A Few Short Tales of Trapped Females

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Catherine - Captured - Part 1

All Catherine wanted, after a hard day’s work, was to get home and have a nice hot bath.

But instead her cab ride home turned into a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape, and soon she was forced to reconsider exactly where ‘home’ might be.

The fact that the taxi took only five minutes to arrive from the time she’d phoned and requested it, should probably have warned Catherine that everything wasn’t quite as it should be. However, although the cab company’s receptionist had informed her that there would be a wait of around half an hour before a car would be available, Catherine thought nothing of the early appearance of her means of transport; being merely grateful that she would be getting home earlier than she’d assumed, and anxious to get a hot bath and something to eat after a busy day at the studio.

She was ten minutes or so into the journey, however, when it began to dawn on her that all might not be exactly as it appeared to be, and that something was definitely not right. The first few minutes of the ride had seemed uneventful, with Catherine concentrating on reading the scripts for the next day’s show that she was due to present on the TV shopping channel that she worked for. A quick glance up from her papers, however, revealed a scene unknown to her.

Having taken this journey on numerous occasions before, she knew by now every corner and turn, every roundabout and set of traffic lights, on what should have been a half an hour or so trip to her apartment. Studying the view from the back seat of the cab, however, revealed a street scene that she didn’t recognise. It took a few seconds for her brain to register that something was wrong, but even then the thought that this was anything but an honest mistake didn’t immediately dawn on her. She was tired after a hard day under the studio lights, and her first thought was that her eyes were playing tricks on her, and that her brain was confused and momentarily misidentifying familiar streets and shops, thus temporarily disorientating her. Then, when after a few seconds the vista didn’t suddenly reveal familiar landmarks, her thoughts turned to the driver. Did he know a different way to her home; one that she herself was oblivious to? Or had he misheard the address she’d given, and was now innocently transporting her to the wrong location?

Catherine taped on the see-through Perspex barrier that separated the front of the cab from her seat in the back.

“Excuse me. I think you’re going in the wrong direction. Where are you taking me?”

She received no reply, although when she glanced up into his rear-view mirror, she noticed that he was looking directly back at her; the lack of emotion etched on his face causing Catherine to shiver involuntarily. She knocked on the screen again, only this time with more force, the staccato nature of the raps and the hint of anxiety in her voice betraying the nervousness that was beginning to manifest itself.

“Stop the car. You’re going the wrong way.”

Even this failed to elicit any response from the seemingly oblivious driver. But as it happened, just at that moment the car was forced to pull up at a set of traffic lights. Immediately the vehicle came to a standstill, Catherine reacted. Grabbing the door handle, she wrenched this as hard as she could, simultaneously pushing with force on the door. But for some reason it refused to open. She tried again, but the result remained the same. Sliding across to the offside door, she tried for a third time to exit the stationary vehicle. No joy on this side either. Still hoping that this was all some misunderstanding, and that he’d locked the doors for her own protection rather than some more sinister reason, she hammered on the strengthened Perspex partition.

“Excuse me. I want to get out of the car. Could you unlock the door please? I’ll pay you for your wasted trip.”

As she spoke, the lights changed to green and the car quickly accelerated away from the junction. There was still no evidence that the driver was paying any heed to her request, or even that he’d heard her.

By now Catherine was beginning to get frantic. Where was he taking her? What was going on here exactly? How did she put an end to a situation that was threatening to get out of control?

Her phone! Of course! Catherine fumbled around in her bag until she located her mobile. The brightly illuminated screen, however, informed her straight away that she was receiving no signal for outgoing calls, and therefore communication with a potential saviour through this medium was untenable. In frustration Catherine threw the phone down on the seat beside her. Was this just a bad area for reception, or had her abductor – for that was how she was beginning to perceive the driver of this seemingly bogus taxi – somehow blocked the signal? She had no way of knowing, but realised that, if phoning for assistance was a non starter, then she would simply have to revert to more physical methods to fashion her escape.

She tried the door again, even though the car was now going at considerable speed. Banging with her fists on the screen that separated her from the front of the cab, Catherine could no longer contain her panic.

“Hey, what are you doing? Let me out of here! If this is some sort of joke, then it’s not very funny.”

Gazing out into the night, Catherine desperately scoured the nearly deserted street in search of someone who might be able to help her; somebody she could in some way reveal her distress to, in order that they might come to her aid. The view outside was still of an area unfamiliar to Catherine, which, judging by the boarded up shop-fronts and graffiti-strewn walls, with dark alleyways running off the ill-lit streets, seemed to be in a rundown part of town. Despite the steady traffic, there appeared to be no pedestrians around tonight. And those members of the public in vehicles were too immersed in negotiating the traffic to notice a frantic female trying to exit a moving taxi. But just as she was beginning to despair, another junction with traffic lights was reached, and this time a car pulled up right beside the one Catherine so desperately wished to get out of. It was now or never; she just had to alert the unsuspecting occupant of this other vehicle to her plight. Beating on the window, Catherine began waving her arms in order to get the driver’s attention. Unfortunately, he seemed distracted by something on his phone at that moment, and failed to heed the fact that there was a damsel in distress only a couple of yards away from where he sat. And after two or three seconds of this futile attempt at attention seeking, Catherine’s despair deepened, as her fake chauffeur seemed to cotton on to what she was trying to do.


