It was the simplest of factories making the simplest of things, low grade rope for clotheslines, and I the saleswoman partially responsible for the resurgence of our industry...
What had been a dying market was making a comeback with people wanting to be clean and green, it being once again fashionable to hang ones clothes out to dry on the line, weather permitting. We had contracted out for some provocative commercials to be shown in the tree hugger's demographic, and the response was overwhelming. A woman every man would like to come home to hanging her things to dry on one of our lines, some quite sexy and promising fun for the lucky man once he purchased and hung it.
Sex sells, it always has since the dawn of time, and in one of our late night demographic commercials the stunning at home wife goes out into the back yard in a towel fresh out of the bath to collect something to wear off of one of our lines. A neighbor catches her eye with an approving glance, either for the flash of desirable skin, or her desirable green ways the viewer is left to deduce on his or her own.
A masterful series of commercials, and I had the commission checks to prove it.
There was but one problem, our products quality. Not that it wasn't good, quite the contrary, it was well above the rated specification. Such shouldn't have been a problem for most reasonable people, but the government regulator just assigned to our factory was brand new and looking to make a name for herself.
She was twenty something years old and looked like she had spent the first part of her life getting her way. She could go far in this man dominated manufacturing world, as had I, if she only learned how to play along with the boys. She was smart and pretty, but totally unreasonable where our products were concerned, and I needed to find a way to redirect her efforts to shut us down.
I could quote the rope's specifications verbatim, five sixteenths cloth rope, tensile strength sixty seven pounds. It was soft and easy on the hands, made from renewable materials, kind to the clothes it touched, and we couldn't make it fast enough. If we fell too far behind in production other manufactures would rush in to fill the void, and our efforts at market share would be for naught.
Our process tested every ten thousand feet of product for strength and size, but only to see if it would meet the sixty seven pound rating, which it always did. It was ordinarily cut up into smaller lengths and packaged with the ratings printed on the cover, and then sold to eco friendly customers by several hardware chains throughout the country. We also sold bulk spools to other companies for use in their own products, but this was a comparatively small portion of our overall sales.
Simply stated, if we had to issue a recall our business could be ruined, and my commissions recalled, and this well intentioned pretty young thing could close down our factory putting countless men, and myself, out of work.
I was assigned to work with this kid to find a solution that would suit her short of a recall, my employer thinking a woman to woman negotiation would be less threatening, or perhaps generate some sympathy. I took her to lunch to figure out what she was really after, fully prepared to offer her a bribe just to go away. I instead discovered that she wasn't after money, but instead retribution as she had been bound up by our rope in college once on a dorm dare and had a proverbial axe to grind as she couldn't escape like she had boasted to her friends that she could.
What did her dorm friends make her do to regain her freedom? I can more than imagine a whole host of things, and that brought back some wonderful and experimental times with a special friend from my own college days
This at least made her fun, (although irrationally scorned by inanimate object), but still unreasonably concerned that our products could find their way to nefarious applications where a struggling victim couldn't escape. I couldn't laugh at her, but I wanted to.
Was she next to inspect the duct tape manufactures, or even the plastic wrap ones to see what could be done with their products? Being a woman with a better than average imagination and several creative lovers in my past I knew of several things that could be done with each that were impossible to escape on one’s own.
That random thought got me thinking, if she only knew some of the things I had done on a dare with the guys on the floor after shut down maybe she would lighten up some. She had confided in me woman to woman about losing face before her college friends, and I felt obligated to do the same, most especially if it would keep the factory running.
"Well Ms. Becket" I started. "If you were fortunate enough to be bound up by one of our products at least I know that it was likely comfortable, if the ones binding you knew what they were doing. Sometimes the guys and I find some creative uses for our products, and they can be devilishly clever with such things, I however never being injured once during our unconventional testing program."
"I would obviously like an opportunity to prove our product's safety and comfort if you will let me, either conventionally, or as unconventionally as you wish." I was thinking that offer as clear as it could be to the young and pretty government inspector with an unusual interest in rope restraint. I was not beyond losing a little face myself before this woman if it kept our factory open, maybe we both even having a little fun at my expense.
"Would you be willing to give me an unlimited access afterhours tour of the plant, show me anything I might like to see, just you and I? Perhaps I could handle some of the fresh product and together we could devise a way to test it to see if it lives up to your boasting."
