© Copyright 2010 - SelfBoundOR - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; cuffs; gag; stuck; Sbf+; van; outdoors; F/f+; torment; tease; cons; X
Sarah sat on the edge of her couch in her living room staring at the swatch of cloth in her hand. She was tense as she considered her next move, evident in her rigid posture, her feet propped up on her toes. Her legs were close together, her usual favorite shackles swapped for a pair of large handcuffs that fit comfortably around her ankles, giving her a very limited inch of clearance instead of the twelve she was used to. She would have to hop to the bed room and find a careful way to get down on her back or stomach to get the keys left on the floor under the bed she needed to free herself, if she could get past the gag. She looked at the adorable, almost childlike bright yellow panties in her hands in the shape of a very un-childlike cotton thong with a little orange cartoon flower in the middle of the small triangle. They were too cute to be naughty and too small it seemed to be underwear. But they were in fact the under garments worn by Anita, the woman who came to her about a month ago, the cause and release of her and Kate's stay in their shower-clamped hell.
Sarah and Kate had left Anita chained to the heat riser in Sarah's apartment, a very erotic self-imposed display of her dedication to them and the club she crafted for their benefit, and they happily ate breakfast and shopped while she squirmed and writhed in her personal kidnapping. They came home a few hours later to release her and watched their mentor pleasure herself right there and then, clearly in charge of her sexuality and unashamed to share it. Anita obviously left later that day sans undergarments, and Sarah was pretty sure she did it on purpose, a little "something" to remember her by. Sarah pressed the slinky garment to her face and smelled the fabric, left unwashed since that day to retain the delicate scent of her perfume. She inhaled the aroma, and the image of Anita's pale naked flesh, shoulders draped with her fiery red hair to match the neatly cropped brazen landing strip below, swirled in her head.
Sarah's noted at the time that Anita seemed less to luxuriate in her self-bondage rather than fully play the victim, a helpless woman being held against her will. She fidgeted and agonized like a person who was truly afraid to be in her situation, and Sarah couldn't begin to imagine what intense fantasy she set for herself to have been so animated. It must have been wonderful, and Sarah wanted a "taste" of it. She hesitated a moment more, enjoying the wafting sweet odor, and then promptly packed the yellow cloth into her mouth, making sure the inside of the garment fell against her tongue. Emulating Anita's decisive tie, Sarah grabbed a long kerchief and fed the wrap between her teeth, clenching down with her teeth on the fabric balling up in her mouth. She tied a firm knot behind her head and gave off a little grunt to test the sound dampening. The wad in her mouth absorbed almost all of the sound and she took a nervous breath through her nose, shuddering a little at its effectiveness.
To finish the sound-absorbing tie, she pulled a cut piece of an old stocking over her head and pulled it down past her jaw line. She gathered the stocking material just above her throat and tied a knot, cinching the open end shut around her neck and pulling the whole cowl firmly against her head. She lingered a minute in her skintight hood, running her hands over the smooth contours of her anonymous face, and the sensation of Anita's passions became much clearer. Sarah could barely see through the stocking material and was capable of breathing, though somewhat labored through the dense cover, and the dehumanizing nature of her bondage was immediately apparent. The cruelty one had to desire to impose such a personal prison was intense, and Sarah was soon in tune with Anita's desperate struggles. The degradation of dirty underwear sealed into her mouth with the face obscuring cover let her really drift into a powerful fantasy; nothing specific right away, but a heightened sense of how alone she was about to be. None of the club, not even Kate, were notified of this afternoon's delight in which she was about to engage; she wanted Anita all to herself, to be part of an intimate sisterhood, helpless in her forced pleasures.
Sarah groped around on the couch and placed her hand on the two-inch posture collar she purchased on a recommendation from Kate, not very intense until you needed to move your head, then very much an issue. Hooked through the D-ring of the collar was a pair of her shiny handcuffs, and these were set behind her head as she buckled the collar around her delicate throat. She noticed how the collar covered the knot of her stocking mask, and appreciated the unintentional mechanical perfection of her rig. Sarah got to her feet and set them flat to get her balance in her short cuffs; she cupped her breasts in her hands and gave them a sensuous squeeze. She turned on the balls of her feet and approximated the direction of the riser pipe Anita rode that day, and took a little breath through the mask. With a sudden start, she hopped forward about 4 steps and her hand landed on her TV; turning a touch to the right she hopped twice more and her hand found the riser.
Her unfettered breasts tossed and heaved indecently with her ungainly bounce and she marveled at their soft fullness, giving them one last pleasant squeeze. She leaned into the cool riser and let her tits straddle the pipe, a good starting point as far from the key as she could think while still being in the apartment. Her shades were closed to keep prying eyes out, her jiggling and fussing were hers alone to relish. In place, Sarah reached up over her head and snagged the cuffs behind her neck. In keeping with Anita's decisiveness, she clasped the bracelets on quickly, trapping her hands behind her head, her elbows pointing up and out, arms folded like unintentional angel wings. The position pulled her tits a little higher and she leaned away from the pipe and gave her torso a quick whipping twist, sending her breasts into a lustful sway that registered in her loins and she felt a little wetness form to her delight.
Sarah lingered for several minutes at the pipe, and the predicament of her tie evolved into a rush of submission, a need to meet the perverse needs of a strict master. As if bidden, her phantom appeared, direct and forceful and she trembled at the thought and feeling of his dark work. Ordered by her kidnapper to stay where he could see her, she complied and nuzzled the cold pipe, staying out of trouble if she knew what was good for her. She was snatched from an isolated path while jogging in the park, and now, naked, bound and terrified for her safety, she obeyed her abductor dutifully, and listened as he rifled through her wallet and phone for a number to call in her ransom. She had no idea where her clothes were, except for her thong panties, which the bastard had peeled off her and stuffed indignantly into her mouth to keep her quiet. She tongued the cottony material and swore she could taste her sweat and maybe a little pee. She cringed at the humiliating treatment; wasn't it enough someone was trying to sell her freedom back to her loved ones, but she had to be broken as well?
