Sunrise - Part II: Fantasy

Part II: Fantasy

I was sitting at the kitchen table eating soup a few hours after my escape, thinking it over. It was sheer luck that I was free. Without the pilot light in the furnace, I would not have been able to see the combination lock. I should have extinguished the pilot when I was removing light sources from the area of my overnight bondage but I assumed it had been shut off weeks ago at the end of winter. I wondered if, without the lit pilot, I would have given up trying to escape by now and phoned for help. Probably not, so I'd still be down in the basement, twenty hours into an escapade gone wrong, chained hand and foot, dressed in a red baby doll nightie.

In my imagination, I peer through the vent in the front panel of the furnace and see no flame. Maybe the angle is wrong – I was sure I could feel a hint of warm air. I feel compelled to take the front cover off the furnace to make certain. Only bad news needs confirmation! I have to take the upper panel off the furnace, then the lower. I stand up and stretch my hands as high as I can but I can't reach the hand-grip. The sheet-metal panel has a sharp edge and I move my bare feet back in case I drop it, lift the panel off by putting my fingertips in the vents and carefully lower it to the floor. I take the lower panel off, bend down and peer into the furnace. Cold. Dead. No way out! I've really done it this time!

Hardly aware of what I'm doing, I put the lower panel back. Why did I do that? To be tidy? I realize that it's not completely pointless – it's safer to have the panels back where they belong. I wrestle the second panel back into place and kneel for a moment, leaning against the wall. What should I do next? I am in a panic again, my mind flitting around from one possibility to another. I need to think of another way to escape but my mind can't focus.

I think that it may be easier to try to think up an escape plan with less distraction from my aches and pains. First things first – I hobble to the bathroom for a pee and a drink. This is much easier than the first time – I can see what I'm doing and I know the pitfalls.

On the way back to the couch, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. In daylight, I don't look like the sultry slave girl I had conjured up in the dark - I'm just a guy trapped in chains and a baby doll nightie. If I end up phoning for help, naked would have been better than wearing lingerie. Of course, that was part of the thrill of putting on the nightie in the first place – in addition to making me feel sexy, it increases the stakes. I'm more reluctant to call for help because my rescuer would see me wearing lingerie and I'd find that very embarrassing.

I collect two cushions from the small office next to the back door to support my elbows and reduce the tension on the handcuffs. I also bring the rug from the hallway to keep me warm. When I try to get comfortable on the couch, I find that it's difficult to cover myself with the rug. I have to curl into a ball to raise it to my neck, then hold the end under my chin and straighten my legs without letting the other end of the rug slide onto the floor. After several tries, I'm lying with the rug covering me. If anyone looks in the window they won't see that I'm shackled and cross-dressed. If they don't notice the tie-out chain, they'll just think I'm taking a nap.

I'm quite comfortable lying on my back under the rug with a cushion under each elbow and I'm starting to feel confident again. Maybe it wouldn't be too embarrassing to phone the girl next door and have her come over to release me if I'm covered up like this. She needn't know any details, though she'd figure out that I must be attached to the tie-out chain somehow. A weird situation but not really kinky. Maybe I could convince her that I was doing this for a bet. No rush to call, though. I might yet think of a better way. I begin to relax and doze off. After a while, I wake up, cold because the rug slid off onto the floor. I try to roll over and have a moment of disorientation – I completely forgot I was in chains. I retrieve the rug and cover myself again after several tries. I slept for only a couple of hours last night and it's hard to stay awake now I'm cozy again. I keep drifting in and out, floating. Eventually, I wake and I'm startled to find that it's after five o'clock. All that daylight wasted! I should have been trying to free myself instead of dozing. I get up and go to the window to look out. The sky is clear, a few small cirrus clouds, just like the forecast. It's too late for the clear sky to help today – the Sun is on the other side of the house – but it offers hope that tomorrow morning I'll be able to see the combination lock.

Maybe my subconscious worked while I slept - I have an approach to try. I collect two large padlocks from the toy bag and snap them together to make a crude pair of pliers. I go back to the ring-bolt and try to grab the lock nut with it. They won't close small enough. I get a small padlock, put it next to the nut and try to grab both at once. The improvised pliers seem to grip but when I try to turn the nut the small padlock slips out. Well, that didn't work and soon it will be getting dark!

Maybe I will have to phone the neighbors, the girl and her mother, after all. Could I persuade the girl to to leave a flashlight outside the back door where I could reach it? I can't think of any reasonable explanation for such a bizarre request. And she could see in, so I'd have to put the unused bondage gear out of sight and hide around the corner until I was sure she'd left.

