A Few Short Tales of Trapped Females

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Locked in a Locker

Natasha finds out just how small a standard gym locker is.



Natasha watched as the old cleaning lady finished mopping the floor and stored her mop and bucket away in the cupboard. No actual words had been exchanged between the pair, but Natasha could sense that the woman was disgruntled by the fact that her freshly washed floor was being walked on. She’d been mumbling and muttering under her breath for several minutes now about how young people today had no thought for anyone else, and how nobody had ever used the gym at this time of night before. Natasha briefly considered apologising for the fact that she was so late, but then thought better of it. She knew the old dear was chronically deaf, so anything she said would probably have to be repeated about four times anyway, each time at increased volume, until she was almost shouting in her ear. No, she decided, it was better just to let her moan quietly to herself and ignore it.

Natasha opened her locker and reached in for her shower gel and shampoo, then changed her mind. Because of the lateness of the hour, she decided to shower when she got back to her apartment instead. After all, the gym would be closing in a few minutes and she didn’t want to get accidently locked in and have to spend the night here. As she watched the old woman leave the changing room (and received one last disapproving look and more grumblings of discontent as a parting shot), she came to the decision that she would quickly slip out of her gym kit - consisting of black Lycra leotard and sports tights – and change into her jeans and t-shirt, before hightailing it out the door. She only got as far as slipping off her trainers, however, before events took an unforeseen turn.


The first inkling that she and the cleaner weren’t the only people still in the building came when the sound of the double doors that led into the gym swinging open reached her ears. Thinking that this must be another late night user of the facilities, Natasha initially failed to pay too much attention. But as she did turn around to acknowledge the newcomer, the antagonistic tone of the voice that greeted her instantly gave away the fact that this was no ordinary gym member.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the bitch that got us thrown out the other day.”

Natasha spun around to face, not one, but three young females, striding purposefully towards her at pace.

“Remember us?”

Natasha recalled only too well the brash threesome who advanced upon her now. Each no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, they’d caused chaos in this very building only days earlier; shouting, using offensive language, abusing the other gym users and misusing the equipment, such as the cycling and rowing machines etc. Many of the other members had soon become upset and annoyed at their loutish antics, but Natasha had been the one to take the initiative and inform the staff about their disruptive behaviour. So when the security guard came in to calm things down, it was Natasha who pointed out exactly who the troublemakers were. The trio were soon evicted from the premises and informed that their memberships had been revoked.

“We’ll get you for this.”

That had been the threat from the ringleader, aimed specifically in Natasha’s direction, as they were unceremoniously escorted from the building and told not to return. But this instruction had obviously been ignored, as here they now stood, talking aggressively and with their demeanour suggesting that they were ready for a fight.

“Thought you were clever did you, getting us barred from here?”

With fear mounting within her, Natasha tried to explain, as calmly as she could, that their behaviour had been intolerable and that they deserved everything they got. She also went on to inform them that, if they didn’t leave immediately, she’d have them removed again. This only made the girls laugh cruelly. The ringleader continued.

“Too late for that now bitch, this place is just about to close for the night. The staff have all gone home, and there’s only that deaf old cleaning woman left. She’s the one who locks up when she’s finished.”

“So what you gonna do now bitch?” One of the others chimed in.

Instinctively, Natasha made a move towards the door, a sixth sense telling her that she needed to get out as swiftly as possible. Unfortunately though, her three assailants had strategically placed themselves between her and the exit, and when she tried to barge past, they acted as one to form a human wall that the slim twenty two year old couldn’t breach. And worse than that, once she’d come into physical contact with them, the gang seemed anxious to maintain that connection. Before she knew exactly what was happening, all three had surrounded her, and she found six hands working as a team in order to restrict her movements.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere. Grab her arms girls.”

No sooner had the ringleader’s words echoed around the room, than Natasha felt a hand grasp each of her wrists, and a second later her arms were being wrenched painfully behind her back.

“LET GO OF ME! HELP ME SOMEBODY!!”

This outburst simply caused more mirth amongst the trio.

“Like I said bitch, the only other person around is that old biddy, and she’s as deaf as a post. So scream all you like. No one’s gonna come and save you now.”

