A Few Short Tales of Trapped Females

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The Escapologist - Part 1

Behind Eloise’s public persona as an escapologist, lurks a secret desire... One that is about to land her in a whole lot of trouble.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a big welcome to HOUDINI’S DAUGHTERRRRRRRR !!”

As the last long, drawn out syllable of her stage name rang out around the small nightclub, Eloise fluidly moved into the spotlight and sashayed effortlessly across to the centre of the stage on which tonight’s performance was to take place. Her tight black spandex cat-suit glistened in the light as she moved, highlighting every inch of her svelte body and elegant figure. The one-piece outfit, with inbuilt feet and gloves, covered her almost entirely, save for her head and neck. Her long blonde, wavy hair swung freely around her shoulders. There were a number wolf-whistles and whoops of delight mixed in amongst the applause from the male clientele of the club as she took her bow.

As the initial ovation gradually subsided, another woman - Maria - walked slowly onto the stage from the left, an off-white item of clothing hanging loosely over her right arm. By contrast to the star of the show, this glamorous assistant was dressed in a sequin-covered white leotard, white tights and high-heeled shoes. Her smile, as she unfurled the garment for the audience to see, revealed a set of immaculately gleaming teeth.

The canvas outfit could now be seen for what it was, namely a straitjacket, with sturdy leather straps attached to it at strategic points, such as the arms, back and crotch area. Each strap boasted an appropriately positioned metal buckle as its counterpart, situated on the opposite side of the garment.

After a few seconds of Maria showing off this unusual apparel to the captivated few, Eloise moved forwards and placed her arms into the sleeves with help from her colleague. With her upper limbs inserted as far as they would go, it would by now have become apparent to the spectators that these avenues of unbreakable cloth were in fact cul-de-sacs, through which the hand of the wearer couldn’t exit, and from the limits of which instead, one of the belt-like straps had been sutured to the fabric.

The assistant worked quickly now, with no resistance from her engulfed captive. Turning her victim around, she dexterously threaded and secured each strap hanging from the left hand side – five in number – to its appropriate buckle on the right; thus enclosing Eloise in the canvas from neck to waist. This was followed by the crotch strap, pulled through from its anchorage at the back, hoisted as high as it could go (much to the amusement of some members of the paying public) and buckled tightly on the lower abdomen. Even now, without the use of her fingers, it looked to all the world as if Eloise was trapped inside an off-white cocoon, but the real fun was only just about to start. Pulling each sleeve, and therefore Eloise’s arm, across her chest in turn, the expertly trained Maria threaded these limb-sheaths through a canvas loop that had been sewn into the garment there. With both arms through the tight gap, Eloise’s hands were pulled around behind her as far as they would go. Swiftly, the last straps, until now hanging loosely at the hand end of either sleeve, were pulled around her and buckled securely so that her arms were hugging her body in a tight embrace from which there was no way of extricating herself.

For a few seconds, Eloise turned around, twisted her arms out as far away from her body as she could, and generally played the classic role of ‘damsel-in-distress’, in order to show her audience just how encumbered she was. After half a minute or so of this show of helplessness, however, her assistant wheeled on a wooden cabinet from the wings - tall enough for a person of average height to stand in and about three feet deep and of similar width - before ushering Eloise inside. Closing the door, she made a great play of padlocking the stout container, before pulling a curtain across the stage to render this invisible to the punters.

For dramatic effect, there followed a drum roll of several seconds duration, after which the screen was swiftly thrown back. To gasps of surprise, followed by much adoring applause and great cheers, Eloise stood before her public, completely unfettered, with the cabinet door standing wide open and the discarded straitjacket lying in a crumpled heap at her feet. It appeared, to those watching open-mouthed, that she’d freed herself from tight, unbreakable bonds and a sealed coffin-like tomb easily in less than a minute.

And this was only the opening round of a spellbinding routine, which saw her also escape seemingly effortlessly from handcuffs and chains whilst swinging upside down by her ankles from several feet above the ground; a canvas sack, its opening tied and sealed, before entry into which her limbs had been immobilised with what looked like inescapable rope ligatures; and a metal box, from which there seemed no way of breaking out after it had been wrapped with sturdy chains and secured with numerous padlocks. Like her opening salvo, these daring feats of escapological expertise had been achieved in double-quick time, with the screen thwarting any prying eyes being given even the smallest of clues as to how these miraculous stunts - or ‘the tricks of the trade’ - were carried out.

Thus, when her act finally came to its conclusion, Eloise exited the stage with everyone who had witnessed her audacious performance enraptured and baying for an encore.

