Stories of Tie Up Games

Super chapter, yet again. This is a riveting read.

This is really interesting!

Thanks for the comments! They really motivate me. Glad to see a more experimental, unusual tale is appreciated.
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Elaine sighed and stepped through the iron gates into the modest, soggy park, five minutes from the DuBois estate. "He adores your improvisations. Continue, despite your doubts," Geraint had assured, and the constant rain hitting her single glazing all night had given her an idea. What would be more awkward, distasteful, and shocking than to show up drenched in mud after slipping in a puddle? Bonus points for hopefully earning a hot bath and decent clothes, something Elaine had not enjoyed in days. Her current outfit was her last and consisted of the most ripped black tights, a pale blue skater skirt, and a matching navy blue blouse whose back was torn open from the right shoulder to the middle. Geraint had given her a scarf to conceal the collar in public and a tan sports bra, implicitly revealing a karada or so was in store.

"I'm mad," Elaine thought as she selected a puddle, strolled another round through the park, and tripped over her own legs. As planned, she tumbled forward and landed face-first in the mud. Spluttering, she raised, not having screamed to attract any attention, and a hand grabbed her right wrist.

"You still in one piece? You made quite a smack," an older gentleman in business attire said.

"Yeah, think so, only dirt," Elaine replied, checking her scarf still hid her collar.

"I live nearby. Want a shower?"

"Nah, got to hurry, my boss detests late employees, and I need this job," Elaine smirked, noting many more gazes.

"You can turn up like this?"

"Yeah, there's a shower, and I borrow some clothes. It's no issue, but I appreciate your generous offer."

Elaine grinned, marked her nasty, brown-colored, soaked rags, said goodbye to the speechless gentleman, and marched to her job. In a swift glance, she spotted a smiling Geraint, who winked as cold shivers formed on her shoulders.


"Good morning, Miss Silverman, I ain't coming in, I got in a tiny accident," Elaine said, standing on the mansion's threshold. Miss Silverman stepped toward her, flinched, said some tender words, and fetched Mr. DuBois.

"Lynette, how did you achieve that?" he laughed, standing in the doorway and lifting her scarf. "You're clumsy, aren't you? Follow me."

Elaine obliged and tailed her boss around the mansion to a secluded backyard, surrounded by towering hedges and trees. They halted near a set of wooden outdoor furniture, and Mr. DuBois grabbed the garden hose.

"Standard position on the table. Any sound carries severe consequences."

Elaine knelt on the timber as the hose produced a freezing water jet, making her shudder even more in her filthy clothes. The cold did not bother her as SPLENDID had trained her warm showers were a treat, but the sheer humiliation touched her soul. Lynette's disdain for her boss was outgrowing her money shortage.

"Lynette, remove your shoes, skirt, and jacket," Mr. DuBois charged, before having her kneel again to clean her blouse and tights.

After another round in only undergarments, Miss Silverman handed her a hairdryer and towel. "Hang out your clothes over the chairs, dry yourself, and wait here."

Mr. DuBois's smirk betrayed his likings to this situation as he headed in-home, picking Lynette's next outfit: fresh underwear, a dry sports bra, red-white striped over the knee socks, and a vintage, pink plaid dress with a high waist strap, flimsy shoulder straps, and a bow above her breasts. A bit old-fashioned but more presentable than her torn clothes. She changed in the back kitchen and walked to the ballroom, content with her more acceptable apparel, despite resembling a frivolous picnic blanket.

But as Elaine entered her office, she jumped. In a corner, a white photo studio backdrop, bright lights, and a few umbrellas encircled a girl in a turquoise bodysuit dangling from the ceiling. Elaine's client had arranged this to provoke a reaction, and she regretted her muddy stunt as it lengthened her tie.

Elaine sneaked toward the girl, surprised by the skillful suspension. A body harness carried most of her weight, making her tie bearable as she leaned somewhat forward. As compensation, her ankles were pulled up, curving her body, and her arms tied in a strappado. Two long french braids emerged from under her hood that also served as a blindfold and covered her gag.

"You okay? How can I get you down?" Elaine whispered, receiving only muffled murmurs in return. Her gag was excellent, she noted, stroking the girl's thighs. How could one pester a tied victim the most? Play with them to frustrate and enrage them. Her client desired an ignorant, virtuous girl, which she would exploit.

"I'll rescue you," Elaine hissed, gaining grip around the girl's midriff, tickling her. "No worries, you'll survive this hell-hole. Stay still."

The unamused grumbles told Elaine she captured the girl's attention. She lifted her a few inches, causing her ankles to carry more weight before dropping her, jarring her body. It looked painful.

Elaine unsuccessfully untied a knot around her ankle when shoes rattled behind her: Mr. DuBois. "Lynette, meet Madeleine, who's doing fine. We had a photo-shoot this morning, and I was releasing her when you arrived. Next time, don't touch a girl that isn't yours."

"I should have ignored her but had forgotten about your company's dealings. I panicked."

"Manners!" Mr. DuBois shouted, pushing Elaine on her knees.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Now go to work. It's half-past eight already, so you stay half an hour longer already."

Elaine obliged in fear, as Mr. DuBois rode a shopping cart to Madeleine and placed it under her. She picked up the first photo, a hogtied girl in an orange leotard being tickle tortured, and peered how he lowered Madeleine in the cart. He drove off, not caring about her struggles and cries. At first sight, this seemed nonconsensual, but Elaine knew not to judge these books by their covers.

"Strange," she thought. "Untying her here could have taught Lynette not to fear bondage as she enjoyed it." A girl's first bondage adventure is a popular scenario, but her client planned something else, and she trembled with excitement.


As Mr. DuBois returned twenty minutes later, Elaine's enthusiasm dwindled. He inspected her work warily, not allowing any form of a break or relaxation. Within fifteen minutes, he gagged her again as she breathed too loud, today with a bit gag. Horse blinders followed to center her focus on her task.

Once, she received a glass of water and an energy bar, but she worked otherwise. Her boss's cruelty let her rediscover the soreness and pain in her legs and hips and a dying, fried brain. Nothing noteworthy occurred until Mr. DuBois invited her toward his desk, asked her to kneel, and removed her gag and blinders. "Lynette, it's early, around noon, but I fancy a meal. You brought none, so let's strike the same deal as yesterday: You receive lunch but ropes too. Agreed?"

Like a proper innocent, bondage despising damsel, Elaine argued this was unnecessary, insulted her hard labor, and violated all labor standards. But alas, Mr. DuBois tied her arms together behind her, elbows touching, and guided her into the kitchen. Elaine chose food over pride.

