The Magic of Daphne: Training
I felt I was the luckiest guy in the world. My dream girl, Daphne, the world’s foremost female escape artist and hottest body in Las Vegas was looking to me for companionship. I could hardly imagine that a sexpot celebrity would live such a lonely, isolated life in her giant mansion. Who would have thought she would try dangerous illusions in her home studio without supervision. I seemed to have found a niche both as a boyfriend and assistant.
With all we’ve been through already, I sense Daphne still does not trust me. Maybe it’s her very private sensibilities that have kept so many people away for so long. Whatever her hang-up, I was about to get as close to her physically as two people can get without having sex.
“Lock me in this, sweetheart.”
She was holding a thick, posey leather straightjacket that for any normal individual would be considered a fetish outfit. But for her there was nothing sexual about it. This was serious business (although she was wearing just the panties and T-shirt she just woke-up in and looked damn hot).
Feeling already like a veteran assistant, I quickly put her arms through the sleeves and did the leather straps in the back as tight as possible. Anything less than that, she would criticize. Each strap gave a moan as I was squeezing air out of her lungs. The large collar strap was self-explanatory and I expertly locked the arms with the intricate front strap even though I had never seen this suit before. She was already testing out her range of motion and the large black ‘monolith’ of leather did not budge.
I followed her into the bathroom where I noted that the large indoor spa was already full with the jets turned on. On the marble counter were a number of chains and padlocks and a key ring with color coated keys. There were also other leather materials there.
“Now do the crotch strap.”
She was smart not to leave the walking until after I placed the crotch strap, because I did it hard and the strap was unusually narrow. It had the surprising consequence of spreading her pussy lips and putting pressure on her clit. She immediately began hopping on one foot because it was painful to keep both legs on the ground, but she gave a cocky smile as if to say ‘no big deal.’
“I’ll just have to adjust the strap width later,” she said with a breathless tone. “Now wrap that long chain around me, but go through the metal rings on the jacket. Then lock it on with these padlocks wherever you think would constrict my motion the most. Don’t be shy.”
“Oh, I wont be,” I said. Of course I was always secretly assessing her safety.
I wrapped the chains and it was obvious that going through the rings meant she couldn’t simply slide the chains down. She would have to get her arms out, pick the locks and then loosen the chains. I placed some locks in her lower and upper back, out of reach, and I locked them to rings so the chain could no longer be pulled through. Two of the rings were on the crotch strap and I pulled the chain hard between the legs and locked it to the nest of chains around her front arm strap. She immediately groaned “ugh!” and began her foot hopping dance again from one leg to the next. It was obvious though that this didn’t lessen the pressure at all.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I’ve almost never seen her swear or lose her cool.
“I’ll unlock that ch…” “No don’t!” she interrupted. She swallowed hard. “I can handle it.”
“Not this macho crap again Daphne. We’ve already had this talk about you hurting yourself too much. Now hold still while I unlock the crotch locks.”
“Brad, you need to understand that I need to keep challenging myself with you here because I need worst case scenarios now instead of on stage in front of high priced ticket holders.” She wasn’t pleading with me, she was ordering me. Yet, I could tell she could barely keep still and was breathing very hard. I knew she was in trouble but I couldn’t imagine how bad it was going to get.
“OK Daphne. You win.”
“Now chain that weight to the rest of the chains on my upper back.”
It was a 20 lb circular weight I recognized from her home gym. I pulled a chain through the hole in the weight and anchored it well to her upper back, managing to squeeze it through a few already occupied rings. The weight caused her to lean back a little and groan some more.
“Now put the hood over my head.”
She motioned towards a scary looking thick hood of the same material as the straight jacket, which contain a number of straps in the back and a long neck which functioned like a collar. There were openings in the material for eyes, nose and mouth.
“Hey, this is bondage porno material baby. Isn’t this hood too degrading for a magic show?”
“Have you ever seen my show?” She knew I had seen her in her skimpy outfits on stage with her male assistants roughing her up all the time. “The tickets clearly say ‘over 21 only’ and this is going to kill. I’ve never seen it in an act.”
