In a Pinch Part Two

The last orgasm took it's toll and Sarah slumped forward against the wall, mashing her bound breasts against the wall, her nipples still throbbing.  As the the waves ebbed, she tried again to grind her pussy into submission and pique its interest, but exhaustion was setting in too quickly and her head became dizzy.  Without opening her eyes, she did her best to plant the balls of her feet into a position that would support her while leaning without a lot of effort, but the floor of the shower stall was now quick slick, and her momentary toe holds would quickly give out as her feet would start to slide slowly out from under her.  It was becoming an exercise just to keep her legs under her. 

She had often masturbated right before bed and found a quick rub to be the thing to get her tired and off to dreamland.  Now, Sarah had just experienced her third orgasm in succession, and the fatigue that was setting in was overwhelming.  She felt as if she would black out.  Her knees began to tremble and the power to hold herself against the wall was quickly flowing away.  She had to act.  With one defiant try, she arched her back slightly and rocked herself away from the cold plastic.  Her sway back was abruptly stopped as her tits reached full extension and the chain of the clamps snapped taut.  The sensation she experienced with that move was far worse than anything she felt prior to her ecstasy as the surge of adrenaline and dopamine had since subsided.

The sudden jolt brought Sarah out of her stupor and an involuntary scream died as a grunt in her throat as the gag continued to keep her silent. The bite of the clamps seemed to escalate with each muffled breath as the pain in her nipples reached heretofore unknown levels.  The coils of rope began to rub her raw above and below, as did the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, but the clamps delivered agony an order of magnitude beyond these as the sensation wavered between a fiery sting and a constant, intense ache.  She instinctively attempted to bring her arms to the front again and slip the cursed things off, but her wrists, now overly sensitive as they pressed against their snug metal rings, reminder her that there was a specific order to be followed here.  Sarah glanced down again at her little captors and fresh warm saliva spilled onto her tits; the lusty, animalistic rush the drooling gave her earlier quickly becoming a humiliating mess she wished she could stop.  The clamps stared back at her with a shining silvery wink, unmoved at all from their starting position, as dug in as before.

Any remnant of the pleasure she felt a few minutes before was gone, and the real pain she was feeling in her limbs and her stomach, the sticky cold sensation of her natural dew drying on her skin, capped with the sight and agony of her nipples inextricably sealed in the clamps came to a head, and big tears welled up in Sarah's eyes as sobs arrived uncontrollably in her throat, the sound of them muffled by the gag wedged in her aching jaw only making her feel worse.  The tears ran down her cheeks and quickly mingled with the damp glaze on her tits.  She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the wall, again assuming the balancing dance that the lean incurred.  Her chest throbbed and heaved with stuttered gasps as she cried harder, tears streaming from her cheeks directly to the shower floor, landing with hollow little thuds in the silence, broken only by her whimpering.

Her watery eyes peered down at her nipples, and the fluttering in her stomach that powered her arousal earlier had returned,  accompanied by the sense of hopelessness that drove her fantasy.  But this time it came from a feeling of panic and dread.  What was she going to do?  Even if Sarah had any courage left to pull against her restraints (which was long gone), it didn't matter if they would not budge from their duty.  These clamps seemed as inescapable as her handcuffs or shackles; unyielding, permanent without their keys.  The last thought made her stomach do a full flip-flop and the queasy sensation only added to her helplessness.  Her eyes welled up again, and just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, a new realization dawned on her. 

The intense force of her orgasms had been replaced by a slowly building pressure in her bladder.  Sarah had to pee.  At first, it didn't seem to be imminent, but her deep sobs had pushed her closer to the edge and the urge to relieve herself, while not immediate, was now constant.  She told herself she would not think about it, but that soon became an exercise in futility.  The harder she though about it, the more acute the sensation became.  She even gave the nipple clamps a good yank to try and distract herself.  The shock of pain helped momentarily, but the gasp she produced only added another notch on the pressure gauge.