Here, an unexpected figure awaited, a woman in her late twenties with long, straight black hair in pigtails, sapphire green eyes, and bright red lipstick on her exaggerated smile. Yet, most striking was her clothing: a black collar, a french maid's uniform with white gloves and stockings, and no footwear. The tightly laced black and white dress was not skimpy as it wrapped her bust up to her neck. It had short puff sleeves, a loose, knee-long skirt, and many ribbons and bows, making her childish and silly rather than sexy.

"Isolde, bring my lunch to my desk and help Lynette to hers afterward," Mr. DuBois said before ordering a drink. Her rare, damsel-fitting name told Elaine she belonged to her client's fantasy.

"The pleasure is mine, sir," the maid Isolde beamed, loading a tray with delicious smelling foods. She delivered them, and only the two damsels remained in the kitchen when she returned.

"Lynette, kneel," she commanded, telling Elaine to stay in character, and she clumsily looked forward, not complying right away. "Stupid slut, now!"

This more direct wording made Elaine lower herself, and Isolde placed a chair next to her and picked up a plate of mac and cheese. "Listen, tiny brain, I grasp your plan, so please stop for your own safety. Sir is mine, so better don't interfere. Your cheap, naive, foolish flirting works surprisingly well, and I demand you to quit them as he's grown fond of you. Understood?"

"But, but, I don't pursue him, seriously, what's wrong with you? I can't stand him."

"Liar!" Isolde screamed, bitch-clapping Elaine. "You need me as a friend here, and trust me, I'm ruthless, so obey my commands. Now open your ugly mouth, so I can fill it."

Great chapter, this story is a joy to read, very interesting, gripping. It has so many different threads to it. If it was a book, I would not be able to put it down.

Tieup1 wrote: 5 years ago Great chapter, this story is a joy to read, very interesting, gripping. It has so many different threads to it. If it was a book, I would not be able to put it down.

Thanks a lot! This means a lot to me. I wanted to try something knew, and I'm glad you appreciate it.

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"Are you serious! Aren't these ropes around my breasts enough?" Elaine whined as Mr. Dubois fetched her back to the ballroom. She had already put up a fight against the simple breast harness of red rope. "That's dangerous. You mentioned tying me up, not this wicked device."

"It's safe, so lie down and relax, Lynette. We had a deal, and I promise you'll look stunning," Mr. DuBois replied, standing next to the devious furniture. A black steel bench curved vertically like a crescent and attached to a pulley system. Elaine saw it was custom made for her boss's bondage escapades as sitting on it was futile. You would slide of its ten-inch-wide red leather cushion.

"Eh, I grasp you're into, eh, these absurdities, Sir, but I'm not. Can't I make up somehow else? Handcuffs or so? Something less extreme."

Mr. DuBois laughed and put an arm around his damsel. "Please, try, I insist. I don't intend to scare you, and I won't assault you or anything. Trust me, and as you deem this freaky and scary, I'll grant you a slow afternoon and dinner afterward."

Their bickering continued as Mr. DuBois slowly convinced Lynette, putting a smile on his face. Elaine dodged his gaze, struggling to hide her enthusiasm for this novel suspension method, and ultimately conceded. She sprawled face-down on the half-circle but was corrected to turn around and extend her body, bending herself backward. The bench was thin, forcing her spine and breast harness ropes to bear her weight while she balanced.

"Okay, stay still, I'll hurry, but your well-being and safety are my top priority," Mr. DuBois said. He shoved red leather suspension cuffs around her ankles and wrists and attached them to the crescent's corners. This stretched his poor damsel further, and he grabbed a hidden cardboard box from behind a curtain.

"Ehm, you're sure this's safe? Won't I fall?"

"Hold on a few more minutes," Mr. DuBois grinned, exposing a fair collection of red and white scarves, matching her socks and dress. One by one, he bound them around her and the bench, alternating the two colors. Her legs were forced together, like her arms, clogging her movements. Elaine felt uneased on the thin ridge, but as Mr. DuBois spun the instrument on its side and slowly pulled it up, she regained faith in his expertise. The scarves carried her well like a hammock, not cutting her skin or obstruct her breath.

He fastened the chains as her belly hung at his chest's height and her head an inch below his. "I'll rearrange the scarves a little, and then you're good to go," he smiled. He tightened those around her hips and under her breasts and slackened those around her more delicate parts.

"This's amazing," Elaine thought. "Immobilizing, exposing me, and snug."

"You fine? I'll make a few pictures, so you can see yourself."

"Please, Sir, release me. I ain't hurt, but you frighten me," Elaine pleaded, not desperate enough but needing to convey somehow she was okay. "Is it over? Will you lower me?"

"Nah, Lynette, true bondage involves craving and begging to leave. You should explore that and relish a genuine desire to escape," Mr. DuBois answered, cramming a white ball-gag in her protesting mouth. He fastened it, drew her long ponytail to the right, brushed it, and attached red and white ribbons. Then he altered the lighting in the room, aimed the bright lights at her, seized his camera, and began shooting pictures.

For her privacy, these images could only be used during their session, like in a ransom or blackmail scenario. Her client would face hefty fines otherwise to repay Elaine for life. She strained her muscles, glanced away, let a tear roll over her face, closed one eye, and balled her hands to display stress. Her hips produced small swings to stir the photos, but she questioned how effective this was. "Smile!" "Watch me," and "relax," he repeated, but Elaine disobeyed as her client aspired, sometimes giving him the finger.

After ten minutes, he plucked the camera's memory card. "I'll go edit these. Hang on there!" were his last words before Elaine had the room for herself. Instantly, with a huge grunt, she eased her muscles and surrendered to her bondage. For a suspension, it was comfy due to the many scarves and proper cuffs. Only her curved back ached a little. As trained, Elaine did not use this time to pleasure herself but evaluated the day, her acting, and Mr. DuBois' needs.


"Hey, Lynette, enjoying yourself," Isolde teased, who had sneaked in, making Elaine jump. "Sir had requested to check up on you, and sadly, still loves your rebellion. So harass him, make him despise you, agreed? And as always, a tiny reminder as you appear quite content."

Isolde showed Elaine a tray of ice cubes, warning her to shush. She scattered them over her body: in her long socks, on her tailbone, the lowest point of her body, and behind her neck. All unreachable and immovable.

"Okay, Elaine, my real name's Isabelle, a fellow damsel," Isolde whispered. "Our client tracks us with CCTV, so imagine I'm taunting you. I'm here for five weeks already and your contact inside. You're only allowed to break character in the utility basement as some bound females aren't damsels. We're expected to fight, so you're doing amazing. Keep hating my painful bullying as your time here won't be fun. See ya."

She slapped Elaine's buttocks, called her a pathetic whore and some other unkind names, and blew a kiss before leaving Elaine with the ice cubes. The two in her neck melted the slowest, and the dissolved water ran over her back. It was cold, painful, and tiresome, and Elaine accepted it as her client could be watching. She suffered in her inescapable position, enjoying her jeopardy. How long until Mr. DuBois freed her? How far had the ice cubes melted? What was her next ordeal?

