Author’s note: It is a worse scenario story. It came to me after a session of self bondage. Don’t worry, everything turned out just fine, but every time, I wonder at what would happen in a worse case scenario. This story is the extremely bad case scenario.
As the solid fuel ignited, it illuminated the night of its harsh light. Under the tremendous force of the rocket, the ground shook. As the rocket went its way in the air, a bunch of people close to the launching pad cheered. But many more shed a tear. “What are we doing?”
One year earlier.
They exited the small bomb shelter and had an understanding look. That would be just perfect. The man approached the realtor and put his hand on his shoulder.
“I think we need to talk.” He said as he led him to a nearby table.
Negotiations went on for close to an hour before everything was agreed upon and signed.
“Since the house is currently empty, as soon as all the legal work is done, you will be able to get in.” said the realtor while shaking their hands.
Already, plans were forming. As they headed back to their small apartment, they discussed on how to rearrange the house, or rather the bomb shelter.
“I think it’s going to be just great, Karen.”
“A dream come true, Phil.”
“We’ll finally be able to do what we have discussed so much about: put you in a dungeon in a complete submissive treatment for a long time. You still want to do that?”
“More than ever, my love.” Said Karen.
Two weeks later, they were taking possession of the house and immediately began to modify the bomb shelter. Rings were added. The double bed was fitted with attachments. Water hoses were installed. Some furnishing was added, including a bondage chair and a bondage table.
Fortunately enough, the shelter was rather spacious and included a treadmill for exercising. If fact, it was part of the survival gear: it was hooked to a generator to produce the energy needed to recharge the batteries. Water was coming from a deep underground well. Air was thoroughly filtered, but all this needs energy. The builder hit two targets with one stone: he had what was needed to stay fit and in good shape in case the stay was prolonged, and it was recharging the batteries while doing it.
The food supply was also awesome. It consisted of astronaut “food in a tube” provisions. There was enough to sustain two people for about 10 years! There was a transistor radio and a few social games.
Karen couldn’t wait for her first “Try”.
As the rocket reached higher in the sky, defence satellites picked up her hot trace and immediately sounded the alert. An unknown object had been launched. The trajectory was calculated and the worse scenario was rapidly going from theoretical to real. Counter measures were launched.
The first try: a weekend only, and Phil was still in the house. Karen was fitted with her chosen outfit: a tight black latex catsuit, a leather corset, knee high lace-up platform boots with a six inches spiky heels. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and her feet linked by a six inches chain. A harness ball gag was locked on her head. She was chained to a wall in a way that when the door opened, she couldn’t reach it.
Three times a day, Phil was coming in, to remove her gag and allow her to feed and relieve herself. It lasted for 48 hours.
The result was satisfactory. It was now time for the phase two of the preparation: a week long bondage enclosure.
She was locked in the room in the same situation as the weekend test. Phil was checking on her before leaving for work, back from work and before going to bed. She had cut her food intake to two meals a day.
At the same time, she tested if she could satisfactorily recharge the batteries.
She had a blast, and she loved it. She was ready for the next step: total enclosure for one week.
That one was becoming heavier. She was fitted with hollow dildos, allowing her to perform enemas. A tube was run down her throat for feeding. She had to use the survival paste and dilute it with some water in order to make a kind of nourishing broth that would easily go down the feeding tube. She changed her footwear for ballet toe boots that were securely locked in place.
She could still use her hands, so in case of an emergency, she could pull the feeding tube off her mouth herself.
After a bunch of careful testing, she was up for the week-long test, without Phil around, as he was going on a business trip. Everything was carefully set up, but this time, there was no escape for Karen. A hollow ball gag was locked over the feeding tube. She had no way to remove it. Dark goggles were put over her eyes. A wide posture collar ensured her head was always up, and the corset was locked.
For security, Phil was phoning her two times a day. All she had to do was answer the phone and punch three times the number 3. If she did not answer, Phil would call one of his friends, who has a suspicion about their little bondage games, and ask him to go check on Karen.
Karen enjoyed that week of bondage. In fact, she wanted more. They did it a few times, and each time, it went deeper and bolder.
They had a big opportunity when Phil learned that he was to get away for a project. He would be gone between 4 and 6 weeks. Karen was all joy about the fact of being in full bondage for a month, maybe more.
So they planned it very carefully. They were going extreme. Karen called it the “one year anniversary” since it would coincide with the date they bought the house, one year earlier.
The counter measures were quickly launched. Unfortunately, they failed to destroy the incoming missile. They only succeeded at altering its trajectory farther north. Another counter measure strike was planned, but they had to revise it as another missile was spotted. They had to face it: they would be hit.
Karen was carefully preparing her stunt. First Phil inserted the catheters and the hollow dildos. Those ones were vibrating. Karen would have a small wire to plug from the treadmill to recharge their batteries.
Next came a thin black rubber catsuit. She smoothed it up her legs and arms while Phil pulled the back zipper. It had attached feet and gloves.
A thick and rigid rubber corset was added. It was covering her from the hips up to the neck, having only holes for her breasts.
Phil laced up tightly until both ends met. Karen was something to see, with her natural long legs and now her narrow waist. A thin rubber hood was put on her head. She had shaved it, figuring that after a month, her hairs would have grown sufficiently to go as a short haircut.
Next she put on a much heavier and tighter rubber suit. This one was a hassle to put on as it was extremely tight and so thick that it was almost non stretchable. It didn’t have attached feet but had attached gloves, but these had all the fingers glued into a single flat hand. No thumb.
Pulling the zipper was hard, but with careful gestures, Phil was able to do it. The suit was ending with a large collar. Phil got the zipper up just between the shoulder blades. He then helped Karen get into her footwear: ballet toe boots.