She wondered if she could somehow break or shred her crotch rope with the handcuff chain to try and give herself more movement, but she quickly realized that everything was well beyond that point; her wrists were too far chapped to struggle with, the crotch rope was too soaked through with sweat to tear and shred and if she pulled on it anymore, she would probably just squeeze the urine right out of her.  She began to moderate her breathing, slowing it down to try and relax.  The clamps kept challenging her calm and any zen she tried to attain met with some distraction.  She shifted her weight and brought her feet together, hoping to somehow reinforce the dam.  The metal shackles on her ankles clanked against each other and she stood stone still, focusing all of her effort.  But her new stance proved flawed as she found she lost her balance faster, and it was only with a quick shift of her feet to a wider stance that she was able to head off the imminent nipple yanking.  The chain snapped taut, but only just as she just caught herself, and a high pitched squeak bounced off of the inside of her gag.

Legs again spread for balance, Sarah marked time by how much everything hurt now as opposed to some time ago.  She had no idea what time it was nor how long she stood in her self-imposed prison.  She wondered how much more she could take of this, but quickly shook the thought off as it raised her panic level.   There was no end here.  She couldn't imagine dying like this, but how could she go on?  This was torture, slow and methodical, and she realized she would probably go crazy before anything else.  The thought lingered in her head a moment and the wave of hopelessness she batted down before swelled back up in full force, and tears ran down her cheeks and tits as sobs once again caused her body to convulse uncontrollably.  Her stomach had a full stone it it and the movement only highlighted the tenderness of the skin under her bondage.

Worse yet, this round of sobs finally force the bladder issue front and center and Sarah felt as if she would burst if she didn't let it go.  Despite every indignity she forced upon herself this night, she winced at the thought of relieving herself in this manner.  She never dared considered urinating a part of her sex life, it was something you did after sex, after the knots came loose and the gag popped out, part of the pleasure of release.  She could never have imagined being trapped in her own bondage rigging, desperate to relieve herself.  But then again she never imagined being trapped quite like this before.  Her head turned slightly from side to side and she realized she WAS in a shower, a room with a dedicated floor drain.  Where else would a civilized person do such a thing?  Then again, what civilized person would be naked, bound, chained, gagged and clamped of their own accord?  She pushed these quandaries out of her head and slowed her breathing.  She relaxed as much as she could.  The stream would simply hit the wall and flow down into the drain, simple.  Once she got passed this little obstacle, she could get on with the real problems at hand.

Her body relaxed and the first trickle dripped forth.  Within a few moments, the trickle became a torrent.  But the neat little stream she imagined didn't take into account the tight cords of rope wrapped around her cunt and legs, forming a web that stood directly in the path of the flow.  Urine surged out, sputtering and splattering against the crotch rope, and a spray of warm, acrid secretion gushed out in all directions like a fire sprinkler.  A deluge of hot liquid streamed down her legs and pooled around her shackled feet, now covered in a fine mist.  Sarah shouted into her gag, as if ordering her bladder to stop out loud. She tried to hold it in and stop the flow, but the urge was too great and she found herself out of control of yet another part of her body.  For a moment, the indignity was outmatched by the warm, tingly sense of relief that she so desperately sought and a satisfied hum formed in her throat.  The stream seemed to flow for minutes and the bottom of the shower was awash in a pale yellow film that seeped its way to the drain.  But the damage was done, and she snapped back to reality as she realized she was soaked from crotch to toe, her legs raw and wet, small drops of urine rolled down her ankles sneaking past the shackles. 

In fact, she realized, she was soaked top to bottom, her hair was damp with sweat, her face and chest coated in tears and saliva, lubricant and urine from the waist down.  She was a mess and her degradation and despair hit a new low.  The shower floor was slick and her various effluence commingled into a slimy, unavoidable puddle under her bare feet.  She was standing in a toilet and it started to smell that way too.  While trying to ease the pressure on her wrists, it occurred to Sarah that to get the key to release herself, she would have to track the "milk" of her travails across her floors and carpets into the bedroom to the nightstand.  The thought made her a little angry and she wondered for a moment if she could shower herself off while still bound, another first.  While considering the options, her right foot slipped a little from its purchase and she found herself growling into her gag once again, tears flowing from the corners of her clenched eyes, as the clamps, still firmly gripping her tender skin, applied their talents as she slipped down.