The ice-cold water dripped down as Elaine wondered how to conceal the wetness. What would Mr. DuBois say about her wet dress and the pool of water below? At least the pile of bondage images was not close. Except Isolde returned, still barefooted and in her maid outfit, dried everything, and ordered to tell the rest was sweat. "Or face discipline that may scar you for life."


At most twenty minutes later, Elaine heard shoes clattering and screamed in her gag to attract Mr. DuBois' attention. Yet, he grabbed his camera and made pictures as "you're even more beautiful now." Afterward, he lowered her, twisted the crescent in a standing position again, and untied the scarves and cuffs. Not the breast bondage as "it doesn't interfere with anything."

"Lynette, you mentioned handcuffs, didn't you?" he said as Elaine bent her knees, put her arms around her head, and looked down in a fetal pose. "Don't be shy, turn around, hands on your back."

Elaine sighed, frustrated her gag prohibited her from fulfilling Isolde's order, and her client crouched next to her. He tried to pull her arms away but got no reply from the irrational teenager playing damsel. At his third attempt to talk, she thrust him aside and spun away, causing him to change tactics. He clutched her legs, dragged them forward, flipped his damsel on her sore, soaked back, and set his knee on her back, slapping her butt thrice.

"Lynette, I won't comfort you every minute. Man up, you did great, so don't act if I ravished you. You won't get any special treatment, and Madeleine is also immobilized again. Now arms behind you and let me cuff them."

Elaine could do nothing bratty in this position and complied as the scarves let her elbows touch. He guided her to the room of her job interview, where a cozy armchair and beamer projector were lined up. Elaine, hoping he would ungag her, kneeled in the standard position next to her boss' chair. Obey first, then fire back.

"Join me," Mr. DuBois said, friendly like a candy-offering child predator, pointing to his lap. Elaine reluctantly obliged, and his warm arm around her middle drew her against his chest.

Elaine rocked in discomfort and failed to leave the man's grip as he assessed Lynette's photos for the next half an hour. Close-ups of her face or her bounds, blurred backgrounds, and shots from beneath. He described her as gorgeous and handsome as each painted her anxiety. This pleased her as portraying misery in ties was her worst subject.

Afterward, he let her to the dining room where a table was laid out for two. Mr. DuBois untied her hands and lifted her gag, and they sat down.

"Good evening, Sir, Madam, there'll be five courses served today," Isolde, their waitress, spoke. She spread napkins on their laps and placed a tiny note on Lynette's she read:

Lynette, I'll temper with your food until I see results. Tell or show Sir nothing. Isolde

Elaine sighed and buried the note in her sock: "Sir, we should discuss this afternoon. You were horrible, and I won't consent to ties anymore."

"Read your contract, Lynette. You consented. No debate."

Like a proper damsel, Elaine continued to express her disgust with her boss and his perverted hobbies. Their sugar-sweet waitress served delicious dishes, she had spent all afternoon on. Elaine's often ruined, depending on Mr. DuBois's attitude towards her. Tolerance meant extra spices, salt, sweeteners, or other unfitting flavors. She had to keep her face straight, irritate her boss, and call him names. This created an uncanny dynamic as everyone played bitterness after a long, emotional day. In short, no dinner Elaine had ever endured with awkward silences, rude remarks, and no decent dialogue. Even worse than her high school dates. During the third course, Elaine was chair-tied as her client loved her playlet, so she whined about everything except Isolde and her food.

After sour chocolate icecream with tabasco strawberry sauce, Mr. DuBois offered to drive Elaine home. She reluctantly accepted. Her pride had suffered today, but she swallowed some more to avoid a humiliating walk home. Besides, her client deemed it unsafe.


When she left the expensive BMW sportscar, Mr. DuBois pulled her back inside. "Your chest ropes," he whispered and untied them. They wished each other good night before Elaine walked the stairs up in her condo on her red-white striped socks. Her room was still cold, lonely, and barren. She wanted to hit the hay but had to call Geraint first.

Outstanding again! I comment

Another superb continuation, I hope she can stick this out, it seems very tough !

Thanks for the comments!

I hope she can stick this out, it seems very tough !

Yeah, this ain't easy, but Elaine is a professional

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The next day, Elaine slept in till 7:30 instead of the usual 6 o'clock. Not that Mr. DuBois allowed this or had changed her work times to something more humane; this decision was hers. Lynette's humiliation, fear, and anger outweighed her money shortage, so why would she turn up?

Yesterday night, Elaine had a long phonecall with Geraint as she doubted how to proceed realistically. So they bestowed this plan, and Mr. DuBois, still pleased, would kidnap her somehow. The story was he had copied her surrendered keys. Geraint briefed him, but the execution was theirs, and Elaine had no clue what to expect from him.

After Elaine had dressed unwashed in Mr. DuBois's favorite pink outfit. She ate her still terrible breakfast after pondering all night about possible surprises for her client: Sleeping, eating breakfast, or in her underwear. They were dull, not conveying her fear, and shabby as he would simply round her up. She had to hide, and the bathroom, her wardrobe, and the kitchen were the sole options. Not the bathroom as its lock could cause issues, and her closet was too naive and fragile. Hence, the kitchen remained, and Elaine picked the tiniest cupboard and verified she fitted. She set all her pots and other clothes on her cut mattress with a letter stating she had fled and covered it as if she was napping. A perfect plan.

At eight, Elaine bunned her hair with the pink ribbons to make the inevitable wrestle safer, entered the tiny cupboard with her elephant, and shut the door. Elle, she named the plush that would hold sentimental value to Lynette. Then the endless, monotonous wait began, until Mr. DuBois and the fun arrived.


"Click," Lynette's lock said forty minutes later. "Crack," the door replied, and Elaine detected two sets of feet marching in.

"Lynette, where are thou?" Mr. DuBois said. "We're retrieving you. Page 213 of your contract states you're obliged to work, and failure to appear results in me having to provide a new home. I won't hurt you, only fulfill our contractual obligations."

Elaine smiled, hugging her plush, and regulated her breath to remain as mute as possible. Mr. DuBois and his companion, Miss Silverman, explored the room and reflected on its coldness, dirtiness, and primitivity. They discovered the fake body and read the note aloud, chuckling. The closet was proven empty, and Mr. DuBois cracked the bathroom door Elaine had locked from the outside.

"She's gone Benjamin, we should head homeward. There's nothing valuable," Miss Silverman spoke.

"Nah, Lynette wouldn't forget her clothes, water bottle, and food," Mr. DuBois answered, and Elaine heard him opening the broken fridge. No damsel there, but light pierced her cupboard next. She sat still and silent, childlessly hoping her client would overlook her.