Mortified by her situation, a few gentle sobs shook her chest and dampness from tears spread across her mask. She felt alone and cut off, separate from even her own skin, barely able to hear or see, never mind call for help. Her arms began to ache from their awkward overhead reach, as well as her feet and legs working very hard to maintain her balance in their tight stance. Her opportunity arrived as the kidnapper left her alone, confident she was too overwhelmed with fear to try and escape; the keys to her chains were tossed into her bedroom where she had no chance of finding them in the mess. Little desperate squeaks started to leak out of the nylon mask and the urge to escape was getting strong. Leaning against the pipe, she turned around on the spot and estimated the distance and direction to the hall that led to her bedroom; she imagined about five hops slightly to her left.
With a moment's courage, she started her cuffed bunny hop and stopped after five difficult leaps, adrift in the open space of her living room completely unaware of how far anything now was from her. One wrong move in any direction and she could hit something hard mid-hop, pushing off her balance and sending her to the ground. She trembled at the thought and stood still for a minute to imagine just where she was. Sarah turned a hair to the right and took one hop, swinging her elbows as much as she could around her head like antennae to find a landmark; still blind and in open water. She took a few deep breaths, anxious of how close she figured she was to the bar side of her kitchen counter. She rose to the balls of her feet and gave a couple of tiny hops, twisting at her waist to send her elbows in search of something, anything. Her tits jiggled and the tawdry sensation became a little maddening as the sense of exposure she felt, lost in the middle of her living room, made her feel very naked.
One more tiny hop forward and she still found nothing. How could she have been so off? And how much time does she have until her ‘napper returns; surely he won't leave her un-anchored a second time. She spread her elbows out as far as she could and finally found something, but it seemed foreign to her. Her right elbow was able to brush a very smooth surface as she swept it and she turned to press her body against the panel in a hunch. With one micro-hop, she was able to squash her breasts against what she was sure was her hall mirror; how she got that far and right where she wanted to go was beyond her understanding. Sarah wished she could see what she looked like in her reflection, imagining the tight smooth skin of her underarms exposed with her hands chained behind her; her sexy curves available for grasping hands, framed between her collar and her ankle cuffs, not a stitch on to even pretend she had any modesty. Every tender, ticklish part of her was revealed and she could only pray her tormentor wouldn’t return to take further advantage.
She turned to face the short hall, not more than 3-4 good hops to her bedroom door, and she braced her legs for the next bouncing run. She took one hop and stopped, engaging her brain to feel every little reaction her body experienced with the landing; her tits bounced and lurched uncontrollably with the sudden movement, swaying in an alluring fashion she could feel linger after each "step". Her ass jiggled from the shock of each landing, little come hither shakes that spread down into her crotch. The solid thump her bare feet made each time they contacted the ground was another reminder of just how vulnerable she was in her state. Sarah rocked a little on her toes, her balance getting a little wonkier with each jump. She got her composure and finished the trip to the threshold of the bedroom, her deep breaths sounding desperate and labored through the mask.
Sarah took several small hops into the bedroom; fairly confident she could bump into her bed and not fall. Her knees found the edge and she hopped around in place to turn her ass toward the bed and took a seat. She sat on the edge of her mattress, catching her breath in the restricting mask, trying to ease the ache in her arms and legs from their strict positions. Her shoulders ached from the arms-up position and she attempted to roll her head to give them a little stretch, but the posture collar kicked in and her head was kept locked forward, neck straight. She whimpered a little at this obstacle, but got herself settled and considered her next move. She had tossed the cuff keys under the bed before she began her session, and knew they were down there somewhere amongst the dust bunnies and forgotten shoes. She realized her hands would be useless in her search, and she was going to have to use her feet and legs, hobbled as they were, to probe around for the tiny slip of metal.
She got up onto her feet and turned to face the bed, leaned forward, letting her tits fall into the soft unmade sheets and rested her weight on her upper torso. She slid down the edge of the bed onto her knees and waited there for a minute, enjoying the subservient sensation that ran through her as she was now forced kneel in her helplessness. After satisfying another footnote in her active imagination, she slid over to her left hip, stretched her legs out in front of her and settled into an upright sitting position on her butt. She swung around to be sure she was facing the bed and let her cuffed feet slip around under the edge of the bed frame, her toes probing for what she thought she'd be able to discern as the key. Several minutes went past in her fruitless search, and she could feel her soles getting a little dirty from the ages of dust and grime she let linger in the underdark of her bed. Her toes brushed and curled over shoe heels and empty boxes, some balled up tissues she had to shake free after she touched them; it was as if she was learning how to see the world for the first time through a new interface, making the key seem all the more lost.
In her seated position, she found her shins were banging into the bed frame, hindering her reach. Sarah laid back and scooted her butt closer to the bed, in the process kicking a variety of objects around in her blindness. She groaned at the though of her key being buried under junk, but she continued the search, reaching deeper and discovered even more lost items from her past through the soft touch of her feet and toes. She paid careful attention to her calves and heels as she stretched and arched her feet, feeling for what they were brushing by.
About forty-five minutes went by with no success and Sarah started to panic a little. She was sure she gave the key a soft toss; there was no way it slid more than a foot or two under the bed. She inched her butt up and down the length of the bed, making new forays in search of her freedom. Another hour past, and her panic spread into a slow burning frenzy as she retraced every inch of her padded examinations of the floor, and she realized she would have to calm down and regroup. On her back, Sarah pushed herself out from under the bed and lay prostrate for a few minutes, running the various angles of how best to get to the other side of the bed. She had cleared the door side since she figured she'd find the key from here, but she wondered how she would navigate to the far side.
She decided, rather than spend energy trying to stand up or get back on top of the bed, she would inch worm her away around the bed. She bent her legs at the knees and pulled her feet into her crotch, pressed her soles against the floor and gave herself a push and turn toward the corner of the bed. Her guiding elbows found the leg of the foot board and she slid around to the foot of the bed with a few more leg pushes where she encountered her first obstacle: a minefield of shoes. She grunted her displeasure as she forced herself over the various pieces of footwear, letting them roll under her as she pushed forward, pinching and scratching her as they made their journey under her back and ass, making her feet slip as she inadvertently pressed against them to drive closer to the other side of the bed. As she rounded the other corner of the foot of the bed, her elbows caught the next trap, her piles of books and magazines; trashy romance novels, trade publications, more than a few bondage model mags and a library of various history and mystery novels that caught her imagination.
