All I want for Christmas… is to be tied up · Part 2

All I want for Christmas… is to be tied up · Part 2 (2/2)
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The rope encircling her wrists and then being pulled tight caused a shiver to rush up her spine. It was a reaction that combined both apprehension and anticipation in equal measure. The sensation heightened as Helen wound the cord several more times around her lower arms, before finally cinching it between her wrists and securing the bond with a tight knot; deliberately positioned where Imogen would be unable to reach it with her stretching fingers. As each circuit of the rope slowly made escape less feasible, Imogen found her heart racing and her whole body trembling. But this state of affairs, she realised, owed very little to fear and a whole lot to pleasure.

She had experimented tentatively once or twice with light self-bondage, but never before had she been tied by anyone else, nor as tightly as this. It was, she knew instantly, something she would desperately like to experience more of. And as if in answer to this unspoken wish, Helen seemed all too eager to oblige.

The moment she’d completed the securing of this first bond, Helen momentarily took her hands away from Imogen’s arms, in order to get the next rope from the bag. In those few seconds, Imogen twisted and pulled on the restraint to test its efficiency. It was clear straight away that she was stuck, and that neither pulling her hands free nor locating the knot were viable options. It felt so wonderful. And as Helen began binding her elbows as closely together as she could force them, the thrill increased in intensity, until Imogen felt she was going to explode. And she wasn’t even with her partner of choice yet! If simply being tied up caused this much joy, how much greater would be the pleasure when she was at Tony’s mercy?

Being young and supple, by the time her rigger had cinched and secured the second rope, Imogen’s elbows were almost touching. Without a pause, Helen delved once more into the bag and pulled out three more lengths of rope. Sitting Imogen down on the carpeted floor of the living room, she quickly bound the first of these around the meekly compliant woman’s ankles, before working her way up and securing the two remaining cords just below and just above her knees. Needless to say, these bonds were as tight and inescapable as those encircling her arms.

“Okay, that should hold you. Now to wrap you up and make you look like the perfect Christmas present.”

Imogen had been expecting Helen to produce rolls of festive wrapping paper from her bag, so she was surprised to see that, instead of sheets printed with reindeer, snowmen and suchlike, her rigger retrieved six reels of adhesive tape; only rather than the usual mundane dull grey or brown, these were in red, green and white hues – two in each colour. Helen must have seen Imogen’s surprise however, and so pre-empted her next question.

“I decided that wrapping paper was too flimsy and would tear easily. This tape will be a lot more durable and secure, and isn’t as likely to come loose. It’s special bondage tape that sticks to itself but doesn’t bond to skin or hair. Once you’re all snugly wrapped up in it there’ll be no way out for you. I hope you like the colours – very festive aren’t they?”

She picked up a spool of red tape and grabbed Imogen’s ankles. Finding the end, she began wrapping the adhesive strips around her lower legs. For the next few minutes, Imogen watched in fascination as Helen slowly wound the tape time after time around her already bound limbs, gradually working up her calves, past her knees and onwards up to her thighs; making sure that not one speck of her red tights-clad legs remained on view. Coming to the end of the first spool, Helen next chose a green one and carried on where she’d left off; working the never ending strips over Imogen’s buttocks and hips. When she reached the level of her bound hands, these too were incorporated into the cocooning process, thus further removing any slim chance her captive had of getting free.

Not that Imogen’s thoughts were in any way focused on escaping. Each circumnavigation of her legs and body seemed to make her more and more convinced that she had made the correct decision in choosing Helen as her assistant in this affair. The woman certainly seemed to have put a lot of thought into these preparations, and she certainly wanted to make sure that, when she left her trussed up creation on Tony’s doorstep, that there would be no chance of her getting loose.

Just beneath her breasts, the green tape ran out and was superseded by a spool of white. The wrapping process continued apace, until the all-covering mass reached Imogen’s upper arms. At this point Helen began winding the tape diagonally across her breasts, down to her waist and then back up to her shoulders, gradually working up to the neck area. But the process didn’t stop there, as the now completed trapped woman thought it might. Instead, the circuits of tape continued upwards around her throat until they reached her chin.

Up to now, Imogen had said very little during the mummification process, as she was totally in awe of the sight of her body and limbs disappearing within the restrictive sheath of unforgiving tape. At this point, however, she happened to make some remark about how she would never be able to get out of this predicament on her own. This was simply meant as an observation and in no why implied that she had changed her mind about the project or wanted to get free, but it did seem to alert Helen to the fact that she’d forgotten something. Reaching into the bag, she produced a large ball made of soft sponge material. Scrunching this up in her hand, she brought it towards Imogen’s mouth.