"I can do even better than that, I can be your guinea pig if you like. I have the keys to the factory doors, and after they shut down for the night we can run off as much rope as you like for any kind of test you wish" the latter delivered with a knowing smile and a twinge in my belly. "I can show you some special knots, I can even show you how to use the spooler, and if you like I can even show you how the guys spooled me up once with a few turns to test the tensioner."
I was not beyond any of it if it kept the line running, but I already could tell that she didn't have any interest in trying out any new knots on herself. I still thought it could be fun though if I could bring myself to submit to this young woman, but once held onto the giant spool by a few turns of soft rope there would be little choice on my part.
The men liked to watch me struggle well enough while trying to untie some new knot, but I had a feeling that this pretty young thing might put them to shame. Would she take full advantage of my helplessness? Possibly, I thought with a smile. Back in college I had been in the company of an upper class woman who could push those particular buttons, and she as well liked to play with rope, and despite our age difference Ms. Becket vaguely reminded me of her.
"OK then" Ms. Becket said with a broad smile. "I will meet you at the back gate after the factory closes down for our private tour and testing."
It was after six when we entered the factory for our private tour, the equipment still warm on this Friday night, but silent and unmoving. I had snuck in several times alone over the years when feeling especially randy, the ancient machinery with its massive steel parts always turning me on. I chose this field on purpose, the machines always doing something wonderful for me as I wandered about the place alone, the fact that we made rope just icing on the cake.
Sometimes I would even strip off and carefully climb up on the machines and tie myself down to them, the grease and oil staining my bare skin before I washed it away in the men's gang showers after my solo struggle session achieved its goal. The machines had left their bruises on me several times as I ground off on their massive parts worn smooth over the decades, the men on the floor likely oblivious to my desires thinking I allowed them to bind me for their own titillating entertainment, and ostensibly for our testing.
I did it instead for the machines themselves, (and myself), I for a short time in training to maintain and run the great metal beasts, but taking a position in sales instead when it was offered. The machines were a dangerous and lusty distraction for me, and if not careful I knew even then that they could be my undoing, but I still found excuses to visit with them alone when I felt the need.
I at the same time knew how the entire operation ran from a business point of view, suppliers, pricing, profit margins, all of it, and had I a mind to I could have built an entire facility like ours from memory with enough resources. It was almost like an enormous living being to me, raw materials went in one end, and finished products came out the other, and Ms. Becket like an invading germ that had to be dealt with one way or the other for its, as well as my own survival.
Ms. Becket walked with me through the darkened factory floor illuminated only by security lighting, I explaining how things worked as she took pictures with her phone, I wondering if they would even come out in the near darkness. She asked extraordinarily insightful questions, and when we got to the massive spoolers near the end of the line she wanted to know how I had been wrapped up in them.
I told her in detail how it had been done, the guys being playful with me that night and binding me fast experimentally to one of the massive spools after I had slipped into one of their impossibly thin white disposable coveralls to save my dress, and wearing just about nothing else underneath for the provocative fun of it.
"I don't believe it" Ms. Becket challenged.
"It was my idea and I dared them to do it with maybe a dozen turns. I can show you how it was done, but before I do, let’s agree to find some way to keep Johnson Rope open if I can prove what I say is true."
"If I can safely spool you for shipping you will never see me at this factory again" Ms. Becket promised cryptically.
We shook hands on the deal, although I not entirely sure who was manipulating who, but I was at least certain that no coveralls would be required this time as it was to be just us girls...
There were already several empty vertical spools erected, each eight feet tall so they could be jigged up while laying down across the bed of a standard tractor trailer for shipment just about anywhere, l choosing the closest to the controls so I could tell Ms. Becket what to do. I asked her to unzip me as I had no intention of ruining my nice dress, either with any grease, or having it torn and wrinkled to death by the rope's many turns as I knew I would need something to wear on the way home from this ordeal. I could see by her smile that she had no problem with my stripping down for her, and the anticipation of our soft rope in direct firm contact with my bare flesh had my stomach churning in a good way.
My slip, bra, and heels were next as each would be uncomfortably in the way, just as they would have been when the guys did this for me last time. Ms. Becket predictably kept her nice dress on, but I was doing all of the hard work for this show I was providing, and she only pushing buttons, hopefully even my own if she were opportunistic enough.
