© Copyright 2009 - Cynthia Harder - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/m; fem; cd; bond; motel; dumpster; garbage; cons/nc; X
“Roberta” checked her makeup in the rear view mirror of her car, and quelled her nervousness. She had corresponded with “Frankly2B” for awhile. He was fascinated by the idea of tying up women, but hadn’t found anyone who shared his passion. He and Roberta had corresponded, played some on-line roleplaying games, and finally, after many entreaties on his part, she had agreed to meet.
Now she sat in her car in an otherwise empty parking lot, looking at a car that had just blinked its lights in the prearranged signal. This was it. She was about to spend the evening as a man’s captive. She opened her door, swung her legs out, and, high heels clicking, walked to the other car.
Frank got out He had obviously made some effort at appearance, but he still wasn’t that good looking. Still, Roberta wasn’t attracted to men anyway. They had agreed: no sex, just bondage. He met her, took her hand warmly, and handed her into the passenger seat.
“A pleasure to meet at last,” he said. “Hold out your hands.” Roberta hadn’t expected the bondage to start quite so soon, but what the hell? She held out her hands, and Frank immediately tied her wrists together. Then he produced a ribbon of red satin and tied it over her eyes.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“I’ve got a place for us to play,” he replied, not answering her question. “It’s not far.” Tied and blindfolded, Roberta had no choice but to settle in and enjoy the ride.
It was, indeed, not far. Frank stopped the car and got out. There was a pause while Roberta sat alone. Surreptitiously, she tested her bonds. She was secure. Frank may not have had much practice, but he had studied. Then she heard the door on her side open. He helped her out. “Quick!” he whispered. She was led through a door and into a room. The blindfold was removed. She stood in what was obviously a cheap old motel room, with wood paneling and twin beds. Frank was bending over a bag on the bed, puling out lengths of rope.
“Nice,” said Roberta. “Just the kind of place where a desperate villain would stash a tied up dame.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. He untied her hands, then stepped behind her and re-tied them behind her back.
“Oooh,” she said, “That feels good,” She fluttered her painted fingertips in delicious helplessness. She strutted around the room saucily.
“No you don’t,” he said, grabbing her arm. He knelt and hobbled her ankles, She took a couple of tentative steps. The combination of high heels and the hobble tie allowed her to balance and move, but not walk.
“Very nifty,” she said.
“You haven’t seen anything, yet,” he said with a grin. Producing a long piece of rope, he proceeded to tie her torso, carefully positioning every turn to best effect, cupping it under her breasts, binding her arms tightly to her body. It felt very secure, almost like being hugged.
“You’re very good, Frank,” she told him. She walked with hobbled steps to stand in front of the mirror, examining the artistic way she had been bound. She moved her arms slightly, shrugging her shoulders. Then she turned and sat down on the end of the bed. Taking this as an invitation, Frank re-tied her ankles tightly together, adding a twist around the arch of her heels. Then he tied her legs at the knees. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. Roberta admired it too, from a more intimate perspective. She was quite exquisitely bound.
“You are going to make some girl a very lucky woman, someday,” she told him as she squirmed within the tight ropes enclosing her.
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll start right now. It’s not like you can object, can you?” he said with a slight edge to his voice. Sitting next to her, he unbuttoned her suit jacket. Reaching in, he grabbed her breast and squeezed. Roberta gave the appropriate response. He nuzzled her neck, and she tilted her head, all the time wondering what he was up to. Then he reached up her skirt, flirted with her stocking top, then went higher, feeling her girdle—and stopped.
“YOU’RE A GUY!” he exclaimed, suddenly sitting back.
“Well—yes. But when I’m cross-dressed, I’m as femme as I can be.”
“YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT BEING A GUY!”
“Yes I did! I told you I was a TV right from the beginning”
“I thought that meant you were on television! That’s why I wondered when I first saw you—you don’t look---“
“—pretty enough to be a television star!”
“Frank, I never misled you. I played the part of a woman who likes bondage, because I am! I said I was TV, that I liked to dress, that I liked roleplay, that I didn’t do sex with men, that I was a faux femme—“
“I don’t speak French!” It was dawning on Roberta that Frank had managed to miss all the indirect hints she had given him, and that until his hand had gone up her skirt and encountered what she thought of as her rather large clit, he had believed he was corresponding with a lady.
“Frank, Frank dear—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“
“That’s right, you’ll be sorry, you queer!” Frank said angrily. He grabbed up a washcloth and stuffed it into Roberta’s mouth, tying it into place with another strip of fabric. All further explanations, apologies, or pleas were cut off. Then he unceremoniously hoisted her bound body up onto his shoulder and lugged her out the door. Roberta was a big girl, but he toted her without apparent effort. Her head dangled down his back, her bound hands bounced high over her uptilted ass, and her tied legs swung in front of him. Part way down the sidewalk, her wig slipped off her head, landing with a ‘plop’ behind him. She wondered where he was taking her.
She soon found out. With a single flip and heave, she was catapulted off his shoulder and down into the dump box behind the motel. She crashed down onto boxes, paper, and stuffed trash bags. With a ‘Clang! The top came down. Roberta, tied and gagged, lay in darkness on top of a day’s collection of garbage.
Anger, embarrassment, frustration, and disgust roiled within her. She sank lower into the plastic and junk. She smelled rancid food, stale tissue, and dirt. She had to free herself! She started squirming in a ladylike fashion, then tried harder. She twisted her bound wrists within the cords securing them behind her back, and tried to pull her arms free of the bindings around her body. Her skirt rode up her legs as she kicked against the cords binding her knees and ankles.
Suddenly the lid was lifted. She tried to yell, but the gag in her mouth muffled her outcry. More plastic bags were dumped in on top of her bound body. She kicked her tied legs, but whoever had dumped the trash onto her had already turned away, letting the lid fall. She tried to kick her tied feet up at the lid. But couldn’t get enough energy up to make any noise with the pointed toes of her pumps.
Roberta sobbed in frustration, a sound muffled by the gag. Her bound shoulders shook. She would lie there, tied up, until they came to collect the trash in the morning. Then she would be tipped into the back of the garbage truck, hauled to the landfill, and dumped. One of the garbage men might see her before she was buried alive, but it seemed unlikely.
Something brushed her fingers behind her back. She explored the object with her bound hands, realizing that it was a fragment of broken bottle. With an edge! Carefully, she picked it up, twisted it around, and gently began sawing it against the rope binding her hands. She took it slowly and carefully, not wanting to cut herself. It seemed like it took hours. Her legs went to sleep in their bindings. Nothing happened. Then suddenly the rope loosened, and came free! She pulled her arms around in front of herself. The first thing to go was the awful gag. Then she started to work on the ropes binding her body. After that she found the knots of the cords pinioning her knees and ankles. She was free at last!
Kneeling up, she lifted the lid of the dump box and clambered awkwardly out. Bits of garbage stuck to her suit and stockings. She brushed herself off as best as she could. It was very late. No cars moved in the motel lot. She started walking unsteadily on her high heels. She saw what looked like an animal--? Then realized that it was her wig. She picked it up from where it had fallen and put it back on. Because of the blindfold, she didn’t know where she was. Checking the street signs, she realized that she had a mile walk in high heels to where her car was parked. She set off – although she wished that her hands were still tied.
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