“Open wide Imogen. Bondage is never complete without a nice gag. ”

In obedient silence, Imogen found herself doing as she was told, allowing Helen to push the crushed ball between her lips and lodge it behind her teeth. As Helen released her grip, the ball expanded back to its original size, filling Imogen’s cheeks and pinning her tongue to the floor of her mouth.

“Comfortable?”

Imogen tried to answer, but the sound that seeped out was muted and unrecognisable as speech. Instead she nodded to confirm that the gag was causing her no distress.

“Good, that should keep you quiet for a while.”

Helen grabbed Imogen’s long flowing hair and tied it back into a ponytail with a green ribbon, before resuming with the taping process. Over her chin, then across her mouth, Imogen lay motionless as the wrapping process worked its way upwards around her head. With her mouth now sealed, Imogen was reassured to note that Helen was careful to make certain that her nostrils were left clear, as the tape was gently pressed down over the bridge of her nose. As the circling strips climbed ever higher, Imogen was expecting her eyes, too, to succumb to the binding process, but she was surprised to find that Helen bypassed them; leaving a gap of maybe an inch or so to allow her to peer out.

Finally, the tape reached the crown of her head, leaving only her long ponytail sprawling free from the otherwise sealed helmet. At this point Helen began to wrap the remainder of the tape from this spool down under Imogen’s chin and back up to the top of her head. Several times she wound in this direction, each circuit further constricting the movement of her now completely helpless colleague’s jaw.

But even now, Helen still hadn’t finished, and her next actions would not only further confound any future escape attempts, but were also aimed at making the bound up human parcel far more aesthetically pleasing from a festive point of view.

Taking the three unused reels of tape, Helen began strategically winding these in a diagonal criss-cross pattern around the already sealed package, creating a mosaic of green, white and red along Imogen’s entire legs and body. This artistic process continued for several minutes, until Helen was satisfied with her symmetrical design. She stood up and took two steps back to admire her work.

“There, that should hold you. See if you can move.”

Imogen, lying stretched out on the floor, tried to sit up, but it was impossible without the use of her now redundant arms. She lifted her head as best she could and gazed down her body, to be greeted by what looked like a continuous sausage-skin of red, green and white tape, with only the mesh of her tights-clad feet sticking out the end. She wriggled around for a minute or more, trying to work out how, if she really had to, she would go about getting herself out of the tight bindings around her. But it was obvious almost immediately that this would be impossible; she was stuck fast and would remain that way until such time as someone cut her out. She shook her head and tried to convey the message that escape was out of the question. Helen smiled.

“That’s good. Glad my binding technique meets with your approval. I guess you’ll have to rely on Tony as your saviour if you’re ever going to get out of that.”

She glanced at her watch.

“Anyway, time is getting on and I’ve got another engagement once I’ve disposed of you tonight, so we’d better get going. “

She bent down to pick up her bag.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s one last addition that should leave Tony in no doubt as to when to open his present.”

From the bag she produced a long piece of red ribbon, to which was attached a large gift tag in the shape of a star, one side of which was covered in silver and gold glitter, whilst the other side had a greeting already written on it. Helen held this side up for Imogen to read. The message was simple and only seven words long – “Not to be opened until Christmas Day!!”.

Pulling Imogen up into a sitting position, Helen quickly looped the ribbon around her upper body, and secured it with a neat bow over her breasts.

“There you go. The perfect Christmas gift.”

Imogen’s transportation down to the car-port below the apartment block was, she was soon to discover, a risky operation. What if someone saw them? Surely, the sight of a securely wrapped up woman being forced to hop and jump towards a waiting car would arouse suspicions, wouldn’t it? Helen, however, seemed to have no such qualms, as she bundled her cargo into the lift that would ferry them down to the basement. When they came to a halt and the doors began to open, Imogen was half expecting to be confronted by one of her neighbours waiting to take the reverse journey up to their apartment, but fortunately there was no one in sight.

There were only a few vehicles in the underground car park, but Imogen was puzzled when she found herself being piloted towards her own car. She had assumed that they would be travelling in Helen’s. And she must have made some sound that betrayed her surprise at this turn of events, as Helen immediately began to explain her reasoning for this decision.

“I’ve decided that it’ll be best if we take your car, which I’ll leave parked close to Tony’s house. That way, when he does eventually release you, you’ll be able to easily get home.”

The logic of this seemed sound enough to Imogen, although she couldn’t help feeling that everything wasn’t quite as it seemed. Exactly what brought this feeling of unease about, she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and Helen’s next action did nothing to quell the irrational fear that she was beginning to experience. Opening the boot of the car, she grabbed Imogen by the shoulders and began coaxing her into the dark, claustrophobic interior. This time Imogen dug her heels in and tried to stop herself being entombed in the confined space; protesting in muffled tones that she would prefer to be transported lying down on the back seat. Once more, however, Helen had a ready explanation for her method of doing things.