Natasha fought her attackers with all her might, but three against one wasn’t good odds, and within no more than a few seconds she found herself being pushed face down onto the floor with her arms twisted brutally behind her. With one girl sitting astride her and another holding her feet to stop her kicking out, the now extremely frightened young woman found that it was impossible to move. But what was the third member of the gang – the ringleader – doing? From her position staring at the tiled floor, Natasha managed to turn her neck and look upwards just as a harsh ripping sound filled the air. Through eyes beginning to flood with tears, she could just make out the source of the sound; a strip of grey duct tape, probably around two inches wide, being ripped away from a giant spool.

“Hold her wrists together.”

Using every muscle and sinew of her slender frame, Natasha endeavoured to break her hands free from the vice-like grip that held them in check. But it was all to no avail, as within a second or two, the sensation of the tape being wound tightly around her combined wrists informed her that parting her hands was now impossible. For what seemed like minutes, circuit after circuit of the instantly bonding adhesive entwined itself around her lower arms, each pass making the bond tighter still. So when the pressure on Natasha’s arms finally abated somewhat, due to her tormentors releasing their grip, she found that it was no longer an option to move her lower arms, due to the mass of tape that covered not only her wrists, but her hands and fingers also; thwarting instantly any thoughts she might have of interfering with her bonds.

And worse was to follow, as her legs now fell victim to a similarly strict binding regime; starting at her ankles and working upwards to her knees and thighs, thus effectively leaving her unable to get to her feet.

“HELP ME! PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP!”

Natasha’s forlorn cries echoed around the changing room, but failed in their intended purpose of alerting anyone to her plight. In fact, far from helping to alleviate her troubles, these pleas for assistance only served to increase her woes, as they highlighted to the sadistic trio that, although their prey’s ability to move had been severely curtailed, her vocalising capabilities remained unhindered. To rectify this, a hand quickly found its way across her mouth. But Natasha knew that this was only a temporary measure.

“Quick, find something to shut her up.”

One of the girls momentarily abandoned her restraining responsibilities and stood up. Looking around, her attention quickly focused on their victim’s open locker. Reaching inside she retrieved Natasha’s skimpy black panties.

“These should do the trick.”

She knelt down to where Natasha still fitfully struggled to get free from both the grip of her attackers and the tape bonds.

“Bet you’ve never thought of wearing these in this way before.”

As her scrunched up underwear was brought towards her face, the hand that covered Natasha’s mouth was removed for a few brief seconds. But instead of recommencing her screams , Natasha had quickly cottoned on to what the evil threesome had in mind, and shut her mouth as tightly as she could, in order to thwart the insertion of the briefs into her oral cavity. The hand, however, hadn’t moved far, and almost immediately pinched the bound woman’s nose so that she was unable to take air in through her nostrils. Natasha shook her head violently and held out for as long as she could, but with no choice but to breathe through her mouth or suffocate, she eventually gave in to the inevitable and parted her lips a fraction of an inch. That proved to be enough to allow the panties to be forcibly and unceremoniously inserted into the gap, until the entire silky soft garment rested in the chasm behind her teeth. Natasha’s instincts were to instantly spit the invading material out again, using her tongue for leverage. And she probably would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for the ringleader finding another use for the duct tape that already adhered to her limbs.

Seven. That was the number of circuits the tape made around Natasha’s head, each layer being pressed down until it covered her lower face entirely; effectively ensuring that those panties were going to remain lodged in their current position for some time to come.

“There, that should keep you from drawing attention to yourself.”

At last, the three girls released their grip on their now helpless creation and stood up; looking down and gloating at the physical restraints and mental mayhem they’d inflicted on their squirming, pleading victim.

“But how are we going to stop her moving around?”

“How about blindfolding her?”

Once again, however, it was the group’s leader who came up with the answer.

“No need for that. All we have to do is put her in here.”

Natasha had been so engrossed in trying to free herself, that she missed the pointed gesture which indicated where the place designated as ‘here’ was located. But within seconds she was left in no doubt exactly where it was that her assailants intended to incarcerate her.

“Come on. Help me lift her up.”

Natasha squirmed and desperately tried to resist, as six arms pulled her to her taped-together feet and began persuading her to hop towards the open door of her locker. Just as they reached the threshold, however, the gang’s leader had an idea, and Natasha’s incarceration was put on hold...at least for a few minutes.

