Chapter 1 - The Camera

 

The CCTV camera in the corner of the white, characterless room swivelled with a soft whirr, to cast its emotionless gaze at the young woman with the tousled red hair, downcast eyes and a small cut above her right eye. She had crumpled into a corner, as if having given up a fight. Her white cheesecloth shirt, checked with blue, had been pulled open to expose a firm pair of breasts; her little black bra having been wrenched up to let them hang naturally in the air. She wore a pair of dark blue jeans, but the belt had been removed, the button undone and the zipper pulled down to reveal a pair of delicate white panties. Yet that was all, there had been no further attempt to remove her leg wear.

The reason the girl was still and silent was simple: she had been trussed up quite efficiently and securely. What looked like a pair of stockings had been rolled up and thrust into her mouth, the legs being used to encircle her head and then tied tightly at the back of her neck. Her ankles were tied together with electrical cable. Her hands were held together behind her back but from this camera position it was not clear with what. What had happened to her belt, however, was quite clear. It had been wrapped around her belly and arms, pulled tight and fastened, so her arms were pressed closely to her sides before disappearing out of sight behind her. She was silent but unhappy, humiliated; when the camera zoomed in on her face, a tear could be seen tracing a path down her cheek and soaking into the nylon gag.

Anyone looking in on this camera five minutes earlier would have seen the reason for the girl's dismay. The room itself was furnished in a tastefully modernist fashion, sleek, bold coloured chairs and couches, immaculately crafted cube-shaped cabinets and tables bedecked with fascinatingly angular ornaments, fruit bowls, reading lights. The young red-haired girl had been sitting, quietly reading a colourful fashion magazine, oblivious to the appearance of the small, compact girl with short dark hair and a look of savage mischief who had silently made an entrance. In one hand this new girl held a small canvas bag, in the other the tell-tale white handkerchief, folded into a thick wad that nestled comfortably in her hand. She crept up behind the red-haired girl and pounced, slapping the pad over her mouth and trying to hold it there as the red-haired girl struggled against it with some vigour. Eventually she broke away. The dark-haired girl grabbed at her, but succeeded only in tearing open her shirt. The chase was on, wherever the red-haired girl ran, the dark one was there in an instant, sometimes arriving ahead of her prey through a lithe, elfin athleticism. Such was the deftness of the manoeuvring that what seemed like quite an extended game of cat and mouse was actually over in less than a couple of minutes. The red-haired girl had obviously succumbed a little to the chloroform and was not at her most alert. She turned suddenly, and her head impacted against a jutting-out shelf. With a sharp yelp of pain and exhausted by the surprise attack, she collapsed to her knees before sinking all the way to the ground. With a playful giggle, the dark-haired girl pulled down her captive's bra and buried her head momentarily between the breasts. She ripped off the girl's belt and began to undo her jeans. The red-headed girl groaned, as if she was about to stir, so deciding it was more sensible to secure her victim rather than let her come to and perhaps exact some kind of retribution, she opened the canvas bag and produced a pair of nylon stockings, a length of electrical cable and a plastic cable tie, with which she set about restraining the disorientated one. She propped her up in the corner of the room, to enable the camera to take the sight in, then, with a cheeky bow to the unseen viewers, was gone with as light a touch as she'd appeared.

The red-haired girl quickly came too and realised she'd been gotten the better of. She tested her wrists to find what she knew to be a cable-tie digging into them. The movement of her arms was limited anyway due to the tightly drawn belt. She tried in vain to push the gag out with her tongue, but a professional job had been done there, too, so it was almost out of petulance alone that she kicked out her legs, rather than through any realistic possibility that they might be free-able.

She could not bring herself to look up at the camera which was feeding itself on the sight of her exposed breasts, on her helplessness and humiliation. Only a few days earlier she had been free, walking the streets, as anonymous as any pretty young girl. A month before that and she wouldn't have had any inkling that such a situation as this could ever occur. Then she saw the advert and before she knew it she was in the offices of a charming television executive. He'd spoken very convincingly and any inhibitions she still might have had fell away. The task was easy: tie or be tied. The viewers will want to see ingenuity and they'll want to see sex. Anyone that fails to inspire them will be voted out. The last to remain makes two million. She didn't stop to think for an instant that anyone could know more about ropes and gags than her, that there would be anyone who could entrap her unless she wanted them to. So far, she had only seen two of her three companions in this house, its fourth wall formed by the equipment sending the pictures to television screens and computer monitors in homes across the world. However, she'd found to her cost that they were every bit as shrewd and calculating as she was - and as sexy. She was worried that not only had she met her match, but that she might not be quite so clever as she'd thought. She sobbed as she imagined how foolishly easy her capture must have looked to viewers. She knew deep down that she was almost certain to be voted out unless she could get her revenge in some way and the so-strongly craved two million would evaporate. However much she might actually enjoy the sensations of being bound and gagged in this manner, she was acutely aware that her survival in this competition depended on her restoring the balance of power. Sinking dejectedly in the corner, she laughed inwardly at the bluster of her original address to the viewers and wriggled to disguise her sorry state from the baleful glare of the camera.