It also wasn't lost on me the power differential I was giving away to this younger woman, she fully dressed, and I almost fully undressed. It was submissively exciting to me, but that was nothing compared to the raw control she would have over me once I was helplessly wrapped under several turns of rope on a shipping spool. Would this sacrifice on my part, (that wasn't a sacrifice at all to me), be enough to redirect her efforts to close down Johnson Rope, or would she demand even more of me?
I ran a length of rope out from the master spool and started it on the much smaller shipping spool, first handing Ms. Becket a sample piece cut free with the razor knife chained in place by the guys so nobody walked too far away with it. She tugged at her overlong sample experimentally, then ran her hands along the length of it almost fondly. I had thought I was into rope, but this kid seemed like she was really into it. In all fairness though the fresh product had an almost sensual feel to it as compared to how it felt once it was compressed and packaged.
I showed her how to run the spooler, she turning it slowly at full tension as I had instructed to capture the lower pin I was to stand on, it ordinarily removed for shipping once several turns of rope accumulated on the small diameter of the shaft causing the rope to bite to itself. With her running the machine and fully dressed, and I doing the grunt work wearing almost nothing it was easy to see who was in charge, but in my lusty mind we were simply allowing one of my precious machines to have it’s way with me, Ms. Becket just there to watch the demonstration, and possibly participate.
She also seemed at least vaguely familiar with machines, and certainly commands, more so than I would have guessed for someone with such limited real world experience. The latter I just chalked up to being born with a golden baby spoon in her pretty mouth. I thought positively at the time that such just meant that less could potentially go wrong.
The spooling machine, (like every machine I had ever seen), had an emergency stop, and I told her to push it if anything went wrong. It was a big red button and impossible to miss by design, and I felt confident that if nothing else her pretty self could actually do this.
With the bottom stop programmed by default the top was next, and here I had to be careful because if Ms. Becket ran out too much rope she could wrap my throat and head accidentally strangling me even on the lowest tension setting. I did that part myself out of self preservation, lying to the machine by telling it there was a shorter spool in the rack than there was just as the guys had done for me last time. Other than that I was willing to let her and the spooler have their way with me in order to put on one hell of a demonstration at my expense to keep the factory open.
The next part was tricky, the guys doing it themselves the last time I had been there. Still I eventually managed to reach and install a top pin in the second hole by shimmying up the cold shaft like a pantie clad pole dancer, the pin going crosswise through the spool like the lower one and giving me a way to hold on to the rotating spool until my lower body was wrapped in place. Ordinarily only one pin would be temporarily required to spool up a bulk shipment of rope, but the spools had wisely been manufactured with two holes in an either side up configuration to speed set up.
I felt Ms. Becket's eyes on me as I struggled, she not offering to help though, her amused stare somewhat calculating, more like a cat's while playing with a mouse it was about to eat. Being made to struggle and physically perform for this woman so she could help the spooler wrap me in it's firm embrace also set a particular tone between us. Just as I had offered earlier to become her guinea pig, she conversely had become my handler, I there solely to perform for her amusement.
The guys had spooled me face up, (or out), no doubt because the little white suit I was wearing pulled tight with the wrapping rope and left little to the imagination. I was turning them on, they were most certainly turning me on, we each to go to our own homes later and deal with that as we may. A win-win as we in sales like to say if there ever was one.
Ms. Becket was different, she wasn't a coworker, nor one I had to practice any false modesty with. She was a fellow woman with at least an interest in all things rope, and indirectly in charge of my future, and putting myself at her disposal seemed almost natural.
"Last time we did this one of the guys bound my ankles, hips, and wrists to the shaft until the rope could bite and hold me fast" I explained.
"Do you always make excuses like these when it's time to perform?" Ms. Becket asked sarcastically with her voice of command.
"No ma'am" I answered, I instantly put in my place by this younger woman.
"Face the shaft, shimmy up it and grab that top pin again before I change my mind" Ms. Becket threatened. "Then put your toes on the lower pin if you can still reach."
This position was actually easier to maintain and somewhat more comfortable than having my back to the pole, but would leave me equally unable to properly thank Ms. Becket for anything I might like to, or for her to reciprocate in kind. Could she know this, and if so was there a message in the position she chose for me?