She was right but her show keeps sinking to a new low. She was engaging more and more in bondage theatre and I very much doubted this sexually conservative girl understood the images these acts conjure up in her male audience. Or maybe she understood very well.
The hood was a tight fit and I pulled her silky red hair out the back and strapped the hood up very tight. The sway of her body and her moans implied for me to ‘hurry up.’ Although she would never admit to being impatient. I noticed the collar of the hood sealed up the top of the jacket, the place where the magician’s hands usually come out from to undo the straps. She obviously could not bring her arms out the collar or the crotch of the suit, so there has to be some gimmick she’s hiding to loosen things up and get free. But still, with all the chains and straps as tight as they are, she looked completely immobilized from the waist up.
“OK, now you see the spa over there. If you look closely, I put a plexiglass lid on top of the basin. Help me lay on top with my feet facing the faucet.” I did as I was told, though she was heavy with the included weight and the heft of the chain. At the faucet end of the tub was a large, solidly built, metallic scaffold that has always been there for cosmetic reasons and to hold a shower head and decorative soaps. She asked for me to move her forward so that her feet were well within the scaffold while her body lay inside and over the tub.
Next, she told me to lock her ankles together and legs together below the knee with a rigid device that locked shut with two padlocks. This she instructed was to be locked with two rods and a chain to the scaffolding in such a way that there would be no movement up or down and in or out of her legs.
I told her that it looked like everything is done and that she should begin the escape. But, she almost laughed out loud when I said that, as if I was the most naïve guy on earth. “You’re going to lift me up, take out the plexiglass, lower me slowly into the water and then I’ll begin my escape.”
“You can’t be serious.” I didn’t know where to begin. “At the very least the leather will get ruined and the tub will get rust spots.”
“This isn’t real leather, it’s some synthetic material and the metal is all rust proofed. The beauty of the design is that I will have to use my ab muscles to sit up and break the surface if I want to take a breath. I have to escape before I tire out, but I can go for a long time. I’ve been doing extra abdominal conditioning and you know I can hold my breath for a long time.” I had noticed before her perfect abs with complete definition of every muscle. Though not a surprise, I was becoming sexually aroused at the thought. I just didn’t want it to cloud my judgment.
“Shouldn’t you try this on land before you do it underwater?”
“The water is what’s going to make this easier to do. It’s always easier to manipulate a tight straightjacket under water. Don’t worry, if I can’t get out by the time you finish your morning shave and shower, then just unlock me. But don’t unlock me until I nod myself yes.”
“You mean, when you tell me to.”
“No, I wont be able to speak after you put that gag on me.” Crap, I was becoming more aroused.
“I don’t like this. You can barely nod with the thick collar of the hood.” But she demonstrated a small yes and no motion for me. “Why the gag?”
“For drama. I can’t come to the surface and then talk to the audience or ask for help. That would look stupid. They have to think that once I commit, I can’t back out.”
I picked up the gag and noticed that its thickness would run just below her nose to the tip of her chin. Then I noticed it had something protruding out of it that looked custom molded to fill the inside of her mouth. I’m thinking to myself that this girl is just some kinky freak, but aside from her comfort walking around in skimpy clothes, this girl was as sexually vanilla as they get. She’s a good Christian, raised in a very religious home, enjoys family shows, detests vulgarity and is generally blind to people’s ulterior motives. But what if she’s a private person because she’s got this kinky alter ego she’s hiding, that she can call ‘magic’ but keeps the crotch straps tight and narrow secretly on purpose. Or maybe I’m just trying to justify her going through with what amounts to torture to satisfy my own libido. Isn’t it unprofessional to let her do this yet so romantic to rescue her later like a ‘knight in shining armor?’
“No, I wont let you do this!” I said firmly and responsibly.
“Listen Brad, we do this now because I have a lot of work to do today and can’t waste any more time. Now let me focus on my breathing… oh and tonight we’ll do whatever you want to do.”