 

Chapter 2 - Alice

 

"Hi ... (nervous giggle) ... I'm Alice. Um ... I'm twenty-three years old and until recently I worked for a bank. In London. I came to London when I got my degree; it was where the work was supposed to be. I did design; I wanted to be a designer. Clothes, you know. But it wasn't so easy, it's all a bit, like, who you know, right? And I didn't know anyone. I did meet a guy there, I thought he could help, I was (nervous laugh) taken in, you might say. So I learned from that, not to trust so easily, right? The bank job I got because, well, because I smiled nicely at the man interviewing, I guess! I learned how to do that, too. It sounds like I'm showing off a bit if I say I know I'm pretty, but you know, you can only put yourself down so much. Then you've got to get up, see what you've got that's positive. And I'm no idiot. I know I've got a nice pair of tits, a nice ass, I'm not too fat, not too thin and there are people who go for this kind of red hair. And before you ask, yes it's real and yes it is the same colour down there. You'll see for yourself in time, I'm sure.

"So why have I come here, that's what you want to know. A nice, clever, pretty, arty, bank girl like me. Well, for one thing, the money! I think I'm in with a good chance of winning and two million is rather better than I could earn being nice to old bastards in a bank all day. But the other stuff ... (her gaze flicks nervously away) ... well, that goes back a long time, too (she pulls herself together, sighs as if something has to be said sooner or later, and it might as well be now). When I was a little girl, I lived with my mum in a village called Draysby. It's a tiny, flat little place in Suffolk. Dad left when I was just a baby, so mum didn't have much money and there was nothing to do if you were a kid there, nowhere to play or nothing. I had a few mates, a couple of girls and a couple of boys, and their situation wasn't much better, so we just used to hang around together and make up games. There was this guy called Lloydy and he used to like this cowboys game. He was the cowboy with his pal Ian; the boys were the cowboys. We were the Indians, the girls. They had to catch us and when they did Lloydy would tie us to the tree in his back garden. It was a big tall tree, years old. I always got caught because I wasn't very good at running or hiding. Of course, I came to like being caught and the game for me turned into one about how I could get caught without it looking like I was letting it happen. I would maybe be running, then trip and fall over and Lloydy would come along, sweep me up and carry me to the tree, and I'd be kicking and going 'Help! Help!' but secretly loving it. He used to get his sister's skipping rope and wrap it round me and round the tree, then tie it in a knot at the back. I used to struggle a bit, but it was nice to be tied up against the tree like that. That was the beginning, really. Sometimes they'd catch my other friends too and we'd all be tied there, that was nice. After a while it started to get easy to escape and I began to get more tricky, to try and make him tie me up more securely. First he tied my hands in front of me and my ankles together before tying me to the tree, but I used to chew the knot till it undid. So, he started tying the rope around one of my wrists and then behind the tree, fastening the loose end to my other wrist. That was good, especially with the ankles tied too, and a rope around my legs holding me against the tree. Next I wanted him to gag me, so when I got caught I started making a God-awful noise screaming and stuff until eventually he took off his scarf and tied it round my face. Of course these were all stupid kids' games, but I knew I'd got what I wanted, even if I didn't really know what it was. The fact that what I'd wanted, what I felt was someone empowering me, I suppose, to be rendered helpless, hasn't ever seemed like an irony. As I've said, I've always wanted men to tie me up, and the power I've had over them is that of being able to make them do it to me.

"All our games turned into tie-ups. It was ridiculous now I think back: doctors and nurses games would end up with me wrapped up in bandages, my mouth stuck with plaster. Always it was me engineering a situation in which Lloydy would bind me in some way. It was years before he worked out what was happening. That came when we were going out together, we were about sixteen. I suppose we'd carried on playing tie-up games right up until we started going out, just in a jokey way, you know? I'd be sitting in the garden reading or something and suddenly a lasso would appear over me and he'd drag me off. I'd be laughing and letting out mock protests. I'd get tied to the tree and tickled or something like that, it was all very innocent in its way. One day, though, he kissed me. I was roped to the tree, we'd been laughing, we must have been about fifteen and there came this look in his eye. He wasn't a child any more, no more than I was. I must have responded to that look, because he came over and kissed me on the lips, we snogged like teenagers do, no sensitivity or anything, just tongues and slurping (laughs), God! That was when we started seeing one another.

