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Ch 2.
Where’s my damn razor refill. I turn my head to look back at the drenched and writhing synthetic leather package I call a girlfriend still very much helpless in her straightjacket. I think I could leave her for a few minutes just to get a new box of razors from the storage closet downstairs. Right? Right?
I quickly ran across the impossibly long and thickly carpeted hallways, down the main spiral staircase and into the garage where the storage closet was. I had to disarm the alarm that was still on from the previous night. Boy that seemed to take forever, I thought to myself. Finding the small box of my razors was no picnic either among all the industrial sized packages of tampons, toilet paper and toothpaste Daphne has stocked away for what I could only imagine was for World War III preparedness.
Aha! I had found it of course underneath her personal items, but just as I was closing the closet I heard the thud of the house door slowly shutting. It was prone to closing as the doorframe was at a slight incline. I instinctively reached for my pant pocket but was rudely reminded that I was still in only my boxers. The keys are still in my night stand. The door into the house doesn’t budge. I can just go out the garage and find another way into the house. Right? Right?
No luck, the garage door opener was in each of the cars and each car was locked. Where are the car keys? You guessed it, back in the house. I begun to worry about my escape artist upstairs.
About this time, Daphne was getting her first surprise. Unexpected was the level of difficulty the incline and the wet jacket posed for her to break the surface and breathe. It was also troubling how she had yet to make any progress in the escape and the undignified crushing pain to her pussy and clit. However those things were trivial to the surprise that the synthetic fabric of her straightjacket was slowly shrinking in the water. It was gradually squeezing the life out of her, pounding on her head and genitals. She was farther from escape than when she started and already was moaning through the gag to get Brad’s attention. Had Brad actually been there, he would have heard a muffled grumble instead of the loud screams she thought she was making.
No, this is too cowardly, Daphne said to herself. I can figure something out. Brad is probably in the shower and out of earshot. She decided that she would sit up real high and try to throw her upper body off the side of the tub. It would be a painful position to lay in, but at least she wont go back underwater and Brad would recognize something was up.
Daphne counted to 3 and whipped her body as high out of the water and to the right as possible. She could only get her head slightly over the lip of the tub before her whole body slid back down to the bottom. Daphne began to panic again and thrashed around wildly like a caged animal. Not just her abs but her entire upper body was becoming sore and she thought she might not have enough energy to break the surface much longer.
Due to the outfit’s new level of tightness, she could feel her pulse everywhere but was most distracted with the throbbing pressure on her clitoris. She was disgusted with herself that the slightest movement she made in her suit was translating into direct pressure on her clit and her clit and pussy was responding instinctually by swelling up. Somehow the pain of the strap cold heartedly tearing into her labia and her suffocation was being superseded by her brain by unexpected pleasure to her clit. The back and forth mashing of her pleasure center by the cold links of the chain were like shock waves of ecstasy. No, she must focus or die.
Brad immediately thought that the only way he was going to get out of the garage was by hurling a cinderblock through the window of his precious Lexus to get the garage remote from the car. Too bad that the car automatically locks once he leaves it in the garage each day, otherwise he could just enter it without the senseless destruction of his dream car.
I counted to 3 and hurled the cinderblock as hard as I could but it bounced off with just a small scratch. Not even the alarm made a sound. Maybe it would be easier to hurl the cinderblock at the door to the house, I thought with retarded amazement. I was looking at the scratch like it was the Grand Canyon and thought I could have done without this.
I then proceeded to hurl cinderblocks at the door to the house, just above the door handle. After four good wacks, the wooden façade was peeling off to reveal the steal core of the door. Shit, this is actually steel reinforced, I thought. Thinking about the beautiful cars in the garage, I continued to pound at the steel door with some block on block action. I know that Daphne demands top security for her prized compound, but I was shocked at the security of this one door.
OK, back to breaking into these cars, I thought.