Things were not exactly as they seemed, however.

It was all a sham, of course; a complete case of misleading the public into thinking that Eloise had discovered ways and means of getting out of just about any perilous situation that she found herself in. For the truth of the matter was that the straitjacket could be loosened easily by cords hidden within the sleeves, which when tugged on automatically released the straps, after which it was relatively easy to wriggle out of. Likewise the padlocks were fake and simply fell away when twisted in the right direction or pressure was applied to them. And each bracelet of the handcuffs was equipped with a small, almost invisible, button which released the ratchets and allowed the wearer to slip her hands free. The various wooden cabinets and metal boxes all had simple release mechanisms built into them, which could effortlessly be operated, even in pitch darkness. And the ropes, which looked secure and unlikely to loosen, were tied by Eloise’s well trained helper to slip and fall away with the merest of twisting motions, if you knew what you were doing. The canvas sack worked on the same principle as the straitjacket.

So, the question has to be asked, was Eloise a phoney; an imposter who claimed that she had mastered the hidden talents of escapology, when in reality, all the while she was conning her fans? Well, yes she was. But no more so than any stage magician or illusionist, who uses sleight of hand or a mirage of smoke and mirrors to fool his or her audience into believing that they’re witnessing something unbelievable, when the truth is rather more mundane. And as her publicity posters made no grand claims that she could get out of anything, but merely used the Houdini name to stir the image of such powers, really no such accusations could be levelled at her.

But this was only a small part of her story. For Eloise hadn’t woken up one day and decided that she’d make a living out of fooling the public. No, her affiliation with handcuffs, straitjackets and such like went much deeper than that. In fact, it had been an obsession ever since she could remember. For Eloise’s public persona was merely the tip of the iceberg; a sort of sly, secretive way of showing off and saying ’Look at me, I like being tied up”, without having to go through the embarrassment of being branded kinky, perverted, or just a bit weird.

Because the fact was that Eloise’s great passion in life was bondage, in all its glorious diversity, and with its numerous methods, styles and techniques. And the escapology bit - the getting out again once she’d been bound - was actually completely anathema to her.

Ever since she was a young girl, Eloise had been fascinated by the sight of people tied up so that they were incapable of movement. She couldn’t recall exactly what the catalyst had been for this revelation, but she guessed that it was probably some image on television that had first lured her into this strange world of captivity as entertainment. Nor did she fully understand – even to this day – why such a supposedly repugnant event, i.e. the curtailment of your freedom and the relinquishing of power to someone else, should hold such appeal and cause a shiver of delight to rip through her every time the concept came to mind. But that was exactly what happened whenever she experienced such an image - whether in print, on film, or even simply in her mind’s eye. And so, being an inquisitive girl, Eloise had decided to investigate in order to find out more. And the best way to do that, she found, was through ‘hands on’ physical experimentation.

And thus began a bondage odyssey which was to shape and influence almost every facet of her life. Tying herself up with anything that was to hand, such as neck-ties, ribbons, string etc., soon became a regular occurrence in the sanctuary of her own bedroom. And at first, these try-outs were of a simple nature, with Eloise being unversed in the processes of cinching and such like, and also wary that, should she push things too far, then she would be stuck and have to go through the embarrassment of alerting her parents – or even worse, one of her brothers – in order to get free. After a few years, however, once she’d mastered the basics and thought herself something of an expert on the subject, the craving to take things further persisted, or indeed grew stronger, and Eloise would find herself setting up and executing ever more difficult predicaments from which she would have to release herself. And as her hunger for still stricter bonds increased, she began to find self-bondage frustrating and no longer particularly satisfying. For such solo practices had to, by their very nature, be escapable. But what Eloise hankered after were tight spots that she couldn’t, under any circumstances, free herself from. And the only way to achieve this goal would involve an alliance being struck with a person or persons amenable to helping her indulge her passion.

Finding someone on the same wavelength as herself, however, proved problematic. As she moved into her mid to late teens, a series of boyfriends came and went, which allowed Eloise, with varying degrees of success, to experience the delights of sex whilst in bondage. However, her insistence on being almost constantly tied up and left that way, soon proved a turn-off for her male suitors, who didn’t really comprehend why she would rather be left hog-tied in a shed, or handcuffed under the bed, than go out drinking or clubbing or generally having what they thought of as a good time. In truth, most of them got bored and found girlfriends with whom they could have a two-way conservation without having to interpret what their partner was trying to say through a sound muffling gag of some description. And the fact that Eloise was continually on a quest to find ever more strict and secure - and therefore extreme and dangerous - ways to incarcerate and confine herself, meant that most potential partners just didn’t stand up to scrutiny during her stringent vetting process, which sought to unearth suitable candidates for the role.