They were tightly laced on her legs, and small padlocks added to the narrowest point of the ankle, as well as the top of the boots. She had no way of removing them. Ankle cuffs were also applied and locked on. More leather cuffs were put over the knees, around her wrists and over the elbows, all locked on.
After inserting the feeding tubes he inserted a blow up gag, which he pumped fully. After he stopped, but before he removed the pump, Karen grabbed it and gave it one more full squeeze, then removed it. Phil put a thick rubber hood over her head. The hood had only a hole for the feeding tube at the mouth, and two holes for the nostrils. It had two dark lenses over the eyes. He zipped it shut tightly, which compressed even more her already filled mouth. And then pulled the final inches of the suit zipper up.
Phil had concerns about it, but Karen signalled it that it was all right.
Finally, a large collar was applied and locked in place. Karen had no way to get out of that suit. She wanted that stay extreme, and she was getting it extreme. Of course, everything had already been tested before, and proven safe.
Her hands were locked in her back, at wrists and elbows. Those were not touching, but barely. Only the distance of the lock separated them. She would have to work the food blender with her hands in her back, fill the feeding syringe. The tip of the syringe tube had been put at the end of a long pole. She was able to turn around, face the pole and insert the tip into her feeding tube. A foot pedal provided the pushing force for the syringe.
It was a struggle, but that’s how she liked it. If it was too easy, she would have nothing to do other than run the treadmill and sleep.
And to top it off, she had to get the food tube from the box, on the shelves! But that’s the way she liked it.
Phil double checked that everything was fine, that the water pump was working, that the air pump and filtering was working (they had no way to bypass it), and that the treadmill was recharging the batteries, including the cell phone’s.
Satisfied, he asked Karen one more time if she was really willing to go through all that for four to six weeks. She nodded a clear yes. Phil linked her ankles with a six inches chain and her knees with a three inches one. He took the nearby chain and locked it on Karen’s collar. Now, she was unable to reach the door. It was closed, but not locked. Only a high dose or radioactivity would lock it, and it would only unlock when it reached a safe level. That was built-in and impossible to by-pass.
Phil closed the door and went. He made sure the camcorder was working. It was snapping one frame every minute. It would not record all 6 weeks of it, but enough for him to have a good idea of what happened while he was gone.
In the closed shelter, Karen began to work: she had to get the batteries to 95%. They were currently down to 60%. Her experience told her that a one hour workout would do the trick.
Phil was coming close to the airport. While waiting at a red traffic light, he noticed the bright flare up in the sky.
“Gee, it’s the first time I see a shooting star in daylight.” He said to himself. “This one appears to be falling down toward us…”
At about half a kilometre before touching the ground, the flare became a bright flash, and hell broke loose.
Karen was finishing her treadmill run. The batteries were now at 96%, and should last for two days without a recharging cycle, but that would mean a four hours treadmill run.
As she was about to step down, she heard a faint rumbling. She stopped, trying to listen as much as she could under the two layers of rubber covering her ears.
The rumbling became louder and the floor began to shake. She quickly lost balance, her hands tied in her back and her feet in ballet toe boots. She hit the wall and slid on the floor.
The shaking stopped. She would have a nice bruise on her shoulder. She wondered what the heck was that. An earthquake? Although she never experienced one, she felt it was more like a blast. All she saw about earthquakes was much longer. But if it was a blast, it was hellishly powerful, or nearby? Did Phil forgot to turn the gas off on the stove and the house exploded?
Unfortunately, she was in no situation to have a look outside, although the door was unlocked. If it was anything important, Phil would call, and she could give her one of the codes they had made up. Since with her hands tied in her back, she couldn’t operate the phone, three huge mushrooms like buttons had been installed. One was the pick-up/hang-up function, the other was the “number 3” button, and the other placed an emergency call on Phil’s phone, indicating that something wrong had happened. In that case, he would call one of his friends, who knew was into this kind of thing but actually didn’t know about Phil and Karen’s stunts.
Karen herself had a series of codes. Three tones meant it was okay. Two meant that she was concerned, but she was okay. One meant that she was not okay and she wanted to get out.
Phil himself would answer by a series of tones, ranging from “it’s all right, don’t worry” to “I’ll be right there”.
She waited by the buttons, ready to answer when Phil would call. But it wasn’t the cell phone that rang. Instead a 50 years old alarm went on action, and Karen heard a loud clunk noise coming from the door.
Radiations? No way. The earthquake or explosion probably triggered the 50 years old system. They should have disabled it when they had a chance. Well, it would settle back in a few hours. Probably. Hopefully.
But when Karen approached the control station, where the gauges were located for power reserve, water reserve, air filtering condition, etc. There was also a radiation meter linked to a probe outside the house. It was rising steadily. It was well past the safe level and was heading into the extreme one. Was that blast a nuclear explosion? How can that be?
She pushed the emergency call button and waited by the amplified speaker to go through her latex layers. The phone beeped back: no service.
She struggled on the control panel to turn on the built-in radio. It was preset to the emergency frequency. The radio was high and with her hands secured in her back, she couldn’t reach the power button. Carefully, she was able to flip it with her elbow.
“… emergency frequency… there has been a nuclear explosion… please seek shelter…. stay inside, go to the basement… help is on the way…”
Karen let herself drop on the bed, thinking, panicking. Yes, she was safe. She had enough food for 20 years, but she can do nothing else. It was totally impossible for her to get free. The walls of the shelter were covered in thick steel plates. They were slick and there was nowhere where she could rip her rubber suits off, or even less wear out her leather cuffs.
And who would come to look for her? That man had built the ultimate bomb shelter in a city that was not even a target in the cold war times. Who would think there’s even someone with such a facility there?
Her six weeks’ stunt turned out to last a lot longer… A lifetime longer.
© Pete / monsterp63, December 21, 2005
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