He had been stronger and quicker than her, that she had to concede. Despite all her struggles and protests, it had taken him less than five minutes to make her prisoner in her own damn kitchen. Stazia looked around herself, scanning around at the worktops and units. Nothing had been left in reach. At least she was alone, she thought, and he'd said he wasn't coming back for hours. Plenty of time to escape, Stazia thought to herself.

Standing straight and upright, her midriff pressed against the formica fascia of the sink unit, she could see out of the kitchen window, looking down into the gardens behind. Actually, that was about all she could do. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as she flicked back her hair, away from her eyes.

Stazia swayed a little, from side-to-side, testing and stretching. Her hands were cleverly trapped behind her, thin rope circling her wrists several times. She could flex her fingers easily enough, but with palm touching palm, it was awkward to stretch her fingertips far enough to reach the knot that secured the rope there. With her thumbs she could feel the material of her panties. Trying as hard as she could, she also couldn't move them away from the small of her back. Even with her long fingernails she couldn't pick at any of the rope. Another circlet of rope pinned her arms together higher up, just slightly above her elbows. Stazia tugged on her hands and felt the pressure between her inner thighs. Rolling her eyes she grunted, annoyed.

Dressed only in her underwear, she must have looked a sight, she wondered. But she was hoping one of her nosey neighbours would take the time to peep up at her window. After all, they did it throughout the summer often enough – why not now? If only they did, they would see her caught here and maybe phone the Police. She would accept the embarrassment just to regain her freedom. As she scanned out of the window, Stazia could see no-one was in the gardens. Still early morning, she thought, maybe sometime later.

She looked down at the sink-top, at the rope that stretched across it from her, to the taps and wrapped several times around the base. The pull-knot at the taps looked so simple to undo, just one tug on the free-end and it would unravel, but she was hopelessly unable to reach it. It ran down the front of the sink unit, between her legs, and was fixed tightly to the ropes wrapped around her wrists. The rope was pressing against her, through her panties, a line of cord intrusive, strong and unforgiving. Stazia thought she could even feel the braiding, the ridges and furrows along its slender length. Rising up on her toes, she bounced up and down, seeing if the slipknot would give just a little. Pulling on her hands, it wouldn't budge either way and the efforts to dislodge it pressed on her, pressed into her even more.

Resting back on the soles of her feet, Stazia flexed her toes, shuffling her feet slightly. Another length of the thin rope was wrapped around both her legs, just above the ankles. If it hadn't been for that, she thought, she might have been able to climb a little onto the top of the sink unit, but there was no escape that way either. Sighing, she craned her head around and glanced at the clock – she'd been there now for ten minutes.

Everyone else she knew of would now be in work, and her boss would be waiting for her to turn up. Her mobile phone was back in the bedroom – no chance of getting hold of that. There was little chance of the downstairs neighbours hearing her either, even if they were still in. Before he'd left her here, the bastard had gagged her, a thin scarf pulled tight between her teeth, stretched taut across her cheeks, so tight it was starting to make the corners of her mouth ache. She could groan loud enough, but nothing intelligible could come out, and now she was getting thirsty as well. Probing with her tongue, rolling it upwards, she could just touch the insides of her top teeth. Working her jaw muscles as best as she could, Stazia found it was tied as tight as the ropes around her. She slumped forward, as best as she could in the current circumstances and took time to think it all through again.

Watching out of the window again, Stazia could hear her phone beeping – incoming text, she thought. She wailed through the gag, more in frustration and anger than anything else. How long was she going to be left like this? Until he returned? And how long would that be – what next then?

Stazia thought about whether she could lean forward enough, closer to the slipknot around the taps. It was easy to stand here, fixed upright, but the unit was just too high and wide for her, and besides, gagged like she was she wouldn't be able to bite the end of the rope anyway. Another loud sigh escaped her. This was unbearable.

It was nine-thirty, and now she was definitely late for work, and hardly better off than she had been thirty minutes ago. Rolling her shoulders to ease a slight cramp, she stretched her arms back as far as she could. The ropes around her upper arms prevented Stazia from gaining any real leverage on the ropes pinning her hands. She tried to look behind herself, leaning back as far as she could but that was just as fruitless – even if she could see the knots how would she reach them? In frustration, she tiptoed again and leaned heavily on the restraining rope from the taps. Stazia let her weight fall a couple of times, but the taps stayed in place, no broken fixtures, no torrential gushing of water, and the rope line stayed firm as well, keeping her trapped there – upright yet immobile.