* * * *

Sarah lingered for some length of time; five minutes, an hour... it made no difference.  Time was warped and stretched in her prison cell and the kinky bliss of her ordeal ended what seemed an eternity ago.  Her calves had finally gone numb and she leaned against the wall, pressing the clamps into the soft bulge of her breasts, without the tremor of her leg muscles fighting to find the right position.  Exhaustion washed over her and even the pleasure of relieving herself earlier felt like an old memory.  The glee of some countless minutes, hours or days ago, preparing her restraints and building up the wonderful story in her head that explained why she was here, had faded completely.  If only there was a jailer, a one in a million chance that the cruel hands that put her here would revoke the sentence and release her, she could feel something.  But she knew there was nothing.  She had become nothing.  A woman, naked, wrapped in tight rope, gagged, cuffed, shackled and clamped by her nipples to the wall of her wet cell centuries ago, non-existent as she waited for no one to help her.  She was between worlds, empowered by her sexual appetite and helpless to stop it from ravaging her.

Sarah ceased to exist.  She was a sex toy with no name and no voice.  A caged pet with no master.  Was she even a woman anymore?  Did it matter if the delicate physical traits that represented her womanhood could be perverted to betray her so?  There was no one here to know who she was, and alone she lacked meaning as a prisoner of her own making.  Her bondage came to be her meaning, and as she stood there, inches from the wall she knew very well now, Sarah realized that she was her greatest toy; the thing she could punish and torment while relishing the cruel hand of the mistress she was.  No one else could have been so careless as to treat the sweet girl everybody said “Hi” to at the office, the library, the corner coffee shop, in this way.  No one could have been as merciless, abandoning her alone, writhing in her agony and ecstasy like this, without the idea of escape, as she.  She had no one to thank but the heartless bitch that did this to her, and her heart was full of gratitude.

Sarah stood up as straight as she could; the clamp chains tight to the wall.  She stared straight ahead as she took stock of every inch of her bondage.  The ropes around her chest, plastered to her skin with tears, sweat and saliva, kept time with her breathing.  The rope running tightly over her crotch and ass felt a little warmer as the soaked fibers pressed into their niche.  The shackles around her ankles felt like a familiar piece of jewelry.  Her handcuffs, tethered to the crotch rope, kept her obedient, a feeling she really liked, even now.  The red ball gag strapped into her mouth stopped aching, and she felt like maybe she would have a problem ever closing her mouth again.  And her clover nipple clamps, the dreaded little tools that kept her pinioned in her cell, shined as brightly as when she first put them on, showing off their resilience.

 The time of pain and pleasure was over.  What she sought now, in the relative silence of her cell, was stamina.  If freeing herself seemed on the far side of impossible, how long could she be obedient and stand here like a model prisoner?  The jailer in her head lost his armor and craggy face.  He became a she, a beautiful, unfettered vision of her, naked and soft, always just out of view.  How long could the bondage slave hold out against the will of the strictest mistress she'd ever known?  The desire to remain demure and compliant was strong, and she stood silent and still, save for the draft of her breath through her nose and the occasional creak of a rope or clank of a chain.  Sarah the slave acquiesced to Sarah the Domme, and she felt loyal and yielding.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sarah the Domme stood back and admired her favorite toy in willing submission, supple, devoted, and she ran a single finger over the hood of her moist clit.

Time became only a theory and gravity the only universal constant as uncountable minutes and decades swirled around Sarah's helpless form.  The peace of her cell belied the turmoil in her head, a prolonged war of attrition between her unspoken duty in the dream world and the panic of reality.  How long had she been here?  How long could she be here?  The journey into sub-space had wiped clean all sense of time and direction.  But it could not alter physics, and the numbness that kept her docile was slowly being replaced with the dull ache of fatigue. 

After a few minutes, the ache morphed into tremors and she really felt at the end of her rope.  If she were captured by the CIA and placed into this stress position long enough, she would have called everyone she knew a terrorist.  It was just subtle enough to sneak up on you right when you thought you were toughest.  The ache spread to her knees and the involuntary spasms caused her bounce up and down on the balls of her feet.  She shifted her weight to quell the shivers, and the clamps came to life, reminding her of priority one.  None of her previous thrashing had budged the jaws one bit, and she knew her resolve would never last through a hard pull.  She took in a deep breath, cut just short of full by the compression of her breast bondage.

