A Few Short Tales of Trapped Females

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Unforeseen Circumstances

Tara decides to try a spot of self bondage in the attic of her parents’ house, the night before the family go away on holiday.

What could possibly go wrong?



Tara had always, it seemed to her now, been fascinated, or even obsessed with bondage. Ever since she could remember, she had always felt the need to tie herself up whenever she was alone. There was some strange thrill associated with being unable to move in the normal way; some weird excitement that surrounded the sensation and realization that she was somebody else’s captive. Not that she ever had been, however, as all her bondage to date had been entirely self-inflicted. Not another soul in the whole world knew about her peculiar fantasies, although, by the time she left home at the age of nineteen, she had been practicing with her array of accumulated ropes and other restraints on an almost daily basis for several years in the secrecy of her locked bedroom.

There were both pros and cons to leaving the family home and buying her own small apartment. On the plus side, she now had no reason to worry about being disturbed whilst indulging in her favourite pastime; no need to keep her ears open for her parents’ footsteps coming down the corridor to bang on her bedroom door for whatever reason and, when they found it locked, having to explain why she always shut herself in and why it took so long for her to open the door. Was she hiding something, they always wanted to know? Of course she was. The time between the initial rap on the door and her answering was normally taken up with a frantic struggle to release herself from whatever situation she’d conjured up that day, then an even more frenetic effort to conceal all her bondage paraphernalia. Then she had to make sure that she was properly dressed. Long sleeves were the order of the day, so as not to reveal the telltale marks on her wrists. For the same reason, leggings or dark coloured tights were important to hide the rope welts on her legs. Now, with an apartment of her own, these worries had entirely evaporated.

But there was a downside to this seclusion, insofar as she no longer got a thrill from the risk of being discovered; the danger that she might get caught in the act. And more than anything else, she missed the excitement generated by the knowledge that she was only a few inches away at times – merely the thickness of a wall – from people who were totally oblivious to what she was doing. Although she didn’t want her secret to be discovered, the fact that she might be caught in the act played a big part in heightening the tension and therefore the thrill of it all. Okay, she still received a great deal of pleasure from binding herself up in her empty flat, but that extra spark was no longer present. Therefore, to compensate for this, she began taking ever more daring risks.

Tara had, over the six weeks or so since moving out of the family home, diced with danger by indulging in several elaborate and well thought out schemes to increase her pleasure. She’d locked herself in a small cupboard at work, then tied herself up and stayed that way for her entire lunch-break; able to hear her colleagues only a few feet away, but with them totally unaware of her self-induced predicament. She’d parked her car in secluded woods, then got into the boot, closed the lid shut and restrained herself. She’d even, on one dark night when she’d felt daring, slipped a long cloak around her shoulders, handcuffed her wrists behind her back, then gone out for a long walk without taking the key to her shackles with her. She hadn’t however, reckoned with the strong breeze which had, on the homeward leg of her journey, begun to swirl with enough force to lift the cape on several occasions, revealing her manacled state. Fortunately, as it was late and there were few people around, nobody had noticed. Tara’s schemes were getting more and more risky all the time, yet always, it seemed, she got away with it. So when she heard that her parents and two younger brothers were going abroad on holiday for three weeks, leaving the house empty, she had no reason to think that her latest plans would be anything other than plain sailing. To be honest, turning the family home into her own private bondage den for three weeks was, by her standards, fairly tame stuff, and something she had done on a couple of previous occasions when her family had gone away and left her at home. But her reasons for choosing to use the house rather than her own small flat were all to do with the abundance of binding sites in the former. Whereas her place was still sparsely furnished and with no cupboards or confined spaces that could double up as dungeons or prison cells, the rambling family home was positively awash with suitable binding sites.

Set in two acres of grounds, the house had a large attic, no less than two cellars, a staircase with sturdy banisters that were ideal binding points and, being old, there were numerous crevices, cubbyholes, cupboards and concealed spaces into which she could secret herself. As well as this, her parents had recently purchased a four-poster bed, the corner posts of which Tara was longing to tether her limbs to. The minute her family left, she vowed to herself, she would move in with all her bondage equipment.

But no, not as soon as they left. What if - the thought occurred to her out of the blue and caused a ripple of delight to surge through her - she crept into the house BEFORE they departed, trussed and gagged herself in either the attic or one of the cellars, then waited and listened whilst her family made their final holiday preparations, totally oblivious to the fact that their daughter/sister was luxuriating in self-bondage only a few feet away. That would be risky, but a real turn-on. After much careful thought, she decided that the attic was the best place to bring this inspired plan to fruition. The most important quality this had over the underground locations was that the attic was used only as a storeroom and therefore seldom entered. The cellars, on the other hand, were frequented on far more numerous occasions. Not only that, but the cellars would be in total darkness, whereas the attic had a skylight – albeit a small one – to let a modicum of daylight in. It wasn’t that Tara minded being in the dark, it was just that, as her plans involved handcuffing herself while with the keys were stashed elsewhere in the house and not in her prison cell, she would probably have greater difficulty making her way sightlessly out of a pitch black cellar. If she were to trip and hit her head or injure herself in some way in the darkness she could have been in big trouble with no help at hand. A bit of light, therefore, even if it was fairly inadequate for any other purpose, seemed like a sensible option. But the factor that really swayed her choice of site was the knowledge that her father habitually locked the cellar doors. Although a lover of captivity, Tara knew that being incarcerated in an underground, windowless room for three weeks without a hope in hell of getting out was definitely a step too far. On the other hand, the attic door, as far as she could remember, was NEVER locked. In fact, she couldn’t even recall ever seeing a key. So that was that – it simply had to be the attic. She would utilize the cellars once her family were gone, of course, but her opening bondage scene in this three week odyssey would be played out at the top of the house.

The only problem now was how to sneak into the house without being seen. There would be so much activity in the few hours prior to her family’s departure that she couldn’t see how she could slip in unnoticed. She racked her brain for a way around this potential stumbling block, but could come up with only one solution; she would have to already be in the house on the afternoon beforehand. She knew that her father would be at work that day, and that her mother would, as always, leave the house at around three o’clock to pick up Tara’s twelve year old twin brothers from school. This trip would take around an hour. Having left home only relatively recently, Tara still had a front door key. She also knew that the chances of anyone entering her secret domain were slight, seeing as how the family would all be focused on getting packed for the next day. It would, she assumed, be safe to spend the night up there undetected.

It went without saying, of course, that from the moment she arrived and made her way into the attic, up until the time that the door slammed shut the next morning to signal that she was now alone in the house, Tara’s time would be spent roped, gagged and handcuffed. In fact, as she had no plans to take the key to the handcuffs up that final flight of stairs and into the attic, once she’d secured her hands behind her back within those bracelets of steel, she would have little choice but to remain thus shackled; unless she wanted her parents and siblings to see her in all her bound up glory, of course. The prospect of this scenario made Tara’s heart race, as she had never before put herself in a situation where she had been unable to release herself for such a length of time. She had often spent all night tied up, but that was through choice alone. Here, however, the decision as to when she could get free would be out of her hands.

The days passed slowly in the week prior to the commencement of the family holiday. Tara kept tying herself up at every opportunity, and the knowledge that this was just a fore-runner of what was to come filled her with an indescribable pleasure. As the time approached, the level of excitement steadily rose until she found that she could barely concentrate on anything else. Unbeknown to her parents, Tara had booked leave from work for the same weeks as they would be away, but while they and her brothers were enjoying the outdoor life, Tara would be shut away indoors for the vast majority of the time.

