© Copyright 2012 - Jo - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; naked; sleepingbag; cuffs; tape; gag; outdoors; car; caught; M/f; emb; tease; cons/reluct; X
The blue marquis scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen. Severe winter weather warning in effect until 6.a.m. for the following counties ...
Annette grabbed the remote, thumbed over to the weather station. She had been following the storm track all day and was delighted when the first flakes fell a couple of hours ago. There was over an inch of the fluffy white stuff on the ground. Just enough to cover everything, creating a perfect, picture postcard setting. But there's perfect and then there's perfect.
She looked at the radar, then the storm track cone, checked the colors to the legend. 12-18 inches over the next 12 or so hours. Probably more if you accounted for drifting.
She pulled on her sweats, slipped into her clogs, and grabbed the sleeping bag, the mummy bag that was her favorite.
No, it wasn't a thunderstorm (her all-time favorite act of nature), but she had been having the dreams lately and hadn't come up with a satisfying way to address them - until now.
In her dreams she was in a casket, a casket lined with plush bunting. A casket in an old, stone mausoleum. Nothing much happened during the dreams except the ongoing sense of enclosure. Of safety. She was a vampire and it was her casket, her home. She felt safe and calm. And not needing sleep she found another way to while away the daylight hours, a way involving fingers and labia.
Well, she didn't have a mausoleum, let alone a casket, but she had a plan B.
She climbed in her car, drove the six blocks to the interstate, the two exists to the county road, the three miles to the state park. She pulled into her spot at dusk, although with the snow flying around it was hard to tell how dark it was. Her spot was tucked in a corner of a spare parking lot, the geometry of which, combined with the bushes and trees, made her car all but invisible. She could have stayed in her own back yard, but there was that public aspect that she enjoyed, although she didn't know why, really. Something about being naughty, maybe getting caught.
She killed the lights and unrolled the sleeping bag over the passenger seat. She unzipped it and fished out the handcuffs, the black fuzzy ones, and the roll of black tape. She triple checked to ensure the key was still down in the toe of the bag. She worked fast wanting to enjoy the effect as the windows frosted over - the act of her impending encasement. That and it was cold. She hadn't run the heat for fear of melting the snow already on her windows. Her wipers and washing fluid did an adequate job on the windshield.
Annette dropped the keys in the console, stripped off her sweats, kicked off the shoes, tossed everything in the back seat. She climbed into the passenger seat and shoved her feet into the bag. She locked a set of cuffs to her ankles. She pulled the zipper up to her waist.
She was shivering a bit, but the bag was rated to zero Fahrenheit and the forecast called for overnight temps in the low 30s, so once zipped in she'd be nice and toasty.
She pulled the latch and inclined the seat a bit, then tugged the seat belt across and buckled it. She peeled off some tape and plastered the strips across her mouth. She pulled the cowl over her head, cinched and tied the cord so only her eyes and nose were exposed. She finished by zipping the bag up to her neck and snicking the cuffs onto her wrists.
The light was fading, but she could still see the snow falling, watched as the flakes splattered on the glass. The rear window was covered, as was the passenger side. The driver's window was partly clear, but the snow was building up. And the windshield was rapidly becoming opaque.
knock, knock, knock.
Annette froze. Not hard to do cuffed, mummified, and strapped down as she was.
The moment dragged on, then the door opened a crack.
"Hi ... uh, sorry. Are you okay?"
"I, uh, ran out of gas. I was down by the lake watching the snow and I must have dozed off because I woke up cold. I saw your lights. Are you sure you're okay?"
Annette didn't respond. The form withdrew a bit, then the door opened and he climbed in. She couldn't see much of him. He had his knit cap pulled down low over his brow and his collar up to his nose.
"Listen, I'd really appreciate it if we could get some gas. I don't want to leave my car here and I really don't want to stay the night in the cold. The gas station is around the corner. I'll give you 20 bucks."
It was another one of those long moments, then he leaned toward her. Annette withdrew, but not too far. He reached for her hood, untied the knot, pulled it open, saw the tape.
He grabbed the zipper, pulled it down to her waist. Annette nipples hardened in the cold draft.
He pulled up the zip.
"I'm sorry. I just had this idea that you were trying to kill yourself or something, slashed wrists and whatnot. Sorry."
"You're okay, right? You weren't kidnapped or anything. I didn't see footprints outside."
Annette just nodded.
"So you did this to yourself? You get off on this, what do they call it, self-bondage? I've never understood that, but hey, whatever floats your boat."
Annette couldn't see his face, but she could see his eyes. She registered the fact that he had made some kind of decision.
This can't be good.
"Listen, I hate to bother you, but I really need the gas. It'll only take a minute and I'll bring you right back, okay?"
Again no response.
"Okay, just a minute and we'll come right back. Where are the keys?"
Annette hesitated then gestured with her chin. He popped open the console, pulled them out, started the car, and backed into the lot.
The lot was at the top of a hill and the tires spun a bit at the crest, but soon they were on the county road.
"Station is right up here on the left."
It was closed.
"Okay, the next is about a mile up."
It, too, was closed.
"The one by the highway has to be open."
It was and he pulled in, made a U-turn by the pump island, took the keys, and got out.