But as is often the case in such matters, the answer to her problem was right under her nose the whole time.

Maria had been a friend since primary school days, and although the pair had been almost inseparable at school, and had shared many of their secrets and desires, their hopes and fears, their likes and dislikes with each other, Eloise had, due to the stigma surrounding what she assumed was an odd and generally frowned upon pursuit, never confided about her love of ropes and fetters to her closest confidante. So it took a complete coincidence - or was it synchronicity? - before both she and Maria became aware that they had even more in common than they realised.

In fairness, it has to be said that Maria’s interest in bondage was nothing like as acute or all-consuming as her friend’s. Nor had it ever before manifested in the physical sphere; her fascination being on a more cerebral or intellectual level, as if she was happy to study and observe from a distance. Her first-hand experiences of either tying or being tied were therefore non-existent. And although she had no desire to experience the latter, she was amenable to helping her friend into – and, of necessity, out of - all manner of extreme bondage scenarios which Eloise came up with, but could only dream about without assistance.

The chance circumstance which brought about the realisation that Maria might be of some use to her in a bondage capacity, occurred one day soon after Eloise had left the family home and set herself up in her new one bedroom apartment overlooking Ipswich waterfront.

As was her wont, Eloise had decided to pamper herself with a little self-bondage session that Saturday afternoon. And as usual, she wasn’t about to do things by half. So today, as preliminary work, she’d bound her legs in three places with tight, unbreakable ropes, fashioned a gag using a pair of rolled up tights and a layer of skin-bonding surgical tape, and blindfolded herself with a latex hood which fit snugly around her head and buckled at the neck. She’d also bound one end of another cord around the hitch in her ankle bond, but left the other, looped end loosely dangling there for the time being. Once thus burdened, she’d taken an already prepared rope, which had been coiled around several times into a circle before being loosely cinched into a figure of eight and secured with a slip-knot. Placing her left hand within one of the loops, she’d laid face down on the bed, bent her knees backwards and placed her hands behind her so that her ankles and wrists were in close proximity to each other. Feeling around in her blindness, her fingers soon located the, until now, redundant rope, threaded this over her wrist bond, and pushed her right hand into the remaining close fitting circle. With both hands now side by side, palm to palm, she pulled as hard as she could in an upwards direction. And as she did so, she felt the whole ligature tighten significantly, as both the knot behind her wrists, and the one mooring her hands to her ankles, shrunk to embrace the contours of her flesh. The bonds were tight enough to prohibit easy escape already, but Eloise still wasn’t satisfied, and gave a second tug on the already biting cords, which consequently constricted to an even greater degree, until they were left with no scope to tighten further.

Eloise tested her handiwork, causing a muffled gasp to elude her gag, as the stringency of the rope produced a sound which encompassed both pleasure and pain in equal measure; pleasure at the knowledge that she was now strictly hog-tied, but pain from the sharp cutting sensation that seared through her limbs every time she moved. It would, she knew straightaway, take a long while for her to work her way free from this well executed set-up. But that, of course, was all part of the fun. She was expecting no visitors, so would have to deal with this alone if she was to successfully escape her bonds.

So the sound of someone ringing the bell to her apartment came as quite a surprise to the now severely bound twenty one year old. But even more of a shock was the sound of the door slowly being pushed open and a voice tentatively asking “Hello? Are you in El?”

Oh shit, I forgot to lock the door! That was the first notion which shot through Eloise’s brain as the unmistakable voice of her friend seeped through the bedroom door. Should she stay perfectly quiet and hope that Maria went away?

“Where are you? The door was ajar, so I thought I’d better look in to see if you’re alright.”

Just as Maria uttered these words, Eloise heard the bedroom door slowly opening, followed a millisecond later by Maria’s footsteps as she crossed the threshold.

“Eloise? Are you here?”

This hesitant enquiry, however, was followed by a louder, more frantic line of questioning.

Eloise!... What the hell’s happened!?... Who did this to you!?”

The side of the bed closest to the door dipped down suddenly, and almost immediately Eloise felt the buckle at her neck being released, followed closely by the loosening of the laces that held the hood in place. Seconds later, the sensation of latex brushing against her hair as it slipped towards the top of her skull, preceded the return of daylight.

“Who did this to you?”

Maria repeated her latest query, even though by now she must have noticed the tape seal that masked her bound friend’s mouth.

