Damsel in Distress

You can always tell a fantasy story, everything happens far too pat.  This one is totally true, and a little unusual.

Picture a main trunk road in rural England, single carriageway but fast, surrounded by hedges, trees and fields.  There’s a wide grass verge each side of the road.  I have found an ideal place where the road sweeps round in a long slow bend; on the outside of the bend and set back about ten feet from the road is a smooth round telegraph pole, carrying phone or power lines.  There is a 5-bar wooden gate into a field nearby.

At around midnight, traffic is fairly light on this road, perhaps a vehicle every two or three minutes.  You can hear them coming a long way off and then see the headlights picking out distant trees.  Then the lights sweep around the corner and the vehicle howls off into the night travelling at 50 to 60 miles per hour. 

I have decided to give these drivers the shock of their lives.  As their lights pass the telegraph pole they will apparently see a half-naked damsel helplessly tied to it! 

I’m not a damsel, of course, I’m a six-foot bloke; but scale is difficult to judge at night if the proportions are realistic.  I park my car down a nearby side road well out of sight, wait till nothing is coming and then scoot round to the field gate and over it into the field.  I hide there for a bit while a few cars go past, heart thumping, getting my nerve together.  I’m wearing trainers, white stockings and suspender belt and a 38D white bra containing water-filled balloons.  Why white?  So they show up in the headlights of course.  A wig and lipstick complete the outfit.  A small concession to masculinity is a cockstrap to hold any erection I might get.

The night is very dark, with a cool breeze.  I love the feel of the breeze round my body.  I can just make out the light-coloured expanse of the tarmac, but I can only see the pole when a car passes.

I have only three cords with me.  One is for tying round my ankles and round the pole and one is to go round my waist to stop me falling forward when tying my ankles.  Both these will be tied with quick-tie, quick-release shoelace bows.  The final cord has been looped five times and again tied with a bow.  You put one hand through the loops then slip the other through one loop at a time.  If you’ve got the length right, once you slip the last loop over your wrist you’re stuck.  The only way out is to wriggle your fingers round until you find the tie, undo it and then slowly unwrap the loops until the tension slackens.  I’ve always managed this hitherto, but it takes anything from one to ten minutes depending on the location of the tie, the random of the loops and the amount of play in the bond.

As the sound of one car dies away into the distance I listen for another.  No light, no sound except the wind rustling the trees.  This is it.  I hop over the gate, dash to the pole and rapidly tie the waist and ankle cords.  I try not to think in case my nerve fails.  I put my hands behind the pole and pull the loops over my free hand.  Done it!  I lean back against the pole enjoying its cool roughness.  Everything is very quiet, almost waiting… 

Then I hear a distant engine. 

Lights on full beam pick out the trees, slide along the hedge, blaze in my face and are gone.

I realise every muscle in my body is tense.  I relax.  He can’t have failed to see me, perhaps I wasn’t obvious enough.  I move round the pole a bit to give a good three-quarter view of my tits.

Another car is coming from the other direction.  I look away as it passes to stop getting dazzled, noting that the white shows up brilliantly.  Momentarily the driver takes his foot off the accelerator, I can hear the change in engine note.  He’s seen me.  What will he do?  Probably nothing, but he might just call the police on a mobile phone.  How long would they take to get here?  Depends where they are.  Will he turn round and come back?  Funny I didn’t think all these things before.

Two minutes later a lorry comes past, slow and overloaded.  As it passes it slows down more, for a good look.  Damn.  The strategy was based on the assumption that drivers were going fast and only got a fleeting impression of Woman Tied to Telegraph Pole.  The truck chugs away; I’ve probably cheered up his boring job immensely.

Three more cars come by in the next ten minutes, and I’m getting pretty high.  Terror has given way to excitement and the erection is back in force.  I’m writhing around and sticking my tits out as the lights flow over me.  But at the back of my mind I’m thinking about mobile phones and reckon I should soon call it a night.

Next along the road are two cars together; that means the second car can see me in the other’s lights, giving a much longer period for thinking.  As they slide past, the second car bangs on its brake lights and slows to a stop on the far side of the road.  Shit.  I’m already frantically pulling at my wrist cords.  Relax.  Do it carefully.  I find the knot and start working at it.  The car just sits there with its brake lights on, about fifty yards down the road.  He can’t see me, surely, it’s too dark.  Perhaps he is waiting for another car to come and light me up again.  Perhaps he’s phoning.  Perhaps he thinks it’s a trap and he’s going to get mugged.  Perhaps he hasn’t seen me at all and was just stopping for a smoke.  As the last of the wrist loops drops away I can hear the distant sound of another vehicle; I rip off the waist and ankle ties, leg it over the gate and hide in the field. 

Through the hedge I could still see the brake lights; he stayed for ten minutes as various vehicles came past, but all I could hear was my heart bumping.  Then he just let in the clutch and drove away.

Two minutes later I was driving away too.
 

Nickerlas