"Lynette, good morning. There're two routes: easy and hard. Both are fine by me, so whatever you fancy."

"Go away, leave," Elaine whined. "Tear that pitiful, illegal contract apart. I'm out."

"So, the hard route," Mr. DuBois declared, clutching her hips and tugging her out, minding her head. She clasped the cupboard's ledge, cautious of the hinges, and a brawl erupted as Elaine judged it odd not to yell for help. She cursed, groaned, and kicked, but kept her voice low. Any unwanted attention from neighbors would be disastrous.

After a minute, the two taller adults pressed Elaine down and thrust a ball-gag between her teeth. This one much bigger than yesterday's, and they began binding her legs together. First, her ankles, cinching them tightly, then under her knees, above them, and her thighs. Her opponents had crushed her arms but now gripped them and forced them behind her. They were tied together, her elbows meeting, with three short ropes, and Elaine's experience told her escaping was futile. But her tie was unfinished as her wrists were bound to her back. Another between her legs made anything else than scratching her buttocks impossible. Her ankles were tied backward in a hogtie till her toes touched her fingers.

Elaine cried in her huge gag, striving to assume Lynette's horror. Mr. DuBois granted no mercy and grinned as he spotted her elephant plush. "That yours? No worries, we'll bring it along. Now let's move, and please quiet until we reach the car."

He spoke the last sentence in character but addressed Elaine, not Lynette. So she only squealed when rushed in a sports bag, but silenced herself when raised. "Good girl," he smirked, opened the door, and lay her on the backseat.

The closing of the car's doors was Elaine's cue to renew her struggles what in her position meant waining in her gag. Her client rushed the bag open, lazed her head on his lap, and caressed it all the to her brand-new home. Here, Miss Silverman left, and Mr. DuBois installed in Elaine on the passenger seat and drove far away. She was sheltered from outside views, but Mr. DuBois could watch her and pat her during slow traffic. Her shoulders and jaws ached from the constant stress and bumpy road, but resisting was fruitless.

An hour later, Mr. DuBois halted in the middle of nowhere, woodlands. He shut his beloved pack, fetched some things from the trunk, and threw Elaine over his shoulder. Whistling, he marched on for fifteen minutes before pausing near a shallow, noisy river. Once more, he opened the sports bag. Now he untied Elaine's hogtie knot, and helped her to stand on it in her remaining restraints. He seized a lengthy, inch-thick rope, attached it to the wrist knot's cinches, and flung it over a branch. Then he trailed it behind her arms and fastened it to her knees so tight she had to balance on her toes.

"Lynette, we got to chat," Mr. DuBois said to a crying Elaine and untied her bun. "First, In your situation, I would remain standing on your toes. Otherwise, you'll dangle in the air, and the few waist ropes will sustain you. Understood?"

Elaine nodded, getting her hair tied in a ponytail with extravagant bows due to the pink ribbons. Mr. DuBois installed a camping chair in front of her, ten feet away, cracked a can of Coke open, and sat down, beaming. "Excellent, business, you can call the mansion your new home. No worries, we'll deal with your apartment and deal with all loose ends. You'll join the company as a bondage model, and earn money to live lavishly. More food, drinks, and wondrous, like-minded friends than you'll ever demand. A fresh start, quality housing, and glorious career. Magnificent, isn't it?"

Elaine, still weeping and in shock, grabbed a moment and shook no.

"C'mon, Lynette, don't be unreasonable. This's your sole chance, and you'll be raped and murdered in an alleyway otherwise. You're attractive, strongwilled, and flexible, so ideal for this job. Please, I've aided you, tolerated your temper and insults, fed you, recognized you as a human being, and now you dare to reject my proposal? Reconsider it, and let's be honest, you've no alternative."

Lynette's unkinky spirit would never accept, so Elaine shook her head again as he sipped from his soda. No additional persuasion attempt followed, so she devised a novel strategy: Prove her stubbornness. Try if her feet could outlast her boss's patience. Let him fight for his damsel.

So an unfair battle erupted. Both gazed ahead, but one sat comfortably and grinned, and the other gagged and furious, felt her crotch-rope. Relieving it would pull her hurting ankles farther up. Yet, Elaine persisted, grasping her mission was hopeless, but utter misery could not be faked. Her client loved her to suffer and display her perseverance, Lynette's disgust, and his own inhumanity.

Only Elaine was a human and had a limit she eventually reached. The stress on her heels was agonizing, and shifting any of her weight to her crotch-rope was tempting. The bag beneath her was slippery, and the pink tights imperiled her further. Ultimately, she errored and dragged her ankles backward. The rope slid over the branch, highering her knees and lowering her body, leaving her swaying above the ground. All her mass rested on her groin, two thick strands between her upper legs.

However, Elaine attempted to hang still and bite through the pain. Mr. DuBois had risen, standing to her side, and embraced her when she bobbed her head. She had failed.

"Impressive, Lynette, welcome to the family. Your determination is praiseworthy. I admire brave, bullheaded maidens. You've deserved lunch at home. Let's go."

He released the thick rope around the branch and strolled to the car in silence, cradling her in his arms. Here he loosened the rope around her elbows, lifted her gag, and secured the trunk, indirectly notifying her to relax, recover, and prepare mentally for the afternoon. More horrors awaited Lynette.

As impressive as always! Elaine is a wonderful character

Great chapter, The relationship between Elaine and her master is superb. It seems to be a real battle of wills.

Tieup1 wrote: 5 years ago Great chapter, The relationship between Elaine and her master is superb. It seems to be a real battle of wills.

Thanks for your comment! Hmm, I wouldn't call mr. DuBois her "master". I am trying to keep this story (a bit) lighhearted and playful, so I avoid too much BDSM jargon. I try to emphasize the ties and their relationship and not focus on the themes of slavery, expected perfection, and sadism. Hence, Elaine is bratty, and not punished/treated as harsh in a your typical "kidnap and put in indefinite slavery" story while her client is considerate, provides freedom to make choices, and puts her in unusual, unrealistic scenarios.

Beaumains wrote: 5 years ago

Tieup1 wrote: 5 years ago Great chapter, The relationship between Elaine and her master is superb. It seems to be a real battle of wills.

Thanks for your comment! Hmm, I wouldn't call mr. DuBois her "master". I am trying to keep this story (a bit) lighhearted and playful, so I avoid too much BDSM jargon. I try to emphasize the ties and their relationship and not focus on the themes of slavery, expected perfection, and sadism. Hence, Elaine is bratty, and not punished/treated as harsh in a your typical "kidnap and put in indefinite slavery" story while her client is considerate, provides freedom to make choices, and puts her in unusual, unrealistic scenarios.