Like a worm furrowing through the soil, Sarah pressed on her with her dual leg thrust, sending the various piles to either side of her. She slid onto some magazines and could feel the pages curling under her back and she lamented the unwarranted damage silently; she hoped those weren't her favorite Detective Magazines. She came to a stop where she thought was about middle of the other side of the bed and probed with her feet to find the edge of the frame. The cool metal met her warm skin and she skooched closer to start her probes. Her hobbled legs swept the underside of the bed, finding new stores of ancient shoes and keepsake boxes. She rolled onto her side and let her insteps and arches take over the tactile duties, but to no avail. Another hour went by and Sarah's feet were unable to land on what she thought would be the key from this side of the bed.
Defeated and scared, she withdrew her legs from the dusty underbelly and curled up in a ball; exhausted and spent from the constant minute muscle strains she endured over the maddening search. Tears were wicked from her eyes by the nylon mask as she started to cry, unsure of what to do and very much alone. Her tongue teased her mouth filling and she wondered if this is what Anita felt at her most hopeless, not even the unwanted touch of a tormentor to distract her from her predicament. She sobbed gently, her cries nearly completely muffled, and her tremors amplified the hard ache in her legs from hours of yoga-like extensions. Her stomach muscles were screaming from all of the leg lifts and squat thrusts she performed throughout the ordeal. The various books and shoes now spread about willy-nilly on the floor, digging into her back and surely burying her precious key by now, were aggravating reminders of her impetuousness. Scared and exhausted, she laid for a long time amid her debris, focusing on the hard work of her breathing and soon drifted off into an uneasy, fitful sleep.
Sarah awoke, groggy, and in a great deal of pain. She was disoriented from the lack of vision and hearing and was completely oblivious to time and space. She wondered how long she had passed out for, and it was a full thirty seconds before she realized her wrists and ankles were still in cuffs. She groaned at the relentless reminder of her bondage and talked herself into starting the search for her key anew. She strained to do a sit-up and get into an upright sitting position, moaning all the way. She decided to do a "short" search and check the edge of the bed on that side. Several minutes went by as Sarah slid and tapped her toes and soles on the floor, sector by sector, searching for her release. Coming up empty, Sarah imagined the worst, wondering what people were going to think when she failed to show up for work on Monday, or if Kate or Anita would get worried and stop by... embarrassing, but far better than the police or a co-worker. The idea that she was going to be trapped like this at least all weekend started to settle in and a familiar knot formed in her stomach, an awkward feeling that this was going to be a long arduous affair and she was going to be intimately aware of every second that passed. She experienced another pang of futility as she tugged in vain at her metal restraints and gave up with a defeated sniffle. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes and she could feel the stocking mask get wet around her ears.
Kate’s face appeared clear as day in her mind, looking down at her, shaking her dead in disappointment at the selfish girl on the floor. She really regretted running head long into this now, and wondered if she could even reach her phone, let alone use it. With no one coming to save her and no way to call for help, and terrified of being caught by the wrong people, she went back to the long boring task of probing for her key. Sarah slid her butt toward the foot of the bed again and let her toes slide down the cool metal leg of the footboard. As she let her feet land flat on the floor, she stopped dead at the feeling of a small metal tab about one inch long nestle into her arch. She gasped at the find and very delicately maneuvered her toes into position over the object and curled them to scoop it up. She let it drop about a foot from where she picked it up and swung her body around to get her head near the spot. Her hands groped the floor and finally made contact with the cool metal. Squirming to get into position, she pinched the ring of the key and plucked it off the ground, starting in earnest the process of releasing her hands. A minute later, the cuffs dangled empty down her back and she unbuckled the stiff collar, letting the whole rig fall to the floor and join the mess. She stretched the mask free from under her chin and pulled it off, reveling in the sensation of cool air on her face again since… She realized she had no idea how long she was secured in her rigging.
With her ankles still in the cuffs and her very personal gag still silencing her, she rolled over onto her knees, thrust her ass in the air and proceeded to pleasure herself, running her fingers over her clit hood with varying long and short strokes of her middle and forefinger, her knees splaying open as her feet crossed. It only took her a minute and a half, and the intense waves spread from her loins, down her legs and through her torso and arms. As the tingling subsided, she rolled over and pulled her knees to her chest, giving her cuffs a couple of quick turns of the key and letting them fall from her legs; she rubbed the sensation back into the deep impressions that remained. Sarah freed the knot behind her head and tossed the kerchief on the bed. She reached into her mouth and slowly pulled the illicit yellow panties from their hidden compartment and admired them again as she did before she let them ravish her mind and body. She and Anita were commingled in sweat, spit and cum on that sexy little patch, and she wondered what she would do to them next, or whether she would ever give them back. Hopping onto her feet, she snagged her naughty toy box out of the closet and slipped her very special talisman in there for safekeeping.
She stumbled into the hall and the kitchen, awestruck at the bright daylight streaming through her windows. "Holy crap," she thought, "What time is it?" She scooped up her Blackberry and her jaw dropped; she had spent over fifteen hours struggling to find her key and sleeping in her bondage, a new personal best. "I guess she brings out the best of the worst in me," she thought of the donor of her nasty gag, giggling to herself. She noticed beneath the time that she had several new messages unread since yesterday. She had pondered whether to set her auto-reply and answering machine message to "Sorry, Sarah's tied up at the moment...” but she realized that would probably just be an invite to Kate or some other snoop from the club to check in on her. She never would've made a personal best if they came to release her right away...
She noticed there was a message from Anita, already over twenty-fours hours old, with the subject "New game - short notice". Sarah scanned the message:
"Hello my lovely bondagettes! I have finally gotten all of the details and materials straightened out for our next group game. Some the equipment is “on loan” so we need to start right away. The start is simple: I will text one person and have them arrive at the predetermined location I have set up. If you get a text or e-mail telling you to come to the site, please stick to the time that person asks you to come. We don't want to make this game end too early..."
