Out Of Commission

Out Of Commission

Out Of Commission
By Adrian Hunter

email: adrian_hunter@hotmail.com
stories: www.adrianhunter.com

Such a pretty face...pity to have to cover it with so much leather. But  we  can
change that later. The night is young, and we have many  alternatives at  our
disposal.

She kneels before me on a coffee table, her thighs lashed tight to her  ankles
and her collared neck tied down to her knees. I love watching  her  fingers claw
desperately at the knots holding each wrist to its  opposite  elbow so her arms
make a triangle behind her back.

I settle into my armchair and admire her long blonde hair. It has just  enough
wave to give it a flowing texture as it cascades over her  shoulders  from
underneath the straps of the gag that's holding her mouth  permanently  open for
my pleasure. At first, I thought I would show some compassion  by  leaving the
rubber plug out of the metal shower drain that's wrapped  with  electrical tape
and jammed between her teeth. But I couldn't afford to  let  her complaints wake
the people in the rooms below my suite.

I imagine her large brown eyes trapped behind the darkness of the  blindfold, 
open wide with fury and trepidation. Or perhaps they were closed in  silent 
resignation to her fate. After all, she didn't complain when I first  slipped 
the handcuffs around her wrists more than two hours ago.

No, she had been exceptionally willing to do whatever I asked of her.  Greed 
will do that to most people, especially those who get paid on  commission.  And
she had smelled the kind of payoff that gives an inexperienced  sales  associate
instant respect both at work and at the bank.

It was random luck that I chose the restaurant where I first saw her;  this  is
my first visit to this particular city and I'm not well-versed in  its  local
cuisine. She was vivacious and pretty, a flaxen dynamo who talked  a  mile a
minute as she explained the intimate details of her work to a  friend.  Cocking
an ear toward their table, I was able to determine the name of  her  employer,
the kind of product she sold, and just how hard a time she  was  having landing
a big account. I also found out her name, but that's not  important any more.

That very afternoon, I placed a call to her office and described myself  as a 
potential client from overseas who needed a large quantity of the  company's 
product in a very short amount of time. When I was patched into the  sales 
supervisor, I asked for a meeting with one of his reps the next day. I  also 
indicated I was talking to his competitors, and I would be making my  decision
no later than the following morning. When he told me he would  set  up an
immediate appointment with his top rep named Jim, I hinted  broadly  that I
might be more favorably disposed toward negotiating with someone  a  little
easier on the eyes. Yes, yes, of course, he said brightly as he  mentioned the
name of my charming young prey from the restaurant.

Dear, if you stop wriggling your arms so much, that rope digging into  your 
lovely bottom might be a bit more bearable.

Of course she showed up early for our four o'clock meeting at my suite  high 
atop the overpriced hotel I was sure would impress her. I was pleased  to see 
her boss had been forthright about my thinly-veiled expectations. She  delivered
herself to my door in a fashionable red business suit with a  noteworthy
hemline, topped off by a sleeveless white turtleneck that  clung  to every
delicious curve of her waist and cleavage. I could easily make  out  the shape
of a quarter-cup bra boosting her ample bosom, the large  nipples  standing tall
and erect as they pushed against the tight material of  her  shirt. Her legs
drifted down in a gauzy black cloud, from bands of  elastic  and lace to a pair
of open-toed high heels that are as fetching as they  are  slutty. Their dual
straps around each ankle conveniently eliminate the  need  for special locks to
hold them on her feet now.

After she made a lengthy presentation , followed by a heated discussion  of 
terms, I announced that I couldn't continue another moment without  first 
eating. She happily agreed to join me, so we dined extravagantly,  laughing  and
talking about nothing of consequence while consuming a healthy  quantity  of
spirits. At the conclusion of the meal, I invited her back to my  suite  and
pretended to negotiate further. I could see her desperation  increase  with
every rebuff, but it wasn't until she stroked one of my thighs  with the  tips
of her blood-red fingernails that I knew I had her hooked.

I can wait no longer, so I untie the knot around her knees, lift up her  head,
pop the plug out of the gag, and lower the open hole over my  stiffening member.
She moans softly as she pokes at the intruder with  her  tongue. Slowly, I
caution her. It would be a grave mistake if it were  to  somehow fall out of
your mouth. She signals her understanding by  treating my  manhood as if it were
the sweetest lollipop she had ever been  privileged to  lick.

