Another excerpt of that story in progress. (as raw as it gets – subject to change…)
Finding sleep was difficult. Arms in her back, legs tied together, collar linked to the headboard, the blow-up gag, even the boots and especially the now dead toys, which were all fun when she could move, were somehow annoying if not painful now that she was resting.
She felt someone approaching her, then a wet rag was put over her nose. Since she could only breathe through her nose, she breathed the vapors of whatever liquid this was, and she felt dizzy, disoriented. She tried to fight back, but it did nothing. She was feeling totally drunk. The wet rag was held against her face with a few turns of electrical tape.
“Come on, Lynda, take your side… go.” she heard Derek’s voice as she was lifted off the bed.
“Don’t worry, all will be fine.” she heard a woman’s voice. Wait! Lynda? What the fuck?
She felt her boots being taken out. Her hands were released and the leotard removed, and the panties and the toys. What were they doing?
She felt something cold and greasy being applied to her crotch then the toys were back but… those were larger. A lot larger. She moaned. They were too big and it was hurting, but whoever was inserting them, didn’t care. They were forced in. Karen squirmed. Well, her mind, that is. Her body didn’t seem to respond to her commands.
Next, something cold over her feet. She recognized the feeling: latex. It seemed quite thick. Thicker than what her leotard was.
“Sure you picked up the right size?” she heard Derek ask.
“We’re out of the correct size. This is one size up.” Lynda answered.
“Shit. This is going to be a very tight fit.” she heard Derek say as he struggled to pull the suit up Karen’s legs.
They struggled a lot and the suit was finally at her waist, but it was a strange feeling. She was expecting to feel cold air on her back, you know, the zipper, but instead, they seem to force her arms down a narrow opening, down the side of her body. Ih, she wasn’t being fitted into a catsuit, but a bag. A body bag!
Oh no! They were going to kill her. Of course. Derek is police. He knew Phil. They’re working together! That’s how Phil managed to stay out of jail all this time: the police are working for him. That explains how and why Derek was so eager to help her. She struggled even harder to get free but her body didn’t responded. She only felt her arms being forced into very tight sleeves then brought up, over her head and wrapped in cuffs then stretched out, and pulled up, literally lifting her off the ground.
She felt something heavy and rigid being wrapped around her waist. She figured it was a corset. At the same time, tubes, rigid tubes, were put over her feet, forcing them down, pointing: ballet boots.
Judging by the force used, she figured that Derek was lacing the corset while Lynda was putting the ballet boots on, before wrapping wide cuffs around her ankles and linking them at the floor or something because now, Derek was pulling hard on the lacing and Karen was getting stretched by all four limbs.
She tried to resist, to keep her stomach full of air, but Derek would squeeze it empty in one single pull. She was panicking! She could barely breathe. She was being crushed, cut in half!
Finally, the pulling stopped. She felt something hard between her thighs, going up, resting against her crotch. Hard. Cold. Rigid. Steel. A chastity belt, of course. As it was fastened over the corset, it pulled up against her crotch, pushing the extra-large intruders even deeper in.
Her collar was removed as well as the wet rag and her gag along with the blindfold. She tried to speak, to complain, but only a slow gibberish sound, mixed with drool, came out. Damn! Her brain couldn’t even form a protest! A panel gag with a huge and long gag, reaching almost to the back of her throat, teasing her gag reflex, was put on instead. Another collar was put on, less restrictive, which suited her, but a gasmask was added. It didn’t have cartridges but a long breathing tube.
Carefully, she was lowered to the floor, still unable to do much with her limbs, although the wet rag with the strange drug had been removed. Her arms were tied in her back, the wrist cuffs linked together and more cuffs added over her elbows and drawn tight. She was put into a kneeling position as strong nylon ratchet straps were wrapped, circling her ankles and her thighs together., bringing them tightly together, her inner thighs biting on the chastity belt crotch strap. Then she was pushed down, her chest against her knees, and another ratchet strap wrapped her shoulders with her knees, putting her into a very tight ball tie.
She could hardly breathe now, and she was totally unable to move.
She was put on a dolly and rolled out, outside, Derek pushing the trolley and Lynda walking in front of him, her long blond hairs floating on her shoulders. She was till in full latex, and ballet heels, walking as if she was barefooted.. It was dark. It was obviously the middle of the night. Karen tried to scream, to attract some attention, but gagged as she was plus the gasmask, nothing much came out. She heard Lynda giggle at her attempts. The garage door opened revealing a strange steel frame with rolls of plastic wrap and a bunch of wooden crates.
She was put in the middle of the steel frame. An end of the plastic wrap was knotted at her knee strap and she began to turn, the plastic wrapping her tightly into a nice tight package on every turn… as if it was needed. It was hard to tell. She made, was it three or five or eight turns?
The machine stopped. She was carried to a wooden crate, the breathing hose of her gasmask linked to some sort of box on the side of the crate.
“Don’t worry, it will be over in about 12 hours. Kind of.” she heard Lynda, followed by an evil laugh.
The empty spaces of the crate were filled with packing foam. Rapidly, her vision turned to darkness as the cover was put on, squeezing her in, removing the little free movements she had, like wiggling her ankles or her fingers. And she heard power tools, sealing her faith.
That was it? She was nothing more than a slave now? Some sort of sex slave being sold out. She hated Phil, she hated her life, her choices in life which led her to… this. She could breathe. Sort of. But all of that was so weird, so extreme. The drug was wearing off. She was feeling more and more the full extent of her predicament, how tight she was wrapped in latex, the corset, the toys, the gag, everything.
Slowly, her mind drifted away and everything became black.
She felt a tug on her shoulder.
“Karen? Karen? Are you alright? Oh my gosh! KAREN!
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3 thoughts on “Sneak Peak: Wrong House(2)”
I’m excited for the entire work!
Any idea when you’ll have finished it?
And I have no fucking clue… I am at 30+ pages and I barely covered the first 24 hours of her entering the “wrong house”. That’s an indication of how much action / scenes there is in that story.
When I come back from work, I’m totally exhausted (put that on age and on the very busy job), so if I open my GoogleDocs file, I just stare at it and… fall asleep. (thanks to having difficulties finding specialized workers in my field, and having enough job for 2 or even three people… while I’m alone.)
My best inspiration moments are in the morning, just after I wake up.
Since I have to leave the house at around 06:00, I don’t see myself getting up at 04:00 to write…
So I mainly write on weekend’s morning, when I don’t have anything else to do.
In short, no Estimated Time of Posting (ETP).
That’s why I’m posting those “Sneak peak” 😉
Ah OK, yeah sucks if one is so busy with work, time for something else is barely available.
TBH. With the idea stuff, I’m the opposite and my ideas come at around 1-2 am or something.