The Red Phone Booth (F)

[lanadelgagged]

The milky haze of dawn fell upon the outskirts of the city, with a warm breeze. A jigsaw puzzle of flats and apartments hidden behind a fine mist, of disguised cinderblocks and pavement as grey as an overcast sky. A sepulchral silence is abruptly interrupted by the rattling noise of an engine as a flat-top truck makes its way across the avenue. Upon closer inspection, the dimensions of the truck become apparent; a red telephone booth lies resting on top of the flatbed, secured to the truck with four straps in the shape of a cross. Our eyes follow the truck as it comes to a stop in the middle of a paved square, surrounded by blocks of flats. Spying further we notice the figure of three men emerging from within the cabin, the colour of their overalls matches that of the phone booth itself: a darker shade of red, bold but elegant. When the men undo the straps and lower the cabin to rest in the centre of the pebbled square, the colour contrasts heavily with the drab pavement. The men return to the truck, and it fades in the distance girdled by a silver haze. We are left alone to observe the majestic yet unfamiliar sight of the telephone booth, like an animal out of its element and lost in a jungle of concrete.

Angela waits patiently for Mr and Mrs Watson to return home, their five-year-old child is still fast asleep. In a kitchenette dominated by the scent of scrambled eggs, coffee and bacon, the young au pair – divorced and mother of two – listens to the soft classical music playing on the radio. She casually leafs through the pages of a paperback, strolling gently around the room and sitting on the edge of the sofa. A sudden flurry of footsteps echoes across the hallway, and the eager child runs to the babysitter for a good morning kiss. Angela helps him to the table as he begins enjoying breakfast. Just as Angela was finishing doing the dishes, the front door opens revealing the characteristic figures of Mr and Mrs Watson.

‘Good morning dear, how are you? Did Johnny behave this time?’ – Mrs Watson greeted her with an enthusiastic tone, while her husband made his way inside yielding two suitcases. – ‘He always does, Mrs Watson. How was your trip to the Poconos?’ – said Angela as she helped Mr Watson carry the suitcases. ‘Oh, it was splendid dear. The weather was marvellous, and although Leonard did complain about the hotel I thought it was rather quaint. But then again, he’s always moaning about the accommodation no matter how good it is…’

Angela and Mr Watson exchanged glances, and she could see him rolling his eyes. Although enthusiastic, they both seemed weary and exhausted from the long drive. Mrs Watson disappeared into the bedroom, not before planting a kiss on her son’s forehead as he finished breakfast. When Mr Watson remerged, he had taken off his suit and slipped into more comfortable clothes.

‘Angela’
‘Yes, Mr Watson?’
‘Could you do us a favour before you go?’
‘Why of course, what can I do for you.’
‘My wife and I are very exhausted, but the fridge is almost empty. Would you mind buying some groceries for us? I’ll give you a small list.’
‘Not all, consider it done.’

Mr Watson handed the young au pair a piece of paper and some crumpled bank notes, more than she needed. Angela took a moment to smooth them out and quickly put on her maroon kitten heels. The grocery store is just across the square, so the errand was far from an inconvenience for the au pair. Her eyes darted across the cobbled square as she trod her heels on the pavement, she then fixed her gaze on something unusual: a shiny red phone booth. As many times as she had walked across that square before, she could not recall seeing it. ‘A much-needed addition’ she thought to herself. Angela ambled along the yard, looking intently at the red phone booth and walking past a white wall with ‘Missing’ posters plastered over it. Angela never paid too much attention to the seemingly endless wall, but she wondered why people kept disappearing, and what was causing new names to appear in the news every week.
In front of her, the banners of the grocery store fluttered forlornly in the wind. When she stepped inside she exchanged glances with the cashier and noticed the gaggle of people queuing up at the registers. Casually strolling amongst the aisles, she draws the shopping list from her back pocket and smoothes out the piece of paper. Lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, sirloin steaks, olive oil… She goes through the entire list in her head, leaving the items on the cart and heading for the register.
The weather has cleared enough for the sun to shine through the windows of the store, Angela casts a vacant glance outside and sees the phone booth glittering majestically in the morning sun. She stores the slight change in her back pocket and carries the heavy grocery to the Watsons’ apartment, not losing sight of the booth along the way. Just as she enters through the front door she notices Mrs Watson in a pale pink bathrobe, hair wrapped under a towel, smoking a cigarette and staring out the window. Angela lays the bags on the kitchen counter and does the same with the change, but Mrs Watson seems unbothered by her presence. Her gaze is vacant, as if lost in space, fixed on the red phone booth. She then turns to the au pair abruptly, spreading a gleeful smile across her face.