Eloise squirmed in her bonds. This wriggling movement had nothing to do with her desire to be set free from her self-imposed captivity however, but instead owed its genesis to the uncomfortable knowledge that she was now going to be obliged to explain that, well actually, she’d done this to herself, and no she wasn’t here under duress, and she didn’t need a hand in getting out. And furthermore, she was quite happy to remain in her current state for some time to come, thank you very much. And if Maria would just like to quit trying to untie her, put the ball of tights back in her mouth, wind some fresh tape – from the spool sitting on the bedside table – around her head, then place the hood back where she’d found it, she could leave again... oh, and could you shut the door please on the way out?

But of course, in the event Eloise said none of these things. For after all, Maria was only acting in what she assumed were her friend’s best interests. And it wasn’t every day that you came across someone bound to the hilt like this. And even if you did, the chances were that your immediate reaction wouldn’t be to presume that their woes were self inflicted. So, after the tape had been – painfully – removed, and the damp bundle of hosiery eased out of her mouth, Eloise did her best to explain, in as calm, light-hearted and rational a manner as she could muster, the truth of the odd looking situation that Maria had stumbled across.

Maria sat open-mouthed as Eloise nervously began her monologue on the joys of bondage, and how she had been doing this sort of thing for years. But as she got into her stride, the pride in her achievements began to outweigh her concerns about coming across as completely insane, and she found herself getting excited at the prospect of relating some of the many predicaments she’d put herself through in the past. And as she gained confidence, she noticed also that Maria’s attitude changed too, from total incredulity to what could only be described as empathy. So that, by the time Eloise finally ran out of things to say, her friend had an almost knowing smile on her face.

“You know something El? I’d wondered for some time why you wore long sleeves that covered your wrists, and always wore black opaque tights. It was to make sure nobody noticed the rope marks, wasn’t it?”

Eloise admitted that this was true. But now her revelations had received as good a reaction as she could have hoped for, she had other things on her mind.

“So could I ask a big favour of you? Would you regag me, put the hood back on, and just leave me here to my own devices? I can assure you I’ll be fine.”

For a second, Maria looked horrified again, and Eloise feared that she was pushing things a bit too far. For it was one thing to passively sympathise with someone’s odd hobbies, but another thing entirely to actually request complicity in acting out an event that Maria probably still considered foolish and dangerous. But she needn’t have worried on this score. For after only a few seconds of contemplation, Maria shrugged.

“Ok, if that’s what you really want, who am I to stand in your way? One condition though. That I take the spare key to your flat with me and look in on you tomorrow morning. Just to make sure you did actually manage to get out in the end.”

With the deal struck. Maria began pushing the tights back into Eloise’s expectant mouth, before winding several circuits of tape around her head to keep the gag in situ. The reinsertion of her head in the constricting latex hood soon followed.

“How’s that feel? Tight and secure enough for you?”

Eloise answered in the only ways she could, by nodding her head vigorously and making what she hoped was an affirmative sound through her gag.

“Good, I’ll be off then. Have fun tonight, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

The bed rose slightly as Maria stood up. Then a reversal of the sounds from her entry filtered through to Eloise’s ears, as the footsteps crossed the carpet, the bedroom door closed, and moments later the front door slammed shut.

Eloise was impressed. Maria had done a good job of lacing the hood up; even better, in fact, than her own efforts earlier. Now she had the rest of the day, and all night, to luxuriate in her chosen mode of relaxation. And the knowledge that Maria was now in on her little secret, and could perhaps, with a little persuasion, by roped in (if you’ll pardon the pun!) as an accomplice on her bondage adventures, set her thinking that life was good right now. And for Eloise, the best way to celebrate life was to be tied up and helpless...and to stay that way for as long as she could.

When her would-be rescuer turned up the next morning, Eloise was free of her bonds and seemed none the worse for her experience. Maria seemed amazed at this outcome, as she’d surmised, after inspecting the tightness of Eloise’s bonds, that no one could escape from such inflexible ligatures, and that today’s visit was more of a mission of mercy than anything else. What she hadn’t realised was that Eloise had spent many a long hour trying to slip her hands free without success, and had only succeeded by chance an hour or less before Maria’s reappearance. She doubted if, left that way again, she could repeat the feat.

“Wow, that’s quite a skill you’ve got there. I was expecting to find you still trussed up, gagged and hooded, just as I’d left you. Maybe you should take up escapology for a living El. You’d go down a storm in the clubs.”