Finally, Friday arrived; the day before her family were due to fly off on their vacation, but the day Tara’s began. At around 2pm, Tara picked up her bag with her bondage equipment and spare clothing, then headed for the family home on foot. She waited down the road until her mother’s car was seen to pull out of the driveway, watched as it turned the corner and disappeared from view, then sprinted to the house. Letting herself in with trembling fingers, her first assignment was to hide the key to her handcuffs in a suitable place. The location in question needed to be accessible to someone with hands restrained behind their back, therefore not too high up. It also had to be hidden well enough so that one or other of her relatives didn’t find and move it before they left. The ideal place, it seemed to Tara, was her old bedroom, which still contained a lot of her stuff that she hadn’t got around to taking with her yet. And within that room, what better place than her old wardrobe? She was on the point of depositing the key in a dark corner, when she hit on another idea. The wardrobe itself had a lock and key. What if, after locking the handcuff key inside, she hid the wardrobe key elsewhere? That way, another twist was added to her escape plans. Not one to make life easy for herself where bondage was concerned, Tara locked the wardrobe and hurried down to the wine cellar. Here she deposited the wardrobe key on the floor at the base of a rack containing bottles of wine. The dust and grime that encrusted the ancient looking bottles told her that they had been there for years and were unlikely to be disturbed today. She locked the cellar door again and replaced the key on a hook in the kitchen where she’d found it. This hanging place was quite high up and definitely out of reach for someone whose wrists were secured behind their back. However, Tara was confident that, with a bit of effort, she would be able to remove the key using her shoulder or her nose. Her teeth, which would have been an obvious choice to perform this operation, would be hidden beneath several layers of gagging material at the time in question.

Hastening up to her chosen prison cell now, Tara made sure that she had everything clear in her mind. To get herself out of the handcuffs she would have to negotiate the attic door, then make her way down two flights of stairs to the kitchen, remove the cellar key from its perch, unlock the door and get down a further flight of steps, recover the wardrobe key, go back up two flights of stairs to the bedroom, open the bedroom door and unlock the wardrobe, before getting into the wardrobe and rummaging around for the handcuff key in the dark recesses. She could then attain her freedom. All this would have to be accomplished with her hands behind her back and her legs bound together in several places. It seemed a daunting task, but this merely added to the tension and expectation that was growing stronger by the minute.

Tara closed the attic door behind her and gazed into the twilight. Although daylight outside, it was extremely dark within this space that was packed to the rafters with boxes, discarded furniture and other junk. Tara investigated the skylight, finding that it was barred on the inside, and this security measure was supplemented by a wire mesh covering on the outside of the dirt-covered glass. Although once openable, the combination of bars and wire meant that the window was now permanently sealed shut. Tara could recall the mesh being there before, but the bars were new, and she vaguely recalled her father saying something about a spate of break-ins in the area where the culprits had entered through attic windows. She guessed that the bars were a precaution against this.

But time was flying now and she didn’t want to still be moving around up here once her mother and brothers returned home. Tara deposited her bag on the floor, took off her clothes and began to dress in her favourite bondage attire. Once naked, she slipped on a pair of black tights, then began pulling on her pride and joy; a one-piece black, shiny latex cat-suit. This she pulled on slowly over her feet and up her calves, smoothing the material down as she went to alleviate any creasing. Once over her knees, she worked the skin-tight suit up over her thighs and hips, then over her breasts, before inserting her arms into the sleeves and pulling the suit up over her shoulders. Dexterously, she reached around behind her back and pulled the zip up to her neck. Smoothing everything down so that no wrinkles remained, she quickly encased her hands and lower arms in a pair of tight fitting elbow length gloves of soft leather.

Having perused each available area of the attic, Tara soon decided that her favoured location for spending the night was behind a large wooden packing case that lay on the far side of the room from the door. Sitting on the floor, she took the first length of rope, brought both ends together and found the mid-point. Winding this double cord around her ankles once, she slipped the end through the loop and pulled the ligature tight. She then wound the rope back again in the opposite direction several times, making sure that each circumnavigation of her legs was pulled as tight as possible. She cinched the rope between her ankles as securely as she could, before tying a double knot to ensure that the bond wouldn’t slip. She now tested her handiwork, finding that it stood up well to all attempts to wrench one foot away from the other. It was doubtful, she knew, that she would be able to get out of this without the aid of her hands to untie the knots.

Similar bonds soon encompassed the higher reaches of her legs, all bound to the same high standard as the first. There was one just below her knees, another just above, with a final one still higher around her thighs. Her legs were, to all intents and purposes, now useless to her. Now it was time to silence herself.

Taking her well worn ball-gag and thrusting it into her mouth until it was wedged behind her teeth, Tara dexterously secured the straps at the back of her head. But that wasn’t the only precaution she took to make certain that she was incapable of spitting out this muffler of sound, as now she took a large, two inch wide, reel of adhesive tape, stuck one end onto her left cheek, then began winding this around her lower head, making sure that she lifted her hair up and out of the way beforehand. Three times she wound the industrial strength tape around her head, totally sealing her mouth. Once satisfied that the ball-gag’s strap and buckle were completely covered, she ripped the end from the reel and smoothed the whole thing down over her face. Trying to push the rubber ball out of her mouth with her tongue was now impossible, and the combined effect of this and the tape meant, she knew from past experience, that she was virtually incapable of any vocalisation whatsoever.

Now everything was in place, Tara was ready for the final stage of her immobilization. She encircled one wrist in the steel bracelet of the handcuffs and prepared to shackle her arms behind her back. For a second or two she wavered, wondering if she was doing the right thing, as the next action would mean that she was trapped like this all night. But the excitement of being bound within a few feet of her unsuspecting parents and brothers overcame any lingering doubts and she quickly placed both hands behind her back, fumbled her free wrist into the awaiting manacle and closed it promptly with her other hand. The clicking of the ratchets told her that the wrist was free no more.

As soon as her status as a captive was assured, Tara’s doubts returned. What if something happened and the holiday had to be cancelled at the last minute? It dawned on her that, for the first time in her bound up life that she REALLY was trapped here. Okay, so she could, at a moment’s notice if necessary, bang her feet on the floorboards and have her parents rush up here to find out what was going on in their attic. But that would be, to say the least, an extremely difficult and embarrassing situation to have to deal with. What if she couldn’t get to one of the keys? What if the handcuffs jammed? Her only option, other than to carry on with her plan, was to call the whole thing off here and now, make her way out of the attic, locate the keys and get herself out of her bonds. But that was a task which would take, she guessed given the nature of her predicament, the best part of an hour. Her mother, along with her two brothers, would, she was certain, be arriving home at any moment. Therefore, Tara knew that she had little alternative but to continue with her plans and remain here until her family departed the following morning. How far in the future was that? Well, it was getting on for 4 pm now and, if her memory served her correctly, her father had told her that their flight was at 2 pm the following day. Taking into account the car journey to the airport, plus adequate time to check in, Tara reckoned that they would need to have left the house by around 10 am. In other words, she could go nowhere and do nothing for the next eighteen hours.

Tara’s doubts lasted no more than a few minutes. As the sound of the front door opening was swiftly followed by her two siblings’ excited voices, a strange tingling sensation of anticipation mixed with delightful fear ran up her spine. She was, she realised, going to enjoy this immensely.

Much of that evening’s activities, especially once her father had returned home and the family had taken dinner, took place upstairs, as all four of her relatives busily filled their suitcases and made ready for their departure. This meant, therefore, that Tara had to ensure she moved as little as possible at all times. She well remembered lying in her room in the past, when her father had entered the attic, and hearing the creaking boards or the shuffling feet above her head. Sound, she realised, however slight, could be detected in the rooms below. Even though her family were making a fair bit of noise themselves as they hurried around completing their last minute preparations, and would quite possibly not notice the odd creak or scuffle as she changed her position, she just couldn’t risk it. Dicing with danger was one thing, being caught another. Tara had no idea how she would handle the situation should she be discovered, but she knew she would never live it down. Her brothers, she knew, would never let her forget and would probably delight in relating the story to their friends and letting the whole world know that their big sister was a bit weird. She envisioned, on several occasions as she languished there in the ever darkening attic, the look on her father’s and mother’s faces if they accidentally stumbled across her in all her helpless glory. She could almost hear them asking what had happened and who had done this to her, even before they’d removed her gags. Then, once she was forced to reveal the true nature of her plight, they’d demand to know what the hell she was playing at. They’d listen incredulously as she informed them of the complicated route needed to release the handcuffs, and how she’d planned to remain here until they were away on their travels tomorrow morning. Maybe - and this thought gave her a sudden thrill - her parents would decide to teach her a lesson and not set her free. Maybe, even, they’d be sympathetic and allow her to just get on with it. But no, these last two scenarios were merely wishful thinking on her part. There would be absolute uproar if she were discovered, followed by a long interrogation concerning what she hoped to achieve from all this nonsense. This would then end in a stern lecture on the dangers of such stupid practices. No, the consequences of being found didn’t bear thinking about.

