The Best Man
by Ty M Goode
You seem to have quieted down. Are you trying to determine if you’re truly alone? Or are you gathering your strength for another escape attempt? I’ll give you credit, you’ve certainly fought the restraints like a tigress. But you’re discovering that these bonds aren’t like the ones you’ve seen in some B-movie horror flick. I hope you don’t mind that I settled on straps. I would have much preferred 3/8” rope or jute twine, but speed and security were the keywords for this situation.
Ah! You just cocked your head slightly to one side. No doubt trying to listen for clues as to what your next step might be. Can you hear any pedestrian sounds from nearby? Sounds that would suggest to you, that a cry for help might be heard? Of course, you know that implementing that plan of action would be extremely difficult.
Or are you trying to detect any breathing or movement nearby? That would signal that I’m still present, watching your every action. Which is exactly what I’m doing, sitting comfortably on your hope chest, watching every subtle twitch you make. Truly, these are not the mundane decisions one makes during the course of an average day.
But today was to be no ordinary day, was it? Today was the culmination of a whirlwind romance of…what was it? Five days? No matter. You’d finally found Mr. Right. He was handsome, charming, exciting and of no small importance, RICH. You felt like a schoolgirl in his presence. All giddy and lightheaded and that’s not like you. You’re used to having the upper hand when it comes to relationships. But with him, you didn’t mind when he took control.
That’s why, when he called last night and proposed, you thought it the most perfectly logical culmination of a storybook romance. Elope! What a wonderful idea! No family and few friends to bother with, just you and he exchanging vows on a beach in Barbados.
You couldn’t sleep after that could you? So, you busied yourself packing the things you would need, leaning heavily on lingerie and high heels. When that was done, you boxed most of your other possessions in preparations of canceling your lease. Who needed this dreary old apartment any more, when you were going to move into his penthouse downtown?
But enough about that. When he called this morning to say that he’d be over in two hours to pick you up, your heart fluttered. Barely enough time to get ready, you thought. Thank goodness your suitcases were all ready next to the door. Into the shower you went. It was so thoughtful of you to leave the door unlocked, in case he arrived early.
When you exited the bathroom, you looked and felt radiant. Your blonde hair was brushed to its fullest in that carefully teased and tosseled “bedroom” look. Your make-up was perfect, sexy, smoky, alluring. The lacy white, boy shorts panties and matching demi bra, clung to you like frost on a pumpkin. You half wished he was there now, so that he would take you, ravish you, drive you to heights you’d never experienced before him.
Perhaps that’s why, when I slipped behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist, you launched into a fit of giggles. But then my other hand clamped the chemical soaked cloth over your nose and mouth with much too much force to be a lover’s caress. You did not know it then, but that first, startled gasp, had already sealed your fate.
Oh yes, you fought me mightily, those long hours of aerobics and toning exercises clearly evident in your struggles. But with each lunge, each desperate twist, you fueled your body’s need for oxygen. You finally succumbed to that need, your lungs drawing in a great gasp of air. And with it went the concoction of my own design. I’m sure it burned a little as it flooded in, that is an unfortunate side effect. Conversely, it has no aftereffects, such as nausea or headache. But you probably don’t appreciate that right now.
Your struggles slackened, then all at once you went rigid. Perhaps it was one last desperate lunge for freedom. But it was not to be. Your body went lax against mine and I gently lowered you to the floor. Despite the frenzy, hardly a hair was out of place on your magnificent body. Your face was angelic, as if you hadn’t a care in the world. This might be true, since I was about to take you away from the banal trivialities of every day life.
I freed your breasts from their gossamer prison. They still remained high and proud on your chest, nipples half erect above the deep blush areolas. Your tan was uninterrupted and soft, not like most oven broiled California girls. The three vertical diamonds of your belly piercing (a gift from him) glittered merrily upon your narrow waist. The wispy white panties only partially obscured your downy, flaxen patch and emphasized the strong flair of your hips. I decided to let you keep them. For now.
Your silky smooth and toned legs seemed to go on forever, ending with toenails painted an adorable shade of pink. I saw that your perfectly manicured fingernails sported the same color. Lovely. I could have stood there all day, drinking in your beauty, but there was work to be done.
The straps, as it turned out, were a marvelous choice. It was so decent of you to remain patient and cooperative whilst I tightened and cinched and tightened them again. The result truly was spectacular. For me, anyway.
And you have remained as I placed you, since regaining consciousness. Your struggles have proved fruitless, no matter which tact you tried. The black leather bands continue to squeeze your muscles relentlessly. You may, perhaps, think that I needn’t have applied them to your ankles, below and above your knees and mid-thigh. Nor was it necessary to cinch your feet together at arches and big toes. Sorry, I’m nothing if not thorough.