In a flash the bogus cab driver flicked a switch on his dashboard, and immediately Catherine found herself shut off in a world of darkness as heavy metal shutters crashed down all around her, blocking off the two side windows at the rear of the car, as well as the back windscreen. Another sheet of steel directly in front of the now nearly hysterical woman also crashed into place at the exact same moment, blocking off her view to the front of the cab, and in effect sealing her into a windowless container from which there was no escape.

Catherine screamed for all she was worth, banging in vain on the sturdy steel panelling that had cut her off from the outside world. Kidnapped! The word kept running around in her head. Must get out of here! This was her only conviction at that moment. But how, when all the exits had been sealed and every channel of communication with the rest of humanity had been blocked off?

What’s going to happen to me? This was the foremost question running through the stricken woman’s mind as the car sped onwards. And at least in this regard she was soon to receive an answer. Albeit one pertaining only to the immediate future.

After what must have been five minutes or so since she had been sealed within her moving prison, the vehicle slowed down and came to a halt. Seconds later, the sound of heavy doors being opened filled the air, before the car moved slowly forwards again, passed over what sounded like a metal ramp or threshold, and once more came to a halt. With the shutting off of the engine, the sound of the driver disembarking from the cab was followed by a minute or more of silence from outside. Needless to say, Catherine soon decided to fill this aural void by letting anyone within earshot know of her unhappiness at the way she’d been taken captive against her will and her continued confinement. If there was anyone still out there to hear her, however, their sentiments on her plight appeared to be less than sympathetic, as the help she so desperately craved failed to materialise.

But suddenly Catherine became aware that her demands and pleas to be released were no longer the only sounds in what had become a very lonely tomb. For at that moment, a soft hissing sound reached her ears, which seemed to increase in volume as the seconds ticked by. And although unable to see anything in the darkness, Catherine got the impression that this sound had something to do with the fact that breathing was becoming difficult, and that her head was beginning to spin. It had to be gas of some description being pumped into the car! Was she being killed; poisoned by carbon-monoxide or some such noxious substance? If this thought had the effect of upping her efforts to get out of the car, the consequence of inhaling the incoming odourless gas that now immersed her had exactly the opposite effect, and within seconds Catherine knew no more; her body slumped across the back seat of the car, her mind having drifted away into a world of its own.

When Catherine regained consciousness, she at first had no recollection of her abduction and no idea where she was. But as the memory of her enforced trip in the locked car began to return, her thoughts were superseded by other, far more pressing concerns. For example, why couldn’t she move? Why was everything in darkness? Why, when she tried to call out, did only muffled sounds emanate from her mouth? As her brain gradually clicked into gear, and more sensory images began to flood her mind, the realisation that something was desperately wrong began to take hold.

Catherine found herself lying face down on what seemed to be a wooden floor. Her arms had forcibly been pulled together behind her back and were held there by some unbreakable packing agent that felt like a tight leather sheath which enveloped her limbs from the shoulders downwards. And this tight tunnel of uncompromising fabric seemed to also cover her hands, which had obviously been deliberately clenched into fists prior to her arms being inserted within the constraining cul-de-sac; the upshot being that Catherine was unable to stretch her hands or fingers out to their full capacity. Pressure around her wrists and elbows also suggested that some form of restraint –straps or belts maybe? – had been secured around these areas, in order to enhance the restrictive properties of the durable sleeve. More straps, it seemed, also circled her upper arms and torso, ensuring that she had no way of moving the former away from the latter.

But it wasn’t just her upper limbs that had fallen victim to this strict binding regime. Her legs too had been brought up behind her as far as they would go, with her feet now strictly and steadfastly bound in close proximity to her wrists. As with her arms, pressure around the knees, thighs and ankles all hinted at stringent strapping holding one limb to the other. ‘Hog-tied!’ Catherine wasn’t sure where she’d heard the term before, but something told her that this epithet aptly summed up her situation at the moment.