But she so very nearly was!

After a period of great activity below her, the voices and sounds seemed to fade somewhat, and Tara assumed that the oblivious foursome had retired to the living room. At last Tara felt that it was safe to move. She stretched her legs and awkwardly tried to change her position, as she was getting stiff from sitting still for so long. She wiggled her shoulders and gently tried to exercise her limbs and back....then froze. Someone was coming back upstairs! This in itself was of no great concern to her, but when she heard her father’s voice shouting back to either her mother or one of the boys “it’s probably in the attic, I’ll see if I can find it” her heart skipped a beat and a dreadful chill surged through her. There was no time to try to conceal herself by curling up into a ball in some darkened recess. And anyway, with the light switched on, there would be nowhere to hide if her father chose to venture near to the crate behind which she sat. The sound of feet pounding on the top stairs, the creak as the door opened, then the light blinking into action, told her that her worst fears were about to come to fruition.

“Aha, here it is” Her father seemed to be talking to himself. He seemed to be moving something heavy; something that he was having problems getting to grips with.

“Patrick? David? Where are you? Can you come and give me a hand?”

Tara hardly dared breathe. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure that it must be audible to anyone within a twenty yard radius of her. Her father coming up here was bad enough, but he was focused on looking for one particular thing, which he seemed to have found straight away. Her brothers, on the other hand, wouldn’t normally have been allowed up here on their own, and would therefore, given half a chance, take any opportunity to have a good look around. She also suddenly realised, to her great horror, that her feet and ankles were sticking out past the end of her concealing crate. If he looked in her general direction now, her father would see a pair of panty-hosed feet protruding from tight black shiny latex, contrasting sharply with an encircling bond of white rope. Gingerly, with her whole body trembling, she lifted her feet a fraction of an inch from the floor and bent her knees so that her legs retracted back into the shadows. Ever so carefully, she brought her feet back to rest on the floor.

“Patrick? What are you doing? David?”

It seemed that they couldn’t hear. Or perhaps didn’t want to.

“If you want something done, you have to do it yourself in this house” her father muttered under his breath. Then he grunted slightly, as if lifting something heavy, and his footsteps begun shuffling across the floor; hopefully, Tara prayed, in the direction of the door. For what seemed like an age, but in fact was probably no more than half a minute, her father struggled to get this unknown object down the stairs. Then, with quicker steps, he could be heard ascending once more. Tara, having assumed that the worst of the danger had passed, had relaxed slightly, but tensed every muscle in her body again at the sound of his return. What else did he want? Fortunately, at the flick of a switch the darkness returned, and she realised that this second trip was merely to extinguish the light and shut the door. Tara breathed a huge sigh of relief as she was left in solitude once more. That had been too close for comfort. So grateful was she that her presence hadn’t been discovered, that she failed to attach any significance to the fact that her father had spent longer than seemed necessary closing the attic door, with a series of faint clicks being heard immediately after it had been shut.

Tara found the most comfortable position available to her and relaxed. Although a huge scare at the time, that close encounter with catastrophe had caused the adrenaline to really pump. Now that the danger had subsided, she found herself going over and over the incident in her mind. It had threatened to ruin everything at the time and expose her bondage obsessions to her parents. But with hindsight it felt wonderful. There she’d been, bound, gagged and helpless in her tight latex suit, only inches away from her father who would, if he’d taken two or three steps more and peered over the top of the packing crate, have laid eyes upon his only daughter indulging in her favourite, yet secret, hobby. She had been extremely fortunate. Or so she thought at the time.

At what Tara guessed must have been around eleven o’clock, her parents retired for the night; her brothers having gone to bed about an hour and a half earlier. It hadn’t actually occurred to her until now, but as the sounds of her parents talking directly below her filtered through to her rooftop hideaway, she realised that this was probably not the best location to have chosen. With hindsight, she should have picked a spot that wasn’t over an occupied bedroom. If she’d been directly over her old room, or one of the two guest bedrooms, or even the bathroom, then she would have been less likely to have been heard if she moved. But it was too late now, and anyway, if she’d been elsewhere in the attic she might not have been so fortunate in remaining hidden earlier.

Tara slept very little that night; frightened that, should she fall asleep, any involuntary movement would give her presence away. Even above the sound of her father snoring, she knew that one false move could result in one or other of her parents trudging up those attic stairs again. And this time, if they were looking for the cause of some strange sound emanating from above, she doubted whether she would remain undetected. Eventually, however, Tara must have succumbed to her increasing drowsiness. She slept only fitfully though, and seemed to wake with a start. As she had done earlier at the approach of her father, she froze; fearful that in her sudden awakening she might have inadvertently moved quickly or let some muffled cry penetrate her gags. The sound of rhythmic snoring, however, told her that she was safe. What time was it? It was only marginally lighter that before she’d fallen asleep and she knew her father to be an habitual early riser, so she guessed that it couldn’t be much after five. Cautiously, she pulled at the handcuffs, finding great delight in the knowledge that she had no way of freeing herself for another few hours yet. She would have loved to have indulged in a real full blown struggle right now, as this was always a pleasant reminder of how helpless she actually was. But she couldn’t risk this at the moment, as this involved a lot of wriggling and writhing, which would undoubtedly have been heard below.

For what seemed like hours, the snoring beneath her continued unabated. Having spent the night lying on her stomach to alleviate the weight on her arms, carefully and oh-so-very slowly, she now manoeuvred herself into a sitting position with her back and fettered arms resting against a packing crate. The light through the grimy skylight window seemed to increase at an alarmingly slow rate, but eventually an alarm clock ringing only a few feet below put a sudden end to the incessant snoring and within minutes footsteps signalled the awakening of the household. Once she was sure that everyone was downstairs having their breakfasts, Tara finally got the chance to stretch and exercise her cramped limbs. The ropes trussing her legs to each other still held as firmly as when they’d first been tied and her gags remained as she’d intended them. The cuffs, of course, still ensured that she could tamper with none of these other bonds. Although not in any great rush to be free from bondage, Tara found herself hoping that her closest relatives would depart sooner rather than later. For one thing, she was intrigued to find out how long it would take to retrieve the keys and release the handcuffs. But more importantly than this, she was afraid of a repeat of yesterday evening’s close shave with her father. And besides, she was getting both hungry and thirsty. Not that she intended to remain free for long once she was out of this particular bind. In fact, the only reason she wanted to get loose was so she could freshen up and then tie herself again in another position and a different location. After a long night on this hard floor, a few hours bound in a spread-eagled position on her parents’ four-poster bed would be a rather a pleasant way to spend the day, she thought. Then, after that, maybe a night hog-tied in one of the cellars. Or maybe in that old trunk that was kept in one of the guest rooms. She’d experimented with the latter once or twice in the past and found that the catch on the lid was a bit dodgy. Once inside, it could take either a few seconds, or several hours of jiggling and manipulating to open it again. With bound hands, of course, this operation became even more of a trial, but Tara thought nothing of the dangers involved. For her, the excitement brought about by bondage overrode every other consideration. Her philosophy was that, should she get stuck in a particular situation, then she simply had to persevere until that hurdle was overcome. She’d had some close scrapes in the past, but had always got free in the end. What she hadn’t realised then was that she was already more trapped than she could have imagined.

The final few minutes, as her family loaded up the car and checked that all the windows and doors were locked, seemed to take forever. At last though, the front door slammed and she heard the key turning to deadlock it. For ten minutes or so after the sound of the car’s wheels crunching down the gravel drive had faded, Tara waited. This was merely a precaution in case they realised that they’d forgotten something and returned to the house. There was no sign of this happening however. In fact, living in a secluded area, the only sound that reached her ears was birdsong from the trees outside. Hoisting herself awkwardly to her feet, Tara stretched her legs and contemplated her first steps on the long road to freedom. The door was approximately twelve feet or so from where she had been hiding, but the path that she had to negotiate was strewn with boxes and other obstacles. If she tried to jump across that distance and fell, then she risked serious injury, as she had no hands to break her fall. So, taking this into consideration, she once more sank to her knees and began the more time consuming yet safer option of dragging herself towards the exit. As she did so, she tested the noise restricting powers of her gags. There was no real intent to summon help in this muffled outburst, of course, it was simply play-acting. She discovered, however, that even if she were to call for assistance for real, the gags were about ninety percent effective in sound elimination.