I suppose the same could be said about your arms. Cinched straps at thumbs, wrists, above and below the elbows, even up near your armpits might be considered a bit excessive. But they draw your arms behind your back so nicely. I particularly like the way the flesh prunes between your shoulder blades. And oh, how it does make that magnificent bust of yours thrust out.
Yes, I could have stopped there, my point of your helplessness having been made. But you deserve my very best effort. Worn alone, the thick, 3” high, black leather collar, adorned with silver rings at the four points of the compass, would have reduced movement of your head considerably. Utilizing it as I had, augmented that limitation.
Naïve as you are to this unexplored lifestyle, the object filling your mouth and quieting your cries to a kitten’s purr, is called a pear gag. It derives its name quite simply, from the shape of the massive, hard rubber sphere stuffed in your mouth, trapping your tongue flat. Previous slaves have told me that “Unpleasant” doesn’t even scratch the surface of the discomfort it causes. Alas, there are two types of people in this world. Those who wear the gags and those who don’t. I suppose by now, you’ve figured out which category you fit in to.
The wide, lightly padded band of black leather that is crushing your lovely face from nostrils to slightly clefted chin, is attached to the plug. This eliminates any chance of slippage. Such a malfunction would be tacky indeed. Have you even any room to pout those perfect lips sealed around the shaft of the plug, or are they mashed flat against your pearly white teeth? Why do I ask? I’m certain it is the later.
Have you noticed yet, the cold, dense weight resting on the nape of your neck and what its purpose might be? It’s nothing mystical, really. Merely a padlock through the buckle of the gag strap. If it’s any consolation, you possess the key. It’s dangling from the ring on the front of your collar.
Perhaps you could appreciate the craftsmanship of your restraints better, if you were able to see. But I adhere to the belief that tactile edification of ones bonds can be quite powerful. So you’ll have to wear the wide, padded band obliterating your sight for the time being. If you must know, it’s a perfect match to the gag strap. Plus, the small triangular cut-out, let’s your cute little pink nose poke out adorably. The key to the blindfold’s lock is also hanging from your collar.
Unfortunately, I had to ruin your carefully crafted hairdo, lest it inhibit the absolutely tightest fit of the gag strap and blindfold. Truth be told, tied with a black leather thong, high up on the back of your head in a ponytail, detracts nothing from your looks. The sun bleached maize of your delicately wavy hair, contrasts pleasantly with the glossless ebony of the leather. Or perhaps that is just beauty in the eyes of THIS beholder.
Ah! I see you wriggling your fingers. Are you trying to discover a fastener that you might exploit? Sorry, there is nothing within reach of those questing digits, I’m afraid. And what are those pinioned thumbs of yours doing? Oh, of course, their probing the strap that doesn’t truly have anything to do with restraining your limbs. It deals with restraint on a more cerebral level.
Once again, I must applaud you on your choice of underwear. Those ‘Boy Shorts’ couldn’t look any more feminine on you. All the more, by the way the crotch strap bisects them. I’m sure you can feel the tightrope tension of the strap, as it burrows deeply into the cleft of your ass. I must say, it certainly does enhance those firm, smooth globes.
But that’s not what bothers you most, of that I’m certain. Nor is it the waist belt, to which the strap is attached, relentlessly squeezing your now alarmingly narrow waist, just above your hip bones. No, I’d wager a healthy sum that your true anxiety lies further below. Down at the very essence of your womanhood.
I took the liberty of manually manipulating your treasure before tightening the strap. You didn’t seem to mind at the time. Can you feel the rough edges of the strap digging into the folds of your labia, through those daringly diaphanous panties? Sorry, silly question. Of course you can. And what of the epicenter of your sexual being. Is that little bundle of nerves, under constant, crushing pressure enjoying its embrace. In spite of the ache, does the strap somehow seem to transmit every breath, every shudder, every heartbeat, directly to that wee button of flesh? I’m told in fact, that it does. I’ve also been told that when blindfolded, the sensations increase a hundred fold. I dare say it must be quite interesting for you, a first timer. Oh, and by the way, the key to the crotch strap is also attached to your collar, in case you were wondering.
What-Ho! It looks as though you’ve opted for another attempt at escape, rather than calling for help. Good choice. I’ve been sitting here all this time, and the loudest sound you’ve been able to make, wouldn’t have been heard over a running refrigerator. Not that I’m certain you weren’t trying, as evidenced by how your bulging cheeks blushed darkly with the effort. So escape it is. I wish you the very best of luck.