I decide not to call just yet. I use the bathroom again and get back onto the couch. I'm hurting a bit from trying to loosen the ring-bolt but I try to relax. I turn on the television; the weather forecast is the same. Given that the sky is clear now, there's a fair chance it will be clear in the morning. While I watch the news, the daylight fades. I calculate the hours until sunrise. I've made it this far so it shouldn't be too hard to rest on the couch for a few more hours even though I'm very hungry and each chain is making itself felt. I watch television for a while, then doze on and off until 2 am. After that, I can't sleep because I'm hungry, every chain is pinching and even under the rug I feel cold. Most of all, I can't relax because in a few hours I'll be out of options.

Daylight, finally! I'm lying on the couch, trembling a little from the tension. I force myself to wait a few extra minutes to make sure the sun has definitely risen, then hobble to the back door and look out. It's cloudy again, even thicker cloud than yesterday. Even so, I try one last time to open the lock. Hopeless! I'll have to make the call.

I wait as long as I can - it's Sunday morning and I don't want to wake them up. But by eight o'clock, I've lost my reluctance to pick up the phone. I've been chained up for a day and a half and I'm eager to be free. I load the unused bondage gear into the bag, put the bag next to the couch where it can't be seen from the door and dial the number. The daughter answers on the fourth ring. “June, could you do me a favor and leave a flashlight by the back door of my house? I'll explain when I get home.” “Sure!” she says. “Do it now while you remember”, I suggest. “OK”. I hobble round towards the workshop, pulling the tie-out chain taut and covering it as well as I can with the rug. Then I hide round the corner.

I wait for a long time. There is no sound. I wish I'd brought the phone with me. Too late - if I try to get it now, she might look in and see me. I'm uncomfortable. The floor is hard and it seems colder back here. I try to judge how much time has passed. Eventually, I tell myself it's now or never. I crawl to the door and look out through the glass. I don't see anyone so I open the door slightly and poke my head out. I look both ways but there is no flashlight. I close the door and lock it.

Back to the telephone and redial. “Did you remember to put the flashlight by the back door?”. “I put it by the front door.” “I'm a bit worried it might be stolen from there,” I improvised. She replies: “Nobody can see it from the street. Just bring it back when you're done with it.” I couldn't think of anything to say but “Well, OK. Thanks.”

Damn! Now what to do? I'd risk opening the front door if the tie-out chain would let me reach it but it's so short I can get only half way up the stairs. I think for a while, trying to come up with a way out. I can't escape without help and she is still the best choice. I call her again but when I try to persuade her to bring the flashlight round to the back of the house she just refuses. “Why is it so important to take it to the back?”, she asks. “Because I might be home really late and I think someone might steal it from the front.” After a pause, she says “Don't try to fool me – we've got caller ID. I know you're calling from inside the house. What's going on?” I don't know what to say. I hang up.

I think for a while and decide: OK - no more subterfuge. I unlock the door, get on the couch, call her and say “I need your help, please. Can you bring the flashlight with you and come in the back door. I'll be waiting for you. The door's unlocked.” I have to hurry to hide myself under the rug before she arrives. It keeps sliding off and it I barely manage to cover myself from neck to ankles before she walks in, a big-boned girl in jeans and a tee-shirt with dark hair in a pony-tail. She looks at me lying on the couch. “If you'll just leave the flashlight here, I'll be fine.” She seems startled when she notices the tie-out chain. “I couldn't guess what your problem was. This is a surprise!” She bends down, picks up the chain and follows it back to the ring-bolt, pulling it hand over hand. She comes back, hand over hand, until she almost reaches me. Then she suddenly pulls. My bare feet and ankles, chained together, appear from under the rug. With my hands at my waist, I can't hold the rug and it slides down a few inches and shows one of the spaghetti straps of the red baby doll. She laughs, takes hold of the rug and flips it off me.

I lie there, petrified with embarrassment. I'm a guy, dressed in a baby doll nightie, lying on a couch in shackles while the girl next door stands there in everyday clothes, chewing gum while she stares at me. She looks me up and down, amused. “You're in quite a fix! I guess did this to yourself and you're stuck because you need the flashlight to see the combination lock!”, she says with a giggle. “Yes.” “Where are the keys?”. “In the back room. On the floor”. She walks off. I hear her flip the light switch and mutter under her breath. She comes back for the flashlight, walks off again and returns holding the keys. “Got them!”, she says, and puts them in the pocket of her jeans.

She looks around, sees the bag of gear beside the couch, reaches in and takes out a couple of items. “More stuff!”, she says, then dumps everything onto the floor. She picks up a large lock and walks round the corner, pulling the long chain taut. I hear a click. She reappears and smiles at me. "There, now the combination lock doesn't matter. You'll need a key to get loose.” She taps her pocket. “ I padlocked the chain to the wall."

She looks down at me and says “Why don't you sit up?” I struggle to a sitting position, very conscious of her watching. I feel anxious and yet excited. I've fantasized about being held captive and now it's really happened. I start to develop an erection that bulges out the skimpy panties. She must be aware of this involuntary response to the situation but she gives no sign of it. In a sitting position, there is slack in the ankle chain so I move the cuffs away from my waist and hold my hands between my knees to try to hide my erection.