It must have taken Tara less than a minute to cover the required distance, then another thirty seconds or so to pull herself upright with the door at her back. Now at her full height, she could easily grasp the door handle and pull the door open. All had gone well until this final stage, but for some reason, pushing down on the handle and then pulling the door towards her failed to have the desired effect. She tried again, pushing the handle down as far as it would go then tugging with all her might. Still it failed to open. Something must be jamming it. Either that or it had been locked.

Locked? The thought screamed out to her as she tried for a third time to get the door to open; but with exactly the same result. But it couldn’t be locked! This door had never, as far as she could remember, been kept locked. But what was that her father had said about burglars breaking in through attic windows? If he’d taken the precaution of putting bars on the skylight, then the chances of him locking the door as an extra precaution seemed logical. What also made sense to her now were the sounds that had directly followed the closing of the door last night. But logical or not, it now presented a serious problem for the bound and gagged young female. She loved captivity, but eternal entombment was not her favoured form. With her mind spinning, she tried to get her thoughts in order and assess the situation. She was alone in a house that she would be the only occupant of for the next three weeks. There was nothing up here to eat or drink, but even if there had been, there was no way of getting it into her mouth. What was she to do? It may seem strange to most people, but initially Tara wasn’t in the least bit panicked by this turn of events. She had managed to get herself into a few situations before where she had thought that escape might be beyond her, yet had always lived to tell the tale. The main difference between these brushes with inescapability and this current predicament were, it gradually began to dawn on her, that no matter how stuck she had become in the past, rescue would have come in good time if the hurdles confronting her had proved insurmountable. Now, though, she could envisage no hypothetical rescuer coming in her hour of need. So it was entirely down to her to extricate herself from a mess that was mostly, but not entirely, of her own making.

Slumping down onto the floor, Tara awkwardly manoeuvred herself into a position from which she could align her eye with the keyhole. Peering into the tiny aperture, she encountered no view of the stairs and landing beyond. This was good, as it meant that the key was still in the lock. Looking downwards, she could see a thin, pale shaft of light penetrating under the bottom of the door. If she could find a sheet of paper, or something else flat that she could push under the door, then find something thin and pointed that she could insert into the keyhole and dislodge the key, hopefully she would be able to reel in the paper with the key on it. Provided the gap at the foot of the door was wide enough. There were a lot of ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ involved, but she could come up with no better plan at present. But first, before putting this plan into operation, she would need some equipment. Dragging herself away from the door, she began looking for items that met the specifications for the task ahead. To her left there was a large box with its lid partially removed, full to the brim of old magazines, so finding a mat for the key to land on was no problem. The difficulty lay in finding something that could be poked into the keyhole. A knife or screwdriver would have been ideal, but there was no such implement available up here as far as she knew, and most of the packing crates were sealed shut with their contents unknown to her. Away from the skylight, in the darker corners of the attic, it was difficult to deduce, even now that it was broad daylight, exactly what might be lurking. She needed more light to work by if she was to search these areas. Dragging herself across the floor with limbs that weren’t able to function properly was tiring, but Tara knew that she desperately needed to find something to remove that key. She again used the door to help her to her feet, before trying to reach around with her shackled hands to put on the light. Unfortunately, the mechanism for turning the attic light on and off was by a cord that hung from the ceiling. And this was out of Tara’s reach in her current predicament. If she’d had the use of her mouth, she would have been able to grab the cord with her teeth. But her mouth, of course, was tightly sealed. With the cord at around shoulder height, Tara had no other way of grasping it and giving it the sharp jerk it needed to cause the bulb to function.

Tara flopped down to the floor in dismay. Once more she pulled herself across the attic floor; the once shiny latex of her skin-tight cat-suit now covered in dust. Crawling between debris of her family’s lives, she squeezed into the darker recesses of the attic, in hope of a chance encounter with some long thin object that could potentially save her from permanent entombment here. Two broken chairs, an old rocking horse and scores of boxes and crates were strewn around, but nothing of the size and shape that Tara required.

Having made her way around the attic, and looked as best she could between each and every box, Tara was beginning to get really worried. It was now nearly two hours since her parents had departed, but she now found herself desperately wishing they would return; a thought that would have been abhorrent to her not so long ago. There had to be a way out, she kept telling herself, but her sense of optimism was diminishing by the minute. By now she was back in the centre of the attic, directly beneath the skylight. She looked up at the dirt encrusted glass and through the years of accumulated filth she could see a sky of grey clouds. There were, she reasoned, only two possible exits from the attic; the door and this small, angled window in the roof above her. Using a heavy packing crate for leverage, she hoisted herself to her feet once more and stood directly beneath the only source of light available to her. If she stood on tiptoes – a dangerous manoeuvre with her legs bound – her eyes just about reached the lowest of the horizontal metal bars that her father had added in the not too distant past. The bars looked sturdy and strong, but Tara had no way of testing their efficiency with her hands manacled behind her back. From this vantage point, she could just make out through the dirt and the mesh covering beyond, the tops of some trees away to her left. There were no other buildings in sight, just trees and sky. And if she could see no other buildings, than it stood to reason that no one from any of the surrounding houses would be able to see her.

Trapped. The word kept pounding in her head, although she did her utmost to keep a positive outlook. It was, however, becoming increasingly difficult to remain calm. In desperation, she hopped across the floor back to the door; no longer caring if she fell in the process. Once there, she lowered herself onto the floor and began kicking out with her bound legs at the wooden panel that barred her exit, in the forlorn hope that it would break or come away from its hinges. After ten minutes or so, however, she was exhausted but had done little damage to the sturdy obstacle before her. Tears welled up in her eyes now, and she began screaming into her gag for someone – anyone – to come to her rescue. The ball-gag and tape that she’d so adeptly applied to her face, however, ensured that the volume of sound emitted was but a fraction of her normal noise making capacity. She began struggling against her bonds, but for the first time in all her bondage experiences this failed to excite her, instead merely serving to highlight just how securely trussed up she really was.

Then she saw it. Through tear filled eyes, Tara caught sight of the bag that she’d brought up to the attic containing her ropes, gags and other bondage equipment. At some point the bag had been overturned, with pieces of unused rope now strewn around a section of the floor in semi-darkness away to her left. But the ropes weren’t what caught her eye. What interested her was the glint of light on metal that emanated from some object half in and half out of the upturned bag. Of course! Her other pair of handcuffs. Immediately she realised that the answer to her problem had been staring her in the face all along. She needed two pairs sometimes, if she spread-eagled herself to a bed, for example. Or occasionally she simply applied two sets around her wrists at the same time, just for the hell of it. Now though, they were to be used for another purpose; instead of their usual role as instruments of captivity, they would, if her hunch was correct, be a central component on her passage to freedom. When opened, the arms of each bracelet on the handcuffs were long and slender. Although curve rather than straight, Tara was certain that this wouldn’t thwart her aim of inserting one of these ratcheted arms into the keyhole and thus force the key out the other side.

With renewed vigour, not to mention optimism, she pulled herself over to the bag and retrieved the cuffs, then took one of the magazines from the open box close by. Heading back to the door, she tore several pages from the magazine – not an easy task with both hands clamped together behind her back - and began pushing these under the door. This too was not as easy a job as it sounded, as the gap between floor and door was narrow and, what with having to work behind her back, the paper kept crumpling up. Was this a sign that the gap was too small for the key to be retrieved through? That sort of thing didn’t even bear thinking about. After a few minutes of trial and error, however, she succeeded in inserting sheets of the glossy paper through the gap from the left hand side of the door to the right. Whether they protruded far enough the other side was both unknown and unknowable, but there was nothing she could do about that; she simply had to hope and pray that the key, when - or if - it fell from the lock, would land on the paper and stay there. Lifting herself up again to the height of the keyhole, and with the second set of cuffs in her hand, she pushed the open arm of the bracelet into the slim aperture and began jiggling it around as violently as she could, hoping that this would dislodge the key. For a minute or more she continued to probe and prod with the open cuff, until finally she thought she heard a faint thud from the far side of the door; as if something had hit the floor. Removing the cuff from the keyhole, Tara turned herself around until she was on her knees, then with a silent prayer, placed her eye to the keyhole. To her great joy, she now had a clear view of the wallpaper on the landing beyond. With a muffled cry of triumph, Tara began to pull the sheets of paper back from under the door.