Sarah could imagine all of the wicked grins of the club members with the last line. She scanned the other e-mails and saw that Erica and Annabelle had already cc'd her on their message to arrive at the site. The last message she saw was from Kate, and her message was intriguing:
"I can barely type this as I quiver in anticipation of the tasty treat Anita has prepared for us. It's your turn, Sarah. Find the white van behind the Apex Mechanical factory at Mercer St. and Blithe Ave. Let's make it 10AM ;)"
Sarah looked at the time stamp of her message and saw it arrived about 9:30 last night. A knot swelled in her stomach, it was almost noon. She was so busy writhing around in her own little mess; she was completely out of the loop about everyone else. She panicked at the thought that they may have been in danger, self-imposed or not, and she scrambled to get out of the house. She would forgo the shower she desperately needed after her rough sweaty night and slipped on what she figured was appropriate for slipping off quickly later for the game, a loose pair of shorts and a baggy tank top. She slid her feet into her flip-flops, grabbed her wallet, keys and phone and ran out the door. On the street and feeling very under-dressed in the bright, chilly day, she hailed a cab and gave him the cross streets. The driver gave her a puzzled look over his shoulder, asking if that was right, and she confirmed it, Apex Mechanical. She was extremely self-conscious about the deep indents on her wrists and ankles, still fresh from just this morning, and she was sure he noticed them and knew what made them. "You're not exactly dressed for that part of town, but you're the boss..." He gave a shrug and started on his way.
The cold air and her anxiety made her edgy and her nipples were rock hard under her thin shirt, making her wish she thought twice about clothes before she dashed out the door. She was quite sure the driver was checking her out every half a minute or so in the rear view mirror, making her incredibly uneasy. The leering eyes and nervous silence were made worse by the fact that the ride was dragged out by traffic and pedestrians clogging the corners and what should have been a 20-30 minute ride across town earlier this morning was almost an hour and a half in the early afternoon. It was a long trip anyway, outside of the normal bustle of midtown to the far edges of the city, the backdrop outside her window getting more industrial and rusted as they traveled. At Mercer and Blithe, the view was bleakest of all, abandoned hulks of factory buildings on all four corners running the length of the blocks, victims of manufacturing jobs sent overseas. The cabbie pulled up on the corner of Apex Mechanical and turned to Sarah, "This is it... you sure you want to be here?"
Sarah looked at the massive husks of once busy buildings looming over her head and nodded a nervous assent, "Yeah, sorta need to be. In fact, I may already be late..." For just an instant, she wondered how he'd react if she told him that there were four women tied up somewhere in that place, most likely completely naked, and she was there only chance for rescue; perhaps he'd comp the ride. She dropped her gaze to avoid eye contact during that thought, handed the driver the fare, over $50 to get here, and stepped out into the chilly mid-afternoon shadows. The cab sped off, and she was quite alone at the four corners of a place that likely once had ten thousand people stream through on any given day and time in its hey day.
She read Kate's message again: Find the white van behind Apex Mechanical. From where she stood, she could see the riverfront, so the back of the building must be at dockside. She started the lonely walk along the perimeter of the enormous building, the ground strewn with old bits of rusted metal and shards of broken glass, certainly not fit for flip-flops, never mind bare feet. She continued her slow march toward the unknown, and she shivered as she entered the cold shadow of the long side of the building. She crossed her arms across her chest, realizing just how jiggly she was without her bra, (and remembering the driver's constant glances) and wished she were better prepared. Her steps kept kicking old rusted bolts and little bent sheets of metal before her as she went deeper into the abandoned space.
After about a fifteen minute walk, freezing in what was normally her pajamas or laundry day wear, she reached the corner of the building and saw the river sprawl before her, a wide stretch of water separating the city from the suburbs. The bridge was just a little ways off, a picture postcard view if ever she saw one; she was sure every single person driving across it now could see her nipples, they were so hard from the cold. She turned the corner and there in the middle of the loading dock area facing the river, sticking out quite like a sore thumb, was a clean new white van, windowless around the cargo section. She approached the vehicle, looking around to see if she could spot Anita or any of the others, and examined the rear double doors. An envelope was taped to the door, looking a little ratty and re-stuck a few times, with the word "Hostages" written and underlined in black ink. Sarah peeled the envelope off the door and read the note inside:
"Congratulations! You have found the kidnapper's van! Victims are already waiting inside, so at this point you have a choice. You can:
1. Get into the van and drive it back to Anita's, freeing the current hostages and saving them from further torment. The keys to the gear are in a box on my bed and an extra key to my apartment is in the envelope. And don't bother going to my place and bringing the keys back here. I know you'll all take cabs here and you'll never get one to come and pick you up out here. You'll have to drive the van. Please be gentle with the precious cargo within. You'll get special treatment during our next game ;)
2. You can be "caught" by the kidnappers and taken prisoner as well. Get in the back of the van and bind yourself the same as the other victims. There is enough room and gear for four abductees. If you choose to stay, be sure to send a message to the next person on the list with a good time to come get you. Take note, it will add to the many hours the rest of us of have already been held captive, not that we mind ;)
A hastily hand written note at the bottom of the page read, "If you're reading this Sarah; Sorry, you're the last one on the list and will have to take us home to safety. I'll make it up to you... XO Kate" And below that, "P.S. We're completely under your control. You don't know when you'll get this chance again. Make it interesting..." X-K
Sarah threw her head back in frustration. "Some game...” she thought. She wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that she was now responsible for who or whatever she found inside, the fact that she didn't get to join in the play, or that what she really wanted was to go home and take a shower, get out of the cold and get a decent night's sleep. She blew the hair out of her face and tucked the envelope and key into her pocket. With a bit of ceremony in her head, a grand unveiling of sorts, Sarah grabbed the handles of the rear doors and threw them open.
"Ta-da!" she thought. But what came out of her mouth was, "Holy crap!" Warm moist air carrying the scent of sweat and urine hit her in the face, and she cringed a little as she thought about how the air felt like it stuck to her skin as it escaped into the chilly afternoon. But then Sarah's jaw dropped open a bit as she took in the sight of four naked women kneeling with their backs to the sides of the van, two on either side, short-chained by handcuffs on their wrists and ankles, arms pulled overhead to the support structure that held up the van's roof. The very real looking hostages were all wearing long black hoods that draped down to their shoulders, but appeared to cinch up around the throat to prevent them from being pulled off. Four different pairs of breasts spanning the spectrum of shape and size heaved at Sarah's eye-line, each accentuated by a pair of shiny new clover clamps squeezing the nipples. She wasn't quite sure what to say or think, and she checked over her shoulder a few times to make sure no one else was around, waiting in hiding for the last person to arrive and make them the fifth and now real hostage.