But it will take more than luck and we both know it. For my supply of straps hadn’t stopped there, had it? Yes, I’d pinioned your arms and legs quite effectively, as well as garroted your sexual treasures, but we weren’t quite finished, were we? Your lax body made my job much easier.
Sitting you up, I’d brought your knees up to that lovely chest of yours. A long strap passed behind your knees and around your back, under your arms. Once hitched snug, more straps followed. Another below the first, sinking deeply into the meat of your upper thighs and fastened lower down your spine. Two more traversed the exact same path as the originals, but this time, trapping your fused arms against your back. Three more straps, even longer, were spaced evenly up your shins, trapping your whole body and squeezing it into a compact little ball.
Then came the flourishes for which I’m noted. The first was a short length of chain clipped to the front of your collar. This ran down to the strap grinding your knees together. So much for bobbing your head up and down. Lastly, a fine length of chain connecting your cinched thumbs to your equally pinioned big toes. A bit drastic perhaps, but no one ever accused me of being a soft touch.
And that is how you’ve been, for the last hour. But the sun will be rising soon and we have places to be. I stand quietly, a riding crop gripped firmly in my right hand. Time to make my presence known.
“Hello, Darling.” I say conversationally.
You stiffen, or appear to.
“hhmngh-mnff!” You cry out in an astoundingly smothered voice.
I believe you were trying to call out my name, “Michael”. Either that, or hailing a cab. No matter, it was time to explain some things. I let go with a sharp blow of the crop across her right ass cheek. The resulting howl sounded like a coyote, twenty miles away. Amazingly, your struggles are forceful enough to somehow topple you over on to your side. I leave you as you are. If you want to get back up, do it yourself.
“Silence, slave!” I commanded. “You will speak only when I give you permission. And I will not grant that permission for some time to come.”
She apparently didn’t hear me, or thought this some kind of cruel joke, for her hums and grunts continued. That was until I landed another blow on her left ass cheek.
“I said SILENCE!” In a voice that was low, but carried more than an undercurrent of menace.
At last she stilled. She tried and failed, to turn her head up toward me. As if looking at me with sightless eyes would shed some light on what was happening. She lay there, her panting breaths whistling through her nose, trying to make sense of it all. But I knew what was happening to her was beyond her comprehension.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Jasmine.” I conceded. “One who would make any man happy to wed. But marriage to a beautiful woman doesn’t put food on the table.”
“There are men however, and some women too, who would pay a handsome price to own someone like you. That’s were I come in.”
“You see, I’m a procurer of such merchandise that these people seek. I am very good at it, as can be derived by the expensive bobbles you’d become so enamored with.”
“Suffice it to say, that you’re not the first woman that I’ve kidnapped and sold.”
Jasmine let go with a muffled bleat of shock or disbelief. I decided to let that transgression pass. She would not get another free ticket.
“Very well, if you must know, you’re number fourteen.”
“It might interest you to know, that you’ve been purchased by an oil czar in the former Czech republic. Pity, this fellow has quite the reputation of being a cad. You’re the third girl I’ve shipped to him in the past two years. I’ve no idea what happened to the previous two.”
“His instructions are the same as before. I’m to train you in the rudimentary art of being a slave. You’ll be taught to do things with your body that you’d never dreamt of doing. And do them you will. Mark my words.”
At this Jasmine lost control. She began blubbering, I’m sure in an effort to beg for release. I had no time for this, so I knelt and pinched her nose shut. She tried to jerk her head away, but had no leverage.
“If you cry, you’ll clog you nose and die.” I explained in a calm voice.
“And I’ll not knock you out for the journey. Your time to submit to your captivity begins now. You will feel the restraints on your body and know that there is no escape. The sooner you accept that, the sooner I can show you some of the pleasures permitted you in your new life.”
I let go of her nose and she gasped in as much air as her folded body would allow. A few moments passed, but she did not make any attempt to call out. I was pleased with my evaluation that she would be susceptible to training.
“Good pet.” I said, stroking her magnificent derriere. She shuddered slightly, but remained otherwise still.
“Well, we must be off. I’ll expect no trouble from you. The consequences will be dire.”
With that, I righted her back on to her knees. Then picking up the tightly balled up recruit, I placed her inside her very own hope chest. I tossed in some of the more tasty pieces of lingerie she’d packed and shut the lid.
As I finished securing the chest in the back of my white, Escalade EXT, the sky was just brightening in the east. We’d be back at my home base by lunchtime. I felt no remorse or guilt. It was business. Of course I had to be a little creative when filling out my 1040, but it was business nonetheless.
As for Jasmine, she had gone searching for a groom. Instead, she wound up with the best man.
Copyright© 2008 by Ty M Goode. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org