My breasts were bisected by the cold shaft, as were my legs, my pantie covered neither regions grinding lightly on the shaft as I clutched at it with my thighs to relieve the tension on my arms and calves as the toes on my bare feet just reached the lower pin. Once wrapped with just a few turns as the guys had done I would be able to relax, I then held firmly and maybe even able to grind myself off if Ms. Becket became distracted enough by the turning spool.
Ms. Becket turned me slowly as I had asked her to, and the tension was as well set to maybe two pounds plus or minus. Ordinarily this operation, (without me being captured on the spool), happened with frightening speed and tension, but to spin my body that fast would cause me to lose my grip on the top pins, as well as subject my body to damaging G forces and make me potentially sick.
She wrapped me to my mid thighs with hundreds of turns before she stopped, the guys only using perhaps a dozen or so to my shoulders when they had done this. I still thought it a good test to prove my point, if not slightly overdone, I trapped in deliciously firm contact with the pole as she looked on. I was dizzy, but not so bad that I felt sick, although my arms and legs burned with my enforced position. Each turn of rope had a tiny gap between it where one could see my bare flesh beneath, the latter turning pink with the ropes slight tension, but nothing at all like a tourniquet. I could easily do this all night long, had expected to do so while possibly entertaining the young government inspector in a host of different ways, but my position was all wrong for that now.
"Are your arms getting tired?" my captor asked.
"Yes ma'am" I answered, I reluctant to say another word for fear of ruining all that I was trying to do here. I expected she was asking me if I had enough yet, but what I watched her do next told me that was a mistake.
She dragged over a step ladder and kicked off her heels, then climbing up to stand near my straining wrists with her sample length of rope in her hands. She wrapped them in about ten turns of rope as I looked on, she then wrapping the center section of her expert knot several more times before tying it off to the pins I was desperately holding onto. It was obvious then that this pretty little thing was no amateur with knots, she forming a perfect pair of rope cuffs as I looked on, and even if I let go of the pin I was holding onto I still wouldn't be going anywhere she didn't want.
I then thought to myself, 'be careful what you wish for, you might just get it'. I had hoped to possibly find a dominate partner again, and here I was under her control while wrapped up on one of my favorite machines with the fresh discovery that she was more than what meets the eye. The clues were all there if I had only paid attention, and I knew for a fact that this would be a night to remember one way or the other.
Why I hadn't thought to find a ladder is anyone's guess, perhaps because the guys who had done this for me were tall enough to reach the pin without one, or possibly I was just blinded to it by opportunity and raw lust. It was dark by the spools as well, but not so dark that my captor couldn't find what she needed.
Instead of cutting the free end of her impressive rope cuffs though, she started wrapping my arms from my wrists down, she emulating what the spooler had done on my legs almost perfectly. When she got to just below my elbows with her wraps touching the top of my head she cinched off the loose end several turns up, dropping the excess between my breasts and the pole. It took some cooperative skin on skin contact between her and I to make that happen, her warm hands moving my breasts around unashamedly before pulling the rope between my cleavage and giving me a slight rope burn. This told me if nothing else that she was apparently comfortable with woman on woman contact, and I counted myself fortunate.
The tight binding of my arms forced me to turn my head even further than I had earlier, as did my captors snaking of the free end of the remaining rope between my body and the pole. With my head held turned by my arm's position my face was held close to my right armpit, not exactly an ideal position that I would have chosen if doing this to myself. I wasn't doing this to myself though, Ms. Becket in charge by default, I reluctant to upset her plans as I suspected they were at least well thought out.
"Pleasure or pain?" she hissed in my ear from her perch above me on the ladder.
I knew from experience that one can lead to the other, but pleasure is... well... pleasant, and what I was after if given the choice.
"Pleasure please ma'am" I stated with my voice sounding odd muffled as it was.
"Very well then, but first things first, we can't have you screaming your head off and drawing any unwanted attention to our fun can we?" my captor asked rhetorically.
...The factory was in the center of the old industrial district, itself a rough neighborhood even during the daytime with many of the buildings closed up and abandoned due to the last recession. I could likely scream at the top of my lungs until I lost my breath and not be heard by a soul that would care at night, especially while inside the factory's walls, but did Ms. Becket know this? She had driven in the same way I had, so I assumed she had to, I wondering what she really intended...