She sits next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders, picking up various pieces of bondage gear and asking about them. After I've explained what everything is for, she asks “Why didn't you use one of the gags?” “The head gag is dangerous when I'm alone because it makes breathing difficult. The bit gag would have been safe but you wouldn't have understood me when I phoned for help.” She laughs. "I'm glad you reminded me about the phone!" She unplugs it and takes it away. I'm not sure where she put it but I'm sure that it's out of reach. When she returns, she picks up the bit gag. I shake my head and refuse to open my mouth but she twists my ear until I yell, then pops the gag in and chains it on tightly.

I'm totally at her mercy now. If she leaves with the keys, I can't telephone or shout for help. “Stand up!” I obey and she takes hold of my elbow and guides me into the hallway, matching her pace to my tiny steps. She leans me up against the wall opposite the furnace, takes the keys from her pocket and bends down to the ring-bolt with her back to me. I hear her unlock the padlock. I wonder if I could fall on her, stun her and release myself. Before I can summon the courage to try, she has pulled the chain taut and relocked it. My tether is now only about four feet long; I'm restricted to the corridor and can't reach the outside door or the bathroom.

She looks me in the eye. I find that I can't meet her gaze and drop my head. Because of the gag, drool runs off my chin and soaks into the front of the baby doll. She walks away, comes back with a couple of tissues, lifts my head up gently by the hair and wipes my chin. “And you thought you were in trouble before!”, she says with a grin. I mumble: “Please let me go.”

She walks away again and I can hear her moving the bondage gear around. When she returns, she is carrying a padlock. “I want to be sure that you can't escape. On the floor and on your stomach!", she commands. There is no point in resisting - I can't fight or even protest. In a few seconds, I'm lying on top of the handcuffs on the hard floor with the chain to my ankles forcing me to bend my knees. She pushes my ankles up towards my waist, then straddles my shins, bearing down on them to bring my ankles close to the waist chain. I resist but she leans forward and applies more weight, snapping on the lock to link my ankles to the waist chain when she's satisfied that my knees won't bend any further. My legs are immobilized - my knees are doubled over and if I try to bend my hips the chain around my ankles cuts into me painfully.

She unlocks the padlock from the ring-bolt, pulls all the spare length out of the closet and relocks it. She takes me by the shoulders and slides me towards the bathroom so I'm about midway between the bathroom door and the furnace, then detaches me from the tie-out. I have no idea what she's up to. Maybe she'll put the keys in a distant part of the house and leave me to struggle to reach them. Freedom is not part of her plan, though. She pulls the tie-out chain taut and padlocks it to my ankles. Then she takes the free end, loops it round my neck and locks it. Another lock then attaches it at the back of my head to the chain that holds in the bit gag. She walks off into the bathroom and, after a moment, I hear the click of another padlock.

She bends down and advises me: “I've left you slack so you won't strangle but if you move around too much you might pull the toilet loose from the floor.” I look back at her. “That was a joke!”, she continues. “You're supposed to laugh!”. She stands up and says: "I don't have any more time for you now - mother and I are going shopping and after that we're planning on lunch and a movie. I'll see you later!". I turn my head to watch as she walks towards the door. She picks up the drape and puts it back up over the window, adjusting it so there are no gaps to look through. I mumble a plea for release – this hurts too much. She tilts her head - “What did you say?” I repeat what I said. “OK, but you'll have to stay like this for just a short while. I'll come back after breakfast.” She walks upstairs, returning with the house keys that hang in the kitchen. I moan and grunt, trying to attract her attention while she fiddles around with the lock, but she ignores me. She finds the key that fits, takes the keys to my shackles out of her pocket, links the two rings together, puts them back in her jeans, steps outside and turns. She puts her finger on her lips and says: “Stop making a fuss! You'll just make me angry”.

The door closes, she locks it and I'm alone again. I'm very uncomfortable. The chain from ankles to the small of my back is short and taut. The original ankle chain goes though my crotch now that my ankles are behind me. It has no slack and the handcuffs are held tightly to the front of the waist chain. I manage to fall over on my side so that the handcuffs are no longer underneath me but my legs are already starting to cramp. It might be a short while for her but it seems hours to me before she walks back into the room. She's changed her clothes. Now she's carrying a large purse and wearing a dress that stops just below her knees. She notices my gaze and says “Church clothes”. She takes a camera out of her purse and I turn my head away. “I want some good shots of you,” she says. I shake my head. “If I don't get them now, I'll leave and try again this afternoon. I'll keep coming back until you cooperate.” I can't imagine even another hour in this tight bondage so I look towards her while she takes photographs from several angles. She lays the camera down and smiles. “I won't show the pictures to anyone if you behave yourself!”.