Between the knees of the two prisoners near the doors was a milk crate with a paper label taped to it, "Toy Box" written on it. Sarah looked into the empty box. "Damn..." she thought, "I could've at least used a pair of shackles to wear home. No, that wouldn't work, cause I'd be the one who had to traipse across Anita's lobby with chains on to get their keys. Better off, I guess...” She turned her attention back to the four beauties hung on the walls of the van. She realized that Kate and Anita were the ones closer to the front, behind the seats. The two at the back must be Erica and Annabelle. Sarah had only written and texted them; this was quite an introduction; in the flesh, literally.
Sarah climbed into the back of the van and closed the doors behind her. She took a kneeling position herself in the middle of the four slave girls and examined their technique. Anita had done her homework; this van had two nice struts arcing against the ceiling of the van to reinforce it. To make it lighter, the builders cut out sections of the struts in a repeating pattern and the women used these holes to hang their cuffs from; they were basically tethered directly to the structure of the van. In the waning light from the windshield, Sarah noticed a dome in the ceiling with a switch; she flicked it and a bright light came on illuminating the cargo. She could now see the holes in the floor of the van that acted as drains, and little rivers of fresh pee ran slowly to them, feeding a drip she could hear falling rhythmically. Sarah gently pinched the material of one of the hoods, feeling how dense it was; none of them could tell whether the light was on or not. She watched the hoods puff in and out with the nervous labored breathing of the scared victims, obviously all lost in their own world; she wasn't even sure if they knew she was there. The muffled sounds coming from all four women as they writhed and twisted in their helplessness told her they were all also wearing gags under the hoods, and the thought came to her that this was less a van and more a mobile medieval torture chamber.
Sarah slid up next to Kate and pressed against her, running her hands over the obscured contours of her face through the velvety hood, finding the details of the ball gag that kept her to a quiet series of grunts. Wanting to taunt her and say "Hi" in her own way, Sarah placed the side of her face against Kate's, an inch from her ear, and whispered, "Hi, kitten", right as she gave her tight clovers a little twist. Kate cooed affectionately, reveling in Sarah's personal attention. She grinned and bit her lip at the odd pickle she was in; her four friends were trapped and exposed inside this van that she now had to drive across town through traffic, detours and very public streets. She was as much as a prisoner in her task as they were in form.
Sarah wrapped a finger of either hand around the clamp chains of the two behind the seats and gave them a playful yank, following up with the two near the door. The four captives filed their complaints in the form of annoyed or scared little moans and grunts and she smiled as they all started to breath heavier, responding to the very real physical input. She slid up to Anita in her kneeling stress position and cupped her hands under Anita's pert 36B's, holding them up just a bit, and leaned in to whisper, "I've been thinking about you all night." Sarah let go of her grasp and Anita's breasts bounced and jiggled for her, the clamps doing their happy dance. Anita gave a satisfied grunt that trailed into a whimper, and Sarah felt she hit a chord.
She slid to the back of the van, realizing that, despite the nifty drainage, she was still kneeling and sitting in puddles of the women's excretions, her shorts were now quite damp. She groaned her displeasure and handed out another round of yanks; more fondly met this time. Sarah decided to give Annabelle and Erica a little attention, running her hands over their firm, exposed stomachs and sliding her fingers up to their exposed underarms, dragging her nails over the sensitive skin there and sending them both into convulsive ticklish fits. Their squeals carried a touch of agony and glee as they tried desperately to escape with nowhere to possibly go. She thought for a moment about her precarious pose in her private session last night, and imagined what it would have felt like to have a tormentor tease her so while groping for her keys. She'd still be helpless, buried in the mess of her bedroom, and projecting what she knew now, these four women would have as well. The lack and grip of power she had experienced over the past eighteen hours was staggering; the thought made her a little light headed and a wetness formed in her shorts that was soon to rival the outside of them.
She finished her personal taunts, flicked off the cargo light and made her way to the driver's seat. She noticed the small pile of skimpy, easily slipped off clothes and shoes on the passenger seat, and felt a little better about how little she was wearing. There was obviously more than one cab driver that got a show that day. The key was sitting in the ignition; "How easy..." she thought, "would it have been for some homeless guy out here on the river front to find a treasure trove of sex slaves and for these women to never be heard from again?" The thought made her swoon and she took a minute to steady her nerves. The long part of the night was ahead of her, but she figured she could share the load, "All right my lovelies, it's time to go..." Kate gave off a disappointed whine. "But before we get you home, I have a few errands to run. Why don't you join me?" The women all gave some variation of a nervous groan and chests heaved as the multitude of thoughts as to what Sarah had in mind flurried about.
The engine started with a rumble and for the first time, it seemed, the women were fully aware that they were about to be moved from this spot. Nervous shifts and clinking metal signaled some squirming, and Sarah put the van into gear and started to roll out of the secluded dock. As she turned the corner of the building, she saw the long driveway along the length of the facility was ridged every fifty feet or so with speed bumps. Sarah giggled evilly to herself, "That should make for a nice warm up." She gave the van a little gas and turned to hit the bump on an angle. As they mounted first bump, the van pitched hard to the right on its suspension, and Sarah struggled to keep from laughing maniacally out loud as her four prisoners were tossed hard about the cabin, cuffs pulling taut on arms and limbs, knees sliding about as they frantically tried to get their balance back. The body of the van rocked back and forth as she hit level ground again, keeping the guests on their proverbial toes. A chorus of pained moans and muffled objections rang out from the brig, dying down just as Sarah started the process again on the next bump. The van rocked and bucked over a foot in each direction as she took each bump askew, and the hostages knew then that they were in for an agonizing ride. Sarah pretended to ignore their complaints, though she relished each angry grunt and terrified squeal, and turned on to the road outside of the factory to start the long journey home. The sun was setting, and with the cargo light off, the women were quite well hidden in the back, but Sarah figured they wouldn't know that; the thought of a few good places to take them came to mind.
The cab Sarah rode out in must have had great suspension, because the van seemed to register every bump and divot, even when she didn't want it to. She knew how each little vibration must have felt in the aching wrists and ankles of the passengers as they would call out in seeming unison the severity of each road defect, every unattended asphalt scar sending painful shock waves into the van's support structure. The road she was on to get back into town was fairly straight here, and she could easily tell how each side street connected back to the main road as part of the area’s grid. She made a series of sudden sharp right and left turns, sending the van's contents against and away from the walls at each sweep, eliciting a litany of unhappy groans; also making the ride that much longer with the not so scenic tour.