“Hold on a minute. We’ve still got several yards of duct tape left, and it would be a shame not to put it to good use before we lock her away. Let’s make sure she really knows what it’s like to be taped up.”

The rasping sound, as the end of the tape was pulled away from the reel, had Natasha redoubling her efforts to make a getaway. But it was all to no avail of course, as her endeavours to stop, or at least hamper, the winding of the remaining strips of grey adhesive around her body and arms, thus lashing the latter to the former in a tight cocoon, came to naught. As this process was being worked on, however, Natasha caught sight of herself in one of the changing room’s large mirrors. And what she saw frightened her to the core, as the nature of her captivity was emphasised; reaffirming what she already knew, namely that she was in one huge inescapable mess. Through eyes welling up with tears, Natasha saw the reflection of a young woman with her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were wide, but all features below her nose were invisible; swathed as they were in a mass of grey sealant. The black leotard she wore was also streaked with ribbons of the same bonding agent, and these narrow but restrictive bands were multiplying by the second, as the three yobbish teenagers wrapped more of the same around her torso. Her tights-sheathed legs, too, were emblazoned with grey stripes at the thighs, on both sides of the knees and at the ankles. There was no doubt in her Natasha’s mind that she was in big trouble. It was a scene too frightening to even contemplate, yet Natasha found herself transfixed, as she watched her mirror image succumbing of ever more stringent constraints.

Finally, however, the tape was all used up, and the girls returned back to their original aim of shutting their enemy away. Natasha dug her shoeless heels in as best she could, doing everything within her limited powers to stop her sideways, shoulder first, insertion into the metal upright tomb that had been earmarked for her.

Jammed tightly together in regimented steel-grey rows along three walls of the room, each locker was virtually indistinguishable from its neighbour. Around one foot wide, eighteen inches deep and six feet in height, these compact storage units each boasted a metal shelf nine inches or so from the top, underneath which was a rail for hanging clothes. The doors were simply unembellished sheets of metal, save for the key operated lock at around three feet from the floor, plus a small ventilation grille - roughly four inches square and consisting of four extremely thin horizontal slits, no more than half an inch from each other - which, with the door shut, offered the only source of both light and air to the space within.

“Get her gear out, it’ll give us more room to pack her in there nice and tightly.”

Natasha pleaded for mercy as she watched one of the girls swiftly clear the main body of the locker out, leaving only the articles on the high shelf - such as her bra, hairbrush and toiletries - untouched. Her jeans and t-shirt were taken from the rail, along with their hangers, and thrown in a heap onto the floor of the changing room, as were her hold-all, handbag and shoes, which had been situated on the metal floor. Now that the main compartment was clear of all obstructions, the incarceration process could begin.

It took the three unhindered females several minutes to insert the fourth, tape-bound and helpless woman into the confining space, such was Natasha’s determination not to be so imprisoned. But finally, with much straining and shoving, they succeeded in driving their less than happy captive through the narrow door and into the equally cramped area beyond. Slam! The sound of the metal door shutting violently reverberated around her newly acquired tomb for several seconds, accompanied by both muffled but hysterical shrieks from within and, much fainter in volume, the clicking of the key in the lock.

“Well done girls, that should hold her for a while. She won’t be getting out of there without assistance.”

At around five feet three inches in height, Natasha found that the lower section of the claustrophobic upright casket in which she now resided was just too low to allow her five feet five inch frame to stand completely upright. But with her knees slightly bent, and her head touching the immovable shelf, her eyes aligned almost exactly with the slender slits that made up the ventilation grille. And through this she could view her three captors. But the scene she witnessed gave her no hope for optimism that they would take pity on her and let her out. In fact, their antics only made her scream louder, not only with fear, but also with indignation.

“These shoes are rather nice. And expensive too by the looks of it. I reckon we could make good money if we auctioned them off on eBay.”

Whilst one girl examined Natasha’s footwear, another was going through her handbag.

“And this Smartphone is one of the newest on the market. It must be worth a pretty penny.”

“LEAVE THOSE ALONE! LET ME OUT OF HERE!!”

At this muffled demand from behind the sheet of metal, the ringleader suddenly seemed to realise that their actions were being observed. Coming right up to the grille, she looked directly into Natasha’s mournful eyes and sneered.