I watched her warily from the corner of my eye as she stepped down from her ladder, she sliding it out of the way of the spooler and walking over to me with a smirk on her face as if she knew something I didn't. She then got behind me and wiggled her hand in between the post and my bare stomach, the rope she had snaked down between my breasts there somewhere as well, but at the moment unimportant. The position was awkward due to my standing perch, I elevated on the spool and stretched out on display as if I were much taller than she.
I crunched my abdominals in and moved my hips cooperatively, liking where she was going, although her little hand felt more like a burrowing rodent than a lovers explorations. She hit one of my ticklish spots on the way and I shuddered in reflex, but she slowly kept inching down, her palm eventually coming to rest on my pubic bone and her index finger stroking me on top of my thin cotton panties.
I was already a juicy mess with the combination of the eroticism of the moment and my forced grinding on the post, and her explorations only edged me ever closer to the first big O. A muffled groan escaped my lips as I thrust at her hand, she responding by using two fingers and pushing my panties deeper inside of me, but intentionally not touching that spot that would take me over the edge in struggling bliss.
What should have been foreplay, or even the main event, was instead reduced to a sexual torture with her knowledgeable manipulation of my helpless body. I was left to wonder where one so young learned such skills, or for that matter if I had made a mistake in asking for her version of pleasure, pain almost sounding like the better choice at the moment.
It was bittersweet when she eventually removed her fingers from my gushing womanhood, but she then took those same fingers and reached around and stroked my lips, I smelling my arousal on them. I was so over stimulated from this woman's manipulations that I would have done anything just to get her to continue, and it seemed natural to part my lips and take her fingers into my mouth. Soon I was making love to them, not only auditioning my considerable talents, but possibly convincing her to finish what she had started.
"Oh, you are a naughty one, and oh so excitable as well, aren't you?" she asked in a husky voice as I continued to work her fingers seductively. "I think we should finish what we've started here, but first things first" she told me.
She then stepped away leaving my mouth slightly open with her fingers vacancy, I enjoying that little distraction more than what one might imagine in the heat of the moment. I watched her come back with the chained razor knife after ducking under the rope still leading to the spool and myself, thinking "YES,YES,YES" don't take the time to unspool me, cut me down so we can make love right here on the factory floor, we have tons of rope and nobody will miss a little.
Instead I felt the little knife's blade go snick snick through the hip areas left and right of my only remaining garment, my tormentor pulling my destroyed panties free and I feeling the cool chill there directly. I didn't necessarily need a pair of panties to get home, and the potential rewards outweighed the loss of what had been brand new earlier that afternoon when I had stepped out of the shower in preparation for what I thought might possibly happen.
I watched my captor ball them up suspecting what was to come next, I not having been gagged with a pair of panties since college and that special girlfriend, and back then they had been hers and not mine. These were at least fresh and new, but as they were held to my closed mouth and I inhaled their scent I knew now why they had been pressed so deeply into me. It was further torment from a woman that despite her age could likely teach me a thing or two. I was also so horned up that I was willing to cooperate just to see where she wanted to take me, opening my mouth willingly as those same two fingers packed my ruined panties in deep and wondering how long they would remain.
One thing for sure was that I wouldn't be screaming my head off with them gagging me, unless I spat them out. My captor taking care of than next when she cut off a piece from the tail end of the rope hanging down between my body and the pole, wrapping it twice around my head after lifting my hair and tying it off in cleave gag fashion to hold my panties in place. My mouth was quite full and held slightly open with them, my bulging cheeks I am sure looking ridiculous, my taste slowly leaching onto my tongue as the damp and warm cloth kept me silent.
I expected Ms. Becket might now give me a reason to scream, and if all this was in preparation for that, I was still willing. A bound and struggling orgasm was still the best kind for me, and I suspected that this young woman might have deduced as much with the slight clues I had given away.
Instead of taking care of me though she sent a lengthy text as I watched, she almost instantly getting a reply as I wondered what she was up to. She snickered to herself and put her phone away once again, coming around and reaching between my slightly thighs to grasp the tail of the rope hanging there.