‘You can keep the change dear.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Watson. See you next week!’
‘Have a nice weekend!’

Angela gathered her belongings and waved the lady goodbye, and with the small change in her pocket, she left the building. The square was deserted, as it usually is at this time of day. Angela’s heels clicked against the pavement, emitting an ominous sound that cut across the howling wind. She made her way to the middle of the square and examined the booth before entering. Upon closer inspection, Angela notices the polished surfaces of the metalwork. They exude a lustrous shine, making the red hue much more vivid, adding to its grandeur and elegance. The cast-iron framework and glazed door resembled that of the iconic telephone booths of London. It only takes Angela a glance to realise the interior is as pristine as the exterior, she sets foot inside the cabin and is immediately greeted by the telephone. Positioned on a narrow shelf at chest height, the platform for the telephone also includes a small directory. The telephone itself is a classic rotary model, with a black handset connected by a sturdy silver coiled cord, and a dial adorned with bold white numbers. Angela unhooks the telephone and holds it to her ear, reaching for the change in her pocket.
Behind her, the glazed door begins to close at a silent, slow pace. An oblivious Angela feeds the coins inside the machine, the nickels rattling against the slot disguises the sound of the door locking. Her slender fingers now navigate the dial gracefully, until finally, a dial tone rings across her ears. But out of the blue, smoke billows from the speaker. Angela is overcome by a pungent acidic smell as she inhales, her face veiled in a fine mist that slowly grows thicker. Her instincts return, and in a crippling panic, the au pair rattles the door knob only to find it locked. With all her strength, Angela lounges her whole body against the glass door, trying everything to break free. However, her efforts were in vain, and what was just a fine mist inside the cabin had now become a curtain of thick smoke. She holds her breath as much as her lungs allowed, whenever she draws a breath she feels incomprehensible drowsiness. With every second elapsed, and every breath she draws, Angela begins dozing off. Her limp body falls in the confined space, with her back against the wall and the unhooked handset swinging freely in the air…