Out of shear desperation, she emptied her lungs into the loudest scream she could, a hard clear yell for "Help" that lost all definition as the cry hit the gag and seeped out around the seal of her lips.  She heard her plea garbled into a loud groan, and threw her head back in frustration.  She let loose another shout, not nearly as forceful as the first, but loud in her echo chamber none the less.  She breathed heavily, trying to calm the big gasps in an attempt to see if anyone may have heard her.  Obedient Sarah took over for a while and she tuned her ears to try to hear a knock at her front door, a voice from outside, a siren, anything.  She allowed a distorted amount of time to pass while she listened.  Someone had to hear her.  She forced herself to think of some songs lyrics in an attempt to pass about 15 minutes, but still her apartment was silent.  It was Friday night, and many of the tenants, young like her, were likely making the most of the new weekend.  They were out, looking to forget the week, escape from reality and feel good for a while.  Sarah had done just that, but unlike any of them, she was quite sure.  The building lacked the normal hum of footsteps and running water that played as background noise during the week, and the stark realization that her muffled pleas fell on deaf walls was becoming a certainty.

Perhaps that was for the best.  Panicked as she was, perhaps she was too hasty yelling for help.  She would have to squash that urge the next time it came up.  Unless of course the next time was tomorrow, or the day after, and she still found herself in her predicament.  She would have to think about it.  For now, she was back to square one, and the war between obedient Sarah and panicked Sarah raged on.  Her mind ran to new fantasies of freedom and rescue, so vivid she thought she could almost come around to arousal again; strong hands plucking her from cell but keeping her tied up tight while they took their certain reward from her.  Hmmm... maybe with a new man.

Her mind drifted and her body would follow, subtly swaying back and forth.  The clamps were a constant anchor back to her reality as they would catch and yank her down to earth.  Her eyes would occasionally glare down at the steadfast sentinels, still doggedly gripping the smallest but most sensitive tabs of her body.  How long would it be before her friends' missed calls prompted a visit or her absence from work brought a police check-in?  This could be her life for several days to come if lives and jobs got busy.  As her mind clicked on the concept of days in her wicked bondage, the one thought she dared not entertain earlier floated like a specter in the dark recesses:  what if the rest of her life was the next few days?  What if the remainder of her life was short, agonizing and humiliating?  The last liquid she drank was at lunch, and she emptied that all over herself in embarrassing fashion.  How long could she go without water now, a day, maybe two? 

Her head swung around quick as she remembered that she was in the shower.  Duh, idiot, you have a full supply of water, she thought.  She leaned to her left and twisted the crotch rope around her as far as it would stretch, reaching out about an inch with her cuffed hands.  The cord reached new depths and she wondered if it would ever disgorge itself from her pussy.  The shower control, a single knob in the middle of the wall under the showerhead, was tantalizing close, about 4 or 5 inches away from her outstretched fingertips.  With a little burst of courage, she pulled against the clamp chains.  The right nipple seared like it was being cut by a knife, and the clamp gave up no purchase on its charge.  She stretched the fullness of her tits to the max, her right breast thrusting straight out from her chest, strained to the limit until, it seemed, her bosom was in league with the clamps, holding her against her will as well.  The full extension of the chains and her flesh was still not enough, and water was not to be had, even here at the source.

Several minutes and tries were for naught, and she collapsed against the wall, spent and unnerved.  Her breaths were shallow and rapid as she tried to will the fire out of her tender skin, but the struggle proved vigorous and the clamps were making her pay for her futile attempts at escape.  Nearly every part of her was shaking and the dire consequence of her situation was forefront in her mind.  She was most likely doomed to spend the next day or so of her life here, miserable and humiliating as they would be. The thoughts of how people would find her days later made her stomach turn.  Would the weight her body, after death had erased her apprehension, finally pull her nipples out of the jaws?  Would her skin tear leaving her delicate tips in the clamps for some confuses rescuer to find?  Who tied her up?  Was she kidnapped? Or robbed?  Who was responsible for this horrible crime? 

Or perhaps they would find the remainder of her toys in the box and the stack of bondage magazines under her bed and fit the pieces of the puzzle together.  God forbid if they went through her hard drive.  Perhaps this was exactly what this slut wanted and no one was to blame but herself.  Deep in her isolation, the dread of her worst-case scenario and the humiliation of being caught and found out for the perv she was, dead or alive, was too much for her bear.  Tears flowed down her cheeks again and dripped from her chin to her cinched cleavage.  The force of her sobs pushed loud stifled grunts that seemed almost as loud as her attempted shouts earlier.  Her breathing kept catching in her chest and throat and her whole body heaved as she cried with every fiber of her being.  She was full on terrified; of the unknown, of what would happen to her, of how she would be discovered and outed for the lusty perversions she forced upon herself.