As she left the industrial area, Sarah couldn't help but notice how isolated and empty the stretch of road was; the meager lights of the abandoned factory district gave way to the complete blackness of the disused industrial road they now traveled. Only the headlights of the van gave any illumination, and Sarah decided to narrate her trepidation for the benefit of her captive audience and tweak their already frazzled nerves. "My god, it's so dark here. I can't imagine how I would have found you if you were sitting out here, helpless in the back of a cold dark van; I don't think you ever would have been found. Could you imagine if we broke down out here? I'd have to leave you in the pitch black for who knows how long to look for help. And I'm not wearing much at all... some townies would probably spirit me back to their cabin or farm and keep me tied up there. I'd have to offer you for my freedom, but I think it'd be worth it." A naughty grin exposed her teeth as concerned little whimpers emerged from the back like tied up campers quaking at the telling to a ghost story. She continued, "My mirrors are completely black, but I think there's a car following us; probably locals coming after any car that drives out here after dark; easy pickings for the taking. Can you imagine what they'll do with what they find in here? At least I have a chance to get away..." Sarah suppressed a chuckle as Erica let out a moan that she thought sounded like "shut up". "Oh, don't worry Erica, no one's going to hurt you, at least until they're done with Annabelle. I'm sure they'd love to try some exotic Asian cuisine first...” Annabelle let out her own squeal, and Sarah could distinctly identify with the stomach butterflies that pushed it out.
As she continued on the dark empty road, she decided it was time to really play. "Oh, there's something, a gas station just up ahead. We actually need some gas, so I'm gonna pull in." The women grew quiet as the van pulled off the road a little and trudged to a stop. Sarah cut the engine, and turned to the now shivering girls, "Now don't make a sound, I don't think they can see you back there, so keep it down and you'll stay hidden." The women returned very muffled assents and settled down, only the sound of their breathing cutting the nervous silence; even Anita seemed tense at this first test.
Sarah, barely able to contain herself, climbed out of the van and shut the door. She rattled the gas cap a bit to better set the scene and stepped about fifteen feet into the darkness where the imaginary gas station was and slipped her shorts off to take a quick pee. After a minute, she rose from her squat and got into character as she approached the van, speaking nice and clear, "Gosh, sorry mister, I didn't realize my card would get declined, and I'm all out of cash from shopping. Perhaps I could offer you something else?" She intoned an innocent coyness and pretended for just a second like she was actually ready to trade sex for gas. The idea got her tingly. "Oh wait, how about, instead of me..." she threw open the doors of the van, "You could take a few turns on them?"
Erica and Annabelle howled protests into their gags, believing every poorly acted bit of the conversation, unaware of Sarah's true intentions. Kate squirmed a little, seeming to indicate she was ready to help pay for gas if she had to. Anita remained calm and under control, not moving from her kneeling squat on her calves. She seemed more than aware of where they were and what dangers were real. Sarah reached up and pinched her nipples through the thin tank top, driving the fantasy of selling her friends into bondage slavery a little harder in her mind. She climbed into the back of the van and rubbed her hands over Annabelle's 36C breasts, "This one's Asian. Nice and fit, with big full tits. Ever have sex with a Chinese sex slave before? They're very obedient. She'll satisfy your every need..." she smarmed, putting on her best Turkish bazaar salesman pitch. Annabelle pulled against her cuffs and snapped her head back and forth in an attempt to shake her head in displeasure under the hood; her muffled cries and a few sudden sobs carrying no weight as her body was clearly unable to back up her meager threats.
Sarah continued to speak to the darkness, "Tell you what... fill our tank and you can have this one too." Sarah grabbed Erica's clamp chain and gave it a yank, her delicate 28A's on her slender frame resisting the pull by thrusting out. Sarah's hands reached in and started to massage the soft flesh of the budding breasts, intrigued by the difference from her own full, swelling bosom. She flicked her clamps around and barked an order, "C'mon, my love, let's hear you beg...”
Not knowing what to believe, Erica moaned and whined at the sharp stings of the swinging clamps, and she put on a good show for whomever she thought might be watching. The two women near the door heaved heavy breaths and sobbed occasionally as Sarah watched their bodies display what horrors were racing through their minds for about thirty seconds. She gave a nasty laugh and pulled the doors shut; all four women jumped at the sudden sound. "Well, that was fun. I need to see how many more times I can do that before you don't believe me anymore. At least I know we’ll always be able to pay for gas." The two nearly sold women grumbled angrily, while Kate clearly laughed into her gag and Anita gave some sarcastic groan. Sarah started up the engine again and continued down the dark vision-less road. Another 10 minutes and the lights of downtown started to shine in the distance. Sarah announced the sight and the cargo gave gentle cheers. Sarah turned to remind them, "Now, if I stop, you'll know there are people around us. The real game begins." The happy grunts fell silent as the concern of what this woman would do next boggled their minds. Sarah wasn't quite sure, but she could swear Anita lifted her hands just a little higher above her head and leaned her head back, somehow now ready to show off her dedication to her taboo desires, and Sarah couldn't help but admire her for it.
The first lights of downtown formed a formal threshold from the dark unused road and suddenly the back of the van seemed a lot brighter with the glow of the street and traffic lamps flowing in. Sarah turned briefly to see her tethered passengers tucked into shadows of the windowless hold and felt a little better about avoiding arrest for human trafficking, simulated as it might have been. Anita's home was a fairly straight shot from here, but Sarah decided to drag out there torture a little longer and hung a hard right at the next street. She drove several blocks, taking note of all the foot traffic out in the evening, heading to and from bars and restaurants, movies, some shopping. She could feel eyes boring into her as she sat at a red light, sure that the crimson beacon shone like a spot light upon the innocent lambs held against their wills in the back of her rapist van. A little wetness spread across her brow and in her shorts as the anxiety of the moment swelled and the light seemed to linger too long just to thwart her.
"I need to get somewhere and clear my trail for a few minutes" she thought, "and I know just the place."