Angela rose to a pool of glimmering light, as rays of sunshine fell upon her face she slowly came to her senses. She quickly realised her body was pressed against one of the corners of the phone booth, and her head was tilted to the side, but when she tried to herself to an upright position she was met with an overcoming force. The strain on her limbs was caused by layer upon layer of white tape that girdled her legs at the ankles, knees and thighs. That same resistance extended to her upper body, she could feel her wrists touching each other behind her back, and the sticky material was plastered in a way that brought her elbows closer together. Her immediate reaction was to struggle frantically against the bonds, yet that only made the stretchy material tighter around her bonds. She cast helpless glances across the deserted square and voiced her distress as loud as she could. Whatever pleas for help she might blurt out faded into an incoherent mumble of muffled words, as a stifling gag had been plastered on her mouth and lower jaw. Around seven strips of silver tape sealed her lips and concealed her mouth forming an ‘X’ shape that extended to her lower jaw, further hindering her movements.
With barely any room to wiggle free, or even consider an upright position, Angela raised her bound legs as far as they could reach. Gathering all her strength, the young au pair kicked her heels against the glass as hard as she could, the visceral violence of her efforts caused the pane to bounce as a consequence of her actions. She stomped the glass at faltering bursts, while it seemed to be making some progress, the glass remained intact. This paired with the claustrophobic nature of her surroundings discouraged Angela from trying any further, she sat there bound and waiting. It may be early in the morning, but she is well aware that the square is bustling by midday. Suddenly, a glimmer of hope summons in the distance, in the shape of a middle-aged man. He squints his eyes towards the phone booth and their gazes meet, Angela begins to wiggle frantically and yells against the gag to draw his attention. Becoming aware of her distress, the man rushes to the centre of the square to help the woman. As he comes close he examines the young au pair, noticing the extent of her predicament. A hint of perplexity flitted across his brow, and without giving it much thought he reached for the doorknob. Angela’s face lit up with hope and her eyes opened up, but her demeanour would soon change into dismay. No matter how hard the man tried, he could not manage to open the glazed door. Someone, or something, had locked it and sealed it shut. To the best of his efforts, the man pushed the weight of his entire body against the door whilst clutching the knob and turning it to no avail. As his attempts ceased drops of sweat began dripping from his forehead, much like Angela. The sweltering sun made her predicament more unbearable.
The man paused to catch his breath and glanced at Angela with a worried look. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll call the police.’ – said the man with a tone of urgency. Angela could see his lips moving but could not hear a single word. The walls of the booth blocked the noise from the outside and the interior was instead filled with the muffled whimpers of the helpless au pair. The man rushed to the grocery store, disappearing from Angela’s view who sat waiting for help to come. It was an exercise in patience, but when the silhouette of the man reemerged from the store he returned with more people. The store employees, having heard of the bizarre situation, rushed to aid the helpless woman too, one of the cashiers yielding a pair of pliers. They looked at Angela’s face of desperation as they rattled the lock; her hair had become dishevelled on account of her struggles, and strands of blonde hair fell over her eyes. The store employees combined forces and began fiddling with the doorknob, they then tried to smash the glass pane open and even used the pliers to disarm the key mechanism. But all their attempts were in vain, their puzzled looks spread across their faces. As minutes went by, police officers arrived at the scene, along with curious bystanders who were initially unaware of the situation unfolding. Soon a crowd of people gathered around the centre of the square, standing and staring at the phone booth.
Angela looked at the police officers, one of them was speaking through a walkie-talkie. Yet she could not discern anything they were saying, she could not even hear the murmur of the crowd growing louder by the second. Their lips moved, but she could not understand a single thing. She shakes her head from side to side and the officers noticed she could not understand them, therefore asking the people in the crowd for pen and paper. In a small notebook, the taller police officer began scribbling something and then pressed it against the glass. Angela squinted his eyes and finally could read the handwriting. ‘Firefighters are on their way.’ – the note said. Thus Angela sat for an hour in the sweltering sun, surrounded by a flock of bystanders, the crowd had grown so much that it was filling the entire square. As she waited, Angela realised she had no recollection of the events leading up to her current state, almost as if a sliver of her memory had been expunged. When the firefighters arrived, they also closely inspected the red phone booth. The fire chief and her brigade were experts in rescuing people trapped in lifts and confined spaces, so the helpless au pair ceased her struggles with a hint of relief.
The crowd began leaving room for the firefighters to bring their equipment close to the centre of the square, forming a straight line. The bystanders then slowly inched away from the booth to allow the firefighters to do their job. It was at this moment that Angela began to feel like her predicament was nearing its end. The chief yielded what could best be described as a modern battering ram, black in colour and supported by two of her men. Sensing the impending battle, Angela inched as far away from the glass door as her restraints allowed, and with no further delay, the firefighters charged. The first one rattled the booth to its core, but the second made the battling ram bounce erratically. The third and fourth charges too were unsuccessful, and with every effort, Angela saw her hopes of escape dwindle. Her face was doused in frustration and covered in sweat, thankfully some clouds began forming and thus blocked the sunlight. The firefighters conversed with the police officers and the police officers did so with the chief inspector. They rubbed their chins, the conversation stretched as they cast timid glances at the helpless lady, not knowing what to do.

It had been two hours since Angela set foot inside the doomed phone booth, and the crowd of people had significantly diminished. Now surrounded by firefighters, police officers and reporters, it seemed like her options were limited. She had tried to bust the door open from the inside to no avail, and so did the firefighters from the outside. Nothing worked, so the authorities called a lock-picking expert to the scene. The corpulent, ruddy-faced bald man crouched as he inspected the locking mechanism. As the minutes went by his face was too overcome by perplexity, he began telling the police officers how he had never seen such a complex mechanism before. By this point, perhaps it was best for Angela not to know what the police officers were talking about, as her options began to fade away.
All of the sudden, the people present at the square are startled by the characteristic sound of a truck approaching. With smoke billowing from the exhaust, the flatbed truck approached and asked the police for permission to access the centre of the square. The truck was equipped with a crane, mounted at the front end very close to the cockpit. The flatbed parked alongside the booth, and the police chiefs and firefighters left room for the truck to manoeuvre. As it stopped, three men draped in grey overalls dashed from the cockpit and surrounded the booth, wasting no time in assessing Angela’s predicament. Her restraints exerted intense pressure on her limbs, discouraging her from struggling, Angela whimpers quietly against the stifling gag assuming defeat. But one of the men pressed a hand-written note against the glass, ‘Don’t worry, we will handle this’. The men began circling the phone booth, and one of them then jumped inside the cockpit manipulating the crane. The hook dangles right on top of the booth, and both men girdle it with straps, tugging them to ensure they were secure. Finally, the booth was hooked to the crane, and at a slow pace, the machine hoisted it. Angela’s reaction became apparent as she yelled against the gag, watching and feeling the weight of the crane lifting the booth. It was dangling in the air ever so slightly as if it were a pendulum, and the helpless woman ceased her struggles so as not to break its delicate balance.
A few minutes went by, and to Angela’s relief, the telephone cabin was finally resting on top of the flatbed. Both men jumped into the back of the truck and used the same straps to hold it in place for transport. They disappeared into the cockpit and began driving away, applauses of reluctance erupted from the bystanders and even the police officers shrugged their elbows.