"Mind you, its end was written in its beginnings, really. He never tied me up again. I think he thought we were grown up now, those were stupid childish games and now we were adult and responsible and you didn't do things like that. I lost my power over him, I suppose. And with that went my interest in him. He thought he was being tender, caring, sensitive, I just thought he was being a boring old square. I started getting off on self-bondage at home; it was the only excitement I was getting. I already had a pretty full pair of tits by the time I was sixteen and I just loved wrapping belts round them and pulling them flat against myself. When no-one was in I'd strap myself to the stair banister with a belt going behind the uprights then around me, that was a real treat, to feel the belt pulling my tits in, and pulling me against the rail, with the upright rubbing between my ass cheeks too, God, those were the days! Meanwhile, there's Lloydy thinking about getting a job, marrying me, getting a mortgage and so on. You can see that wasn't going anywhere. So, I ended up going to Uni in Norwich, as a kind of round about way of dumping him without hurting his feelings. I've maybe seen him twice since. He married one of the other Indians and works in his dad's garage.

I'd really hoped Uni would be a liberation and where on the one hand it was, at the same time it wasn't. I met a gorgeous girl called Cally, thin and mesmerising with a wicked look about her, a cute little nose, hair in bunches, tiny, tiny little tits, but so lovely, so very tweakable. Never once did I think, this is weird, fancying girls. It was as obvious to me to fall for Cally as it was to snog with Lloydy. She was great, Cally, we'd go to parties together and there would be all these leery blokes, pissed and we just used to lay down together, like a pair of contented cats, taking the piss out of them, or letting them watch on with impotent eyes as we got it on together in front of them. She had all sorts of ideas, she tried out all sorts of things with me which got us both going like mad. But she never tried to tie me up. I never said anything because I was waiting for her to take me spontaneously, you know. I didn't want to ask her, that would spoil it all. Then one night we got a bit wrecked, fell back into her digs and she went off to the bathroom in her dressing gown, this long, blue, Chinese job, as I lay there naked on her bed, feeling pretty much content with my lot. After a minute or so she stumbled back in, she was still pretty pissed and for a moment she just stood in the doorway, looking at me in a cute kind of way that just made me think how sweet and pathetic she looked. The dressing gown was open, the cord was hanging down around her knees. Her sweet little tits and neat pussy were on display. I was just taken over by desire for her, she looked kind of helpless, needing someone to take control of her. I grabbed her, pulled her down onto the bed and tied her hands roughly behind her back with the dressing gown cord. She seemed surprised but didn't resist, she struggled feebly, but it seemed the same sort of fake struggling I used to do when caught by the cowboys: and there was a smile on her face. In an instant I was down there between her legs, getting her going, and I didn't stop till she came. Then I sat on her face and let her lick me out too, which she did very willingly and effectively, I must say. It was the best sex we'd had, a real explosion of bliss for each of us. I didn't untie her hands that night, we just lay together on our sides, my front against her back, my arms around her holding her tits, her cute rear and roped hands nestled in my lap, where occasionally I would feel an excitable little rustle as she played with my pubic hair.

And that was how it went on at Uni, really, with me doing the tying and Cally loving it. She wanted it more even than me, I reckon and I kind of enjoyed the power I had over her. It was great, I remember once sitting on the bed in my knickers and bra, like some kind of queen, one leg gathered in front of me, one knee up with my elbow rested on it and my hand cupping my chin, a supercilious look in my eye, as in comes Cally, naked and bowed before me, holding out ropes in front of her, like I was the only one who could satisfy what she desired, and it was my decision whether I did or not. A couple of times I made her wait, but as I was as eager to get to it as she was, those times were as nerve-jangling for me as they were for her. She liked her hands tied behind her back best and ropes holding together her ankles and knees as she lay face down and naked on the floor. She had a nice ass, that's for sure, I occasionally sunk my teeth into it, it was good enough to eat. She liked a good tape gag, whether her mouth was stuffed or not, a strip of silver duct tape, packing tape, whatever, a strip of that over her mouth and she was in heaven. As she lay there, I would then go up behind her and slowly move my body over hers, just delicately touching the tips of my nipples, followed soon afterwards by the light press of my pussy hair against the backs of her legs, her butt, her back. Then I would just lie flat on top of her, my tits flattened into her back, my sex against her ass, her tied hands pressing below my belly, trying to reach down further. Other times I would sit astride her and let her hands find their mark, or I might part her cheeks and perhaps press my finger deep into her asshole. I loved the noises, little sharp noises, she would make into the gag. They made my pubic hair bristle with excitement.

