A Statue in Subspace (M/F, consensual) (Updated)

[OldTUGger]

A Statue in Subspace (M,F consensual)
by OldTUGger

(NOTE: This is an updated version of a story I posted a while back. The edits removed a couple of inconsistencies I noticed while re-reading the piece.)



She took a deep breath and spoke.

“I’m ready.”

He nodded. “Come over and have a seat.”

With those words, he reached out a hand and tugged the cover off the chair in the center of the room.

Her breath caught in her throat. The chair’s narrow, slatted back jutted straight up from the seat, quite a bit higher than a regular chair’s back. The thick slats looked intimidatingly sturdy, but not as sturdy as the chair’s legs, which were bolted to the floor.

Her gaze, however, focused on the object bolted to the chair’s seat.

“Uh, I’m not sure about that,” she said, gesturing nervously toward it.

“Hey, you’re the one who asked to be immobilized,” he said. “A butt plug will keep you from wiggling your keister from side to side.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. She hadn’t thought of that. In fact, she hadn’t really imagined what he might do to help her live out a fantasy she’d had -- well, probably from the moment she acknowledged her bondage fetish.

It had been almost two weeks since she approached him at the play party. Her love of restraint was well known within the community, and his reputation as a “mad scientist” bondage engineer kept a steady stream of ropey subs coming to his house to enjoy the fruits of his imagination.

She’d been making small talk with him when she suddenly asked, “Do you think it’s possible to fully immobilize someone with bondage gear? No paralytic drugs, no encasement in foam or concrete or anything like that; just with bondage stuff like ropes, straps and tape. It’s something I’ve dreamed of having done to me for a long time.”

“Hmm. Total immobilization, eh? I’ll need to think about that,” he said, a smile forming at a corner of his mouth. “If I think it’s possible, I’ll get back to you.”

Three days later, he called her.

“I think we can accomplish it,” he said. “Question is, are you up for it?”

She gulped. “What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll be seated in a chair, and if I do my job correctly you won’t be able to move a muscle. That’s what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Yessss…”

“Then come to my place next Saturday evening. I should have everything set up by then.”

So now she stood, naked save for a pair of towering high heels, in his comfortably heated playroom, staring at the slender conical intruder projecting upward from the chair’s wooden seat.

“Don’t worry, it will be well lubed,” he said reassuringly.

She drew a deep breath, held it a second, smiled and exhaled sharply. “OK. Let’s get on with it.”

True to his word, he pulled a bottle of lubricant from a nearby shelf and applied a generous coating of gel from the tip of the plug to its base.

“Now don’t try to take it all at once,” he cautioned. “Lower yourself until it starts to feel uncomfortable, hold it a few seconds, and lift your bottom back up. Try to go a little lower each time.”

Rather tentatively, she followed his advice, and within a couple of minutes felt her backside settle firmly onto the seat.

“Now the restraints,” he said. “Sit up as straight as you can and hold your arms over your head.”

One after another, he passed a series of wide leather belts around her torso and buckled them tightly behind the chair back’s slats -- one across her lap, one at her waist, and one below her breasts.

“You can let your arms down now,” he said.

She twisted her shoulders and wriggled inside the restraints. “I can still move my body a little,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “We’ve got quite a ways to go yet. We’ll worry about that later. In the meantime, you’re probably wondering why I asked you to wear such high heels. Here’s why.”

He knelt in front of her and pulled her right foot close to the chair’s right leg. “Relax and let me place your foot,” he said.

With that, he inserted her shoe’s right heel into a hole drilled into the floor, wedged the front of the shoe between a pair of wooden blocks, and tightly strapped her ankle to the chair leg. “That’s so you can’t twist your feet,” he said. “And those super-high heels will prevent you from lifting your toes.” Humming tunelessly, he secured her left foot the same way.

“I can wiggle my knees. See?” she said.

“Patience, my dear. I’m not finished just yet.” He pulled another pile of belts off a shelf and, one at a time, buckled them tightly around her calves and the chair legs at mid-shin and just below each knee.

Moving to one side, he reached under the chair and pulled out another set of straps, which he looped around her thighs just above her knees and, straining a bit, stretched her right thigh outward as far as it would go. The left side soon followed.

Curious, she tried to squirm. Nothing below her chest moved. She tugged harder at the restraints.

“Wow,” she said. “It’s like my lower half is frozen. I really can’t move.”