She then ran two fingers down the length of me, parting me as I moaned into my gag, I thinking I were finally about to get what I so desperately needed. She instead allowed the hanging rope to occupy the space her probing fingers had created, pulling the tail up through the cleft of my butt, I getting my first ever crotch rope as I groaned in anger with her deception.
"Temper temper" my captor warned mockingly. She then pulling the ladder back over and running the free end of my crotch rope all the way to the same top pins I was bound to. She snapped it several times on my back painfully as I yelped, the rope digging in and bumping up against that special spot as I tried to find a way to make it take me over the top, my pleasure and pain in direct competition with each other.
I found myself wishing for some more, but my tormentor instead went back to the spooler's controls and started spinning me around again, I collecting more rope about my body even though I already couldn't possibly escape. I watched her sadistic smile come in and out of my field of view every few seconds as my body was rotated and sucked ever tighter to the pole, the ropes slow progression working it's way up my body and nearly masking it's presence.
The spooler stopped again when the rope was at my shoulders, I sucked fast to the pole and just wanting to be released, I having nearly given up on getting anything for myself from my sadistic captor.
When I thought things couldn't get any worse I felt her pull the pin out that I had been tippy toed on, the ropes encircling my body in combination with my bound wrists now supporting me fully. It was an escalation of my helplessness with hundreds of feet of rope binding me to the spool, the men only using a small portion to do the same job and positively gentle as compared to this woman, but my crotch rope was at the same time driven deeper by my slight drop. Was it enough to pop me off though?
My captor came around to stand before me again, I wondering how long we had been at this, from my perspective it feeling like a lifetime. She parted the ropes mashing my breasts to the pole experimentally, my buds popping out from between the ropes almost comically with the tension on my breasts fluid like mass when she chose the correct two.
They were at face level for her in my stretched out suspension, she nibbling on them alternately and I groaning wantonly in response, my internal furnace instantly at full temperature once again. I had popped off before with skillful breast play when riled up enough, and finally I thought I was going to get mine.
I was snorting through my nose, my womanhood gushing like mad, telling even the most inexperienced lover to take me now as I struggled with my bonds. Inexperience however wasn't my tormentor's problem, but rather compassion was. Never had I been run along the proverbial cliff for this long in my entire life, my desires maddening in their intensity.
Just as suddenly as she started, she stopped, I growling my displeasure past my gag like an enraged animal as we made eye contact. Offer, tease, take away at the last possible moment, repeat, I should have seen the sadistic pattern sooner, but my brain had been distracted by the sheer kink of the situation I had placed myself in along with my animal desires. This young woman at the same time was a master of manipulation, I not able to think of a single thing I wouldn't offer her just to permit me to have one big O.
I then watched her twist the two ropes that had hidden my buds with a single index finger between them on each hand, I horrified to find out what she intended. When she had several turns left and right respectively she added her thumbs to the eyes she had formed, stopping precisely over my buds and grabbing them painfully between her thumb and index finger. They were still fully erect and easy to grab as I yelped in pain, she pulling each through the loop she had formed before letting the loops snap closed, trapping my buds painfully.
"PLEEEASE" I begged through my gag, she oddly enough understanding me though.
"Promise to cooperate with me no matter what?" she asked.
"ANYTHING" I tried through my gag.
"From this moment forward your mine to do with as I please then."
I nodded my head ever so slightly in response.
My tormentor reached up by my neck and gave the front of my crotch rope a little tug, it bumping me deliciously like an electric shock. Tug, tug, tug, and then she stopped, I convulsing and causing the ropes to creak while snorting like a bull. She repeated the pattern once again, then finally having mercy on me she just kept bumping the rope, it in turn bumping my spot and sending me over the edge like never before...
...It was by far the best orgasm of my life, I a sweaty mess under the ropes, all manner of womanly smells now assaulting my nose. I was also near comatose, wondering if she was done with me, I also wondering how serious she had been about the deal I had been coerced to make with her. We had all the time in the world before the next shift started Monday morning, and a lot could happen before then...
...A familiar sound eventually broke my near slumber, a truck's back up beeper at the shipping door. If not gagged I would have screamed for Ms. Becket to hide me, or lock the door or something, but it was very early morning and there were never any pick ups scheduled on the weekends. My captor was out of sight and I felt helpless and alone, and I was horrified to hear the huge door opening on it's electric motors, the truck then backing inside...
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