This was something Eloise had never before considered. But the more she mulled the idea over, the more it appealed to her. For she’d always wanted to be able to come out in public and show the world her love of bondage, but up until now had felt that the attendant ridicule she would receive outweighed the positives. Here though, was a way to showcase her obsession, yet keep her true feelings on the subject a secret. Tentatively, she invited Maria to be her assistant in such a venture. And luckily her friend agreed.

From there, things began to snowball, as over the course of the next few months both women became ever more enthused by the project. Eloise began to accrue new bondage equipment that mirrored her own existing collection. But whereas her originals were the real deal - such as handcuffs that could only be opened with a key, or her arm-binder with no easily slipping laces or false buckles – her new purchases were fake and always included a ‘get out’ mechanism that she was able – after a few sessions of practice - to activate within seconds. And even if nothing of a suitable nature could be found on the specialist websites and shops that supplied such equipment, this didn’t create too much of a problem. For simply buying an ordinary straitjacket, for example, and modifying it so that it was fit for purpose, proved no great obstacle to two resourceful and imaginative women, who knew what they wanted and were determined to succeed at all costs.

And so, six months or so after Maria had first discovered her friend’s deviant nature, ‘Houdini’s Daughter’ got her first gig in a seedy little club in downtown Ipswich, where the punters consisted mainly of drunken males who would have preferred a band or stand-up comedian; not that most of them wouldn’t have been up for a good grope with a bound, spandex-clad female, given half a chance.

As it turned out, however, the act went down a storm, and a star was born. Several more bookings in and around Suffolk quickly materialised after the word spread, and soon the local paper had reviewed Eloise’s act in glowing terms, and interviews, both in the region’s press and on local radio stations, spread the word still further. Eloise, it seemed, was becoming quite a celebrity.

But her spells in stage bondage, and escaping from same, were, of course, dwarfed by the amount of time spent indulging her real passion of being tied up in ways that she couldn’t get out of. And as her stage presentation grew more elaborate and polished, so her mind turned to ever greater perils and plights which she was anxious to try away from the public gaze. From these musings, Eloise began to develop a concept that she would eventually come to refer to as ‘The Ultimate Bondage Project’. And with Maria willing to go along with whatever her friend desired, she set about bringing this most extreme bondage extravaganza to fruition.

The blueprint for ‘The Ultimate Bondage Project’ had, in fact, been years in the planning, although at the time even Eloise hadn’t been aware of the overall concept. For this was not simply one stand-alone rigging exercise that involved a single bondage medium – such as rope, chains, tape etc. – but instead a multifaceted production, employing layer upon layer of restraints, which, when complete, would see Eloise trapped, encased and imprisoned in numerous confining strata, each of which, on its own, would cause severe problems when it came to freeing herself. But when amassed one on top of the other, of course, escape – or indeed movement of any kind - would become a complete impossibility.

For starters, Eloise envisioned a simple rope-tie, with her legs bound in three places, her wrists secured behind her back, and her arms lashed ruthlessly to her body. This would then be augmented by handcuffs, placed just above the rope bond on her lower arms, and leg shackles to supplement the cord at her ankles. A gag consisting of rolled up tights stuffed into her mouth, plus several circuits of duct tape to hold it in, would be applied, together with a silk scarf blindfold. Next would come a completely concealing encasement in two or three layers of black tights, including a makeshift arm-binder in which one leg of the thin but deceptively durable hosiery would sheath both arms. On top of this would be a layer of duct tape, so lavishly applied that her entire being, save for her head, would be obscured from view. After which would come the layer of leather; a tightly fitting hood for her head which offered only two small nostril outlets through which she could breathe, plus a matching, all covering body sheath which enclosed her to the neck. Needless to say, both hood and sheath, when laced up to their maximum potential, would fit her like a second skin; or, taking the tights into account, a third or maybe even fourth skin. Several thick leather belts, placed strategically from ankles to shoulders, would then be used to tighten everything up and further entrap the already uncompromisingly captured young woman. Just for good measure, a further sleep-sack – this one a shimmering spandex Zentai number that enclosed her from head to toe – would be used to mask the creation beneath and give it a smooth, unblemished, aesthetically pleasing look. More belts would ensure that this outer layer didn’t slip.