It’s hard to argue with that, I thought. I put the bit of the gag in her mouth and then wrapped the strap tightly around it. There was only one padlock left and I placed it on the strap and checked to make sure it was secure, I had been careful to note the color of the sticker on the padlock matching a corresponding colored sticker on the key chain. This was our safety system to quickly put the correct key in the corresponding padlock. I lifted her up, pulled the plexiglass away and held her just above the water. She was so heavy to hold, I doubted her confidence in her stamina to last for long.
She took several long breaths through her nose and appeared to meditate before giving me the gesture with her head that I have become accustomed to as her ready signal. I gently lowered her under the water and made special attention that her head would touch the bottom softly. Noting the jets were on, I immediately turned them off so that I could see her carefully. The first concern was how high her legs are in relation to the rest of her body. It is a steep incline for her to do sit-ups, almost 45 degrees, and looked very uncomfortable on her lower back. Also of concern was that this position tilted her head back and was a danger of water running into her nose. I know from her performances of the Chinese water torture act, that she can resist water entering her nose without nose plugs and completely upside-down. But, it requires her to force air out a little and thus robs her of some precious air and stamina.
There’s no way I was going to leave her like this or at least for awhile. After 6 minutes which felt like forever, she did her first sit-up and shakily broke the surface for air and came crashing immediately down. That looked like a lot of work but she had time to take a full breath. The scaffolding her legs were locked to held strong. I was thinking about picking her up again and asking her to nod if she was alright, but I knew that this would disrupt her entire concentration and her special mode of breathing requires absolute focus.
I watched her begin the escape. She was gently rocking back and forth, with the occasional body spasms she typically uses to jar things like arms and shoulders loose. This is not for show as is done by other magicians but something I’ve seen her do to escape the tightest ties that I’ve ever given her; from rope that have left bad bruises in their wake! There is absolutely no panic in her eyes but I see absolutely no progress. She breaks the surface again for more air, and I am comforted in how smoothly it went.
Do I dare go shave and shower out of her sight?
Where’s my damn razor refill. I turn my head to look back at the drenched and writhing synthetic leather package I call a girlfriend still very much helpless in her straightjacket. I think I could leave her for a few minutes just to get a new box of razors from the storage closet downstairs. Right? Right?
I quickly ran across the impossibly long and thickly carpeted hallways, down the main spiral staircase and into the garage where the storage closet was. I had to disarm the alarm that was still on from the previous night. Boy that seemed to take forever, I thought to myself. Finding the small box of my razors was no picnic either among all the industrial sized packages of tampons, toilet paper and toothpaste Daphne has stocked away for what I could only imagine was for World War III preparedness.
Aha! I had found it of course underneath her personal items, but just as I was closing the closet I heard the thud of the house door slowly shutting. It was prone to closing as the doorframe was at a slight incline. I instinctively reached for my pant pocket but was rudely reminded that I was still in only my boxers. The keys are still in my night stand. The door into the house doesn’t budge. I can just go out the garage and find another way into the house. Right? Right?
No luck, the garage door opener was in each of the cars and each car was locked. Where are the car keys? You guessed it, back in the house. I begun to worry about my escape artist upstairs.
About this time, Daphne was getting her first surprise. Unexpected was the level of difficulty the incline and the wet jacket posed for her to break the surface and breathe. It was also troubling how she had yet to make any progress in the escape and the undignified crushing pain to her pussy and clit. However those things were trivial to the surprise that the synthetic fabric of her straightjacket was slowly shrinking in the water. It was gradually squeezing the life out of her, pounding on her head and genitals. She was farther from escape than when she started and already was moaning through the gag to get Brad’s attention. Had Brad actually been there, he would have heard a muffled grumble instead of the loud screams she thought she was making.
No, this is too cowardly, Daphne said to herself. I can figure something out. Brad is probably in the shower and out of earshot. She decided that she would sit up real high and try to throw her upper body off the side of the tub. It would be a painful position to lay in, but at least she wont go back underwater and Brad would recognize something was up.
