Tieup1 wrote: ↑4 years ago
Great chapter, this story is a joy to read, very interesting, gripping. It has so many different threads to it. If it was a book, I would not be able to put it down.
Thanks a lot! This means a lot to me. I wanted to try something knew, and I'm glad you appreciate it.
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"Are you serious! Aren't these ropes around my breasts enough?" Elaine whined as Mr. Dubois fetched her back to the ballroom. She had already put up a fight against the simple breast harness of red rope. "That's dangerous. You mentioned tying me up, not this wicked device."
"It's safe, so lie down and relax, Lynette. We had a deal, and I promise you'll look stunning," Mr. DuBois replied, standing next to the devious furniture. A black steel bench curved vertically like a crescent and attached to a pulley system. Elaine saw it was custom made for her boss's bondage escapades as sitting on it was futile. You would slide of its ten-inch-wide red leather cushion.
"Eh, I grasp you're into, eh, these absurdities, Sir, but I'm not. Can't I make up somehow else? Handcuffs or so? Something less extreme."
Mr. DuBois laughed and put an arm around his damsel. "Please, try, I insist. I don't intend to scare you, and I won't assault you or anything. Trust me, and as you deem this freaky and scary, I'll grant you a slow afternoon and dinner afterward."
Their bickering continued as Mr. DuBois slowly convinced Lynette, putting a smile on his face. Elaine dodged his gaze, struggling to hide her enthusiasm for this novel suspension method, and ultimately conceded. She sprawled face-down on the half-circle but was corrected to turn around and extend her body, bending herself backward. The bench was thin, forcing her spine and breast harness ropes to bear her weight while she balanced.
"Okay, stay still, I'll hurry, but your well-being and safety are my top priority," Mr. DuBois said. He shoved red leather suspension cuffs around her ankles and wrists and attached them to the crescent's corners. This stretched his poor damsel further, and he grabbed a hidden cardboard box from behind a curtain.
"Ehm, you're sure this's safe? Won't I fall?"
"Hold on a few more minutes," Mr. DuBois grinned, exposing a fair collection of red and white scarves, matching her socks and dress. One by one, he bound them around her and the bench, alternating the two colors. Her legs were forced together, like her arms, clogging her movements. Elaine felt uneased on the thin ridge, but as Mr. DuBois spun the instrument on its side and slowly pulled it up, she regained faith in his expertise. The scarves carried her well like a hammock, not cutting her skin or obstruct her breath.
He fastened the chains as her belly hung at his chest's height and her head an inch below his. "I'll rearrange the scarves a little, and then you're good to go," he smiled. He tightened those around her hips and under her breasts and slackened those around her more delicate parts.
"This's amazing," Elaine thought. "Immobilizing, exposing me, and snug."
"You fine? I'll make a few pictures, so you can see yourself."
"Please, Sir, release me. I ain't hurt, but you frighten me," Elaine pleaded, not desperate enough but needing to convey somehow she was okay. "Is it over? Will you lower me?"
"Nah, Lynette, true bondage involves craving and begging to leave. You should explore that and relish a genuine desire to escape," Mr. DuBois answered, cramming a white ball-gag in her protesting mouth. He fastened it, drew her long ponytail to the right, brushed it, and attached red and white ribbons. Then he altered the lighting in the room, aimed the bright lights at her, seized his camera, and began shooting pictures.
For her privacy, these images could only be used during their session, like in a ransom or blackmail scenario. Her client would face hefty fines otherwise to repay Elaine for life. She strained her muscles, glanced away, let a tear roll over her face, closed one eye, and balled her hands to display stress. Her hips produced small swings to stir the photos, but she questioned how effective this was. "Smile!" "Watch me," and "relax," he repeated, but Elaine disobeyed as her client aspired, sometimes giving him the finger.
After ten minutes, he plucked the camera's memory card. "I'll go edit these. Hang on there!" were his last words before Elaine had the room for herself. Instantly, with a huge grunt, she eased her muscles and surrendered to her bondage. For a suspension, it was comfy due to the many scarves and proper cuffs. Only her curved back ached a little. As trained, Elaine did not use this time to pleasure herself but evaluated the day, her acting, and Mr. DuBois' needs.
"Hey, Lynette, enjoying yourself," Isolde teased, who had sneaked in, making Elaine jump. "Sir had requested to check up on you, and sadly, still loves your rebellion. So harass him, make him despise you, agreed? And as always, a tiny reminder as you appear quite content."
Isolde showed Elaine a tray of ice cubes, warning her to shush. She scattered them over her body: in her long socks, on her tailbone, the lowest point of her body, and behind her neck. All unreachable and immovable.