I could probably have gone on like that forever, but there was still a niggling feeling that I wasn't getting all I wanted. I met a guy called Niall. A brash Irish guy, he would sweep into a room and dominate it with his presence. Nothing phased him. If Cally and I tried to intimidate him, unlike the other weaker guys he would just laugh it off. I started to hate him, I thought it was because he was full of vulgar machismo, that he was loud and crass, all the things I hated. But it was more likely because we couldn't defeat him and because of that, well, I wanted him to want me.

There was a party, towards the end of the second year and he came along to it. Cally had brought along some handcuffs and everyone had been fooling around with them all night. The party went on later and later and I got a bit bored and tired and went looking for Cally to say I felt like leaving. I looked into one of the bedrooms to see if she was there, but it was dark, so I had to go all the way in. She was no-where to be seen and as I turned to go there was Niall in the doorway, he seemed to have appeared from nowhere. He had the handcuffs. Neither of us said anything, then he came into the room and closed the door. It went suddenly very dark, I couldn't see an inch in front of me. I felt something though, I felt my hands being pulled behind my back and fastened into the handcuffs which closed with a short ratchet-like noise and locked. Next I felt a pair of hands undoing the buttons of my shirt, reaching into my bra and caressing my tits. The only noise I could hear was my own panting and sighing. Then one of the hands was down inside my knickers, touching between my legs, exploring for a hole and - ah! - finding it. My knees weakened and Niall obviously sensed that because he lowered me, belly-up, onto the bed, my chained hands pressed uncomfortably beneath me and my eyes looking upwards into nothing, struggling to make out any shapes in the dark. My legs were parted for him, my knickers stripped away and his fingers continued to work me and work me, he knew what he was doing, this one. I tugged at the chains, superficially to try and make myself a little more comfortable, but really to feel how secure they were, how very much at Niall's mercy I was. He brought me paralyzingly close to ecstasy on several occasions, only to pull me back, as if he wasn't going to finish with me until he decided. Finally, I couldn't take this teasing anymore and opened my mouth to shout at him. No sound came: instead, a large ball of cloth was pushed into my mouth, and I lay there, feeling the vocal cavity filled to bursting with it, realising that any protestations would be voiceless. Back to the brink I was taken, higher than before, to my amazement, helped no end by the way I could feel my trapped wrists, my silenced mouth. I was so nearly, nearly there. With surely only split seconds to go, when I thought it couldn't get any better, suddenly his flesh touched mine, his body filled the space between my legs and his prick was there inside me. I had never known such a climax, my own bursting sex further fired by the sensation of his juices dashing into me. I wanted to fling myself back and forth, to experience it over and over again from every angle. Yet, handcuffed and gagged, and pressed beneath his chest, I couldn't. My body buzzed with a kind of fulfilment tempered with frustration, a perfection that couldn't have climbed higher.

To my surprise, he disappeared from between my legs almost as suddenly as he'd come there. The light snapped on and I looked at him, standing in front of me, naked and handsome, with a playful sneer on his lips. 'So much for girl-on-girl,' he said, in his nasal Irish brogue, 'you've upset a lot of my mates with your playing about. So, it's time I let you have a little bit of good old homespun discipline. When you get an unruly kid at home, this is what they get, they think twice about messing again,' and with that he was back with me, throwing me over his knee, spanking me till my ass cheeks were burning. All I could do was let out increasingly pathetic yelps into the gag, which had jammed my mouth open so wide that I couldn't even push it out with my tongue. I started crying, I hadn't wanted to, I wanted to look hard, as if I couldn't give a toss. But it hurt and I cried buckets. When he stopped, he smiled at how sad I looked, and he sat me up and hugged me gently until the tears ceased. Then he stood up, pulled his jersey back on over his head and tugged up a pair of sporting shorts over his naked butt. I remember thinking, doesn't he wear any underwear? Still, I think it didn't take me long to make the connection and I'm sure I'd realised the truth before he reached over and plucked the underpants from inside my mouth. With a smile, he picked up his shoes and left the room. I shouted after him, after all, I still had my hands cuffed behind my back. He appeared again, a look of mischief in his eye and threw the key down onto the bed. With a jovial farewell, he was gone. I had to wriggle around for some time before I could get the key and use it to unlock myself. I was angry with him and exhilarated too. I wanted to see him again more than anything, to lose my temper with him, so he might punish me for it again.