Daphne counted to 3 and whipped her body as high out of the water and to the right as possible. She could only get her head slightly over the lip of the tub before her whole body slid back down to the bottom. Daphne began to panic again and thrashed around wildly like a caged animal. Not just her abs but her entire upper body was becoming sore and she thought she might not have enough energy to break the surface much longer.
Due to the outfit’s new level of tightness, she could feel her pulse everywhere but was most distracted with the throbbing pressure on her clitoris. She was disgusted with herself that the slightest movement she made in her suit was translating into direct pressure on her clit and her clit and pussy was responding instinctually by swelling up. Somehow the pain of the strap cold heartedly tearing into her labia and her suffocation was being superseded by her brain by unexpected pleasure to her clit. The back and forth mashing of her pleasure center by the cold links of the chain were like shock waves of ecstasy. No, she must focus or die.
Brad immediately thought that the only way he was going to get out of the garage was by hurling a cinderblock through the window of his precious Lexus to get the garage remote from the car. Too bad that the car automatically locks once he leaves it in the garage each day, otherwise he could just enter it without the senseless destruction of his dream car.
I counted to 3 and hurled the cinderblock as hard as I could but it bounced off with just a small scratch. Not even the alarm made a sound. Maybe it would be easier to hurl the cinderblock at the door to the house, I thought with retarded amazement. I was looking at the scratch like it was the Grand Canyon and thought I could have done without this.
I then proceeded to hurl cinderblocks at the door to the house, just above the door handle. After four good wacks, the wooden façade was peeling off to reveal the steal core of the door. Shit, this is actually steel reinforced, I thought. Thinking about the beautiful cars in the garage, I continued to pound at the steel door with some block on block action. I know that Daphne demands top security for her prized compound, but I was shocked at the security of this one door.
OK, back to breaking into these cars, I thought.
Daphne was drifting into a sexual frenzy. Her struggles to release her arms had as much to do with getting access to her crotch and bringing herself to orgasm as it had once been about escaping. She was thrusting her crotch into the air to get more stimulation but it was not enough to cum. It was at that point she realized she desperately needed air and that she was able to interrupt the vicious cycle of arousal.
Daphne once again flexed her abdominal muscles and barely got her nose above the water for a quick breath. The previous attempt had really taken a lot out of her. Daphne then realized that the only thing truly keeping her prisoner was her feet that were elaborately fettered to the solid steel scaffold. If she could free her legs, then she could simply stand-up out of the water.
The plan originally had been that she would release her arms from the straightjacket and then extend herself to her feet and pick the leg locks by hand, but there was no way that her hands could be used anymore. Her final plan was to brute force her feet through the metal leg binders. She purposefully pushed waves towards her feet with the upper body to get the bindings wet and hopefully lubricate her feet to slide out. This was reminding her clit of how close to orgasm she was.
I’ve got to cum, she thought. No, I’ve got to escape. I can’t cum anyways without penetration and for that, I would need to be unlocked. Daphne also knew that secretly her libido was as strong as any man and that she came as hard as any of her boyfriends ever did. She wasn’t polyorgasmic and like her boyfriends in the past, one explosive cum would render her a temporary vegetable and very sensitive. This was also out of the question.
Again her body gave way to panic and she began to buck wildly at the restraints. The walls felt like they were coming in on her and she was wishing the day never happened that she had heard of magic and escape. Underwater, she was nodding her head and moaning two octaves above her usual tomboy tone like a hysterical child. She was losing air badly and maybe a little urine. Where was he? she thought. Had Brad actually been there, he would have seen his lover gently moving beneath the waves as though everything was going as planned. There was no outward appearance of panic, and this thought was creeping in Daphne’s head. Brad probably was not alarmed.
I’m very alarmed, Brad thought to himself. It’s been about thirty minutes since he had gotten locked in the garage and about forty-five minutes since he submerged his girlfriend. Maybe she was smiling and stretching in the kitchen and enjoying her breakfast after another amazing escape, he thought. She might even be laughing about her boyfriend’s dumb luck in the garage and contemplating when to let him in. He knew the look on her face after she completes a daring escape; it looks like she just had the best sex of her life and she would beam like the first strut of a newly crowned beauty queen.
