By TheBadOne
Before he leaves, Trevor locks the end of my armbinder to a ring on the floor, then shackles my legs together, and locks those to the ring too. He walks out wordlessly, leaving me in a puddle of his piss, moaning uncontrollably as I lay on my side in a strict hogtie. And then nobody else comes. I don’t hear anything except a drip of water from somewhere, echoing loudly into the space I’m in.
I think back to my lengthy sleepsack scene with Master Shephard. He told me that he was leaving me plenty of slack so that I could last, but I even thought that was tight. Now I realize that if this is the standard for tight bondage, the amount of wiggle room I had that night was in fact, comparative freedom. I long for it, for even the tiniest amount of purchase, for the ability to flex my arms even slightly, to be able to make any sound at all other than a pathetic, gagging, drooly sob.
As the minutes pass and my eyes continue to adjust to the dim light, I suddenly realize that there’s a mirror on the ceiling above me. I look up at it and see the gimp I’ve been turned into. Even alone, I’m humiliated. Vega was right, I thought I was some kind of a hot-shot, and I got put in my place.
I was curious, seems to always get the best of me, but I couldn’t help it. I was walking along an unfamiliar deserted street, when the unmistakable smell of leather came across my nose in front of this imposing abandoned building that reminded me of someone’s castle. Looked like it must have been a boarding house in its final days. Right now it looked tired but grand, but that smell pulled me toward it. I had to try and go in to see what it was like. Didn’t look dangerous, and my fantasies were in high gear. I told myself nothing could happen, this is a safe part of town.