Thief, ropes and gag | Plaything 11 | bdsm stories

The spa's owner had sent the repairman down to the filter room to see what was the matter. The whirlpool baths were getting too hot. There seemed to be something wrong with the cold-water supply. The repairman had to follow the pipes into the engine room, which was where he found Megan Rogers.

The blond bombshell had slowly, carefully worked on a pipe fitting behind her until she had unscrewed a bolt, creating a cold-water leak. It was the one thing which had kept her sane and pliant during her long captivity.

The repairman took one look at her tight, buoyant form. He grabbed the silver spandex hood and yanked it off. He took one look at her wild blond hair and her blinking deep green eyes set in the sensual face.

Megan's breath caught in her throat, but then the repairman shot to his knees and started to roughly untie her from the pipes. He shoved her forward, her breasts squeezing against the engine as he picked at her wrist and elbow knots.

His knees were on her hips and ass as he pulled at her ankle and knee bonds.

She yelled at him to undo her gag, but he only grunted, commenting, "They must've worked long and hard to get you in this position, baby. What happened?

Some jealous aerobic babes eliminating the competition? Or did some iron-pumping assholes want you all for themselves?

He slapped her on an exposed ass cheek, laughing, then continued to carefully undo the ropes. Even so, relief flooded Megan's mind. It was good to know that despite what she had gone through she could still think clearly enough to devise and implement this plan. No matter how crude this guy was and how funny it seemed to him, she would soon be out of this mess.

It wasn't until she found herself dropping a half-inch, then rolling onto her back, that she realized the truth. She was still bound. She was still gagged. He had only undone the ropes which held her to the pipes.

The repairman stood above her, one foot on either side of her body. He reached down and gave one of her strong, full, round tits a squeeze. "Shame to keep this all to themselves," he mused with an evil smirk.

Megan screeched and started to contort-kicking with her knees and ankles still cinched.

Some minutes later, the spa owner poked her head into the engine room. "Is it fixed yet?" she demanded.

"Almost," said the repairman. "One small nut had worn away and a pipe had come loose. I have it reconnected and the temperature should even out in a few hours."

"A few hours!" the spa owner exclaimed. "Can't you speed it up?"

"Tell you what," said the repairman, coming around the engine to face her. "I'll see what I can do. I'll trace every inch of cold water piping and see if I can find any other leaks. I'll do whatever I can to see that everything is working properly."

"Ahem," the owner muttered. "Well, that's all right then. I'll be in my office."

"Very good," said the repairman, watching her walk across the dark, deep cellar.

"I'll be up in a few hours."

He waited until she went upstairs, closing the door behind her, before he turned, walked away from the engine room, and into the filtering section. Around the bend, away from view, Megan Rogers hung from some more pipes.

These pipes were horizontal, near the low ceiling, and much thicker than the ones before. There would be no undoing these cement lengths.

Megan was spread-eagied one foot in the air. Her wrists were tied to a high pipe and her ankles were tied to a low one. She was naked. Her torn T-shirt was ripped completely off, and her high-cut green thong had been pulled off as well.

Her blond beaver shone in the dimly lit basement, as did her mane and green eyes. She burbled and moaned from beneath the leggings gag which remained in her mouth. She pulled and twisted, trying to get free. Her entire body was covered with a bright sheen of moisture.

The repairman put an arm around her slim, muscular waist, and filled his other hand with the big squeeze-ball of her tit. Then both hands lowered to her perfect ass cheeks. "At least a few hours," he murmured, then reached for his zipper.

Clarissa Hayes was in between consciousness and catatonia when she was found.

Her arms were dead as far as she was concerned. Crossed behind her at the elbows, they had ached for hours, then tingled, and finally disappeared-as if they were planes out of range of her mind's radar. The only thing which kept her from feeling completely disarmed was the steady throb of stretched muscles at her shoulders.