But her moment of joy was short. Whether it was the fact that the key was too big to fit through the tiny gap, or whether it had bounced after falling and therefore come to rest on a section of the carpet that she hadn’t been able to cover with paper, Tara had no idea. Maybe the paper had screwed up as it made its way under the door and didn’t, in fact, cover as great an area as she’d assumed and hoped. But whatever the case, it was no consolation to the still trapped woman when she gently eased back each piece of paper into view, to discover that the key wasn’t resting on any of them. This desperately disappointing conclusion, after so much strenuous endeavour, was the final straw for the now very reluctant prisoner. She could contain her misery no longer. Curling up into a ball on the floor, she wept hysterically. She was, it seemed, doomed to die here.

For several hours Tara lay in this same position, praying that, when death came, it would be quick and painless, but knowing that it was more likely to be a long, drawn out agonizing affair. As the passing afternoon marked the completion of twenty four hours in bondage, Tara trembled and whimpered on the dusty attic floor hoping that she would pass into unconsciousness and never waken. Although it was spring, with summer just around the corner, it wasn’t long before twilight set in and the light in the attic began to fade; a situation exaggerated by the dreariness of the day’s weather. The wind too, had got up quite considerably in the past hour or two, making strange eerie howling noises as it battered the roof of the house and rustled the fledgling leaves on the trees. Occasionally, a gate would slam in the stiffening breeze, and far off a dog barked for what seemed like an eternity. Tara lay in her despair listening to these sounds, knowing that the banging of a gate or the bark of a dog would probably be the last things she ever heard.

But wait, what was that? For a second or two a strange scraping noise reached her ears, before trailing off again. Probably just some piece of gale-blown debris colliding with the roof, she thought. But there it was again, this time louder and more prolonged. Two seconds later, another sound, this time more of a scuffling noise, and it seemed to come from very close at hand above her head. Then, to her great joy, she heard a sound she had presumed she would never hear again. She listened carefully in case she’d been mistaken, but no, it was definitely the sound of a human voice; the owner of which seemed to have climbed up onto the roof of her parents’ house.

By this time, Tara had forced her tired limbs and aching body into a sitting position, waiting with baited breath for the next sound to reach her, and hoping against hope that the voice hadn’t been just wishful thinking on her part. Her next encounter with her potential rescuers - for there had to be at least two of them out there given the voice - was not aural but visual. Through the encrusted glass and the mesh, the outline of a man’s face appeared briefly before disappearing again, only to return a few seconds later. The voice again accompanied this second appearance.

“It’s barred on the inside, and a bit small, but it shouldn’t be much of a problem once we get this mesh off”

Tara was now in a dreadful dilemma. Her initial reaction, when the face first appeared, was to call out to this unsuspecting person, so that he could raise the alarm and get her out of this mess. But what was he doing here? It didn’t take her long to fathom out that these people were the burglars that her father had so recently spoken about. They were the reason that the window had been sealed and barred. In fact, they were the reason that her father had inadvertently entombed his daughter. So what should she do? Should she still call out to them? No, that was too risky, as being up to no good, the chances were that they’d flee the scene the second they realised that someone was in the house. She decided to wait until they had broken into before making her presence known to them. But even that had its potential hazards. Being involved in criminal activities, would they be likely to let her go? They might if they took pity on her, but then again, it was more likely that they wouldn’t, assuming that she was too much of a liability if she was free to call the police the minute they left. She’d heard of house-breakers tying people up before, but never of them releasing someone that they happened to find already in that state. Would they, when they found a bound, gagged and helpless female lying on the floor, decide to rape her? Or even, if they thought she could identify them, kill her? As far as she knew there was no evidence from recent break-ins that the perpetrators were in any way violent, but it was better to be safe than sorry. So what other alternatives were open to her? Well, it seemed to Tara that the only other plan was to hide amongst the mountain of boxes and crates, wait until they had broken in and hope that, finding the door into the main body of the house locked, they would smash it down. Then, once they’d taken whatever it was they were after – money, jewellery, laptops or whatever - she would be able to escape through the broken door, find her keys and get out of her bonds. If, on the other hand, they found that the door was too much of an obstacle to overcome and decided to leave the way they’d entered, then and only then would she reveal her presence.

Slithering for what seemed like the hundredth time across the floor, Tara curled herself up into the tightest ball that she could in the darkest corner of the attic. Moments later, she heard a sound that informed her that the would-be intruders had begun their quest to gain entry. It took them only seconds to remove the wire grill, then smash the filthy pane; sending shards of broken glass showering onto the floor and boxes below, and making Tara glad that she’d moved to a safe haven. The next part of their endeavours to get in took somewhat longer however. Although unable to see from her hiding place, the sounds suggested the bars were being sawn off. This took several long drawn out minutes that were fraught with tension and fear, yet also with a sense of anticipation that she might survive this ordeal after all. Finally, with a loud thud, the first bar hit the floor. This was followed a few minutes later by the second, then the third, giving the uninvited guests a clear route into the attic. The sound of two men clambering in sent a chill down her spine. Here she was, only feet way from strangers who might, for all she knew, be violent men. Yet so far they were oblivious to her being here. For now she wanted to keep it that way.

No sooner were they in, than a torch beam lit the rafters above Tara’s head, which caused her to curl herself up into an even tighter ball. They had no interest in rummaging through the junk in the attic, however, as immediately the sound of the door handle being rattled reached her ears.

“Shit, it’s locked. Now what do we do?”

“Smash it down. There’s nobody here ’cos they’re all away on holiday. Go on, give it a good kicking.”

Although her parents were about to have their home ransacked and their precious belongings stolen, Tara was overjoyed that they hadn’t given up after finding their way blocked. The repetitive thud, thud, thud of boot against wood resounded around the attic for several minutes and caused the very frame of the house to vibrate, until a sharp splintering sound announced that they’d achieve their aim. This was followed by an almighty crash, as what remained of the door came away from its hinges and fell onto the floor beyond. The sound of feet tramping noisily down the short flight of stairs left Tara in no doubt that she was once more alone in the attic. The urge, after having been bound and gagged for over twenty four hours without food or water, to leave the attic immediately was hard to resist. However, she knew that this would not be a wise move at all. Wait, she told herself, until they had taken whatever it was they wanted and departed. Even if she had to wait another hour or two before starting her quest for the keys, at least then she would know that the coast was clear.

Tara shuffled forwards slightly, in order to view the broken window...then froze. How stupid was she? All last night she’d been careful to remain still, so that her family didn’t twig that she was here. Yet now here she was dragging her bound and useless limbs noisily across the floor and potentially alerting the thieves that they were not alone in the house. Luckily, her movements seemed to go undetected, as the sound of returning footsteps failed to materialise.

At first, Tara assumed that the two villains would exit the building the same way that they had entered. This, of course, would give her a clear signal that they had gone. However, as time went by, she began to wonder whether her thinking might have been at fault on this issue. What if they left through one of the downstairs windows? How would she know when they were gone?

Tara waited and waited, listening intensely for clues as to their continued presence in the house. Three or four times, just as everything seemed to have quietened down, there would be a sound from below to indicate that they were still at large. For what seemed like hours, Tara remained motionless and on tenterhooks as this sporadic commotion continued every few minutes; biding her time until she was certain that it was safe to come out from her hiding place. There had been no sound for what she guessed had been around fifteen minutes now, but did that mean that they were gone? Not necessarily, of course, but how would she ever know if she didn’t make a move at some point? Give it ten more minutes, she told herself, then if there was still no sound from below, she would go in search of her freedom.