This is a fantastic story, and I'm really looking forward to more

Thanks for your comments! Here is the next chapter:
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"Your new uniform waits here. You have half an hour for lunch, changing, and a toilet visit. From then on, it's a full working day," Mr. DuBois said, closing the door of the back kitchen. Elaine hopped to a wooden chair close to a small folding table. Her wrists were untied, but her legs not as "loosening yourself is good practice for a novice model."

Being too clumsy to free herself could produce an exciting scene, Elaine imagined. The knots were routine and not a barrier stopping anyone, so she freed herself. Next, Elaine ate many steaming hot grilled cheese sandwiches and examined her latest outfit. Her hopes were low, but today's clothes were of high quality, classier, and matched her prior costumes. Bordeaux red tights, a black skirt, and a snow-white blouse with Lynette's name engraved with golden stitching above the breast pocket. A flimsy black tie and Bordeaux blazer were added. The latter also stitched, this time on the back in curly silver lettering: "Lynette, Model In Training."

Elaine liked it, except for the lacking footwear. After emptying her bladder and finishing her lunch, she got dressed. Three long Bordeaux red ribbons were also supplied, and she bound them in her client's favorite ponytail. "Elegant and refined," she called herself, examining herself in her schoolgirl-ish uniform in the bathroom mirror. As a bratty deed, Elaine tangled the ropes and left her old clothes unfolded.

"Gorgeous, Lynette, a million times prettier than those filthy rags. The difference between an A and an A+," Mr. DuBois greeted her in the hallways. He carried a shopper bag that contained five shiny steel cuffs, as thick as Elaine's wrists. Hinges joined the half-circles on one end, and copper padlocks secured them around her wrists, ankles, and neck. He cuffed her wrists and ankles together with heavy chains. Her feet only a foot apart while her navel was the highest place her hands could reach while upright.

Elaine, wearing thirty pounds of needless steel, trailed her boss to more unpleasant surprises in the ballroom. Live-sized framed posters of pretty half-naked girls subdued in striking, exotic poses with various materials covered the walls. Not only rope, tape, and cuffs, but Elaine also spotted ivy, birdcages, and medical restraints. About half were suspended in scenic landscapes while others laid in medieval dungeons or monochrome backgrounds. Yet, what Elaine terrified were four heavy chains fastened to the corners of the ballroom.

"Magnificent photos, aren't they? My dad's favorites, all composed and shot by himself. We removed them to ease you, but I wish their beauty inspires you."

Elaine was stunned, so faking disgust was no problem as she took in her new working conditions. Mr. DuBois invited her to the middle of the room and locked the chains to her oversized steel collar. The sheer weight made it arduous for Elaine to straighten her back. Fifty pounds in total, she estimated, although some rested around ankles.

"Sir, are you serious? Can't you spare me after this morning?" Elaine said, knowing punishment or a gag was more likely then mercy. "Please, be kind. I'll behave well."

"No, Lynette, you need training. A bondage model needs bondage experience. In a week, you'll reminisce about these trivial chores."

"I beg you, Sir. Please, don't," Elaine sought, but Mr. DuBois buckled and locked a cubic iron cage over her head, forcing a ring gag in her mouth. He led her hair through one hole, to maintain a ponytail. She had been timid while he secured the cuffs in gratitude for the clothes, but Lynette would detest this.

"Lynette, trust me. I granted you this wonderful opportunity. Grab it. Relish it," Mr. DuBois said, wrapping a bracelet around Elaine's elbow. "This is a crisis button for emergencies. Only genuine dangers, so abuse is punished. I'm off doing other work, but Miss Silverman examines you using CCTV, so fulfill your duties. Now start working."

Elaine nodded, letting a tear roll over her caged cheek. She stared at her departing boss, who shut the door, and she searched the room for cameras, spotting two. Having no other pastime, she plucked the first photo from the floor and sighed. It featured a petite girl taped on top of a jeep's hood, drifting through muddy pools. With much effort, she rose and stumbled to the list of the models' real names as her cuffs restricted her movement. Elaine grasped that her spine and neck would take the hardest hits.


As the minutes dragged on, Elaine realized this task was the most dreadful so far. Tedious, dire, pointless, and taxing were among the non-curse words that pierced her mind. Sweat dribbled over her spine as the constant squatting wearied her. Yet, her surroundings never ceased to amaze her as the unblindfolded posters marked every step of their future colleague. Almost inspiring her, showing she was not alone, and if they could speak and wore no gags, encourage her.

Lynette had endured many lows in the past days, but this afternoon was rock-bottom. The weighty bounds and monotonous job drew Elaine's energy from her body and soul. At first, the images had been amusing, starring often exciting and unique bondage. Now they brought little joy, and the posters lost their magic too. Their playful, seldom frightful eyes stood still, not troubled by the weeping girl.

Miss Silverman visited Elaine every half an hour, scolding her when she lazed and praising and comforting her otherwise. She was firm but gave Elaine the well-needed hug or pat on the back. After two hours, seeing her distress, the lady swapped her handcuffs for regular light ones and her collar for a leather one.

"I believe in you, only one more hour," Miss Silverman said, leaving Elaine in tears. Her agony and unfocused brain made working any longer useless, and she hallucinated more than sorted pictures. She tried to lay down and rest, but her head-cage pressed her neck. As Mr. DuBois walked in with his camera, she nearly pushed the emergency button. Her limit was reached.

"Lynette, you okay? You look awful," he said, removing her gag, cage, and the chains to her collar. He let her drink, eat a banana, and weep for a minute in his arms. "Dinner is in fifteen minutes, and I fancied to photograph your labor. Can you assist me?"

Elaine nodded. A fuss minutes before dinner seemed a mistake. Let her boss enjoy her misery. For aesthetic purposes, he traded her lightweight cuffs for the steel ones, and the chains locked around her neck. "Just pretend to work and ignore me."

Elaine grinned behind her gag, picking up a photo as her client dartled around her with his flashing camera, shouting commands.

"To the right!"

"Look hopeless!"

"Happy!"

"Jump up!"

"Test the reach of the chains!"

Elaine complied, playing more of a damsel than Lynette. She had fun, interaction, and the knowledge this only lasted for a few minutes. Her joints hurt, and tears flooded her face, so the cheerful, relaxed orders were impossible to meet for Elaine, let alone Lynette. She panted, gasped, squealed in her gag, attacked her bounds, and showed her despair while eyeing furious and terrified at the camera.

"Incredible, Lynette, absolutely phenomenal. Few girls possess your looks, talents, and attitude. No need to cry, it's all right. You're safe," Mr. DuBois said, embracing her after freeing her. "Let's get dinner. You're hungry and tired."