When I am satisfied, I tell her she can sit up. She does so gladly, as  the 
movement greatly increases the slack on the rope running down her  stomach  and
under her crotch that tugs insistently on her severely-bound  breasts. I  had
been so pleased to discover she had the kind just heavy enough to  allow  tying
them tightly from behind. Sensing another round of irrelevant  objections, I
pick up the plug that's dangling on a chain from the  shiny rim  around her
mouth, and push the stiff rubber firmly back into place.  What was  she going to
say? I wish I hadn't shimmied out of my dress quite so  quickly?  Or maybe I
shouldn't have told you to "do whatever you wanted to me"  with  quite so much
conviction?

Surprisingly, she continues to fight her bonds, twisting and turning  her  body
as she kneels on the table like an offering to an angry god. Much  as I  enjoy
the show, I know this cannot continue, lest she fall off and  cause  unwanted
damage to herself and my plans for the remainder of my stay.

While unbuckling the many straps holding the gag against her head, I  bribe  her
with the promise of water if she keeps completely quiet. She  complies,  so I
allow her to swallow the contents of a tumbler. I can't held  admiring  the
perfect features of her face, even when they're contorted in a  hateful  glare.
With more time, perhaps I could train her to maintain permanent  silence, but
that won't be the case tonight, so the tube in her mouth  will  have to be
replaced with an oversized penis gag that buckles around her  head  with four
straps.

I tell her it's time for a new position, and spin her on the tabletop  so she 
faces away from me. I rebind her arms so her wrists and elbows are  pinned 
together against her back with a half-dozen coils each. Once her legs  are 
freed, I rearrange her limbs so she's lying face down on the table, her 
compressed breasts squashed even further between the weight of her  torso and 
the hard wood below. I tie together her ankles so they are crossed,  then  pull
them all the way back to her wrists, bending her knees at sharp  angles  and
exposing the delicate regions between her still-stockinged legs. To  further
accentuate the view, I tie a line around her ankles and attach  it to  the hasp
on the back of the gag. This forces her to stare straight  ahead  unless she
wants to pull her legs up even further, a difficult chore I  doubt  she will
want to attempt.

I pick up the remote control for the large-screen television at the  other  end
of the room and preview the selection of pay-per-view movies,  finally  settling
on one that promises 90 minutes of nonstop fornicating by  attractive starlets.
Although I doubt any will measure up to the beauty  of  the pinioned damsel
lying in breathless apprehension before me, it  could  nonetheless prove
inspiring.

Settling back, I reach down under the chair and find my riding crop. I  graze 
its lash along the insides of her thighs, across her buttocks and  between  her
moist folds. Before long, temptation gets the better of me, and my  wrist  snaps
smartly when she least expects it.

By the time the film ends, we are both aching for relief. The shower  curtain 
rod makes an excellent spreader bar as she stands against the coffee  table 
with her heel-encumbered feet separated by a yard of steel and  excessive 
amounts of nylon cord. Her arms are bound together at the wrists and  ankles, 
then tied down to the table so they support her weight as she bends  over at  a
90-degree angle with her ass pushed back just ever so slightly. A  simple  ball
gag completes her imprisonment, which leaves her standing all too  accessible to
the whims of a man with dark desires. I see no reason not  to  take advantage of
both choices offered to me, and proceed to do so with  vigourish and surprising
stamina.

Finding myself a bit heated at the conclusion of my explorations, I  decide  to
pop downstairs to the bar for a nightcap. Not wanting to be thought  a bad 
host, I arrange a few diversions to occupy my guest during my absence.  I  seat
her in the center of the coffee table, and start by cinching her  elbows 
together behind her back. Then I tie her ankles in a crossed position  again, 
only this time I lash them to her thighs in a pose that suggests  meditation.  I
bind her wrists and attach them with taut lines to her ankles so  they're 
suspended helplessly at her sides.

I feel I have been neglecting her breasts, so I circle them  individually  with
several tight windings, then pull the rings of rope together until  they  are
separated by nothing more than a knot. This creates an effect not  like  those
marvelous new Wonderbras I see so many of the young ladies  wearing  today. I
remove the ball gag and substitute a wide wedge of rubber that  fits  over her
rear molars and her tongue. This in turn is held in place with  a  leather
trainer that covers her face from nose to neck. At first she  resists, but I
feel the tension in her jaws dissipate as I finish  securing  the laces, leaving
her mouth incapable of any function except getting  used  to the taste.