“I can’t risk having you on view in the car, even if you are lying down. We’re going to be travelling through the centre of town, and I will undoubtedly have to stop at junctions and traffic lights. The last thing we need is some passerby seeing you and calling the police. No, the boot is the safest place. Come on, climb in. It will only be for a few minutes.”

Again Imogen had to concede that Helen’s argument made perfect sense. So with some reluctance she allowed her captor to tip her gently into the waiting chasm.

“Okay, here we go. I’ll try to avoid pot-holes and bumps in the road as best I can. See you in a while.”

The noise of the boot slamming shut reverberated around the enclosed chamber. This was superseded seconds later by the revving of the engine, and the sensation of movement quickly followed; slowly at first as Helen negotiated the car-port’s security gates, then picking up speed as the road was reached.

The journey to Tony’s house should, Imogen estimated, take no more than fifteen minutes. So it was with some alarm, after this length of time seemed to have elapsed, that the car was still in motion with no sign of slowing down. Of course, she had no way of accurately gauging the passage of time, so she may – she kept trying to comfort herself with the thought – have got this totally wrong. After all, she’d never before been ferried around in the boot of a car whilst bound, gagged and done up as a Christmas present, so the chances of her over or under estimating the length of the journey seemed a distinct possibility.

But even so, a nagging doubt, which had started almost immediately after she’d been locked in the car’s cramped luggage compartment, now had her mind working overtime. The sly smiles, the (over)eagerness to help get her all tied up, the questionable sincerity, and a host of other considerations, all began to suggest to the now suspicious young woman that she’d been hoodwinked. Helen had no reason to help her; quite the opposite in fact. So why had she trusted this woman to render her completely helpless? It was a rhetorical question for Imogen, as she already had the answer to hand; namely that she had been so overwhelmingly desperate to be tied up and become Tony’s surprise Christmas present, that all other considerations had seemed insignificant at the time.

But this was all just wild speculation. Pulling herself together, she tried to suppress her rising anxiety by telling herself that she was being stupid, and that everything would be fine. In just a few minutes – she attempted to convince herself – they would pull up outside Tony’s house, Helen would place her on his doorstep, ring the bell, then hurriedly make herself scarce, leaving him to find her trussed and helpless form waiting to be picked up and carried into his lair.

And after another couple of minutes, the first element in this hypothetical scenario appeared to be falling into place, as the car slowed to a halt. The events that followed, however, most definitely did not follow Imogen’s script for her anticipated happy ending.

With the engine still ticking over, Imogen heard Helen get out of the car. But then, instead of the expected opening of the boot, a harsh grating noise reached her ears, as if heavy metal doors were being dragged open. Seconds later, the car dipped down again as Helen got back in, and almost immediately they were on the move once more. On this occasion, however, the journey lasted no more than ten seconds before the drone of the engine ceased. For a period of several long seconds there was only silence, before that same sound of the doors – presumably now closing again – sent a shiver running through every inch of Imogen’s bound body. What was happening? Where were they?

The boot slowly opened. Although the light that streamed in wouldn’t have been particularly dazzling under normal circumstances, the contrast to the pitch blackness of the car’s windowless rear compartment meant that for a few seconds Imogen’s eyes had difficulty focusing. As her sight returned to normal, however, she gazed up to see Helen standing over her; a gloating, not particularly pleasant smile on her face. Beyond, she could make out a high ceiling with a neon strip light directly above her.

“So Imogen, fell into my little trap, didn’t you? Well now you’re going to pay for your crimes.”

Imogen squealed at this point, as the realisation that she had been duped, and that her chances of spending Christmas as she had planned seemed to be receding fast. But what “crimes” exactly, was Helen alluding to? Her attempt to ask this question was stifled by her gag, but luckily Helen seemed to get the gist of her prisoner’s garbled enquiry.

“What crimes? Well for starters, how about the fact that you managed to deviously sneak in and steal the promotion that was rightfully meant for me? You know that I was the best candidate for the job, but you managed to flutter those big brown eyes and flash those fake tits of yours at the bosses and win them over.”

Despite the fact that she now perceived herself to be in a whole lot of trouble, Imogen was affronted by this latter insinuation. She tried to let Helen know – truthfully – that her breasts had received no enhancement of any kind. But if Helen did understand her muffled outburst, she paid it no attention, and the gravity of the situation soon caused Imogen’s thoughts to turn to weightier concerns. She did her best to remonstrate that she had done nothing underhand, and that she’d got the job fairly and squarely, but Helen obviously didn’t see things that way and it was apparent that no amount of reasoning was going to change her mind on this issue. But it soon turned out that this wasn’t the only gripe Helen had with her captive.