A few more blocks through busy evening crowds brought her to a real gas station, brightly lit from all sides and above. The van was chugging more gas than she realized and she pulled into the self-serve to get some actual gas. She turned to her charges, "OK ladies, we actually need gas now and we're in a gas station that's bright as day. Don't move and don't make a sound or this could be our last trip in our own chains." The reality of the situation settled in and all four women lowered their heads in silence.
Sarah stepped from the van and closed the door; a young hipster guy approached her in blue overalls with the company's logo emblazoned on it, "Need any help...?"
Sarah looked the inquiring man in the eye and poured on the charm, showing off her nearly naked form through her thin clothes in an effort to keep all eyes on her. A few more attentive stares landed on her and she wasn't sure if she was garnering too much notice. "Just play it cool..." she thought to herself, "Nope I got it, just need to top off..." She cringed as she heard her own words slip out of her mouth and wondered if every guy within earshot was now thinking of her with her top off. She remember what she was trying to do and looked down at her nipples advertising themselves quite clearly through the sheer fabric, wondering if they'd ever go soft again after running around this cold night. She looked at the man following her own boob-gazing and played it up a little more. She followed up coyly, "I got it."
He stammered a bit, agog at the scantily clad woman, "Well... you should get inside dressed like that. It's...uh... it's gonna get colder tonight..."
"Thanks, I will..." she responded sweetly. With every gaping orb on her ass and tits at the gas cap, hopefully no one was looking too hard into the windows.
The gas seemed to flow with a slow trickle on purpose, taunting her to stand there in the stark white neon light that seemed to make her skin shine right through her threadbare shirt; Sarah could practically see the goose bumps on her nipples under the thin ribbed white cotton. She shivered as she held the handle of the gas hose, the thirsty van guzzling non-stop. After a few long minutes, the handle popped in her hand, and she anxiously yanked the nozzle from the cap, a trail of drops landing across her toes, unprotected in her flip-flops. She let out a little startled gasp, more frustration than fear and slammed the nozzle back onto the pump. Sarah climbed back into the van, the smell of gas rising up from her feet, and started the engine; thinking about what to do next when she saw the sign right next to the station: automatic, brush-less car wash; free basic wash with fill-up. She had to bite her lip to keep the other from hearing her smile, "Now, I get to kill two birds with one stone, my bound angels... I've dripped gas on my toes I need to wash off aaaand I get a free car wash for filling up the van. Looks like everything's going my way."
The women made no sound, except Anita who gave a resigned moan, seeming to know how Sarah's wicked mind was clicking this evening. She put the van into gear and rolled over the to the entrance of the tunnel where an attendant stood waiting to run the wash. "Shhh... I need to roll down the window..." Anita, behind the passenger seat, tensed up, knowing how visible she was from the driver's window. The attendant approached the driver's door and Sarah rolled down the window. Turning and leaning hard against the door, she let her barely clad tits hang over the bottom of the window, filling the space with her upper body; she set a little jiggle in motion as the stunned man ogled her, "Here you go... I get a free car wash" she beamed, wanting every bit of his attention on her.
"Uh... yeah... you sure do...one basic wash, coming up," he tripped over his tongue, eyes fixated on her nipples threatening to cut through the gauzy cloth of her tank top.
"Thanks, honey..." she beamed a gorgeous smile, still leaning into the window as the conveyor belt captured the van. Sarah got the window rolled up just as the water appeared and she watched as the van slowly rolled forward on its own into the drenching spray. Long silent moments passed as the hum of water jets pelted the shell of the vehicle; nervous groans started to escape from the puffing hoods, unsure of what to make of the raging buzz coming from all around. She kicked off her flip-flops, hopped from the driver's seat and knelt down at the door, crouched between Erica and Annabelle, trembling at the anticipation of what was next to come. "Time to clean this smelly van out, ladies. Despite the drains, you HAVE been peeing in it, and it's pretty rank." The nervous squeaks became desperate grunts with this new information and Sarah cracked the rear door open and saw the spray obscuring her view to the outside.
Convinced they were under good cover, she pushed the doors open to the spatter of hot spraying water, foamy suds quickly gathering around her feet. A pool of steamy water quickly formed from the spray and covered the bottom of the van floor; Sarah sloshed her toes through the in-rush of water while the four women let out discomforted muffled howls as their calves and feet was soon deep in the soapy wash. The van continued its roll forward and Sarah suddenly found herself caught off guard when the spray became a blast of water into the cabin, a high-pressure stream that was supposed the clean dirt off of the back doors. Her clothes were soaked through instantaneously, her tank top becoming completely invisible, and she fell over from the force onto her ass. The hostages screamed their displeasure and squirmed in their restraints, moving what they could; their hips undulating, arms pulled aloft twisting over their heads, knees splayed open as they lost their balance on the newly slick floor. The hoods became fully drenched in the deluge and clung to their heads, the contours of the ball gags in their mouths and their noses gasping for air all clearly defined.
The van soon approached the scrubbers, a web of dense fiber whips that lashed the van, scrubbing the white outer hull. As the van proceeded through the swaying scrubbers, the tendrils whipped around the edges of the open rear doors, hitting with hard thuds against the interior, sending fingers of water splashing in all directions, and landing with angry slaps on the tender flesh of Erica and Annabelle; hard relentless tongues seeking their pleasure by eliciting terrified howls with random strokes of their countless tentacles. The constant, multiple, random whips sent the two women at the doors into convulsions as they tried in vain to dodge the incessant attacks from the stinging lashes of the mechanical task masters bent on making them dance and squirm. Sarah slid back to relative safety between Anita and Kate, water soaking through her clothes and gushing around in tidal currents between the women, splashing into the exposed stomachs, teasing their pussies with sudden mini-waves. Water and spongy whips continued to torment the helpless passengers as their shining restraints strained to hold them in their personal dungeon. Laying on her back near the front of the van, Sarah embraced the storm of noise and water and garbled screams, and reached out with both hands to the two women closest to her. Her fingers grabbed hungrily at their pink, swollen labia, rolling them between her thumbs and forefinger, teasing them both with a firm yank. Her friends expressed their pleasure and gratitude with satisfying moans and definite yelps, and Kate cooed agreeably.