“That was the idea, wasn’t it?” he replied, grinning. “Now let’s take care of that little shoulder-wiggle problem. Hold your arms out to each side.”

Three more straps appeared. He looped one under her left armpit, over her right shoulder, and buckled it firmly behind the chair’s back. The second crossed over the first, over her right shoulder and under her left armpit. He stretched the third horizontally just below her collarbones, pinning her shoulders firmly to the sturdy wooden corner posts.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, basking in her bondage. She’d been tied up plenty, and by some highly skilled riggers, but she’d always been able to move something. This -- this was like nothing she’d ever experienced. A warm glow spread through her loins. She sighed, and a smile curled her lips.

“Enjoying yourself ?” he asked.

“Uh -- yeah. You might say that. I’m afraid if I enjoy myself much more, you might have to build a dam down there.”

“Getting an early start, are you? I figured the water works would come later, when the -- uh -- ‘entertainment’ you asked for got good and cranked up. Don’t sweat it; I have lots of towels,” he said cheerily, wedging a small hand towel under her crotch. “Now let’s do your hands and arms. Make a knife hand, like you were going to throw a karate chop.”

She stiffened her right hand and held it out to him. “That’s perfect,” he said, and wrapped the hand tightly from wrist to fingertips with wide black electrical tape. “After I finish with your left hand, place each of your hands flat on the chair back’s side rails, as far down as they’ll go.”

Slowly, carefully, he spiraled the tape down each arm and back up again, welding the limbs from shoulder to fingertip against the heavy wooden beams.

“OK, now try to move,” he said.

Tensing and flexing her muscles, she strained to comply. “Damn, you’re goooood,” she breathed. “I can move my neck and head, but nothing else seems to work.”

“Are you holding out OK? No pain, no tingling, no circulation problems?”

“Nope. I think I’m good to go.”

“All right. We’re in the home stretch now.”

He took out a thick, heavy leather posture collar and buckled it snugly around her neck. He looped yet another leather strap around the collar, threaded it around the chair’s center slat, and buckled it tightly. “Ready for the gag?”

“Go for it.”

She’d been ball-gagged dozens of times, but never with one as large as the one he lifted from the shelf. The ball, centered on a U-shaped steel rod, looked to be at least 2 inches in diameter. He threaded the legs of the U into holes in the chair back’s slats and pushed the ball against her lips.

“Open really wide.”

The ball squeaked against her teeth, wedging her jaws apart. She honestly didn’t think it would fit, but eventually it cleared her front teeth and popped into place. He circled behind the chair and, tugging on the ends of the steel U, pulled her head back tightly against the slats. A pair of thumbscrews secured the gag in place.

“One last thing. We can’t have you blinking your eyes or raising your eyebrows.”

A padded leather blindfold, passed around the center slat and buckled snugly in place, claimed her last vestiges of freedom.

“OK, my dear. Move if you can,” he said.

She tried. She strained hard against the straps, the tape, the gag, the blindfold. Her breath came quickly, almost in tiny gasps.
“Calm down,” she heard him say. “Settle into it, let yourself float. This is what you asked for. Enjoy the moment.”

She did as told. Her breathing slowed, and she felt herself slide into the dreamy, mellow, familiar world of ropespace. Or strapspace. Or tapespace. Or something. She had no idea how long she lingered there, hovering between the worlds of consciousness and unconsciousness, until…

His words brought her back. “Been having fun? All right, let’s up the ante a little.”

Through the fog, she felt him knead her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her deep moan turned to a squeal as a clover clamp claimed a hold. A few seconds later, her left nip joined its partner in painful restraint.

“Settle into it,” he said soothingly. “Process the pain. Absorb it. Let yourself drift.”

The fog settled over her. Off in the distance somewhere, she heard a faint buzz, and listened, bemused, as the sound grew closer.

The Hitachi’s first vibrations, brushed lightly against her inner thighs, crashed into her like waves of heavy surf. The next ones, pressed hard against her pleasure center, swept over her like a tsunami.

“Come on my signal,” she heard him say as she strained against her restraints, a statue flying in subspace. “The first of many orgasms in five…four…three…two...”

[Mask6190]

Interesting idea OldTUGger.

[slackywacky]

Wow, that was a great read. I can almost place myself in that chair reading this.
Thanks!

[OldTUGger]

Story was updated 12.12.21 to correct inconsistencies...

[Mr Underheel]

Where do I sign up to be next????