In the event, she waited no more than five minutes after making this decision. Her desire for freedom and her need to take in liquid refreshment overcame her fear of being caught. It was totally dark in the attic now, but luckily the intruders had left the landing light on and this, shining in through the doorway, gave her enough light to see where she was going. Squirming her way across the floor, taking extra care to avoid the shards of glass directly under the skylight, Tara soon reached the exit, with the remains of the door still hanging from one hinge. She gazed down the short flight of stairs and onto the landing below. Most of the bedroom doors stood open now, whereas she was sure that her mother would have closed them all prior to departing. There was still no indication that there was now anyone in the house. Negotiating her passage over the remains of the door proved to be more of a tricky operation than she’d at first envisaged, but once this hurdle was overcome she sat on the top step and gradually bumped her way down on her bottom to the landing below. Pulling herself along the corridor to the main flight of stairs that would take her down to ground level, she noticed that each bedroom that she passed had been ransacked. But concerning herself with what had been stolen was the least of her worries just now. Making her way down the stairs to the ground floor in similar fashion, Tara shuffled her bound frame along the hallway until she reached the kitchen door. As this was shut, Tara used the wall to aid her in getting to her feet, then reached around with her chained wrists and opened the kitchen door. It was only a few feet now to the hook where the cellar keys should be, so rather than get down onto the floor again, she decided to risk hopping across to them. Using her nose to flick the kitchen light on, she gazed with some trepidation over to the hooks. To her great relief the keys to the cellar were still there; she’d half expected them to have been removed, but the burglars seemed not to have taken any interest in them. Seven or eight jumps took her the width of the kitchen. Getting the keys off the hook was, as she’d always known it would be, a case of trial and error. There were three or four other bunches of keys, and they tended to all get tangled with each other even when retrieved normally with free hands. Having to lift the specific set she wanted with her shoulder whilst the others seemingly did their best to thwart her efforts, resulted in this part of her journey towards liberation taking around five minutes. Finally, however, the cellar keys fell to the floor, as did half the other sets that had been hanging there.

Whether the sounds of the keys hitting the tiled floor alerted the intruders to her presence or not, Tara couldn’t say. All she knew was that, before she had had a chance to bend down and try to get the keys into her hands, the sound of footsteps running down the hall announced the arrival, seconds later, of a man in the doorway. Involuntarily, Tara screamed and began hopping awkwardly towards the only other exit from this room, namely the door that lead out into the back garden. Even if she’d reached it, Tara knew that it was locked and would have been no use in her plan to escape. However, she had jumped no more than three yards before she felt a hand grab her around the waist, followed by another around her chest. Tara tried to scream, but virtually no sound escaped the layers of tape. She was expecting the worst now, but instead he gently guided her back to the kitchen table and sat her down on one of the chairs that surrounded it. Then he took a step back and, for several seconds, simply stared in wonder at his discovery. Tara gazed back, feeling embarrassed and extremely self-conscious. What must she look like in her figure-hugging black outfit, with her legs tightly bound in four places, handcuffs keeping her wrists shackled behind her back and her lower face and head swathed in heavy-duty tape. She whimpered as pathetically as she could, in the hope that he would take pity on her. But instead he simply stood there, looking her up and down, not knowing what to make of this strange vision in front of him. Finally, what seemed like the hint of a smile creased the corners of his mouth and, without taking his eyes off her for a second, he walked the few steps back to the door and called to his colleague.

“Come down here a minute. You’ll never guess what I’ve just found”

The sound of feet in the corridor preceded the appearance of the second man in the doorway. Neither, Tara now realised, was wearing a mask or any kind of disguise, as they’d obviously assumed that the house was empty.

“What the....?” The second man’s voice simply petered out as he saw the bound and gagged young woman in front of him. Regaining his composure, he turned to his partner in crime.

“Where did you find her?”

“Right here. She was trying to get those keys” The first man pointed to where the cellar keys still lay on the floor.

Tara decided it was time to plead for release. Pulling her hands as far around her side as the cuffs would allow, she showed them her manacled wrists, whilst attempting to beg for help in getting free. The words were muffled and incoherent, but Tara was certain they must have known what she was asking for. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem predisposed to grant this wish for her.

“So what are we going to do? Whoever did this to her might come back at any moment.”

“Well we can’t really just let her go, can we?” He turned towards Tara again. “But what I can’t figure out is that we’ve been through every room in the house and didn’t see her. Then all of a sudden, she’s here in the kitchen. Don’t you think that’s a bit strange?”

By now the second man was kneeling in front of her, and it seemed to Tara that the last question was addressed to her, rather than his companion. She flinched slightly as his hand came towards her face, but then realised that he was picking at the end of the tape over her mouth. Soon he had released enough to begin unwinding the outer gag from her face. This he did quickly, which meant that the tape was ripped painfully from her face and the few strands of her hair that had got caught up in the binding process. What they didn’t expect, however, was to find the ball-gag beneath. Mercifully, this too was soon unbuckled and released, allowing Tara to exercise her jaw muscles for the first time in more than twenty four hours.

Tara tried to speak - to plead for help in getting herself out of the handcuffs - but, ominously, there was no attempt made to release any of her other bonds. A glass of water was proffered to her welcoming lips, however, as her efforts to communicate had come out merely as a hoarse croak. The cool liquid was like nectar on her burning throat, and she drank until the glass was empty. But it seemed that the removal of her gags had not been an act of altruism, as she’d first hoped, but was merely a prelude to a prolonged interrogation of how she came to be all tied up like this. She briefly toyed with the idea of building up a story in which she had been kidnapped, and was being held here against her will by some third party, who could return at any moment, so it was imperative that they released her without delay. If they had believed this story, which was doubtful, there was a chance they might take pity on her and let her go. But what if they didn’t? How could she explain the fact that she had been trying to stay out of their way, rather than seeking their help as soon as they had entered the house? And what reason would she give for her need to get down to the cellar? It didn’t make sense and they would easily see through her lies.

So Tara quickly decided that her best plan was to be honest, however embarrassing that might be. As soon as their questioning began, she blurted out the whole story of how she’d tied and cuffed herself up in the attic without her parents’ knowledge. Her eyes filled with genuine tears as she told them of how she’d then become entombed and thought she was going to die there, and how their breaking into the house had been a lifesaver. She told them of the convoluted trail involved in locating one key after the other in order to release the handcuffs. And finally she begged them once more to help her out of this mess; she wouldn’t, she promised, tell a soul that they’d been here.

For most of her speech, Tara’s head had been bowed, not wanting to meet the gaze of her interrogators. After a couple of initial questions, they had listened in stunned silence as Tara blurted out her sorry tale. Once she’d finished, she cautiously looked up at them, hoping that this tale of woe would find a sympathetic ear. To her dismay, however, through tear-blurred eyes she could tell that both had wide grins on their faces and were taking much amusement from her plight. As one of them opened the cellar door and disappeared below, presumably to check that the wardrobe key was where Tara had said it was, the second man crouched down in front of her and thrust his face to within inches of her own.

“So, you like being tied up then?”

She flinched at this close encounter. He was unshaven and his breath smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. But what was worse, the smile on his face spoke of mischief rather than compassion. Tara had no wish to confirm her love of bondage but, after her recent revelations, she could hardly deny it either. Sadly, she nodded her head.

By now the other man had returned with the wardrobe key in his hand.

“Looks like she’s telling the truth”

The one who was crouching before her stood up and picked the ball-gag up from the kitchen table. He scrutinised it for a few seconds, then, without another word, thrust it back towards Tara’s face. Too stunned to resist, Tara reluctantly allowed the still warm rubber to fill the cavity behind her teeth, and within seconds the buckle was once more secured at the back of her head; even tighter than before, if that were possible.