Seconds felt like minutes to Erica and Annabelle as they endured the sensation of being viciously licked by a herd of giant iguanas. Past the scrubbing, slapping fingers, a new set of water jets pelted the outside of the van and the women all tensed up, bracing for another surge of pounding water, and they were not disappointed. The jets swung back and forth and up and down, rinsing the soap from the white shell, and as they hit the open doors, the streams pounded their naked flesh like a thousand needles, coursing from head to knees with a razor's sting as the streams bore into them like liquid lasers. These nozzles swung directly behind the van during its automated ballet to wick every bit of soap away, and they took aim at every person in the back of the open van, its stinging pulses forcing unpleasant screams into all of the gags. Sarah let out a pained moan, and tried to stifle the urge to scream out inside the robotic tunnel for fear of alerting staff to the perverse dealings within. Kate and Anita were also in the plumbing's aim and the momentary pleasure of their pussy play gave way to searing scalpels of hot water that cut across their exposed bodies. Water flooded all the way to the front of the driver's seat at least an inch, and the women sat or knelt in about three inches of water, slowly draining as the jets returned to their home stations, finished with the rinse. Sarah laid back in the puddles, a little dazed from the high pressure blasts as the four prisoners squirmed in their shackles, clearly devastated by the wet onslaught and moaned into their gags and gasped desperately through their clinging, skin tight hoods, completely drenched. The five of them breathed heavily, chests and stomachs rising and falling with gasps, accompanied by a chorus of whimpers in the sudden silence of the car wash. The lull was short lived as the rush of a hurricane sounded its arrival before the van and the dreaded noise sent the chained women into a panic.
The van began to rock a little, buffeted on either side by swaying horns erupting with hot dry air evaporating the beads of water on the hull. As the van continued forward slowly, swirling vortices of hot wind blew into the cabin, whipping loose hair and clothes about the cabin. Even the chains of nipple clamps whipped and swung in the mini tornadoes, and each woman gave their own interpretation of that feeling: moans, squeal and grunts following. The dryers reached the open back doors and for a moment, the interior of the van and everything inside were caught in a maelstrom of noise and hot high-speed wind. Clothes and shoes blew front to back in a tumble as the puddles of water surged forward, fully soaking the front seats and drenching anything left that survived the earlier water and soap. Erica and Annabelle gave furtive screams into their gags, helpless to avoid the point blank blast from the nozzles just a few feet from the back of the van. Their torture was short lived, though, as the doors finally gave in and slammed shut from the pressure of the wind, closing with a hard bang that made all five women jump with a start. The back of the van was not only nearly fully drained, but also somewhat dry already, except for Sarah who still lay in a small pool and could feel the water getting cold quickly. The four hostages gasped, out of breath from their intense session and the exposure to business mechanisms of the car wash. Clothes and shoes hung and lay where they fell as the doors shut, blown about like loose laundry in a gale; Sarah was pretty sure some items actually blew out of the van during the cyclone. She always wondered how places like car washes had full lost and founds, and now she knew; she wondered how many other vehicles with “special passengers” ran through there that day.
Still soaked, Sarah lifted herself from the floor and crawled to the driver's seat, tossing the random shoes and panties back on the passenger seat. She sat down and caught her breath, listening to the four secured women huffing and puffing themselves. Everyone was silent, too overwhelmed to try and say anything, even Anita seemed beyond her normal composure. The van pushed forward out of the dark tunnel and into the dark of night and the haze of fluorescent lights. She slipped the gearshift handle from neutral to drive and slowly pulled out into a somewhat abandoned part of the gas station; not many people were getting their kidnapper vans washed that evening. She rolled over to the exit, the attendant from earlier giving her an eager wave, and she headed back into the street. Back on the avenue, she made a left and started to head uptown toward Anita's apartment and the end of their journey.
A few blocks shy of the parking garage and a little privacy, she spied her favorite burger joint and realized that in the frenzy of her own session, racing to the van and bringing the club back home, she hadn't eaten since yesterday, and her stomach gave an acknowledging growl. With a sharp right turn that sent the passengers careening in their spots, she pulled into the lot and rolled past a large group of guys laughing and pushing each other around, clearly in the early stages of a raucous night out. She headed to the back of the lot and found a spot in the very corner, secluded by some trees and the dumpster. Sarah figured the drive-through was far too risky with the close contact with employees at the window and the likelihood of cameras, so she decided to make the women wait in their bonds for one more errand in the middle of this busy parking lot; hidden in the back but well within earshot of others moving about, just maddening enough to those whose other senses were cut off with restraints.
Sarah was about to slip out of the van when she realized she could still see right through her shirt, her nipples dark and stiff poking through the gauzy sheer cover. She reached her hands over her breasts in a knee-jerk reaction to cover up in view of the busy parking lot, but she realized she needed something else. A few shirts made it back to the passenger seat after the hurricane and she went through them to see which might fit her. Erica's was there and it was quite fitted to her slender frame, surely alluring on her, but downright pornographic on Sarah's curves. She found what she thought was Kate's shirt and while it fit and covered her fairly well, the white shirt had big black letters ala 'Frankie Sez Relax' that spelled out "TIE ME UP!" She let out a sigh, and turned to Kate, immobile and blind, "Not very subtle, my dear. Where do you even get something like this?"
Kate let out a gleeful squeal at the idea of her shirt being worn into a fast food restaurant and she chuckled as she could "feel" the nasty look Sarah shot her. Anita clued into what Sarah was trying to do and started to chortle into her gag as well. Behind the passenger seat was the last shirt she could find, perhaps belonging to Annabelle. Her figure wasn't too far off from Sarah's and was quite dry by now. Sarah yanked her wet togs off, sweeping her head back and forth looking for peepers, and slipped the aqua shirt over her head. It fit, but Annabelle also took the 'easy to remove' clothes idea pretty seriously; the shirt only went about four inches below her breasts, and that was sitting down. She hopped out of the seat and knelt down between Anita and Kate and sat up straight. The shirt rode up and she was naked from the top of her soaked shorts to the bottom of her tits.
"You're a bunch of sluts. Where do you buy these hooker clothes? And are they on sale?"
The four teased her as best they could through their covers; mock laughs and deriding jeers she knew she deserved. All of the bottoms were as short as hers, and Anita just wore panties on her drive out to the factory with the van, so she was even less help. Sarah climbed back to the driver's seat and slinked out the door; the cold air hit every part of her exposed skin, which was most of her. Her wet shorts, cut for running, rode very high, the side of her thigh almost completely exposed; her underwear would certainly be showing if she were wearing any.