Catherine began struggling to get free from the many bonds that encumbered her, but found that it was almost impossible to move. Attempting to slide across the floor - either left or right, forwards or backwards - proved an exhausting pastime, and after a few minutes, with only minimal progress having been made, she gave up. Where was she trying to get to anyway? She was in complete darkness and had no idea in which direction an exit might be located - if indeed such an escape route even existed. And the reason she couldn’t get her bearings visually wasn’t simply down to the fact that the room was in darkness. No, the blackness that stared back at her stemmed from far more sinister circumstances than simply a lack of illumination in the room. For it had become obvious that something extremely tight and stubbornly immovable had been pulled over her head and strapped, laced or in some way locked in place, ensuring that it refused to yield its grip on the flesh of her face and neck. And this strange covering, it seemed, not only obscured her eyes and kept her sightless, but also sealed her mouth and acted as a deterrent to the removal of some large piece of vile tasting fabric that had been stuffed into the cavity behind her teeth, hence her inability to vocalise with any clarity or volume. Although all was silent around her, the pressure around her ears also suggested that incoming sound would similarly by muffled to the same extent as any outgoing utterances she chose to make. It seemed from the smell pervading her nostrils, that this hood – for that was what it had to be - was manufactured from soft leather, and it was with some relief that Catherine realised that her breathing was unimpaired by this otherwise all-covering head-casing, which implied that there must at least be nasal apertures to allow the intake of air. But that seemed to be the only plus point as far as the hapless female was concerned, as the rest of the cranial sheath seemed devoid of openings or means of removing it.

But her extreme bonds and restraints weren’t the only adjustments/additions to her attire since the ill-fated cab ride. For as well as the straps and leather encumbrances that held her in check, Catherine also realised that she was no longer wearing the blouse, skirt, tights and shoes she’d been brought here in. Instead her limbs and whole body seemed to have been packed snugly into a long sleeved skin-tight suit that covered her from ankles to neck. And although unable to view this one-piece outfit, Catherine was certain that she knew the nature of this garment, as she’d come across something similar once before; not that long ago, in fact. There was no mistaking it, from the sensation against her skin and the squeaking sound it made every time she moved, Catherine knew that she was encased in a figure hugging cat-suit made from finest latex.

And the reason she knew this? Well, as a matter of fact, she and some of her acquaintances and work colleagues had not long ago been cajoled into attending what a friend of a friend had called a ‘fetish-wear party’. Catherine had agreed to go along, just out of curiosity, to see what this was all about. And what she discovered was a real eye opener. For on offer to purchase were all manner of whips, chains, restraints and strange instruments of torture which the more kinky members of the audience thought absolutely essential and awe-inspiring, but which simply left Catherine cold. But as well as the accessories mentioned above, certain garments were also on sale, mainly fashioned from either leather or latex. And it was one of the latex rubber cat-suits that the hostess of this weird gathering had persuaded Catherine to try on. Why she’d been picked as one of the guinea pigs to strut her stuff in this unconventional outfit, Catherine wasn’t entirely sure, although she guessed that the woman running the show had taken a bit of a shine to her. “Go on” she’d coaxed “you’ll never know how wonderful these outfits feel against your skin unless you try them on.”

With some reluctance, and not a little self-consciousness, Catherine had squeezed herself into a black rubber cat-suit, which fitted where it touched and highlighted her curves and figure to a degree where nothing was left to the imagination. And she had to admit that the outfit was extremely comfortable, although the embarrassment of having to parade in front of so many people, both strangers and companions, made her sigh with relief once she was out of the public eye and struggling to slip out of the clinging garment.

And it was the sensation of this material on her skin now, which brought about memories of that night. But although the suit she’d modelled on that occasion was a snug fit, if anything the costume she wore now was even more extreme in its figure hugging properties, compressing as it did every square inch of her helpless body; although this could also have been a consequence of the stringently secured straps which supplemented and enhanced the feeling of being compacted by the rubber fabric. Who could have done this to her?

Catherine did her best to scream for assistance, but she knew that there was very little chance of anyone rushing to her aid. And in this respect she was proved correct, although her stifled, pathetically inadequate outburst did result in someone visiting her lonely prison. But it quickly became apparent that the person who arrived to check on what all the commotion was about had little inclination to heed her pleas for release.

A door – somewhere directly in front of where she lay – creaked slowly open, followed by a sound that Catherine recognised as high heeled shoes clicking on the wooden floor only inches from her head. Immediately the footsteps seemed to begin circling her, as if checking her out from every available angle. Catherine waited for the new arrival to speak, but when after half a minute or so – and two or three circuits of her helplessly bound form - no attempt at communication had been forthcoming, she decided that there was nothing for it but to break the ice herself. The gag, however, made coherent speech a rather difficult and clumsy prospect.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

There followed an interlude of several seconds, during which time Catherine wondered whether her muffled enquiries had been comprehensible. But just as she was about to try again, her visitor chose to break her silence, and it was clear that Catherine’s questions had indeed been understood.

“Welcome Catherine. I think you already know who I am. As for what I want from you, I think it’s probably a case of what you need from me that’s of more relevance.”

This last cryptic remark made no sense to the trapped and frightened woman, and although the voice did have a slightly familiar ring to it, Catherine was left racking her brain in an effort to remember where she’d encountered this woman before. But for now her thoughts were on far more serious matters, such as getting out of this whole sorry mess that she’d become unwillingly embroiled in. Once more her stifled cries for help seeped feebly through her gag.

“Please untie me! I want to go home!!”

Despite the suppressed nature of the message, the woman seemed to get the general gist of Catherine’s plea. Her reply, however, offered the stricken woman very little comfort.

“Home? But Catherine, from now on this is your home.”

To be continued...

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