She turns me on my side, unlocks the handcuffs from the ankle chain and releases my wrists. “It's the legs that need to be looser!”, I mumble through the gag but she turns me back onto my stomach. I protest, waving my arms around, but it's pointless. She cuffs my wrists behind me and padlocks the handcuffs to the waist chain.

There is a pause. I groan. Maybe she'll be merciful. This hogtie is so tight that it feels as if the ankle chain is cutting through the skin. I groan louder, then feel a fumbling at my ankles. The padlock clicks unlocked and I can feel it being twisted around but the tension in the chain is just as great. Suddenly she is standing with a foot on each side of my waist and I feel her skirt tickle my feet as she lowers herself onto my shins. She unhooks the lock as her weight releases the tension in the chain but doesn't stand up at once. Instead, she slides her crotch slowly up and down my shins. Her panties are damp. Tufts of hair that escape from them tickle my legs. She leans forward and rubs her crotch across the ankle chains. My feet are underneath her dress and her bare stomach slides up and down against my toes.

Suddenly, her weight is gone. I want to straighten my legs but I can only manage it in tiny increments because of the pain in my knees. She moves the ankle chains slightly. “You should see the marks the chains left! Poor dear! I didn't mean to be cruel. I wish I could take these off you for a while but who knows what kind of mischief you'd get into while I'm gone?”.

I painfully straighten my legs, little by little. She lays a hand on my shin when my knees are bent at a right angle; I take the hint and stop moving. She chains my ankles to my waist again. It's much less painful than before and I mumble “Thank you” through the gag.

She kneels down and strokes my head, saying “While I ate breakfast, I had time to think about how to make absolutely certain you'll be here when I come back because then we're going to have some fun! You can't move more than a few inches and I don't see any way for you to get loose but I'm going to make it harder so you won't even try.”

She reaches into her mouth, takes out the piece of gum that she had been chewing and presses it into my ear. Then she slowly unwraps another piece and starts chewing it.

She takes a roll of duct tape and a pair of scissors out of her purse. She cuts off a four inch piece of tape and sticks it vertically from my forehead to my cheek, covering one eye and carefully sealing the tape around it. Then does the same for the other eye. “I want you to know you can't possibly escape”, she says, “ and even if you do, I have the photographs.”. She stuffs the second piece of chewing gum into my other ear and then winds several turns of duct tape around my head, covering my eyes and ears. She puts a hand on my shoulder and I can feel her breath on my cheek as she bends close. She says something that I can't hear over the rushing in my ears. Could it have been “See you later!”?

I feel briefly a breeze from the open door cooling the sweat on my body. Then nothing. Did she leave or is she faking me out, standing there watching me? I wait. It's pitch dark behind the duct tape. I can hear my heartbeat. Saliva dribbles from the side of my mouth.

After a while, I realize that she really has left me alone. I'm totally in her power and all I can do is wait for her return. I roll over onto my left side and zone out, I don't know how long for. My left hip begins to hurt because the floor is hard so I struggle over on my stomach again. My bladder is full but I feel that I should try to hold it. I roll over onto my right side and zone out again.

Did I feel a cool breeze? Is there someone there? I hardly dare to breathe, trying to listen. A long pause. Nothing. Nobody there. I hope she hasn't had an accident. I could be here for days. I could die here! She wouldn't run that risk – she must have left the keys here where I can reach them. I begin to search for them but after I move a few inches the chain from the toilet to the gag tightens and pulls the gag harder into my mouth. There is no chance of finding the keys even if they are on the floor nearby.

I start to panic – though the gag doesn't restrict breathing, the duct tape and the gum in my ears make me feel stifled. The chains jingle as I jerk on them. “Help me!”, I mumble through the gag. There's no reply. Eventually, I calm down and my breathing slows. My crotch feels warm and I realize that I've wet myself. My wrists and ankles are hurting from thrashing around. My neck and shoulder are sore and my right hip is painful from lying on the hard floor.

After a while, the pain in my hip joint becomes intolerable, like a knife repeatedly stabbing. I can rock to a slightly different position but that doesn't help much. As I move around, the top of the baby doll shifts and I can feel that the right side is soggy. There must be a large puddle of pee on the floor. If I roll over, even more of the nightie will be wet. The hip pain grows and I realize that eventually it will force me to roll over. Will she be angry if she finds me soaked?

I suffer the increasing pain for a few minutes, then decide that I have no option. I roll over. My belly slaps into the puddle, splashing the pee all the way up to my nipples. I rest my head on the floor. I'm cold, wet and uncomfortable and already need to pee again. But I feel strangely content to wait here like this for her. I don't know when she'll return. Maybe never! I have no control over what will happen to me. She is totally in charge.

13.09.09