Her head dropped forward and she pressed her forehead against the cool plastic.  The tears fell straight from her eyes to her tits and the ropes got even darker.  Gobs of drool oozed from around the ball and slid down her chin, forming a fast river of spit that fell like a small waterfall to her tits as well.  The saliva pooled at the rope and spilled like a miniature flood down her right breast.  She cringed at the thought of giving up so much more of her precious last water and cried even harder. More so than before, the torrent was quite forceful, and instead of diverting left or right over the curve of her breast, it flowed straight down to the nipple and the clamp, and a new sensation was felt for the first time this evening.

The slippery fluid coated the jaw of the clamp and she could feel it ever so slowly drip inside the claw.  It was cool and burning all at once as she imagined microscopic beads of spit sliding into the grooves that gave the clover such traction on her ridgy nipples.  Another sob ushered forth and the drool continued unabated.  Sarah knew spit was the best natural lube besides what her pussy produced, and she wondered if it was enough.  She rolled her tongue about as much as she could under the force of the ball and pushed saliva out of both corners of her mouth.  The ball of her gag and all of the straps under her chin were soaked, and the ropes around her tits were like sponges soaking up the fluids.  But despite the series of dams, a steady flow of spit was flowing all over her tits, which were now slick and shiny from her chest wall to the clamps.

Sarah didn't think there was much time before the ooze that covered her breasts would dry and merely enrobe her in a sticky coat of her effluence. She had to act fast, and as the damp sensation continued to tease her nipples, she took as far a step back as she could, snapping the nipple chains to their limit.  Needles of pain shot through her tips and the groans and grunts were coming automatically.  She knew this was making her make as much noise as earlier, but she had no choice.  If anyone was going to hear her cry out, it was now, and she had to get free before someone decided to investigate.  The clamps pulled taut and both of her breasts were stretched to their limits.  Her calves and thighs trembled, her shoulders hunched forward defensively.  She repositioned her feet under her while keeping up the tension and got a little more traction in her step.  She imagined she could feel the flesh of her nipples being ripped from her tits, but if she gave up now, she really would be done for.

Sarah kept the pressure up and with a blood curdling screech into her gag, the right clamp slipped, closed tight on the very last ridge of her of flesh it held, then slipped off and clacked with a defeated thud against the shower wall.  She caught her balance as the tension released, her gasps constant and pained as if she were in labor.  Just as she looked down to examine her nipple, pretty, dark pink and quite whole, though still deformed from the non-stop squeeze it endured, the full sensation of her nerve endings returned.  The howl she released was so loud, it seemed that even the gag couldn't contain it, and she threw her head back in complete agony.  Her eyes clenched shut and stars shot across the black screen of her vision.  Her right nipple was burning like a newly lit match head, continuously.  She wondered for just a moment if it would ever stop. 

Sarah started to feel light headed as her breath was reduced to short panting through her nose but she knew there was more to do.  She returned, undeterred by the pain to her pulling stance and got her feet under her.  However, the clamp chain slid through the Velcro loop around the bar and stopped at the base of the right clamp.  She had yanked the chain another 4 or 5 inches longer and the tension she needed to pull of the left clamp off was gone.  She panicked from the surprise for just a moment, but then stepped back as far as she could.  As she threw her head back, she hit the shower door and realized she was out of running room.  She thought if she opened the door she could give herself more room, but her hands, with only about an inch of movement, could not provide enough force to break the seal on the door.