The truck made its way through the city streets, crossing the long avenues. Angela glances at the changing surroundings and gazes at pedestrians. They gaze back intently, visibly puzzled by her state. All eyes follow the truck as it makes its way, but soon the mosaic of crowded streets and apartment buildings turns into deserted suburbs, of derelict houses and abandoned factories. The truck drives towards the mountains, and the slopes cause the weight of Angela’s body to shift inside the booth. The roads become snaky, with streams of sunlight beaming through the trees surrounded by gravel paths. As the flatbed comes to a stop, Angela eyes wearily at the barrier in front of them. One of the men jumps out, presenting his credentials to the security guard, the barrier then raises and the truck fades into a dark tunnel. Inky darkness envelops the phone booth, the helpless woman is draped in shadows.

Inside the tunnel, the roaring engine echoes across the damp walls emitting an ominously demonic sound. As it advances, the darkness turns into dim warm light that draws Angela’s attention. From her perspective, the cockpit covers most of the view ahead, but she begins making out the dimensions of the cavernous tunnel.

Her eyes suddenly open wide as plates, becoming the portrait of sheer terror. Even her face contorts in a grimace of fear, under the layers of silver tape plastered over her lips. As the truck advances at a slow pace, a frieze of red phone booths appears before her eyes. And to her dismay, they are not empty. Angela squints her eyes, and even in the dim light she can distinguish the figures of men and women, struggling inside the cabin. Light glints off the edges of the silver strips covering their mouths, restrained in a similar manner as her. Perhaps most terrifying is the familiar ’Missing’ posters plastered on the glass. The truck comes to a stop and the booth is hoisted, laying to rest beside another one occupied by a helpless woman. They both exchange gazes of helplessness and desperation, Angela can see the woman screaming against her gag, but the soundproof walls turn her muffled pleas into an eerie silence.

The driver exits the truck and walks up to the booth, with a poster rolled up in his left hand. He unrolls the poster, showing a recent picture of Angela in black and white, with the word ‘Missing’ typed in bold black letters on top…

[Rtj65]

I really like how something as ordinary as a phone booth was at the centre of something strange, and the whole story had a really mysterious air because as the reader, we only know as much as Angela does about what's going on. You've got a real knack for writing suspensefully, looking forward to whatever you come up with next!

[Terry45]

Great story, very professionally written and completely original. Thank you for posting it.

[lanadelgagged]

I really like how something as ordinary as a phone booth was at the centre of something strange, and the whole story had a really mysterious air because as the reader, we only know as much as Angela does about what's going on. You've got a real knack for writing suspensefully, looking forward to whatever you come up with next!

Your comment really encourages me to keep following the suspense approach to bondage stories. Thank you for you kind words and feedback, I hope I can keep delivering ;)

[lanadelgagged]

Great story, very professionally written and completely original. Thank you for posting it.

Thank you so much! You're very kind ❤️

[AlexUSA3]

This may be one of the darkest things I have ever read, but it was marvelous. Alas, the thought of poor Angela merely being there bound and gagged until she dies of either dehydration, starvation, or heat stroke is quite horrifying. The greatest effect, however, is the air of mystery of what these phone booths are, how they got there, and why they are there.

[lanadelgagged]

This may be one of the darkest things I have ever read, but it was marvelous. Alas, the thought of poor Angela merely being there bound and gagged until she dies of either dehydration, starvation, or heat stroke is quite horrifying. The greatest effect, however, is the air of mystery of what these phone booths are, how they got there, and why they are there.

Wait until the next instalment to find out, but just as bit of a teaser... It doesn't end anywhere as badly as you anticipate, it's much more lighthearted :P
I'm glad you found it enjoyable, and I can only hope to deliver on the next part ❤️

[Rtj65]

I really like how something as ordinary as a phone booth was at the centre of something strange, and the whole story had a really mysterious air because as the reader, we only know as much as Angela does about what's going on. You've got a real knack for writing suspensefully, looking forward to whatever you come up with next!

Your comment really encourages me to keep following the suspense approach to bondage stories. Thank you for you kind words and feedback, I hope I can keep delivering

You're welcome, I'm glad. And please do, you're a fantastic writer!