Chewing on the gag for a moment, she flung her head back, her long hair flying away back from her face. From all the exertion, she had the tiniest beads of perspiration on her face and chest, and a few lank strands of hair stubbornly clung on to her skin. Stazia swayed again, another desperate but knowingly fruitless look around her, in the vain hope that a pair of scissors or a knife had magically appeared – a tool of deliverance that would furnish her the means to escape. As she knew, and expected, everything was well out of reach.

Then she saw movement – out of the window – down below in the next-door gardens. Stazia stared momentarily wide-eyed. Dare she attract attention? It was the old man, the one who loved to potter around his garden's borders and his pretty little plants. He was sweet enough, always stealing glances at her and her friends in the summer. Now she was desperate for him to peep up at the flat again. Who cares if he sees me in my bra, Stazia considered, at least it would be the chance for me to get free. More in desperation and hope than in anything else, she started to shout as loud as she could into her gag, formless words leaving her mouth. Jumping as best as she could she tried to make herself be seen. Look up, look up, she pleaded.

Desperately, she tried to attract his attention, crying hopelessly into her gag, moving her pinioned body from side to side. Unaware of her plight, the elderly man continued dropping in and out of sight, until he disappeared from view altogether. It was raining now, the delicate patter of the small drops landing on Stazia's window pane the one sound, other than her own breathing, keeping her company. Sobbing into her gag, she slumped forward, exhausted from her thrashing around. She looked up at the kitchen clock and slowly watched the seconds hand dial around its face. Tossing her head back again, she tried to stretch her jaw muscles, working her teeth against the cloth. Still failing to loosen the gag, she stared at the ceiling, leaning back against the rope running through her crotch.

Again Stazia writhed against the pinioning rope, her midriff brushing up against the worktop, her hips slowly gyrating. Leaning forward she couldn't quite reach the slipknot with her chin to brush against it and as she straightened, she felt her left bra strap slip from her shoulder. The thin ribbon lay coiled around her upper arm and no matter how hard she tried, Stazia couldn't shrug it back. Slowly, inch-by-inch, minute after excruciating minute, it continued to slip down until it fell away completely. Now, only the cup kept up the material, and she leaned back, trying hard to keep the bra in place. Stazia whimpered into the gag, praying now that the old man would return to his gardening and see her, and desperate to escape the rope that was pressing against her so intimately.

Panting into the gag, Stazia tried to ignore the stiff rose of lace that kept her nipple covered. It slowly rubbed, with incredibly minute fractions of movement, up and down on the nipple bud as she breathed hard into the cotton gag. Screwing her eyes shut, she desperately tried to ignore the slow sensitive rubbing, knowing that her nipple was stiffening. Uselessly, she tried to stretch her shoulders, but only succeeded in dropping the cup a fraction of an inch, where it no longer moulded to her left breast at all. Now the weight of the left hand side of her bra was only supported by the bias tape, catching on the hardening tip of her nipple. Opening her eyes and looking down to her chest, Stazia could see it snagged there, the aureole flushing darker as the intense torturing feeling raced through her. The sensations speeding through her body were beginning to intensify. This was all she needed. She was unable to lean forward any further to nudge the bra-cup back into place, not while she remained trapped upright. Stazia closed her eyes again and tried to ignore the slow rub, but her own breathing was adding to the effect – as her chest rose and fell with every movement, the little teasing friction on her left nipple excited it more and more. This was too much, Stazia thought. With a barely suppressed moan, she could stand it no longer and with a desperate sideways thrashing, the bra came free of her left breast and fell away.

Stazia sighed into her gag with relief. If only she could free her hands, loosen the knot that kept her imprisoned here, she could make her escape – there must be a way? Pulling on her wrists the rope was as immovable as before. A strand of long hair fell against her naked breast, and as she looked down she noticed for the first time, that the right hand cup was now slowly falling away too. With a muffled and anguished cry, she tossed her head back, noting that half an hour more had passed on the clock – it was now ten. Arching her right shoulder as best as she could, straining against the ropes that kept her elbows pinioned, Stazia could do little to recover her bra. The weight of the left hand cup was slowly dislodging what remained. Her tied elbows, forcing her shoulders back, meant that the strap had little to rest on. The slow increase in sensations began to rise-up again.

The same stimulation, this time on her right nipple, began to engulf her. Swaying, her eyes half closed, Stazia could feel the excited bud harden. As the feeling intensified, she could feel herself pressing the rope into her fanny, feel the thick braid of the rope teasing her through her thin panties. Moaning, she shuddered in her captivity and let out a sigh as again, with a shudder that surprised her, the cup fell away, and the right hand strap fell down her upper arm. Slowly, the bra slid down to her waist leaving her topless, quite exposed. Stazia felt a wave of embarrassment rush over her - what if someone in the gardens could see her now? Even though it would be a chance to escape, to attract their attention, how would she ever live this down?