“Okay, that should keep her quiet. Now let’s find this other key she talked about”

As they started for the door, something snapped in Tara. The reapplication of the gag had made it obvious that these two villains had no intention of letting her go, so why did they want the key to her handcuffs? The only answer was that they intended to take it from its hiding place and put it somewhere else; somewhere that she wouldn’t be able to get at it. All of a sudden she felt angry. How dare they break into her family home and keep her prisoner like this? Tara screamed a curse into her gag and tried to get to her feet. She almost expected to fall over straightaway, but remarkably she managed to remain upright. As the two men watched open mouthed, she hopped briskly over to where they stood in the doorway and launched herself at them in an effort to get past and out of the kitchen. She had no real plan as to where she was headed, but the need to get away from her newly acquired captors was such that she didn’t care. All she knew was that at that moment she simply couldn’t sit there and watch as they took away the one chance she had of freedom. Unfortunately she never made it through the door. As she lunged at the nearest of the men, she stumbled and basically fell into him. In self defence he put out his hands and ended up catching her falling body. Gripping her tightly around the waist, he tried to push her back towards the chair, but this time, instead of meekly allowing herself to be man-handled in this fashion, she fought for all she was worth to wriggle free from his grasp. She was doomed to fail, of course, as within seconds his friend had joined in and soon had hold of her legs. With the still struggling woman cursing and swearing at them, they quickly wrestled her back over to the table. While one of them pulled her arms over the back of the chair, the other took the belt off his trousers, and Tara’s initial thought was that he was about use this to beat her. However, it soon became apparent that his intention was to use the thick leather strap as an extra bond; quickly wrapping it around her waist to encompassing also the struts on the back of the chair. With the belt pulled as tightly as he could get it, he secured the buckle on Tara’s stomach.

“You really shouldn’t have done that. You’ve just made things a whole lot worse for yourself”

For the first time since she’d been discovered, there was real malice in his voice.

“Come on. She can’t go anywhere now”

They both exited the kitchen, and although they shut the door behind them, Tara could hear from the footsteps that they were making their way upstairs. Tara tried to wriggle out from the tight belt, but it held her firmly in place on the sturdy chair. Then she noticed it. On the worktop, only three yards or so from where she sat, was the telephone. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of that before? Although bound together, her legs still had the freedom to propel herself, and the chair, across the floor. How long had she got before they returned? She had no idea, but she intended to use every available second. Placing her feet on the floor as far out in front of her as she could, she began trying to drag the chair, and herself, in the direction of the phone. Unfortunately, the fact that the floor was tiled meant that Tara’s tights could find no grip and kept sliding on the smooth surface, which made locomotion by this method a long, slow process. Even more unfortunate was the fact that the legs of the chair, as they moved, made a loud scraping sound on the floor. And it was these two inconvenient facts that probably wrecked Tara’s chances of successfully covering the short distance in the time available. She had probably covered half the distance when she heard the sound of one of the men returning down the hall.

The second he opened the door, it was obvious to him what she was trying to do. He smiled at her. Lifting the phone, he immediately ripped the wire out of its socket, thus rendering it useless to her now even if she could reach have reached it. Despite her attempts to escape, he seemed in a jovial mood now and grinned at her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out something and held it so close to her face that she was unable to make out exactly what it was at first. It was small and silver-coloured, but it took her a second or two realise that the item in front of her was, quite literally, the key to her freedom.

“Is this what you wanted?” He held the key to her handcuffs tantalisingly in front of her face for a few seconds, before putting it back in his trouser pocket. He laughed harshly.

“If you want the key, then you’ll have to get it off me”

As he said this, his partner in crime returned, and Tara gazed wide-eyed as she noticed that he had a large holdall bag in his hand; a bag that was at once familiar to the helpless woman. It was her bag, the one that she kept all her bondage gear in. He must have returned to the attic and found it. Unceremoniously, he tipped the contents out onto the kitchen table. Several lengths of rope, another ball-gag, three reels of tape, a few scarves and pairs of tights, plus another cat-suit landed in a heap on the wooden surface. Tara noticed, however, that her second set of handcuffs, which she’d used to try to make her escape from the attic, were missing. They must have fallen onto the floor in some dark crevasse and not been found.

When she thought about it later, it seemed to Tara that they must have discussed their plans for her whilst they were out of the room, as they acted as one now, with no words needed. Whilst one of them opened the cellar door, the other released the belt they’d used to lash her to the chair. But this was no act of leniency on their part, merely a prelude to moving their helplessly bound victim to another location. Tara found herself being lifted off the ground by the waist, and thrown over the man’s shoulder. With her head at his back, and his arms now wrapped firmly around her latex-clad thighs, he began walking slowly. Although her head was now behind his back, Tara could tell that they were moving in the general direction of the cellars. She had used these windowless, subterranean rooms as dungeons many times in the past, and knew that if they locked her in there she would never get out. In a panic she tried to kick out with her bound legs at her would-be jailer, but her efforts proved fruitless and merely resulted in a sharp slap being administered to her buttocks. Slowly they began to descend the stairs into the wine cellar, with the second man following closely behind. Having cleared the bottom step, her carrier bent forward and deposited his load onto the dusty concrete floor. Tara flopped forward and began struggling for all she was worth; fearing that this was to be her place of confinement for the rest of her days. Immediately, however, both men were upon her and Tara found any hopes of wriggling out of their grasp stymied. Whilst one held her face down on the floor, the other grabbed her arms and pulled her elbows as closely together as he could. Tara groaned into her gag as the rope was bound tightly around her arms, pulling her shoulders back unnaturally in the process. But her assailants weren’t yet finished.

As Tara tested, as best she could, the new found extra restriction to the movement of her arms, she felt her feet being pulled up behind her back until they almost met her manacled hands. Although she was unable to see what her captors were doing, she knew that they were in the process of applying a length of rope around the chain that linked the two metal bracelets together, then running this down and wrapping it around her ankle bond. This operation took maybe two minutes, before Tara felt the four hands that had been keeping her in check on the floor loosen their grip on her legs and body. But the relinquishing of their grasp on her was not, as she’d hoped, a sign that she could now move any easier. Trying to straighten her legs now proved impossible. In fact, even bending her knees back only very slightly caused the muscles in her arms to stretch painfully, as her arms and legs were now conjoined in a strict hog-tie. In dismay, her fingers forlornly reached for the knot that now made getting to her feet impossible. Alas, although she could touch her toes, and with a concerted effort her straining fingers could just about reach the rope that she’d tied so tightly around her own ankles all those hours ago, the knots, both of her original bond and the recently added hogtie, proved elusive; both being deliberately stationed in a tamper-prove zone between her legs. After several seconds of fruitless manoeuvring and struggling, Tara realised that her two tormenters were still standing over her. It was obvious, from the smiles on their faces, that they were taking much pleasure from her discomfort, as they had seemed to do all along. Tara could just imagine how she looked to them; a young helpless woman, handcuffed, gagged and hogtied in a skin-tight latex suit that accentuated every curve of her shapely body and legs, her long blonde hair now falling in a matted and tangled cascade over her face. Through the rubber ball in her mouth, she screamed at them - demanded, in fact - to be released.

“You know what?” The speaker turned to his colleague “I was wondering why she had that tape over the ball-gag when we first found her. Didn’t seem necessary at the time, but now I understand. She can still make far too much noise without the tape sealing her mouth as well”

“Well she gagged herself, if we’re to believe what she was telling us. So maybe we should put things back how they were. After all, it’s what she seems to enjoy”

The reel of thick tape was produced, and while one gathered her hair up and held it out of the way, the other began encircling her face and lower head in the tape; ensuring to press it down so that it bonded efficiently on her skin. Round and round the tape went, far more times than Tara’s initial gagging technique had called for. In fact, he only seemed to stop circumnavigating her head in the strong strips of adhesive once the reel was finished.

The two stood up again and once more gloated over their catch. Tara wanted to scream every obscenity she could think of at them, but she knew that nothing worthwhile could escape her lips, and even if it did, she would only succeed in antagonising them still further. She wondered how long it would be before they became tired of simply staring at her. The answer soon came.

“Okay darlin’, we’ve got some plans for you that we think you might enjoy, seeing as how you’re so into being tied up. They’ll take a while to get set up, though, so we’ll need to leave you here tonight and finish things off sometime tomorrow morning”

The speaker of these words turned and headed for the stairs leading back to ground level, leaving his pal to finish explaining.

“We thought we might crash here tonight, seeing as how the house is empty....present company excepted of course”

He chuckled to himself as he walked over to her father’s wine racks and pulled two bottles of red at random from the extensive collection. He too then headed for the stairs.