Elaine dined alone in the kitchen as Isolde served Mr. DuBois and Miss Silverman as a waitress. She wore her maid's costume, today with flimsy thin white cuffs linking her wrists and ankles. While Elaine narrated how her boss invaded her home, abducted her, tied her up until she yielded. Isolde got kinder and let Elaine ate in peace. Maybe she was instructed or realized Lynette was truthful as Isabelle stayed in character.

"Sir wants you to shower. You have another photoshoot tonight," Isolde said, guiding Elaine in the basement. She directed Elaine into a two-feet high tunnel, ending in a tiny chamber, stretching three feet in each dimension. She knelt forward on the white marble with openings between them. The room was barren other than a green button, saying "next step."

"Step 1: Strip of your all clothes," a computer-generated voice stated as the opening automatically closed. Elaine complied and stored her garments in a container under her. She pushed the bottom to proceed.

"Step 2: Soap yourself," the voice said as a dollop of shampoo was dumped on her head.

"Step 3: Shower for twenty minutes," the computer resumed as Elaine advanced.

"No!" she shouted as long, hot showers were an uncommon reward. "This won't be pleasant or charming," she mused as cold, undodgeable water jets emerged from all holes, top and bottom included. Their heat, power, direction, and volume changed as time crept on, so Elaine, shivering and trembling, could never protect certain body parts. The voice prompted the remaining time every minute and played festive jazz.

Elaine had to endure and accept the washing that cleansed her sweaty body. Rare temperate jets warmed her, and the fourth step was drying, which basically meant blow-dryers from every direction. Weirdly, the hellish washing method and tasty meal provided her with fresh energy.

"My client has money and creativity," she reflected, extracting her new clothes from a box in the wall. Short grey cotton pajama pants and a matching sleeveless top with woolen, knee-long, white socks. She dressed and spotted a note amid the socks:

Elaine,
I'm impressed by your perseverance and boldness. We surveyed your abilities today, and you surpassed our expectations.
I hope you maintain this level and keep surprising, resisting, and loathing us. Despise bondage and search for freedom.
You're amazing!
Mr. DuBois.

Another superbly written chapter, this story is very enjoyable.

Tieup1 wrote: 5 years ago Another superbly written chapter, this story is very enjoyable.

Thanks a lot!

------------------------------------------------------

“Lynette, excellent. You see, no reason to be stressed out about a straitjacket,” Mr. DuBois smiled, photographing Elaine in the attic’s photo studio. She wore a plain white straitjacket over her gray pajamas and assumed the ordered poses on a black fabric sofa. “Climb around, see what positions you can reach.”

“Okay, like this?” Elaine asked, lying upside down on her back with her feet hanging over the backrest and her head sticking over the seat. She gazed to a beaming Mr. DuBois, not into the camera, trying to match his fantasies.

After her shower, Isabelle, still cuffed, had handed her a phone, and Geraint had sought her to oppose him and cry less. “Lynette knows she’s stuck. You should balance between not enraging him and evading bondage. He’ll punish, so accept the lighter bonds and tasks,” Geraint had declared as Isabelle applied natural make-up for the photo-shoot.

“Roll around. Legs in the air, but careful. Don’t trip again,” Mr. DuBois said, flashing the camera twenty or so times. He reminded her about her not-so-accidental stumble during her first awkward strut in the straitjacket. He had caught her clumsily and had not scolded her, telling Elaine to be more receptive, proactive, and open-minded. Lynette’s sole hope for a decent night: Deal with this profanity and rest afterward.

Still, she acted restless by tensing muscles, smiling unnaturally, and sometimes panting. She loved darting around semi-bounded, and messing with a client sweetened it. The unprofessional model blundered, and Elaine doubted he shot any majestic pictures.

“A minute more, so grant me your lovely laugh. Then we will proceed to the next stage.”

“What’s that?” Elaine asked, lying on the couch with her heels touching her buttocks. “A decor change?”

Mr. DuBois chuckled, stepping forward for close-ups of Elaine’s face and messy hair. “No, no, we remain here. I’ll only sugarcoat your lovely appearance.”

Elaine read the euphemism but played dumb, smirking at the camera until Mr. DuBois fetched a pitch-black ball-gag.

“Eh, Sir, is that necessary?”

“Lynette, it is. Open your mouth.”

Elaine fought to the other side of the couch, leaving Mr. DuBois silent. “Sir, can we talk first?”

“What’s up? This gag isn’t enormous.”

“Sir, I mean no offense, but can you be friendlier? I grasp you won’t let me leave, but please, I ain’t no rag doll. If you’re kinder, I cooperate better, stand my awful life, tolerate these painful, sick restraints, and could smile again.”

Mr. DuBois grabbed his girl, sat down, and seated her on his lap to demonstrate his control. “Lynette, that’s perfectly fair, but you’re my bondage model, so you’ll be bound, with or without your approval.”

“I know, Sir, but state for how long, check if I’m doing fine, and describe what’s next. This afternoon was scary. I was alone and in pain. If you won’t shoot me already. I won’t survive this for a week, let alone a year or my entire life. Treat me like a fellow human being. A friend.”

“Hmm, we can arrange something. This shoot takes at least two hours more as I’ll bind your legs and blindfold you. Nothing extreme. Okay? Now open up. If anything’s wrong, shake vigorously, and I’ll examine you.”

Elaine nodded, accepted her gag, and let Mr. DuBois stroke her and call her a “good girl.” From now on, she cooperated within Lynette’s realm of capabilities, gazed at the camera, and eased her muscles. She made a few minor errors, not understanding certain poses and slipping away, but nothing Lynette would do intentionally. Mr. DuBois was even more generous lauding her than before, cleaned the drool from her face, and probed her from time to time. Elaine always nodded, showing Lynette permitted consensual bondage as her client would slip back into old habits.

He tied her legs together, hogtied her, used a spreader bar, and frog-tied her blindfolded. He explained what he was doing, naming ties, and how she had to struggle. Elaine pretended to hear this for the first time and allowed all, enjoying the absurd situation. He seemed delighted, laughed at her tiny slips, and appreciated when Elaine tried to create a decent picture by lying tranquil.


“Lynette, these photos are astonishing. You should be proud. It’s bedtime. Follow me downward,” Mr. DuBois said after tying Elaine up, repositioning her, and asking to behave in specific ways for three hours.

“Can’t you release me, Sir?” Elaine, only held in the straitjacket, said. “The stairs seem tricky.”

Mr. DuBois spun around, lowering himself to her eye-level. “You mentioned hating your life and me murdering you, Lynette, so for safety reasons, you stay tied tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir, but don’t get offended if I’m fatigued tomorrow.”

“After today? You look dead-tired already. You would fall asleep hanging upside down 200 feet above a cliff,” he replied, daring Elaine. “There’s an emergency button in the bedroom to wake me. Isolde will prepare you for bed, so I wish you a good night.”