Or maybe she was still methodically picking the padlocks with her concealed lock pick set, systematically attacking the horrible suit in the amazing way he had seen her make organization from chaos. More likely, she was embarrassed by her inability to escape and too embarrassed to call for help, as had occasionally been the case, until her body begins to spasm and betray itself in its confinement. She had seen her before say “this is taking too long and I have to go” instead of “help, I can’t escape” and he remembers how casually she likes to brush off her failures.
Help, I can’t escape!, thought Daphne as her body was betraying itself and her muscles racked with uncontrollable spasms. It was taking muscle strength to not only inhale but to keep from exhaling. The only thing keeping her sane was that she was slowly moving her right foot from its restraints (though by scraping the foot painfully against the metal). She was thankful she didn’t use the thumb cuffs on her big toes as she had often done in the past and would have made this impossible. The withdrawal of her foot was causing painful tension in her right knee.
The escape artist was reminded of a recurring nightmare that had caused her to break out into sweats and sometimes disturb Brad from his slumber from her noise. Daphne would dream of being stuck under the hot stage lights and an escape going terribly wrong. The audience would be laughing and applauding at what they presumed to be fake struggles and showmanship. Her assistants would be, as always, oblivious and she would spend the final minutes of her life on earth in pure torture and in the afterlife watching her career go down in ridicule. Of course she would tell Brad that it was just heartburn before going back to sleep. Now it was a nightmare come true but one which felt more disturbing than she could have imagined. If she manages to get rescued, chances are she will be mentally broken.
It’s broken, Brad realized as the window of his Lexus had finally smashed through. Boy, this was just like a recurring nightmare he had about his car getting keyed but much worse. Maybe it’s not that bad. I can tell the insurance company someone tried to steal it. Right? Right?
A whole hour had passed since the escape began and Brad had finally opened the garage door from within his smashed car. Emerging from the dark garage and into the painful light of day while still in his underwear, Brad optimistically went to the front door and rang the bell. Maybe she’s already free and can answer the door. After a few minutes of waiting, Brad went into ‘emergency mode’ and assumed the worst about what was going on in the indoor spa.
Brad retrieved a cinder block and went around to the back of the mansion to where the largest and most vulnerable windows lay. One baseball like throw was enough to take out the window but Brad begins to realize that his path lay ahead full of broken glass and Brad was currently without shoes. Daphne was the daredevil and might put herself through cutting up her feet for an escape, but Brad sure as hell did not possess the strength of mind of his girlfriend for such punishment. No, there must be a better way.
Daphne’s right foot tears loose of it’s steel enclosure and she can now use it to brace against the lip of the tub and push harder to free the left foot. Her foot feels like it has been given a monumental Indian Burn. It was time again for her to breathe even though she last broke the surface only three minutes ago and Daphne sat up with all her might. In her desperation, she breathed too soon and gulped pure water. If she fell back down now she would die.
No, instead with all her willpower she stayed up long enough to blow water from her nose and take in much needed air. She no longer had strength to control her decent and came crashing hard to the spa floor, cracking the ceramic with the weight. The heavy gag in her mouth prevented her from coughing out what water she inhaled and caused her upper airways to spasm. She was choking. Worse now, the extended battle for air during the last sit-up has caused her abdominal muscles to completely give-out. She was not going to the surface any time soon.
Brad was getting rewarded for his laziness. Moving to the front lawn there were at least three days worth of newspapers he had not had the energy to retrieve before. He became aware that the neighbors who had heard the smash were now watching a semi naked man tying old newspapers to his feet. “Go back inside,” I shouted. “We just had a stray baseball hit a window, that’s all.” I was tempted to instead shout, “someone get an ambulance.” For all I knew, she was just finishing up her escape act and she would be pissed by the broken window, smashed car and the horrible publicity of the cops investigating. But, I can’t waste much more time.
Daphne was losing consciousness and realized it was over. In her hypoxic hallucinations however, she could see the blurry image of a slow stream of bubbles jetting to the surface. Had she cracked the tub and air was coming from beneath her? No, she began to make out that it was coming from a spa jet. Brad must not have turned the jets completely off as it was becoming more and more obvious that some gas was escaping.