The light being turned off, together with the closure of the door, conspired to plunge Tara into pitch blackness and caused a wail of total despair to force its way through the tape that covered her entire lower face from under her chin to just below her nostrils. She tried desperately to move in the direction that she knew the stairs to be, but the vicious hogtie made movement of any sort almost impossible. She could, with difficulty, roll onto her side, but that was about the extent of her mobility now. And with no light to guide her, there seemed very little that could be done except wait and hope that they were genuine in their assertion that they would be returning to her tomorrow.

When she’d been in the kitchen, Tara had noticed the digital clock on the oven had shown 9:17 pm. That had been only a minute or two before she’d been transported down into her current prison cell. The hours, however, now passed like years for the hopelessly trapped damsel in distress, and with no window to give her a clue as to the approach of dawn, she could only guess at how long it had been since her incarceration.

Tara lay still on the floor for most of the night, finding struggle both futile and painful. Every so often, she would fall into an uneasy slumber, only to wake with a start, her ears straining for any sign that she had not been left to rot all alone down here. On each occasion, she was greeted with complete and utter silence.

After what must have been at least twelve hours, if not longer, and just as she was about abandon all hope of her captors ever returning, the sound of the heavy cellar door opening caused her to lift her head from the cold stone floor and gaze up in the direction of the noise. To her relief, a sliver of light greeted her, which got bigger as the door opened to its full potential, casting a pale shadowy light over her surroundings. This twilight lasted only a second or two, however, before the sound of a switch being flicked produced a brighter light that completely dazzled the captive woman after having been subjected to complete darkness for so long. Squinting into the sudden brilliance, Tara could just make out two silhouetted figures moving down the stairs towards her. As her day vision returned, she could make out that one of them was carrying something, although at that precise moment she couldn’t exactly make out what this could be. As they’d done last night, the two stood over her for a few seconds, as if fascinated by the trussed up woman at their feet. After half a minute or so, one of them knelt down beside her and began testing the security of the elbow bond and the hog-tie. This took only a few seconds before he rose to his full height again, seemingly satisfied that their handiwork of the previous evening had held firm. As he did so, the second man deposited the mystery item on the floor only a couple of feet from Tara’s face. It was a metal bucket, around twelve inches tall with a diameter, at the brim, of around ten inches which tapered very slightly down to the base. For a few seconds, the significance of this didn’t register with her; at least not until he tipped the bucket over at an angle to reveal what was inside. Tara gazed now at a solid block of ice that came up to within an inch of the brim.

The frosted nature of the contents prevented her from seeing into the depths of the bucket, but Tara knew, even before it was explained to her, what it was that lay hidden deep within the mass of frozen water. Somewhere, right down at the bottom, was the key to her handcuffs. The men took great delight explaining that, after leaving her last night, that they’d put the key in the bucket, filled it with water, then placed it in the freezer upstairs in the kitchen, ensuring that they selected the ‘fast freeze’ option. That, she was told, was why it had taken them so long to return. It was explained also that they would be leaving the house soon, never to return, leaving the helpless woman to get herself free once the ice had released the key from its icy prison.

“We thank you for your hospitality in allowing us to stay the night here. The beds were extremely comfortable. It’s just a shame that you chose to spend the night on this cold hard floor. Now we must bid you farewell. By the time you get yourself out of this we’ll be long gone”

The speaker laughed and headed for the stairs. His cohort, however, seeing the disbelief and distress in Tara’s eyes, seemed to take pity on her for the first time. Kneeling down close to her head, he offered her a few words of comfort.

“Look, we’re not violent and we’re certainly not murderers. We haven’t actually physically hurt you, have we?”

Tara had to admit that, aside from holding her down to gag her or administer extra bonds, they hadn’t harmed her. He continued:

“If we’d known there was anyone in the house, we would never have broken in here, but since you were here, and seeing as how you obviously enjoy being tied up, we thought that we might have a bit of fun at your expense. I know you probably don’t believe us, but the key genuinely is in the bottom of that bucket, although how long it will take until you can reach it, I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess”

From the top of the stairs, a harsher voice echoed around the cellar;

“Come on, just leave her. It serves her right for tying herself up in the first place”

The man briefly looked up in the direction of the voice, then looked back into Tara’s eyes.

“Sorry”

This was his final word, as he gave a weak smile, rose to his feet and climbed the stairs, not once glancing back until he reached the door. Almost immediately, the light was extinguished and the slamming of the door plunged Tara back into an all too familiar darkness. She held her breath, dreading the sound of a key turning in the lock. Fortunately, however, this didn’t materialise and she breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Those last few words had eased her fears slightly. He seemed genuine enough, and Tara now believed – indeed had to believe – that the key was where they said it was. She would, she told herself, be getting out of here alive. But when? Having herself dabbled with ice-bound keys in the past, Tara knew that the melt time was always longer than you anticipated. The blocks of ice she’d experimented with were in far smaller containers than this, and even then they could take up to eight hours or more to give up their prize. An enormous bucket like this, she guessed, would take at least twenty four hours to thaw sufficiently for her to be able to extricate the key. The fact that it wasn’t particularly warm down here in this underground room would only serve to prolong the process. Her other concern was being able to retrieve the key once the bucket’s contents had returned to their liquid state. The strict state of her hog-tie ensured that reaching in to the bucket whilst it was upright was not a viable option. Therefore she would have to tip it onto its side to get her hands in. But if she waited to do this until the mass had completely defrosted, she could envisage further danger. The huge volume of water, if tipped over and allowed to spill all at once, would send a torrent in every direction across the floor. If the key washed away in this sudden tsunami, how would she know, bearing in mind that she was in total darkness, in which direction the key had drifted. It would take her hours to traverse every inch of the floor in her restrained state, with her gloved fingers desperately searching for the key. And what if this deluge of water deposited the key underneath one of the many wine racks that surrounded the room? The consequences of something like this happening didn’t bear thinking about. There was only one answer to this problem. Rather than a sudden surge of water, there needed to be a slow trickle of melt water as it slowly thawed. And to attain this, Tara had to turn the bucket on its side now.

In her extreme state of bondage, it took several minutes for Tara to manoeuvre herself into a position whereby she could grab the rim of the bucket. It took several more to overturn what was, she found, an extremely heavy container. She finally achieved this goal, however. The bucket rolled an inch or two away from her, and it took Tara a minute or two more before she was in the right position to thrust her hand into the bucket. She hoped that maybe the tipping over process might have cracked the ice, or even loosened it somewhat around the edges. Her gloved hand, however, encountered only a solid block of pack ice, which didn’t even seem to be showing anything more than the slightest hint of dampness on its surface, meaning that the thaw had only just begun and might well take even longer than expected.

Tara rested now, in the knowledge that there was very little more she could do to speed up her release. She slept for a while, slightly more at ease with her situation than she had been. Although it was a long way off, she could now see light at the end of the tunnel.

Tara awoke to a strange sensation. For a second or two, she seemed to forget the events of the past two days. A shiver ran through her as the realisation that she was still tied and helpless hit her. But this involuntary spasm had nothing to do with fear or despair. No, Tara recognised straight away that the chill that radiated throughout her body was the old feeling that she’d always experienced when she was in a state of bondage. All of a sudden the realisation hit her. If she hadn’t got herself locked in the attic, and if the burglars hadn’t found her and left her down here in the cellar, exactly what would she be doing right now? It occurred to her that she would be in a similar predicament to the one she faced at the moment. Her intention, whilst her family were on vacation, had been to spend as much time in self imposed bondage as she could. So taking the last two days events out of the equation, she would now be tied up and gagged somewhere in the house, having devised some extremely convoluted, hazardous and time consuming venture to release herself. So what was the difference? Okay, so the hog-tie was much stricter than she’d ever managed to put herself into, and the elbow rope was something that she could never have hoped to achieved on her own. But essentially, she was in a very similar condition to that which she had an insatiable craving for. If she was going to be here some time, she decided, then she may as well enjoy the sensations and emotions that had always thrilled her in bondage situations such as this.

Squirming, wriggling and struggling just for the fun of it, a feeling of warm security enveloped her and she found herself sighing blissfully into her gags. Tara’s fingers reached out behind her and felt the block of ice again. It was still solid, although she could sense now that the surface was becoming slippery as it gradually became wetter, which signalled a slow but inevitable thaw.

There was nothing for it but to relax and enjoy her time here...however long that might be.


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