All the limbs were to her now were uncomfortable lumps beneath her back. Her legs were another story. Her ankles burned from where she had pulled against the ropes. Her thighs were heavy with warm blood collected inside them. And her crotch throbbed with the pressure of the tightened jumpsuit pressing into her cunt.

She moaned into her panty and stocking gag for the millionth time. Her eyes were closed beneath the tight black lade veil and she simmered in delirium. So she didn't react when she heard the first click. It came from outiide the driver's room. She had long ago give up hope that anyone would notice the van, let alone discover her. But then the clicks continued. Her eyes only popped open when the inside door lock popped up.

Clarissa was stunned. Not just that someone was getting into the vehicle, but that she was almost unable to do anything about it. She almost screamed, she almost yanked on her bonds, and she almost sat up, but just raising her head off the pillow made her brain juices swirl madly, rendering her faint. Her head drooped down silently as the driver's door opened and a wiry figure slid in.

The thief immediately closed the door and bent under the dashboard. He pressed a long, wrench-like tool over the ignition and twisted a few times. He yanked that off, expertly found the ignition wires, and stripped them. He touched their raw ends and the engine started grumbling.

"How long has this thing been cold?" he muttered, touching the wires to each other again. This time the engine caught and roared to life. The thief settled into the driver's seat, looked over his shoulder by force of habit, put the car in reverse, then tromped on the brake.

Clarissa's reactive groan did it. He had already fixed the image of what he had seen over his shoulder in his mind. Ropes tied around the rear wall hooks.

Attached to those ropes were nice black high-heel shoes. And coming from those shoes were nice soft white flesh. Rising above those shoes were shapely, beautiful legs which were short and long at the same time.

Then he had braked. The car had jerked. Then she had groaned instinctively.

The thief put on the hand brake. The thief turned completely around in the driver's seat and looked down. Clarissa was chewing on her gag, her eyes closed.

The thief turned forward, both hands on the wheel. He thought about it. Was he in big trouble? He looked back again. Even below the black lace mask, he could see she had a beautiful face. A great bod: amazing tits bulging in the tightened neckline (her left breast had popped free during her struggles), a tiny waist cinched by a wide belt and ropes, and a wet, yearning cunt (it was moving slightly up and down even in her dream state).

Naw, he wasn't in nearly as much trouble as she was. If she had just been lying there, he might have run out and maybe even put in an anonymous call to the authorities. But she wasn't just lying there. She was bound and gagged there.

She was held in captivity there. She was a prisoner there.

The thief took off the hand brake and carefully backed out. He moved the van slowly to the break in the fence he had made behind some bushes on the far side of the parking lot. Then driving the vehicle across a small section of grass, he pulled out onto an access road and directed the van toward the city.

Clarissa woke up when the ropes around her elbows were cut. Her arms were pulled out from behind her back and placed at her sides. The black lace veil was pulled off. She blinked up at an entirely new ceiling. It was fairly high, wooden, and covered in metal slats, springs, and hanging metal parts. She tried to talk, but all she could do was moan.

"I'm going to take the gag off, babe," she heard. "Let's see how far gone you are."

As the stocking and panties were pulled from behind her teeth she became aware of the clattering and whirring sounds all around her. She tried to talk, but now all she could do was gasp and sigh.

"Yeah," she heard. "You are pretty far gone, all right." Her arm was lifted and dropped. It fell back to her side, useless. "Come on, can't you make any noise'?"

Her mouth worked, opening and closing, but she couldn't make words. She just managed to lick her lips. Then she felt a hand on her lower face. She felt more liquid being drooled down her throat. She felt petroleum jelly being painted on her lips. Her back started to arch.

"Come on, babe," the thief said, sitting beside the prone girl. He had driven the van into his auto mechanics garage, in between floors of a parking building.

He had undone the girl and carried her up to his tiny office overlooking the work floor. He had laid her down on a mattress in the corner. He had brought out a first aid kit and satchel.