In a white limestone bathroom, Isabelle brushed her teeth and detailed tonight’s events. She, as customary, would share a bed with their client in a sleeping bag while Elaine would split a room with Madeleine. “She’s Mr. DuBois’s daughter, so no damsel but plays a captive here too. So stay in character. That sounds creepy, but this rich, kinky family perfectly understands their limits. We only spice things further up.”

Elaine agreed, washed her mouth with water, and shared her plan to wake their client. Isabelle offered to tie her tighter and get herself in trouble. As such, she joined Elaine’s legs together in the 10 feet by 10 feet bedroom next to the crazy shower. One mattress covered the floor, and its ceiling was low too. Only three feet. A fine-meshed roster hung two feet above the ground, lowering its height even further. Four bright fluorescent tubes provided the light, forming an insane asylum styled chamber.

Isolde tightened the straitjacket’s straps and bound Elaine to the wall opposite of a blindfolded Madeleine. Hence, they could not reach or rescue each other. A couple of knots pressing upon her skin stung, but Isabelle tied them as a present. She denied Lynette a pillow and blanket, mocked her elephant plush Elle, and left, warning her as usual such that Madeleine could barely hear them. Elaine gazed into the lamps to halt her melatonin production and let her mate rest for an hour after the lights shut off. She controlled the emergency button, and thus would also fall victim to a miserable night.

“Madeleine, is that you?” Elaine asked. “This stings. Are you coping?”

No response. Madeleine either slept or ignored her.

“Please, I can’t stand this. My shoulders hurt so much. Can you release me?” Elaine whined, louder and sounding desperate. She continued for a minute before finally obtaining an answer.

“Are you Lynette? Get sleeping.”

“I’m trying,” Elaine responded, wishing Madeleine would assist her staying awake. She was weary and had problems keeping her eyes open. “But this bloody straitjacket hurts. Those ropes cut. How could someone ever doze off?”

In her middle and high school years, sleeping tied up was common practice at Elaine’s home. She and her older brother seldom slept freely, and her parents made no secret their bedroom had been built for bondage. In her two years at SPLENDID, little changed. Only less comfy mattresses, temperatures, clothes, and other means to retain consciousness. The methods were more intense. Elaine had slept among snakes and hyperactive kittens, on floaties in a pool, in a buried coffin, and while others watched up close and murmured. All while bound. So an innocent straitjacket with her feet fixed was no matter of concern.

“Please, Madeleine, what’s your secret. How do you manage?”

“Lynette, or whatever your real name is, shut up,” Madeleine said, annoyed after half an hour of complaints. “Cut your act. Sleep. This isn’t funny anymore.”

Madeleine breaking character caught Elaine off-guard. Yet, she continued pestering her, not exposing her plan. After twenty minutes of Madeleine ignoring the damsel, Elaine urged her to push the emergency button.

“Oh, that’s your end game,” Madeleine said, figuring out Elaine’s scheme. She pressed, not desiring to deal with her any longer. Mr. DuBois arrived five minutes later in silky blue pajamas, soothed Elaine, and freed her. He did mention the tightened straps or extra knots around her knees but massages her legs and shoulders. Elaine had expected more difficulties but assumed he also disliked this stunt as he let her to his room. He was exhausted too.

“Lynette, a cage is more pleasant than a straitjacket. If you keep complaining and whining, you end up isolated in something far worse. I advise not to test my tolerance. Understood?”

Elaine nodded, knowing tonight’s fun was over. He opened the cage in front of his bed, large enough for her to laze in rolled up, hugged her, and handed her Elle. “Sleep well. I started too optimistic,” he said, locking the door behind her and crawling back next to Isolde, mummified in thick latex.

Elaine wrapped herself in her new blanket, forgot about the thin mattress underneath her, and celebrated quietly that her plan had worked. Her client had been a little irritated but not angry, realizing his damsel was his all day. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Wow, you have been busy. Nice addition to the story, a few little errors in the end...

slackywacky wrote: 5 years ago Wow, you have been busy. Nice addition to the story, a few little errors in the end...

Thanks! I hopefully fixed them.

Another good continuation, very interesting story.

Tieup1 wrote: 5 years ago Another good continuation, very interesting story.

Thanks for your comment, and I'm glad you like it.
-------------------------------
Elaine awoke and heard ominous sounds around her: “Click… click...” She opened her eyes, and Mr. DuBois, in casual business attire, darted around her, flaring her with his fancy expansive camera.

“Sorry, Lynette, your cuteness and purity overwhelmed me. You and your plush are adorable together. Smile!”

Elaine looked fuzzy, recalling she had slept caged. A ghastly fashion to rise, but SPLENDID had prepared her well. A python creeping over her belly had woken her in a spread-eagle, as had bidders during her internship auction. Her current situation reminded of the latter: Excited men had stared at the sleeping maiden.

But before words could pass her dry lips, Mr. DuBois spoke again. “It’s nine already. You overslept, so your workday already started. Eat your breakfast and ignore me.”

Mr. DuBois resumed photographing his damsel as she spotted a bowl of cereal, two slices of toast, and a huge glass of orange juice on a tray and yielded. She grasped the glass that did not fit through her cage’s vertical bars. With a hand around a bar and her cheeks pressed against the cage, she sipped, marking her client in disgust. He had kneeled before her and kept the camera two feet from her nose.

“Can you stop that!” Elaine emitted. She put the glass down, grabbed a piece of toast, and rolled herself in her blanket.

“C’mon Lynette, show yourself. Nothing wrong with spilling some breadcrumbs, no make-up, or messy hair. You just woke up and are magnificent. Come here. Don’t fear the camera.”

Elaine took a bite under her blanket. “No way! Any idea how awkward you make me feel?”

“Behave, Lynette, and manners. This is your job and life now. Get used to the spotlight and lack of privacy. Last warning.”

Elaine sighed, tossed the blanket aside, and devoured her cold toast. Her client had won this battle, but his victory would be Pyrrhic: She let a tear and stared away, miserable and defeated with her eyebrows and corners of her mouth pointing downwards. No spark of joy adorned her weary face.

The cereal bowl was also too broad for the bars, and Mr. DuBois dictated her to lie flat and curl her feet backward. Elaine complied and pushed the cereal through her gullet while smacking as she gawked into the bowl.

“Lynette, look up and wipe that milk off with your tongue,” Mr. DuBois said, patting her head as she obeyed. He seized a couple of mini muffins and donuts on strings and bound them to the cage’s top bars. “No hands, afterward I’ll let you go and shower.”

“Sir, I’m full already.”

“Eat them. You’ll need the energy.”

“Then give them.”

“Lynette, you fancy another night in a straitjacket? Maybe gagged and without emergency button?”

