Jelena vs The Critic | white bra damsel, James Bond | illustrated bondage stories

"Ahhhh" he mused, "that was my favorite James Bond damsel in distress scene ever. The camera followed every move of carrying her to her doom, and tying her between two posts in that lovely low cut dress. And the way she struggled as the voodoo priest brought that snake closer and closer..." Momentarily lost in a day dream, he almost forgot to note the hours listed on the small shop. But as the unsuspecting object of his desire went about her day, the eccentric multi-millionaire was putting the wheels in motion. If only she could have foreseen her own fate in her crystal, or a cast of the tarot, Jelena would have closed up early and run for help!

But her psychic gifts failed her. That night as she was about to lock up, four burly men pushed into her little store. When they left out the back alley, they carried a knocked out Jelena stuffed into a large duffel bag. When she finally woke up, she was bound, gagged and perched on a stool in an unfamiliar room.

Facing her, The Critic getting into the role of Dr. Kananga, the murderous drug lord. He ranted and swore about how she had betrayed him with that James Bond, but now she would pay for her treachery. Jelena sat baffled, wondering at her misfortune, vainly trying to explain that there must be a mistake. The large ball of cloth in her teeth and sticky tape covering her mouth ensured that all she could manage was "MMMppffft". The poor girl had never seen the movie, and wondered why this man was going on and on about some film character. But she knew enough about the world of the occult to freeze when her tormentor barked "Baron Samedi, she's all yours, do with her whatever you want!"

A tall, thin figure made even more impressive by his large black top hat came out of the shadows and methodically began to cut away Jelena's clothing. The Critic smiled to himself as he watched the first of his variations from the movie. Jane Seymour's dress had been alluring--- but there was nothing in this world to compare to a naturally voluptuous beauty wearing nothing at all but ropes that dug into her flesh to accentuate her ample curves. He was particularly pleased when her bra was cut off and her breasts exploded out of the flimsy material.

Jelena was frozen in shock and fear as her body was progressively revealed. But she became quite animated, squirming and twisting, as the powerful voodoo priest plucked her off the stool and carried to out the door. Just as in the movie, a chanting crowd of worshippers passed the helpless damsel hand over hand towards the place of sacrifice. When she arrived, however, The Critic had once again deviated from Roger Moore's debut Bond film.

Instead of being tied between two posts, Jelena was carried to a fenced enclosure. Baron Samedi was waiting, and carried her inside. Leaving Jelena standing on a wide plank, the Voodoo mystic backed out the door and bolted it shut. Immediately, the light from 100 torches blazed up to show her what fate awaited. The enclosure had no ceiling, and was situated at the bottom of some hills, which were crowded with chanting, wild-eyed fanatics who looked down on her in anticipation. There was no floor either, so that on either side of the plank was the darkness of a pit. As more torches were lit, the frantic maiden saw the squirming mass of snakes that covered the floor. Her gag smothered her scream, blocked her pleas for pity.

Then things got bad.

The plank beneath her feet began to move, back away from the wall facing her and towards the door behind her. At first the gap was only a few inches, but grew steadily wider and the board was withdrawn. Jelena had to struggle to keep her balance, a sight the watching Critic found most delectable as her curvaceous body wriggled and shook. The desparate heroine tried to hop backwards towards the door, and each hop brought shouts of anticipation from the savage crowd. But when she finally reached the door, her bound hands found it smooth and unyielding. Bit by bit, the only thing between her and the waiting snake pit was disappearing. She could see the glitter of their eyes, the flicking of tongues tasting the air, the slithering of their bodies as the merciless reptiles waited for another victim.

Jelena twisted helplessly against the ropes as only enough board for her feet remained. Another jerk, and her toes were over the edge. She pushed her body hard against the door but knew there was no hope of escape. She tried to turn her feet sideways to stay on the plank, but death from a hundred bites was just seconds away...

And the door opened, hands pulling her to safety. The Critic had to pay her well for her time, but decided that her performance was worth every cent. Maybe he should do the whole Bond collection?