But although this was to be the full extent of the actual physical fetters to her body and limbs, the project still had some way to go before meeting its ‘ultimate’ billing. For as if her woes wouldn’t already be sufficient to earn her the title of the ‘World’s Most Helpless Woman’, then what was still to transpire would certainly be sufficient to elevate her into that category. Firstly, her wrapped and trapped form was going to be placed in what could only be described as a coffin; a custom made wooden box with foam padded floor and walls which she fit into snugly, with barely a few millimetres of ‘wiggle room’ in which to fidget, struggle or writhe. After the lid had been battened down with strong bolts at twelve different locations spread around the perimeter, there was no way that anyone – even someone unencumbered by multi-layered bondage – could kick or break their way out. Just for good measure, however, this wooden sarcophagus was then to be placed within a further box – only slightly bigger, and once again purpose built – which unlike its counterpart had been manufactured from solid steel. And this too would then be locked, bolted and sealed so that the inmate could have no thought of self-release. Two tiny holes in each box, precision aligned at either end, would allow enough air in for her to breathe comfortably, and hopefully keep the atmosphere within less stuffy and humid; thus alleviating - to a certain degree anyway - overheating.

But despite the all encompassing futility of Eloise’s plight by this point, the most daring piece of the jigsaw was still to be fitted into place. Because, as with all such ventures that she conceived of this nature, Eloise didn’t do things by half measures. She was, therefore, not content to merely sample this extreme form of captivity for an hour or two, before getting Maria to release her. No, what Eloise visualised, once her internment to this point had been completed, was that she would be abandoned in some out of the way location, where no one would accidently stumble upon her, for a period of time that would have lesser mortals shivering with dread at the mere thought of such a bleak, lengthy period of incarceration. For Eloise’s chosen self-proclaimed sentence, bound and locked away in this parlous state, amounted to forty eight hours, or two whole days.

But where was such an isolated, secluded setting to be found? Somewhere that was inaccessible to anyone else? It was Maria who came up with the solution to this part of the puzzle.

Maria’s brother worked for a haulage firm, whose premises happened to be situated only a stone’s throw away from Eloise’s apartment, close to Ipswich docks. Moreover, Maria was conversant with the firm’s routines and practices, having worked as an office junior there herself for a short period of time. And what’s more, she had access to her brother’s set of keys to the main gates, as he was one of the foremen there, and occasionally had to open the yard first thing in the morning.

“I know for a fact that no one goes in there at the weekends, so the chances of you being disturbed are virtually zero. And there are always loads of haulage containers just sitting there at weekends, waiting to be put on trucks and sent down to Felixstowe or Harwich the following week. If you wanted, I could lock you up in one of those on a Friday evening, then retrieve you again Sunday night, and no one would ever know. Nobody could get out of one of those metal monsters with the doors padlocked. And I’m certain that nobody could get in either.”

As soon as Maria had come up with this suggestion, the idea had appealed to Eloise’s sense of living-on-the-edge danger and peril. For here was another tier to her unbreakable solitude which she wouldn’t be getting out of in a hurry. And the fact that shipping containers of this type were solid and built to withstand being battered about whilst being hoisted by crane on and off trucks and ships, plus the added bonus of them being windowless, had her agreeing almost immediately to the proposal. There was just one thing she wanted to clarify.

“Are you one hundred percent sure that nobody goes there at the weekends?”

Maria sought to allay her friend’s fears.

“Relax El. In all the time I worked there, no one ever went in between Friday evening and Monday morning. It just doesn’t happen....Now when do you want to give this a go? This coming weekend, perhaps?”

With Eloise desperate to try out this particular form of confinement as soon as possible, she needed no further prompting.

It was decided, all things considered, that rather than transporting Eloise all rigged up in her bonds and portable boxes to the container yard, that she would be allowed to ride unfettered until they reached their destination, before being encased in all her bound glory once they reached her weekend place of residence. That way, if the car was stopped by the police (no reason to think it should be, but you never know), then the need to explain why Maria had a prisoner in her vehicle would be avoided. Or if they were unfortunate enough to be involved in an accident (again unlikely), then it would be much safer if both could get out of the car in haste.

And so, at around seven o’clock the following Friday evening, Maria and Eloise loaded all the equipment that the latter desired for her stint in complete incarcerated seclusion into the back of Maria’s parents’ estate car, borrowed especially for the purpose. With the rear seats folded down, the wooden and metal containers just fitted in the back. And with the rest of the binding agents stashed in three holdall bags, they set off on the short trip to what Eloise hoped would be an epic journey into the unknown.