Fear set in again.  There was too much chain to pull the clamp off, but she couldn't force the door with her hands.  She pressed the bottom of her right foot against the frosted glass and pushed, but the slippery floor and the shackle chain was enough to deaden the effect of the effort.  Sarah was running out time if she was going to pry herself from the last clamp.  She could feel the glaze on her skin becoming a sticky coat and it was now or never.  She started to kneel down, but the nipple chain quickly snapped taut and she was stuck between a good kneeling position and a firm upright stance and her knees and back were aching terribly, barely keeping balance as her legs and feet trembled.  She continued to drop down and the bite of the clamp was as fierce as ever, fighting hard to keep what was its prize.  Another inch and her knees started to protest, it was drop all the way or stand back up and concede the fight.  Her left breast, taut and pointing straight to the wall, quivered as she did.  With one mighty effort, Sarah arched back and the clamp slipped like its twin, stopping right on the edge with just a sliver of skin in the jaw.  Loud, anguished bellows erupted from her sealed mouth and she turned to her left abruptly, the clamp flying off with a little snap before smacking hard and angrily into the wall.

Sarah slumped to the floor of the shower, sitting down into the cold puddles she had been creating throughout her ordeal.  The feeling rushed back into her left nipple and long labored breaths rushed in and out of her nose.  Resting on the floor made it easier to keep her composure and she weathered the blazing flare until all that remained was an intense ache.  She shifted her legs, rattling her chain as she tried to stretch out in the small space, and curled her legs in front of her.  She leaned her head against the wall behind her and lifted her eyes to the bar.  The clamps hung loosely, swaying limply back and forth.  She did it.  She would get out of this in one piece.  Exhaustion finally got the better of her and she rolled over onto her side, curled in a ball, her head slumped on the hard floor.  Clumps of Sarah's hair floated in the wet pockets left in the corner of the tub and she passed out there and then. 

She woke up some time later, her legs and arms aching.  She had fallen asleep on her left side and that arm was numb.  Pushing with her feet against the edge of the shower floor, she pressed her back against the back of the shower, under the hanging empty clamps, and while pushing with her legs, struggled to roll herself back into a sitting position.  Every inch of her body felt as if she had been beaten while running a marathon, and she needed a few minutes to recharge her battery after sitting up.  Once the urge hit her, she lifted her legs and pressed her feet against the shower door.  With the leverage of the wall, the door relented and the seal popped.  Her legs flopped to the floor and she stopped to rest a few more minutes before figuring out how to stand up.

After a few fouled attempts, Sarah realized she could not muster the strength to get her legs under her in order to stand up.  Her head nodded side to side a bit as she fought to stay awake.  She just didn't have it left in her to stand.  Pulling her feet into her, she pushed against the side wall then the back wall of the stall and shoved her body over the threshold of the shower door.  Her skin and ropes scraped against the metal lip of the door seal and she flopped onto the bath mat on her left side.  Once on the rug, she resisted rolling onto her back to keep the cuffs from closing any tighter, and instead pressed her toes into the floor while on her side and shoved herself along a few inches at a time.  Across the bathroom rug and floor, into the bedroom, one short push at a time around to the other side of her bed where the cuff keys sat on the night stand.  She didn't care about the fluids caked onto her skin and hair, freedom was at hand.

Once around the bed, Sarah saw the keys she placed at the very edge of the table, maybe the first piece of luck that night.  Pressing her feet together she lifted her legs with one big attempt, holding her breath,  and rested her arches against the edge of the table.  She dragged her right foot along the top of the small table and pushed the keys to the floor with the top of her foot.  A few scoots of her ass back and the key was in hand.  Just a few minutes more.

About an hour later, Sarah emerged from the shower, wet and pink from the flow of hot water she let pummel her body until her skin started to wrinkle.  The clamps, cuffs, gag and ropes lay in another pile next to the clothes she doffed earlier this evening.  She realized as she dried her hair that she had no idea how long she was in her cell.  She started after she got home, about 6 PM.  She leaned her head out of the bathroom door and checked the clock on the back of her nightstand.  11:30PM.  She disappeared into her thoughts for a moment, lauding herself for having beaten her own time self bound by over twice as long.  She could never have stayed in other scenarios as long, boredom set in way too soon.  The horror of tonight's session mingled with the intense feelings she was still deciphering.  Looking back, the desperation, the panic, the fear, these were elements she always wanted in her other predicaments but could never quite achieve.  A little miscalculation nearly cost her everything.  Would she ever do it again?  She cupped her breasts, lined with rope impressions, and her nipples were warm and throbbing to the touch.  She caught the image of a woman who looked just like her, rope marks around her body, strap lines on her face, fondling her tits in the mirror, and the wickedest thought crossed her mind.  What intense sensations would she add the next time?

11.11.09