“And then, to add insult to injury, you try to steal Tony away from me.”

“WHAT?!”

Imogen’s shriek owed as much to surprise as it did to the rising panic that was steadily building within her.

“Yes that’s right Imogen. I’ve had my eye on Tony for months. Yet all of a sudden, you come along and try to steal him from under my nose. Well you know what girlie? It’s not happening. First you come along and take my job, then you try to take my man too? I don’t think so.”

Helen leaned further into the boot and continued in a menacing whisper.

“You want to be tied up for Christmas, do you? Well that part of your request I’m more than willing to grant you. The trouble is that instead of being tied, teased and ravished in Tony’s nice warm bed, you’ll be spending the next few days shut up here.”

Imogen tried to lift herself upwards, in order to take a better look at her surroundings. For a second or two, she managed to raise her head and upper body high enough on her elbows to view the cavernous room that the car was now parked in, before being pushed back to the floor once more. However, this brief perusal of her new environment – with the tyres, engines and various tools and spare parts for car maintenance in evidence – was enough to tell her that they were in some sort of mechanics’ workshop. And Helen was keen to explain their whereabouts.

“This is the garage that my brother works in. It’s on an industrial estate on the edge of town. They’re closed now for the holidays and won’t be open again until 2nd January, so there’s no chance of being disturbed here. There are no houses within a quarter of a mile or so, so the whole area is going to be deserted. That means no one is going to find you here.”

She stood up to her full height again and gazed down smugly at her helpless detainee, who had started to struggle with all her might to get out of the mass of tape that held her in check. At the same time, she began pleading through her gag for Helen to see reason. This cut no ice, however, and in fact only brought forth a bout of sneering laughter from her rival.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to leave you shut in the boot of your own car and lock the door of the workshop. Then I’m off to Tony’s house. I’m going to gag myself, handcuff my hands behind my back, knock on the door and let Tony find me all helpless and vulnerable. Knowing how he’s into tightly bound women, if I play my cards right I’ll be able to convince him to keep me tied up over the Christmas period.”

As if to demonstrate her intentions, she pulled a pair of steel handcuffs from her coat pocket and dangled them in front of Imogen’s face.

“I have to admit that there is one thing that I will be forever grateful to you for, and that’s planting the seeds of this idea in my head. So thanks for that Imogen.”

She smiled coldly at her shocked and trembling victim, before checking her watch.

“Anyway, I can’t stand chatting to you all night. It looks like we’re both going to be tied up this Christmas. But whereas I’m going to be enjoying myself in a nice warm loving environment, you’re going to be here all alone. And who’s going to realise that you’ve gone missing?”

She eagerly answered her own question.

“No one, that’s who.”

Imogen tried in desperation to haul herself out of the boot, but Helen simply pushed her back again.

“I’m fairly certain that I’ve tied you up so that you won’t be able to get free. However, desperate times call for desperate measures… and after a day or two here, you will most certainly be one desperate woman. So, maybe you will find a way out of there, who knows?”

Helen grabbed the lid of the boot, and Imogen screamed as loudly as her gag would permit as it slammed down with a loud reverberating crash, simultaneously plunging her into a sea of blackness. Seconds later, the dreaded sound of the workshop’s sliding metal doors being dragged open then swiftly shut again reached her ears, followed by what sounded like a padlock being secured.

For several minutes, Imogen shrieked and howled hysterically through the sponge wadding that filled her mouth. This had to be a wind up, didn’t it? Surely Helen was just doing this to frighten her, wasn’t she? But deep down she knew that this wasn’t the case, and that Helen was deadly serious in her intent to leave her here for the long term. And this assumption was soon confirmed, as the seconds multiplied into minutes, which in turn merged into long, bleak hours.

Banging on the roof of her tomb in her cocooned state proved difficult, and failed to make as much of a commotion as Imogen was hoping it would. And her attempts to summon attention with her mournful screams and cries fared little better. If it was true that the industrial estate was closed until New Year – which seemed more than feasible -then she would be reliant on Helen coming back to let her out. But when was that likely to occur? With a shiver of utter dread, Imogen thought back to Helen’s finally words this evening. For as soon as the boot had been closed, Helen had shouted back her seasonal greetings as a parting shot.

“Good night Imogen. I hope you have a very Merry Christmas…”

And then, immediately prior to the workshop door being closed and locked, she added.

“…and if I can’t get back to let you out, a Happy New Year too!”

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All I want for Christmas… is to be tied up · Part 2 (2/2)
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