Being mid October, all traces of daylight had dissipated by the time they reached the haulage yard where Eloise was to spend her weekend. Aside from a few security lights, the premises were in complete darkness. Maria drove up to the main entrance, and by the light from the headlamps quickly unsecured the chains holding the high, barbed wire topped metal gates closed. Swinging the heavy panels open, she quickly jumped back into the still idling car and drove the few yards into the compound, before retracing her steps and closing the gates behind them. Sitting in the passenger seat, Eloise could just make out in the gloom, row upon row of enormous rectangular containers. Although these were of various colours, with many different logos advertising their company’s brand emblazoned on the sides, each was of a standard size: eight feet wide, eight and a half feet high and twenty feet in length. But which one was she going to have the privilege of being stashed in? Maria seemed to know the answer to this question, as she made a beeline towards a bright red number with an unpronounceable eastern European name in large black letters splashed on every visible surface.

“This one should be perfect for you El. I know how this company packs its good for haulage and there should be room to fit your coffin in nice and tightly, so you won’t be able to move it, no matter how hard you struggle and squirm. Now I need to go into the office and get the keys to the containers.”

Maria trotted across to a portacabin that served as the firm’s site office. She was gone less than two minutes, before she returned brandishing a huge bunch of keys.

“It’s really handy having worked here, because it means I know where they keep everything. Now I just need to work out which keys fit the padlocks on this container.”

Both women now approached the steel corrugated box that Maria had chosen for the venture. It was a case of trial and error for several minutes, as each key was tried and discarded in their attempt to find the ones they sought. Finally, however, the two locks were released, and together, with some difficulty, Eloise and Maria were able to remove the heavy iron bar that sealed the only entrance and pull the extremely stubborn doors aside.

By torchlight, Eloise gazed into the container at the revealed scene. The interior was packed full, from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall, with the merchandise being shipped to foreign climes. With each row of wooden crates set upon pallets for ease of movement when loading and unloading, there were no markings on the visible parts of these sealed boxes to suggest the nature of their contents, although Maria happened to mention that the cargo was something to do with supplies for the motor trade.

Eloise had little interest in what the shipment consisted of, however. For her mind was racing excitedly ahead with the anticipation of her fate over the coming two days. She did note though, that each of these custom made storage boxes was roughly the size and shape of the makeshift coffins that she was about to be imprisoned in. But where was she to be placed, exactly? Because the entire container seemed to be so chock-a-block with the already assembled cargo, so fitting another, similar sized coffer into the jammed-tight space, didn’t appear to be a viable option. Maria had already thought this potential stumbling block through, however, and had the solution to hand.

Grabbing the end of one of the oblong chests which made up the bottom row, she bid Eloise help her ease it out from its neatly regimented position and haul it to one side. This was heavy work, as whatever was inside proved to be extremely difficult to manoeuvre. But working as a team, the two women soon achieved their aim, and Eloise was able to gaze into a black void where the removed box had been. It didn’t take a genius to realise that it was she, and her own custom made packaging, that would soon be filling this space. The thought sent tremors of excitement coursing through her veins.

Maria wasted little time now in beginning the process of ensuring Eloise’s aspirations to become the ‘World’s Most Helpless Woman’ would be fulfilled. Grabbing the holdalls from the car, she worked with an expertise honed through many months of experience in getting Eloise rigged up to the required standard. She was helped, of course, by the fact that she encountered no resistance or delaying tactics from her captive, who, with the ropes and manacles secured, the gag filling her mouth and the blindfold efficiently blocking her vision, began to realise exactly what she’d let herself in for. But far from regretting her decision, it produced an indescribable feeling of wellbeing which simply couldn’t be topped by any other sensation imaginable. And the knowledge that her journey had only just begun made her impatient for the rest of her bonds, in order to reap the rewards of her strange odyssey as soon as possible.

The application of two layers of tights, creating a sausage-skin effect, plus yard after yard of duct tape from head to toe, simply added to the encasement effect which most people would have found claustrophobic. Not Eloise though, who simply lay back and revelled in her ever increasing helplessness. Then it was time for the leather hood, the distinct fragrance of which Eloise could detect even through the tights around her head. The body sheath and securing straps increased the feeling of glorious inescapability still further, whilst the spandex sack and further belts took things up to a level bordering on the bondage equivalent of Nirvana.

Now it was time for her placement within the dual sarcophagi which would prohibit Eloise from moving around for the next forty eight hours. For a few minutes, the severely encumbered woman listened, as the muted sounds of Maria unloading the mobile tombs from the car filtered through her aurally impeding head coverings. Soon, however, she heard a sound, very close at hand, that she interpreted as the wooden box being placed inside its metal counterpart. And seconds later, she experienced a rising motion, as her cocooned form was lifted and stretched out on the padded surface she knew to be the inner coffin.

“Keep your head down.”