I push her onto her back, but only long enough to slip in an anal plug  that 
compensates for its diminished height with a spacious circumference.  When 
she's upright again, I ensure its permanence with a piece of rope  around her 
waist and between her outstretched thighs. Due to the flatness of her  nipples
caused by the constricting effect of her breast bondage, it  takes an  extra
moment to properly position the tweezers-like clamps, but once  engaged, I am
confident they will remain in place until decided  otherwise by  anyone save
her.

Long pieces of twine soon trail up from the ends of the clamps to the  arm of  a
ceiling fan directly over her head. I pull the chain three times to  set  the
motor at its slowest speed, then stand back to admire the way her  bulging
breasts mimic the rotation of the blades as they are pulled  back and  forth in
never-ending circles. I cannot bear to see her look at me with  such 
irritation, so I slip on a padded blindfold that permits a better  appreciation
of her predicament without visual distractions.

When I return, I find she has surrendered to her torments as she's  practically
bouncing on the table. Alas, I feel the evening must now  come to  its
conclusion so I can guarantee my safe departure. I remove all her  bindings
except the rope around her breasts and the gag, and lead her  to the  elegant
brass bed in the second room of the suite. She lies down  gratefully  on the
bed, until I flip her onto her stomach, cross her wrists behind  her  back, and
wrap them and her fingers in several yards of duct tape.  Rolling  her onto her
back, I tie long lines to the top of the loops around her  breasts and run them
back to the opposite ends of the headboard,  pulling her  luscious globes far
apart and up toward her shoulders.

I hate to lose such a lovely vibrator, with its clever piece on the  bottom 
that can be positioned to stimulate the user's clitoris, but it seems  only 
fair that she receive an adequate reward for all her exertions on my  behalf. 
Unfortunately, I also have to abandon the butt plug due to some  ill-timed 
disobedience on her part while I work the thick shaft of the vibrator  into  her
other cavity. Once implanted, I wrap a very long piece of rope  around  the top
of her waist, then knot it behind her and pull the ends over  the  wide circles
of plastic where the two openings used to be, the middle  of her  triangle of
trim fur, and finally over the top of the waist line. From  there, the ends
travel their separate ways in a V to her ankles, which  are  bound so her legs
are bent at a slight angle, then they are tied to the  brass posts at the foot
of the bed, leaving her pinned and spread in  just  enough discomfort to pass
the coming hours productively.

I don't want to lose the gag as well, so as I fill her mouth with her  panties
and seal her lips with more duct tape. When I am finished, I  tell  her she's
been a delightful playmate, and express my deepest regrets  that we  cannot
continue our entertainment. She writhes in silent disagreement,  intensifying
her efforts as she watches me insert the plug trailing off  the  vibrator into
an electrical socket on the wall. She soon decides that  thrashing her legs only
drives the intruders deeper into her  quite-filled  orifices, so instead she
chooses to stare at the ceiling in quiet  submission.

As the machine hums its happy song inside her, I pack my belongings and  include
all her clothing as a treasured souvenir. Don't worry, I call  out as  I prepare
to take my leave. Housecleaning will be here no later than  noon.  Oh, by the
way, I took the liberty of having some new business cards  printed  for you.
See, I say as I hold one in front of your eyes. They have your  name, your work
number, and a little drawing of a woman tied up in a  most  provocative pose.
Here, let me leave some on the bedside table, and  maybe a  few in your purse.
The staff here is no doubt exceptional, so I'm quite  sure  the maids will call
the manager before attempting to free you. Do you  think  he'll get the wrong
idea when he finds this pair of vinyl hotpants and  matching halter on the
floor? Who knows, maybe he will want to avail  himself  of your services as
well.

As I depart, I notice the sign is still hanging from the exterior  doorknob.  I
decide my charming young friend requires no further disturbing this  evening, so
I leave it as a silent sentry to guard against any  premature  interruptions.

It's been a pleasure doing business with you, I say when I turn off the  lights,
but a stifled scream is my only thanks. You're welcome, I reply  with  a smile.

The END
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Copyright © 1995 by Adrian Hunter. All rights reserved. Please do not repost nor
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