Daphne had no idea what spa gas was and where it came from, but she knew she had no choice but to slide over to the jet, jam her nose into the jet outlet and hope she makes enough of a seal to breathe it in. Astonishingly, she did just that but breathed in a little bit of water with the gas. Never the less, she tuned out the throat spasms along with all the other spasms in her body and began to tug at the left leg with earnest as the spa gas had temporarily quenched her thirst for air.
Several sharp tugs with the left leg and a few breaths from the spa jet and she had miraculously freed her other leg. Daphne knew that without her off the chart level of adrenaline and hysterical ferocity, no human on earth could have freed their legs from such bindings and resisted the pain of the scraping and leg cramps. She pulled her legs from the ledge and stood up shakily, nearly falling down. Her lower back and abs were still weak and in pain but nothing compared to her still swollen sex. She slid down the irons from below her knees and she knew that with her legs freed, nothing was going to stop her now.
Nobody was as nimble and controlled with their legs as Daphne. She walked unsteadily from the tub that had imprisoned her for the past hour and a half and towards the marbled counter of the bathroom. The bathroom carpet was now soaking wet and the escape artist was blowing mucus from her nose. This was not as glamorous a job as maybe her fans would have expected. She was able to lift her powerful right leg above her waist and swipe the key ring off the counter with it. It didn’t even cross her mind where Brad was, as she had blocked out his very existence to spur herself to escape.
Daphne uses her toes as well as some people use their fingers as she used it to quickly identify the keys to the locks on her crotch. This was her most pressing region of her body to free. Amazingly, through Pilates and yoga training, Daphne was capable of bringing her foot up to her chest and use it to insert and twist keys into the locks of her crotch chain. She could hold the body of the keys tightly between individual toes and could even maneuver lock picks with the dexterity of writing with a pencil had she been able to access her picks still locked within the jacket.
Her feet were a little tremulous from the morning of stress and she could see the harsh scrapes to her ankles and heal that were actively but slowly oozing blood. Had she ever been in such a position, she felt like she could bite off her own foot to free herself like a trapped wolf. If need be she could be more animal than man. After she gratefully released the crotch chain, she was able to unbuckle the crotch strap that her boyfriend had so ruthlessly applied. This buckle was not done in front but rather between her butt cheeks which further demonstrated her world renowned flexibility and focus to undo it.
Her crotch was now free and the sudden release of pressure and recirculation of blood seemed to immediately amplify the pain. Daphne began to massage her labia and clit with the bottom of her feet to relieve the pain, but her body responded with sexual urgency. She was unconsciously thrusting her hips and mashing her crotch against the leg of the nearby chair to heighten the experience and even forgetting about her restraints she unconsciously and repetitively tried to bring her arms down to meet her sex.
The tight hug of the jacket was being replaced in her mind by the embrace of a solidly built man as he has wrestled her to the floor of her bathroom and made her willpower come crashing down into her primal instincts. Her nimble legs were now pulling her panties down and then kicking them all the way off, making her feel delightfully vulnerable. She then lay in a butterfly position but with her back on the ground and was expertly penetrating her pussy with one foot and fingering her clit with the other. This is a move that few people could imagine possible, but something Daphne secretly knew she could do. As she finally approached the brink of a real orgasm, there was not even a thought of the chains that still held her or the fatigue of the almost deadly torture she experienced that morning.
“Daphne! Daphne I’m coming baby! Don’t worry.” Brad was shouting in the distance. She was almost there to complete bliss as she was moaning into her gag. She could feel that this might be the best cum of her life. Brad had clip clopped his way in, wearing newspaper shoes, sweat on his forehead and looking at first greatly relieved to see his girl laying outside the confines of the spa, on the floor and still breathing. But as he began to hold her, he noticed she was not paying attention to him and impatiently shrugged Brad off her with the fling of her shoulders. It was then when he looked down and saw her nudity and what she was doing.
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