That was the only warning she received before the crash of wood on wood told her that raising herself upwards was no longer a viable strategy. The squeak of the turning bolts, as Maria secured the lid to the base, only served to heighten still further Eloise’s sense of isolation. And the fainter sound of keys turning in locks, as the outer, metal shell of her detaining enclosure finally sealed her fate, proved such a turn on, that a barely audible outburst of glee forced its way from her stuffed and sealed mouth.

“Are you ok in there?”

Eloise wasn’t sure whether this was just a general enquiry, or a response to her murmur of contentment. But a hopefully affirmative “aha”, pronounced as loudly and plainly as she was capable of making it, seemed to deliver the message that she was fine.

“Ok, I’m just going to push you into position, then I’ll be off. I hope you enjoy your solitary confinement. See you on Sunday evening.”

The dragging sound, as her double walled tomb was squeezed into the line of other boxes within the container, and the slamming and securing of the creaking steel doors, was followed moments later by the dull drone of a car engine as it slowly faded into nothingness.

And then Eloise was left with only her thoughts and a penetrating silence.

“Ok guys, I know it’s Saturday, but the boss needs this lot shipping out urgently. Moaning and complaining isn’t going to get us anywhere. And don’t forget, we’ve being paid four hours at double time, even if it only takes an hour or so.”

The foreman slid back the heavy iron gates and led the way to where the containers stood.

“So why is it so important that we get this done today Guv? After all, we’ve never been called in on a Saturday before.”

“I know, but I’m told this is urgent. Can’t wait ’til tomorrow apparently.”

“So what’s in the container then, and where’s it going to?”

“No idea what’s inside, but I know it needs to be down at Felixstowe Docks this morning for shipping out later today. From there over to Holland, but after that, I’ve no idea. Somewhere in Eastern Europe I would imagine. Poland, Bulgaria, Serbia, maybe Russia even? Who knows? All I know is that it needs to be out of this yard and on the road as quickly as possible. Now if we all buckle down to work and get on with it instead of grumbling, we’ll be finished in no time. Then we can get back to enjoying our weekends again.”

Eloise took on board none of what was being said. But the fact that there were even voices at all, where none had any right to be, set her pulse racing and her mind working overtime. And even though the muffled nature of the sounds rendered the gist of the conversation indecipherable, she knew that something was wrong. But what exactly?

Once Maria had abandoned her here, Eloise had rejoiced in the sensations and emotions that being so utterly helpless always engendered. The complete inability to move her limbs or any part of her body, plus the confining nature of the walls, floor and ceiling of her place of concealment, and the gagging properties of the tights in her mouth and the layered masks she wore, all conspired to generate the conditions conducive to a state where she could live out her bondage fantasies and whims in all their rampant glory. And having lived the dream for several hours, Eloise had finally fallen into a peaceful slumber, safe in the knowledge that the wonderful vibe she’d created would still be there when she woke.

These unexpected visitors, however, woke her with a start. What time was it? Eloise guessed that it must be Saturday morning by now. But who were these people, and what impact would their arrival have on her? Was it in her best interests to remain silent and hidden, in the hope that they went away? Or was making her own presence known a better – albeit somewhat risky and embarrassing – option? Before she’d had time to weigh up the pros and cons of these alternatives, however, the choice was taken out of her hands.

The precise nature of the heavy machinery, which started without warning and then droned and rumbled on incessantly for several minutes, accompanied by the occasional clanging of what sounded like heavy chains being manoeuvred on every side of her, wasn’t obvious to Eloise. But when the container in which she helplessly languished suddenly began to move upwards, then swayed from side to side, Eloise realised with horror that her whole world was on the move. By now though, the continual din from outside, coupled with her own inability to speak or bang on the walls of her tomb, meant that she had no way whatsoever of raising the alarm.

Mercifully, the swinging, rocking motion lasted only a minute or so, and ceased when the crane lowered its burden with some force back onto a solid surface. But within a few minutes, the realisation came to Eloise that this new setting was not terra firma. For following the sound of more chains crashing, metal on metal, against the sides of the container only inches away from where she lay, the rumble of an engine reverberated through the dense layers of steel, wood, leather and spandex that surrounded and engulfed her, and the impression of movement once again assaulted her senses. This time, however, rather than in an upwards direction, the journey was taking place on the horizontal plane. Or in other words, the shipping container was being transported on the back of an articulated lorry from point A to point B. But where exactly was this cargo - with its reluctant rogue stowaway in tow - heading? Eloise had no idea, and more worryingly, no way of finding out. Her destination, and indeed her entire destiny, was now completely out of her control.

Continued in Part 2

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