Clarissa was now completely free: unbound and ungagged.

"Can't you do anything?" she heard.

She tried, and failed.

"Exhausted, huh?" he asked. "All your limbs asleep? You're going to need some time to recuperate, aren't you?" He looked over her small, lush form. "I mean, you wouldn't be able to do anything even if I did this, would you?" He started to unbutton the rest of her jumpsuit.

Clarissa tried to struggle, but all she could do was quiver. She tried to shriek, but all she could do was mew.

He pulled the top wide, letting her breasts free. "You couldn't do nothing, even if I did this!" He grabbed her tits in both hands, ground and twisted.

She almost sat up, almost screamed, but her body failed her and all that came out of her open mouth was a wheeze.

"Come on, babe," the thief repeated, pulling her up and yanking the jumpsuit back. "Let me help you." He pulled the jumpsuit off her top, let her fall back to the mattress with a thunk, then started sliding it off her hips.

Clarissa finally got her hands moving. She tried clutching at his hands, but her fingers weren't strong enough yet. He slapped her digits away and got the jumpsuit completely off. Then, to her horror, he climbed atop her, grabbing her nearly useless wrists as he went. He forced himself between her finally re-tingling knees.

"Yeah, babe," the thief said. "Lay back. Relax. Nobody wants you paralyzed now."

He started kissing her. On the face, on the neck, on the lips. She was finally able to cry.

"Now, now," he said. "None of that. Everything's all right. Nobody's going to desert you again. Nobody's going to leave you behind. From here on, you're going to get all the loving attention you'll ever need."

Clarissa moved her head back and started to cry out. The thief merely reached into his pocket, pulled out a driving glove, and stuffed it in her mouth.

Clarissa choked, gagged, coughed, then started fighting with all her might.

"Aw, come on," the thief complained. "You don't want to go through this routine again, do you?" But then he pulled her by her wrists to a sitting position. He quickly bound her wrists in front of her, palm to palm, with duct tape. While he did it, she I tried to force the glove out of her mouth. But then he pushed her down to her back, thumbing the glove back into her mouth. He placed his hand over her lips. He sandwiched her arms between their bodies. She started kicking him.

"Now stop it," he said mildly. "I did your arms; I could do your legs too." She continued to kick at his legs and back. "All right, then," he signed, getting up. "You'd think after what you've been through that you wouldn't want to get tied up again, but whatever turns you on ."

He grabbed one ankle, pressed it against her under thigh and started duct-taping that leg bent. Clarissa didn't kick him with the other leg. Instead, she brought her bound wrists up and plucked the glove from her mouth.

"Help!" she cried, suddenly realizing that no one could hear her above the din of the garage floor. "Help me, please! You... don't do this ... let me go ...

I'll get you a reward... I'll pay you . . . !"

But the thief was already taping her other leg seemingly oblivious to her desperate, pleading words.

"Stop it!" she shrieked. "Let me go, please! What do you want ... Then he was back on top of her, lifting her hands and squeezing between her arms He shoved the glove back into her mouth, then sealed it there with more duct tape. She tasted leather and then glue.

"What do I want?" he paraphrased, settling down atop her as she babbled and twisted. "You'll get me a reward?" He smiled down into her sweating, traumatized face. "But I want you, baby," he said. "You're the reward."

He started in on her, feeling her hands twist in the tape over his back, watching her eyes close and her face turn away. He rutted away, thinking. He'd watch the papers and TV for any hint of a botched kidnapping. If there was a ransom or reward, he just might claim it and head out of town-putting the babe back exactly where he found her.

But for the moment, he doubted it. There was no kidnapping-- there was an abduction. There was no ransom, there was merely a kinky kiss-off. If there was no news report on her, then he'd take care of it. He'd make sure she was seen to. She would be nice and warm. She'd be clean and strong. And she'd be waiting for him every night when he got back.

For the moment, at least, Clarissa Hayes was his.

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