“Don’t like us interfering in your business, eh? Well you should have thought of that before you got us banned, shouldn’t you?”

She turned back briefly to address her partners-in-crime.

“Come on girls, pack her stuff into the holdall. We’ll sort through it properly later and decide what we can sell and what we just throw in the river.”

As her cohorts began doing as they were asked, the alpha female of the pack turned back to Natasha. She held something up to the imprisoned woman’s only window on the world. A metal on metal tinkling sound, as the tiny object brushed against the door, informed Natasha that this was her locker key.

“We’ll be taking this with us as well. Let’s hope the gym keep a spare set somewhere, or they’ll have to drill the lock out to set you free...when they eventually find you. In the meantime, enjoy your stay in there!”

By this time, Natasha’s belongings had been collected up and stashed in her holdall. And as she watched, the three thugs who had been so thorough in inflicting such misery and suffering on their chosen target tonight, made their way to the door, giggling and sniggering at the severe physical and emotional distress they’d caused.


Now alone, Natasha was soon to discover just how compact the locker really was. With her left shoulder hard up against the back wall, and her right touching the door, it was clear that there was little room for manoeuvre. And with her breasts and belly pressed against one wall, with her useless arms trapped between her back and the other, movement in any direction was almost impossible. Her hips and buttocks too were in constant contact with the confines of her makeshift prison, no matter how much she wriggled and squirmed. And her legs had very little scope for shifting position either, such were the dimensions in which they could operate in their current, lashed together state. It seemed a mixed blessing that she was so slim and fit, as if she’d been of larger proportions, then the discomfort of being wedged inside this tiny, compact space would have been unbearable. But on the other hand, if she had been slightly plumper, taller or of bigger build, maybe her attackers wouldn’t have been able to squash her into this unyielding metal box in the first place.

Peering out of the vents, she noticed that the light in the changing room was still on. And it was this circumstance which offered her slight cause for optimism. For surely someone must come around after closing time and switch off all the lights, mustn’t they? And just as this comforting thought came to mind, the sound of the door opening brought with it renewed hope of a quick release.

Unfortunately, however, this aspiration was soon well and truly dashed. For the person that shuffled into Natasha’s line of sight was the old cleaner woman, still mumbling discontentedly under her breath; something about people leaving the place like a pigsty and having no respect for those who had to run around after them cleaning the place up. Natasha screamed long and loud, for surely her voice - even taking into account the muffling effects of the gag - would carry the short distance across the room and the woman would be able to locate its source without too much trouble.

But this was soon shown to be no more than wishful thinking. For despite Natasha’s best efforts, the woman failed to glance in the direction from which the sound arose. In fact she made no indication that a disturbance of any description had registered at all. Instead she simply carried on with her task of picking up abandoned towels from the benches, and putting discarded drinks bottles and food wrappers in her litter sack. Natasha supplemented her vocalisations by trying to kick out at the door of her prison, but the lack of space, coupled with her tape bondage, made building up any momentum unfeasible, and her feeble efforts were no more successful in attracting attention to her plight than her screams and pitiful cries for help had been. She had temporarily forgotten, of course, that this old woman suffered from acute deafness, and as such was unlike to be alerted by aural stimuli. So Natasha tried another tack.

Thrusting her body to and fro, the trapped young female did her best to make the locker visibly shake, in the hope that the older woman would be intrigued by the movement and come to investigate. But alas for the out-of-luck detainee, the locker was packed so close to its neighbours - or maybe the whole row were actually manufactured together as one unit? - that it failed to move even a fraction of an inch. Natasha shrieked in frustration. If only the woman would look in her direction, then maybe she’d see two sorrowful eyes gazing back at her.

But it wasn’t to be. For after around five minutes of clearing up and pottering about, the woman turned and shuffled towards the exit. Natasha let out one more scream of utter fear, as she saw her chance of getting out of this predicament dissolve before her eyes. And seconds later, her cause for optimism, which had burned brightly only minutes before, was extinguished entirely with the turning out of the light and the slamming of the door.