Annette felt a moment of panic. She tried to figure out if she could escape. How long would it take her to unzip the bag, undo the belt, find the key to the cuffs, and run - but then what? Naked, out in a blizzard? And, besides, he hadn't threatened her. And then the trunk lid closed and the point was moot. He climbed in beside her and started the car.
"30 bucks for a gallon of gas. Of course I had to buy a can. I have a can in my trunk, but did I think to bring it? Nooo. Stupid shit."
There was another business open. Bright neon lights crowded for space in the windows. A liquor store. Of course it would be open. He pulled in.
"I'll be right out."
Annette's anxiety level went up a notch. She was naked and helpless and he was buying booze. To, what, get his courage up?
The snow was heavier, the road slicker. He made a controlled skid into the park, another into the parking lot. Annette winced as the headlights traced a track across a large tree trunk. But he managed to miss it and she was parked back where they'd started 20 minutes ago.
"Okay. This shit is getting nasty. I'm outta here. I'll leave you to whatever it was you were doing. Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"
He shut off the car, dropped the keys in the console.
"We haven't introduced ourselves. Maybe that's a good thing. I have to say, you've piqued my curiosity. Maybe in another place at another time we'd be at some quiet restaurant sharing a bottle of wine and you'd confess your kinky little secret. Oh well. I'll just wish you a good night."
He stepped out of the car, reached back in and jabbed the lock button, closed the door. The trunk closed with a soft thud.
It took Annette a moment to realize he was really gone, that he wasn't going to rape her. It took another to register the fact that the mood was ruined.
Part of the thrill of (semi) public self-bondage was the risk of getting caught. She imagined scenarios, some romantic, some violent, but not this. Was she relieved or disappointed that he hadn't molested her? Her train of thought was broken by the glow of headlights heading up the hill.
He didn't make it.
She heard the tires whine, that unmistakable rubber-on-ice sound. A bright red glow filled the car, then a white one as he backed into the lot.
He tried four more times, tied to get a running start from the parking lot, made less and less progress each time. The lights changed and she realized he had parked beside her.
She heard his door thud shut, then he knocked on the window. One moment was she was in peril, the next she was safe, and now? Annette pulled down the zip far enough to get her arms out. She managed to press the lock button and get her hands back inside the bag and zip it before he climbed in.
"Thanks. That hill is small, but it's a bitch. I couldn't get much of a run at it because there's trees on the other side of the road. I managed to clip one anyway, although I don't think I did much damage. Damn."
"Sorry to ruin your night, but it looks like we're stuck here. I mean, I can go back to my car, but that gallon of gas won't last long."
"Well, at least we have these," he said holding up the paper sack. "Schnapps and vodka. A pint of each. We can have our own little, private party."
The hairs on Annette's neck went up. Was this a ploy? Did he change his mind about raping her?
"Want some, or...," pointing to his mouth.
Annette nodded. Truth was she'd worked herself up again and could use a shot or three to calm down.
He untied the cowl, pulled it open, peeled off the tape. He reached for the zipper.
"I can turn on the heat."
The idea of being naked shot through her mind.
"No! No. The, uh, fumes, you know? It's not good to run the engine unless the car is moving."
"You obviously don't get out much. I spend hours a day in gridlock traffic. But, yeah, there's the exhaust pipe thing to consider as the snow builds up."
He twisted the cap off one of the bottles, held it up to Annette's lips. Mint! It was the schnapps. Good, because she wasn't a vodka drinker ... well, not unless she was desperate. She took a serious swig. A bit too serious. It made her gasp and cough.
"Sorry about that."
"No. No. I'm okay. Just went down the wrong way."
"Okay. May as well get the introductions out of the way. I'm Francis. Not Frank. Francis. Sorry, but I'm picky that way."
"Nice to meet you. Uh, listen, I can guess what you're thinking and I'm not that kind of guy. Seriously. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Which is what the bad guy says just before he hurts you.
They sipped and chatted, avoided the elephant in the room: The kinky, naked woman in the passenger seat.
He reached for the key, turned it.
"Sorry, you may be snug as a bug, but it's getting chilly in here."
They drank some more, chatted some more. The environment alternated between hot and cold as he ran the engine.
"Listen, this hot/cold thing, well, I have an idea."
He reached over her and lowered the seat.
Here it comes.
And she felt disappointed. She liked him. Liked him enough to date him if he asked. And now he was going to...
He undid the seat belt and climbed in to the back seat. He dragged her after him. He grabbed her driving pillow and her sweats, made a ball and wedged it into the corner. He settle back against it, pulling her up against him.
"There. Now we'll both be warm. You have the bag and I have a human-powered blanket."
They sipped some more, talked, laughed a bit. His lips were near her ear. She could smell him: A clean, man smell. She snuggled back against him.
"Oops. Sorry. You slipping away."
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tighter.
"Yeah," she lied.
"Okay, uh, Annette, I said I wasn't that kind of guy, but I am a guy."
He unzipped the bag a bit, set the bottle in her hands, slipped his hand inside, cupped her breast, toyed with her nipple a bit.
Was that it or was it going to go farther? Would she object if it did? She took another sip. His hand was cool on her breast, but she was glad he'd opened the bag a bit. It was getting awfully hot in there.
"So. I couldn't get reservations at Villa Antonio's and we're stuck with cheap booze instead of fine wine. I guess we'll just have to make the best of it."
"So. About this kinky little secret of yours..."
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