"Okay, Elaine, my real name's Isabelle, a fellow damsel," Isolde whispered. "Our client tracks us with CCTV, so imagine I'm taunting you. I'm here for five weeks already and your contact inside. You're only allowed to break character in the utility basement as some bound females aren't damsels. We're expected to fight, so you're doing amazing. Keep hating my painful bullying as your time here won't be fun. See ya."
She slapped Elaine's buttocks, called her a pathetic whore and some other unkind names, and blew a kiss before leaving Elaine with the ice cubes. The two in her neck melted the slowest, and the dissolved water ran over her back. It was cold, painful, and tiresome, and Elaine accepted it as her client could be watching. She suffered in her inescapable position, enjoying her jeopardy. How long until Mr. DuBois freed her? How far had the ice cubes melted? What was her next ordeal?
The ice-cold water dripped down as Elaine wondered how to conceal the wetness. What would Mr. DuBois say about her wet dress and the pool of water below? At least the pile of bondage images was not close. Except Isolde returned, still barefooted and in her maid outfit, dried everything, and ordered to tell the rest was sweat. "Or face discipline that may scar you for life."
At most twenty minutes later, Elaine heard shoes clattering and screamed in her gag to attract Mr. DuBois' attention. Yet, he grabbed his camera and made pictures as "you're even more beautiful now." Afterward, he lowered her, twisted the crescent in a standing position again, and untied the scarves and cuffs. Not the breast bondage as "it doesn't interfere with anything."
"Lynette, you mentioned handcuffs, didn't you?" he said as Elaine bent her knees, put her arms around her head, and looked down in a fetal pose. "Don't be shy, turn around, hands on your back."
Elaine sighed, frustrated her gag prohibited her from fulfilling Isolde's order, and her client crouched next to her. He tried to pull her arms away but got no reply from the irrational teenager playing damsel. At his third attempt to talk, she thrust him aside and spun away, causing him to change tactics. He clutched her legs, dragged them forward, flipped his damsel on her sore, soaked back, and set his knee on her back, slapping her butt thrice.
"Lynette, I won't comfort you every minute. Man up, you did great, so don't act if I ravished you. You won't get any special treatment, and Madeleine is also immobilized again. Now arms behind you and let me cuff them."
Elaine could do nothing bratty in this position and complied as the scarves let her elbows touch. He guided her to the room of her job interview, where a cozy armchair and beamer projector were lined up. Elaine, hoping he would ungag her, kneeled in the standard position next to her boss' chair. Obey first, then fire back.
"Join me," Mr. DuBois said, friendly like a candy-offering child predator, pointing to his lap. Elaine reluctantly obliged, and his warm arm around her middle drew her against his chest.
Elaine rocked in discomfort and failed to leave the man's grip as he assessed Lynette's photos for the next half an hour. Close-ups of her face or her bounds, blurred backgrounds, and shots from beneath. He described her as gorgeous and handsome as each painted her anxiety. This pleased her as portraying misery in ties was her worst subject.
Afterward, he let her to the dining room where a table was laid out for two. Mr. DuBois untied her hands and lifted her gag, and they sat down.
"Good evening, Sir, Madam, there'll be five courses served today," Isolde, their waitress, spoke. She spread napkins on their laps and placed a tiny note on Lynette's she read:
Lynette, I'll temper with your food until I see results. Tell or show Sir nothing. Isolde
Elaine sighed and buried the note in her sock: "Sir, we should discuss this afternoon. You were horrible, and I won't consent to ties anymore."
"Read your contract, Lynette. You consented. No debate."
Like a proper damsel, Elaine continued to express her disgust with her boss and his perverted hobbies. Their sugar-sweet waitress served delicious dishes, she had spent all afternoon on. Elaine's often ruined, depending on Mr. DuBois's attitude towards her. Tolerance meant extra spices, salt, sweeteners, or other unfitting flavors. She had to keep her face straight, irritate her boss, and call him names. This created an uncanny dynamic as everyone played bitterness after a long, emotional day. In short, no dinner Elaine had ever endured with awkward silences, rude remarks, and no decent dialogue. Even worse than her high school dates. During the third course, Elaine was chair-tied as her client loved her playlet, so she whined about everything except Isolde and her food.
After sour chocolate icecream with tabasco strawberry sauce, Mr. DuBois offered to drive Elaine home. She reluctantly accepted. Her pride had suffered today, but she swallowed some more to avoid a humiliating walk home. Besides, her client deemed it unsafe.
When she left the expensive BMW sportscar, Mr. DuBois pulled her back inside. "Your chest ropes," he whispered and untied them. They wished each other good night before Elaine walked the stairs up in her condo on her red-white striped socks. Her room was still cold, lonely, and barren. She wanted to hit the hay but had to call Geraint first.