A Road Less Traveled
A work of fiction by Robert Deane
He knew that this day would be different, unlike any other that he had experienced. And one that he hoped he would not experience again, ever. How he got himself into this position was a long story, but it started with what, at the time, seemed like an innocent comment from her. Something she had thought about, and mentioned to him, almost in passing. But it stuck in his mind, and stayed there, until he decided that it was time.
She was sitting across from him. Restrained. Unable to move, unable to speak, other than a few unintelligible noises. And naked.
He loved her body, its soft, warm curves. And there it was, tied in the chair. Actually, tied was not a good description, because it was the wide, silver duct tape that held her in place. Her arms pulled tightly behind the back of the chair. Her elbows touching, wrapped in the unforgiving duct tape, and her wrists taped palm to palm. Actually, very little of her skin from above her elbows to her wrists could be seen, the strips of duct tape, wrapped one after another, almost covered her entire arm. She was not to be free on her own, of that there was no doubt.
More of that silver tape also covered her mouth. But not only her mouth; the tape had been wrapped around her head, front to back, across her mouth, her cheek, beneath her hair, and back around the other side. Strip after strip, until the bottom portion of her face, from just below her nose to her chin was covered with the duct tape. No noises were to come from her mouth, other than the low, pleading sounds.
And her breasts, firm, perky, as much from her age in her early twenties as the daily exercises that kept them that way, were thrust forward, as if begging to be touched. He wanted to touch them, to tease them, as he had countless times in the past. But not today. Her nipples, normally round and begging for attention, were flat, cruelly squeezed that way from a set of large nipple clamps. He knew that she was experiencing not the normal arousal from the clamps, but pain from the tightness. He knew that because he was wearing the same set of clamps on his male nipples, though much smaller they were squeezed just as tight.
Her ankles were taped to the legs of the chair, the tape running almost the entire length of the chair leg, from floor to the seat, around the chair leg then around her soft skin. One last piece of tape ran across her waist and around the back of the chair. So there she sat, restrained, taped, unable to move. But move she did, grinding her sweet butt cheeks into the chair. The reason was obvious: touching her clit was the tip of the largest dildo he, or she, had ever seen. The dildo was held tight to her thigh, of course by that silver duct tape.
When it was turned on, as it had been more than 60 minutes before that, it was set at the highest setting. As she had first stared into his eyes, she was asking, almost begging, for his permission to have that first orgasm. He was unable to answer her, so she held on, physically and emotionally, as long as she could. But somewhere around the 15 minute mark, she surrendered to the vibrations and began her path into that first of many orgasms. Forty-five minutes later her eyes had grown foggy, unable to focus, her body continued its nonstop spasms.
In what seemed like centuries before that she had begun shaking her head, making those noises, pleading sounds, begging for the vibrations to stop. She was a strong young lady, much of it due to her age but also due to her frequent exercises, but her slender frame was shaking, save for those parts restrained by the duct tape. Her mind was quickly sliding down into the depths, perhaps never to return to reality. And there was nothing he could do about it.