the leash would get tangled in the eye bolt.  Now for the door.

Eventually, she got there and found herself with a real job.  How to grab onto, and twist, a knob when you don't have any hands!  The single sleeve was literally skin tight where it ran over her hands; articulation was impossible.  This was ridiculous!  So close and yet so far.  She leaned back against the knob and pressed the side of her joined arms against it, trying to get it to rotate.  The leverage was all wrong.  Desperate, she leaned against it even harder and pushed down with all her weight.  It felt like it was moving!  And suddenly, she slipped!  She was going to fall!  She would never be able to get back up tied the way she was!  She jerked back toward the door, screaming into the gag.  Her feet made tiny, confined jerks in the skirt.  One stilted foot collapsed and she slumped heavily against the sill on the other side of the door and banged her head.  But at least she had her balance back.  She gasped for breath through her nose and waited for the waves of stars to fade.  There had to be a better way.

There was.  It was a low filing cabinet that was - thankfully - empty.  By dint of lots and lots of shoving with her tiny steps, she was able to get the thing up against the door.  That done, the next step was to lay across the thing on her back and lifted her feet to the knob, pinching it between them, and turning.  She paused before the first try.  Was it locked or unlocked?  There was nothing to do but find out.  She twisted.  Her feet slipped, and she cursed.  The dammed slick patent leather shoes!  She got the knob between them again and tried again.  It moved!  It wasn't locked!  Once more she pinned the thing between her feet and twisted her entire body.  God, how far around did it go?

With a final, rather grudging sounding click, the latch opened and she quickly shoved at the door with her toes.  Wrong way - the door opened inward!  She quickly hefted herself off the desk, nearly managing to lose her balance once more, and shoved the desk out of the way.  The door had swung several inches open, but she had to move the desk before it would open farther.

She had been in some kind of small storeroom off the man cavernous bulk of the facility.  She didn't know what it had initially been used for, but it was dirty, and it stank, and it was deserted.  She could hear and, through several of the grimy windows, see cars ambling down a narrow dirt road a few yards from the side of the building.  One went by and she yelled with everything she had but produced nothing more than a muffled “Mmmmph!” the car kept going.

There were padlocks on the two doors she found, and she banged herself off the truck entrance several dozen times before it became rather obvious that the door was well and truly locked.  One setback after another.  Was this never going to end?

That's when she saw the phone.  Black and grimy.  Old and battered.  And connected, she hoped!  Vaguely, she knew that something fundamental was wrong with all this, but in her joy at what seemed such an easy out she quite cheerfully ignored it.  She had a phone and that was all that mattered!

Except that she had another problem.  The phone was sitting on the floor, and she knew that once she was down, she'd never be able to get back up.  Oh well, what the hell - she didn't have any place to go anyway!  She turned her back to the filthy wall and, as carefully as she was able, slid to the floor.  She slipped once toward the end and landed on her butt with a thump and an oath.  She rolled to the phone and stared at it.

It was as old as she had at first thought - no provident push buttons that could be easily pecked at.  This was going to be a little harder than she had thought.  The gag was so heavily padded that it stuck out nearly as far as her nose.  Any fancy dialing was going to be strictly out.

The single most important thing, though, was whether the damned thing was till connected after all this time.  She rolled closer and nudged away at the receiver with her gag.  She finally levered it out of its rest and it slid down to the cement with a solid 'bonk!'.  After the bonk came the buzz.  It was connected!  Hard to believe, but there it was!

The first try failed utterly.  The mask simply shoved the whole telephone around in a little circle.  No good.  She wormed closer so she had a steeper angle of attack and stuck out her nose again.  A big round circle of “O.”  She'd done it!  She didn't quite know how she was going to have a conversation with the operator, but at least she had contact.  And then the buzzing stopped.  She stared at the phone.  What!  She prodded the disconnection buttons.  Tears of frustration were welling up in her eyes.  It wasn't fair!

“Pretty good for a beginner,” came the voice.  Jan froze.  “Not bad at all.”

She turned.  Mr. Baily leaned up against a girder in a tan raincoat.  Thin leather gloves were held in one hand.  He looked as if he'd just concluded a very successful business meeting and was on his way to a good restaurant for the evening.

“When we were tipped to what you were up to, I had a file worked up on you and found out some of your unusual… interests.” He had begun with a small smile, but finished with a hard stare.  He walked over to stand over her.  She cowered back; his hand had gone into a coat pocket and there was a distant bulge in that pocket.

“People in your line of work that get caught usually end up on the bottom of a river.  I think you may prove more useful in other ways.  After you've learned a few more things…” He let the sentence dangle and signaled with his hand.  Martin stepped out from the shadows.

 “After all, we have lots more where that came from,” he said, pointing to the restraints.  “Lots more.  And you with so much to learn.”