Daphne was drifting into a sexual frenzy. Her struggles to release her arms had as much to do with getting access to her crotch and bringing herself to orgasm as it had once been about escaping. She was thrusting her crotch into the air to get more stimulation but it was not enough to cum. It was at that point she realized she desperately needed air and that she was able to interrupt the vicious cycle of arousal.
Daphne once again flexed her abdominal muscles and barely got her nose above the water for a quick breath. The previous attempt had really taken a lot out of her. Daphne then realized that the only thing truly keeping her prisoner was her feet that were elaborately fettered to the solid steel scaffold. If she could free her legs, then she could simply stand-up out of the water.
The plan originally had been that she would release her arms from the straightjacket and then extend herself to her feet and pick the leg locks by hand, but there was no way that her hands could be used anymore. Her final plan was to brute force her feet through the metal leg binders. She purposefully pushed waves towards her feet with the upper body to get the bindings wet and hopefully lubricate her feet to slide out. This was reminding her clit of how close to orgasm she was.
I’ve got to cum, she thought. No, I’ve got to escape. I can’t cum anyways without penetration and for that, I would need to be unlocked. Daphne also knew that secretly her libido was as strong as any man and that she came as hard as any of her boyfriends ever did. She wasn’t polyorgasmic and like her boyfriends in the past, one explosive cum would render her a temporary vegetable and very sensitive. This was also out of the question.
Again her body gave way to panic and she began to buck wildly at the restraints. The walls felt like they were coming in on her and she was wishing the day never happened that she had heard of magic and escape. Underwater, she was nodding her head and moaning two octaves above her usual tomboy tone like a hysterical child. She was losing air badly and maybe a little urine. Where was he? she thought. Had Brad actually been there, he would have seen his lover gently moving beneath the waves as though everything was going as planned. There was no outward appearance of panic, and this thought was creeping in Daphne’s head. Brad probably was not alarmed.
I’m very alarmed, Brad thought to himself. It’s been about thirty minutes since he had gotten locked in the garage and about forty-five minutes since he submerged his girlfriend. Maybe she was smiling and stretching in the kitchen and enjoying her breakfast after another amazing escape, he thought. She might even be laughing about her boyfriend’s dumb luck in the garage and contemplating when to let him in. He knew the look on her face after she completes a daring escape; it looks like she just had the best sex of her life and she would beam like the first strut of a newly crowned beauty queen.
Or maybe she was still methodically picking the padlocks with her concealed lock pick set, systematically attacking the horrible suit in the amazing way he had seen her make organization from chaos. More likely, she was embarrassed by her inability to escape and too embarrassed to call for help, as had occasionally been the case, until her body begins to spasm and betray itself in its confinement. She had seen her before say “this is taking too long and I have to go” instead of “help, I can’t escape” and he remembers how casually she likes to brush off her failures.
Help, I can’t escape!, thought Daphne as her body was betraying itself and her muscles racked with uncontrollable spasms. It was taking muscle strength to not only inhale but to keep from exhaling. The only thing keeping her sane was that she was slowly moving her right foot from its restraints (though by scraping the foot painfully against the metal). She was thankful she didn’t use the thumb cuffs on her big toes as she had often done in the past and would have made this impossible. The withdrawal of her foot was causing painful tension in her right knee.
The escape artist was reminded of a recurring nightmare that had caused her to break out into sweats and sometimes disturb Brad from his slumber from her noise. Daphne would dream of being stuck under the hot stage lights and an escape going terribly wrong. The audience would be laughing and applauding at what they presumed to be fake struggles and showmanship. Her assistants would be, as always, oblivious and she would spend the final minutes of her life on earth in pure torture and in the afterlife watching her career go down in ridicule. Of course she would tell Brad that it was just heartburn before going back to sleep. Now it was a nightmare come true but one which felt more disturbing than she could have imagined. If she manages to get rescued, chances are she will be mentally broken.
It’s broken, Brad realized as the window of his Lexus had finally smashed through. Boy, this was just like a recurring nightmare he had about his car getting keyed but much worse. Maybe it’s not that bad. I can tell the insurance company someone tried to steal it. Right? Right?
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