Sighing at her vulnerability, Stazia tried to recover her wits, but now the exquisite sensations down between her thighs were making her writhe more and more. As if her body was reacting to the denial of the friction on her nipples, it accelerated the racing pulse through her, catching her in her own storm of sensual arousal. Stazia could feel herself rubbing, slight inches of intrusive movement, faster and faster. Rocking her body back away from the worktop, her tongue pressed against the cloth between her teeth, Stazia knew she was fast approaching her limits, desperate and frantic to reach a conclusion. Her moans into her gag, sounding louder and louder, and her bucking movements in her captivity became more excited, more strenuous.

Still the knot held out around the taps, still she couldn't escape. Blood was rushing around her body – her heart raced, there was a soft drumming in her ears. The gag was damp where she was exhaling heavily, and she looked down and saw the fine tiny droplets of vapour, her perspiration, her sweat, glistening on her bare breasts. Leaning back again away from the worktop as far as she could manage, her fixed hands pressed into the small of her back, Stazia shuddered with a spasm that shocked her, making her catch her breath. She stopped, rigid, her muscles flexing where they could against the ropes that bound her, a whimper faltering as it escaped from her throat.

Within fractions of seconds, her eyes closed tight, Stazia's world exploded around her, a soft glow erupted into a flame from her pubis - and she was lost, slumping back forward into a realm of semi-consciousness, breathing hard. Her head hung forward, hair hanging down around her upper body, and Stazia opened her eyes, to see a cascade of shimmering colours, as a tear wandered down her cheek. Now, feeling slightly ashamed of the arousing vibrations that had consumed her, she stood there, panting slightly. For ages, yet in reality only a matter of minutes, Stazia just stood there, unable to move, almost unable to think.

Raising her head up, she again looked around her, hoping that by some miracle, something had changed. Her face was flushed, she could feel herself burning, and she could feel her inner thighs were moist. Taking a deep breath and slightly flexing her jaws she gulped, trying to quell a raging thirst. Stazia flexed her fingers bringing back a bit of circulation to her hands, and gazed out of the kitchen window, careless now as to who would see her. She straightened up, and looked down at herself. What was left of her bra was now entwined around the rope from the taps, the straps hanging limply, still held up by the ropes around her elbows. Her feet, still pinned by the rope wrapped above her ankles, remained fixed, almost rooted, to the floor. The rain continued to stream down her window, and Stazia was still a prisoner in her own kitchen. Fear again returned, her eyes widening as she heard the key turn in her front door lock. He had returned.

Stepping up behind her, she felt his presence before he touched her on the shoulder. She shrugged off his hand with a dismissive grunt through her gag. Maybe she shouldn't react, Stazia wondered. Perhaps she should listen – but, no, indignant fires still burned deep within her. She turned her head, just enough to fix his eyes with a hostile stare – how dare you leave me like this, her mind silently raged. His hand wandered to her bra, and despite her limited squirming, Stazia couldn't prevent him from moving his hand upwards, playing with her right breast, a soft caress as he chuckled to himself. Stazia tried to shout through the gag, but words still failed her – damn she was so thirsty, she told herself. Slowly, he began to untie the ropes around her upper arms, releasing her elbows as the rope slipped away. With a sigh of relief she allowed her shoulders to drop, a slight ache betraying the potential cramp that might follow.

Then next he freed her feet, unwrapping the white rope around her ankles so that she was able to brace herself better against the unit. Reaching past her, Stazia's heart skipped a beat as his fingers closed on the free-end of the rope wrapped around the taps – that dreaded slipknot. With effortless ease, he pulled and the knot just seemed to melt in front of her. It almost seemed like she had been cheated all along. It was now close to 11 o'clock - for close to 3 hours she had been trapped here, and with no exertion at all – after all she had been through – he simply tugged once and it came undone. Stazia was so angry, almost fuming, but silent as he carried on.

Standing behind her, he undid the bonds that had kept her hands tied throughout. With her arms now free, Stazia slowly rubbed her wrists to quicken the circulation and stretching her fingers to shake off the pins-and-needles feeling. She felt his fingers probe for the knot of the gag in her hair. With a satisfying gasp the cloth was removed from between her teeth, and working her mouth open and closed, she allowed her tongue to flicker over her dry lips. Spinning to face him, now that she was free again, she defensively crossed her arms on her chest and stared defiantly at him, eyes burning.

"So," he murmured, leaning closer to her face, "you'll do the washing-up in future?"
Stazia was still smouldering.
"Maybe…" she replied.

Darkreiver
©2003