Now faced with darkness, both within and without her metal sarcophagus, Natasha thrashed wildly against the walls of her tomb, keeping up a constant wail for several minutes, in the hope that the old woman wasn’t the only person still in the building. But this only served to get her hot and exhausted, with the added discomfort of making her throat sore. Did the company that owned the facilities employ night-time security guards? Natasha had driven past the gym many times late at night, and had never observed any lights on, which suggested that her question could more than likely be answered in the negative. In which case, although her brain refused to accept the idea, she was going to be trapped here until morning. What time was it now? Well, the gym closed at nine thirty, so it must be getting on for ten o’clock. Natasha knew that the doors opened again at seven thirty, in order for clients to use the gym, swimming pool, sauna and other amenities before going to work. But that was a full nine and a half hours in the future! That seemed an unbearably long stretch for someone whose freedom had been irreversibly snatched away from her. And with no way of moving from the spot, very little scope for shifting her position, and nothing to take her mind off her woes, she was sure that the seconds would pass like minutes, and the minutes like hours. But there appeared no other alternative than to grin and bear it.

It looked as if, for Natasha, it was going to be an extremely long night.


Despite realising the futility of her situation, Natasha kept up her struggles; alternately trying to release the tape from her limbs and attempting to break out of her tomb. At first these actions were frantic, as if she simply had to get out at all costs and this will to be free overrode all other considerations, regardless of the hopelessness of her situation.

But slowly, a different take on reality began to dawn on her, which was ultimately to bring about a sea change in the way she viewed her captivity. For this seed of an idea gradually metamorphosed into a general concept, which grew into a theory, before revealing itself as a great - indeed shocking - revelation. It was a Road-to-Damascus moment which she would never have even contemplated as a remote possibility if she hadn’t been overpowered and abandoned here.

For as she twisted and tugged on her bound wrists, strained to release the tape that surrounded her legs, and pushed with all her might into the steel panels that enclosed her on all sides, Natasha found her muscles aching with the effort and her ligaments and tendon straining to the limits of their endurance. Not only that, but she found herself getting breathless. And then there was the perspiration, which seemed to drip off her by the bucketful and soak her outfit...just like earlier in the gym when she’d been engaged in her workout.

And it was this correlation that got Natasha musing on whether - despite the circumstances that had brought her to this point - there might be an upside to this whole incarceration business.

But how could this be? Well, consider this. What had been her prime motives for using the gym in the first place? To undertake a strenuous workout in order to build up muscle strength, get fit, lose weight and generally feel healthier. And what, exactly, was she achieving now? Well the constant straining of her arms and legs to work them free was certainly making her muscles work overtime. And the pressure she was exerting on the immovable walls that hemmed her in was definitely causing her to call on all her reserves of strength and stamina. What about the sweat? That just proved that she was pulling out all the stops to achieve her goal; something that her personal trainer had stressed was a must if she was to fully benefit from the fitness programme she was on. And the breathlessness? Well Natasha knew that getting out of puff whilst exercising was not a bad thing, as it got the lungs working, stimulated the heart and helped with circulation. Which in turn was good for overall health.

So all things considered, what was so different between her fitness regime in the gym and her attempts to escape from both her bonds and the locker? The answer, it seemed, was nothing. The two served almost exactly the same purpose. The one dissimilarity was that, in an ordinary situation, it was easy to convince yourself not to exercise on any given day; not to run that extra mile on the treadmill, or pedal furiously for those additional five minutes on the exercise bike, but instead go shopping, or out drinking with your friends, or partake in whatever other less arduous pursuit took your fancy. Or put another way, it was easy to get lazy and complacent; telling yourself that you’d make up for your current state of apathy tomorrow. But of course, you never did.

But under the circumstances she found herself in, of course, with her fate sealed for the night, no such distractions or excuses presented themselves. It was either stand there feeling sorry for yourself, counting the endless minutes until help arrived, or make time pass at greater speed by continuing on her quest for liberation. And with all those hours to play with, she should be as fit as a fiddle by the time she was finally rescued.

Natasha mulled this over for some time, as she simultaneously kept up her exhausting yet rewarding endeavours. She may not have been able to get out, but at least she could get fit. Maybe this was the start of a new chapter in her life. Perhaps she’d stumbled upon a concept that no one had ever thought of before: Bondage Workouts. There was a downside, of course, insofar that you had to be inescapably bound and restricted in your movements to fully realise the scheme’s potential. But that would surely be worth it if it made you feel fitter and healthier afterwards.

After all, as the saying goes, ‘No pain, no gain’.

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