Elaine caved, brought her head up, and tilted it backward. She pulled herself up, and her teeth seized a mini donut, crumbling it on her face. She gazed into the camera above her, which flashed her as she took her last bite.

“Gorgeous, Lynette! Another one,” Mr. DuBois encouraged, and Elaine snapped the next rapidly, butting her head but denying a good picture. He was unamused and urged her to slow down. After the sweet snacks, a satisfied client released Elaine from her cage and escorted her to the tunnel leading into the basement shower. “I want braided pigtails today and a little make-up, nothing excessive.”


Half an hour later, Miss Silverman escorted Elaine upstairs to the ballroom. Her hair was braided in the required pigtails, and subtle conditioner, foundation, and mascara brought life to her face. Her outfit resembled her previous ones: Scarlet tights, a black skirt, and a Venetian red blouse. All clean and smelling like roses.

“Lynette, good morning! Ready to work, darling?” Mr. DuBois greeted, waving Elaine toward him as she inspected the remodeled room. She had suspected a less strict predicament than yesterday, not envisioning any graver working conditions. However, the name lists were taped on the edges of the ballroom floor, and the photos were in plastic sleeves. The portraits of tied up women in bondage still covered the walls. Bad news. Elaine approached her client while examining her surroundings and assumed the standard position.

“Good girl,” Mr. DuBois purred, rising from his office chair. “You require bondage practice, so today we’ll compromise on your productivity to familiarize you with restraints. Please ball your hands into fists.”

Elaine complied, and black rubber balls were locked onto her fists, doubling their diameter. Dense elbow and knee pads followed, and Mr. DuBois directed Elaine to stand as if she was crouching with her heels touching her bottom. She understood her boss’ plan as he revealed a roll of red tape, made a futile objection, and let him secure her ankles to her upper legs. He used more than the necessary five strips and covered her whole leg, but kept her skirt free to dangle. She gazed through her legs and saw a solid pack of red plastic.

“But, but how do I walk? How can I pick the pictures up?” Elaine exclaimed, waiting for the inevitable, logical explanation.

“Oh, Lynette, no worries. You should waste no precious time over-analyzing everything. Simply follow my orders and trust me. Bigger, less flexible, less fit ladies have walked miles in such restraints, so they should form no problem for you. The photos are in plastic, so you can harmlessly carry them in your mouth. If you date one, lay it on my lap, and I’ll archive it. Okay? Now sit still.”

Mr. DuBois added a few bright red ribbons, black bows, and little bells to her braids and tucked them over her shoulder. Then he buckled black leather horse blinders around her head and under her chin. Four tiny bells hanging under her collar finalized his creation. He smiled broadly, patted her head, and ordered her to work, and Elaine wiggled to the pile of photos with her long braids sliding over the dusty floor.

The thick, soft cushions of the knee-pads made walking on her knee-pads viable. SPLENDID had trained her to walk like an animal with a lowered horse exerciser, treadmills, and staircases. Endurance, speed, elegance, and crossing obstacles were the principal training goals, so the flat ballroom was within Elaine’s qualifications. Yet, the sheer humiliation of her position, outfit, bells, and task had reached Lynette’s, and thus Elaine’s soul.

The first photo faced upward and featured two kissing girls suspended upside down in a heart shape, and Elaine clasped it in her mouth. She tippled to lists of model names, dropped the photo, and read the models’ names: Bernadette Ballworth and Aria Airborne. She sighed, vaguely recognizing them. Not very helpful as each page of the fifty-page document was taped to the floor in one long row. Elaine lowered her head to read the tiny lettering, careful not to tear the pages with her mittened hands. Bernadine Balmer caught her off-guard for a second before she moved to the next page.

This lame, monotonous chore lasted as Elaine had to check all pages. Although filed alphabetically, the tables were not in chronological order. Mr. DuBois “worked” on his laptop and policed her, so she had to remember the correct years. An error would be detected, but the neverending clattering bells disrupted her concentration. But against all odds, Elaine succeeded. She returned to her boss, appreciating her knees’ and feet’s flexibility now she felt as if logs carried her weight. “1997, Sir,” she whispered and released the photo on his lap and spun around.

“Not so hasty, Lynette,” Mr. DuBois said, seizing her middle and setting her on her knees. “Don’t disregard your achievements. Grab a biscuit.”

He offered a bewildered Elaine a modest, dry cookie on his palm. “Eh, thanks, Sir. Do you desire me to lick that up?”

“Eh, yeah, it’s okay,” Mr. DuBois answered with trembling fingers. Elaine slowly picked the biscuit up while fixing her eyes on his, sensing his discomfort. Then she whirled around and wagged away to fetch a new photo while suppressing her grin.

Elaine had spied an opportunity. A weakness from her client to explore. Every time she earned a biscuit, she asked stupid, embarrassing questions.

“So, eh, like a dog?”

“You fine? I spilled some saliva.”

“Genuinely, does this brighten your day? Or what was the true highlight?”

The slow, evading, shaky replies, commanding Lynette to work and quiet, told Elaine she had hit a nerve. He paced around, sometimes left, and avoided eye-contact with his weeping damsel. Moral objections to such gruff treatment, Elaine deduced, matching his tenderness. Many held extreme, violent fantasies to abuse their damsel, but compassion and goodwill often overrode these passions in real life. They could not let their lady suffer, be in pain, or watch her cry, and then a more moderate plan was developed.

Mr. DuBois abandoned the ballroom, gazing at his phone, and Isolde replaced him. Again as a French maid, but without cuffs and with knee-long white boots and a steel baseball bat. “Lynette, I’m in charge. I demand results. Stop looking. Work. NOW!”

Elaine turned to the long tables of riggers as Isolde stood behind her, waiting for a moment Elaine wasted. That occurred, resulting in a soft bat correction against her midriff. “Work, Lynette. Food ain’t free.”

“Stop Isolde! Don’t hurt me,” Lynette hissed back. According to the protocol, her client and Geraint watched the CCTV, judging whether to pursue the ruthless kidnapper path. Isolde fulfilled his role and showed little mercy to the pitiable damsel.

“Faster Lynette, my grandma outpaces you. Useless whore,” Isolde scolded, pushing Eline over on her side, laughed, and fetched the roll of tape. “You won’t obey, poor lass, so I’ll generate motivation for you.”

Isolde taped Elaine’s wrists to her upper arms, complicating her movements even further. She slapped her butt, urging her to move as tears flood over Elaine’s face. Isolde banned speaking, and after deciphering the correct year, she tossed her biscuit on the floor. “Lick your reward up. Quick!”

Soon later, Miss Silverman came in, asking Isolde to bring Lynette to the utility basement. Mr. Du Bois had made his mind up.

Such a beautifully realise tale, this is one of my go to stories. Cannot wait for the next episode.

This tale is amazing - the concept so different from many others, Elaine is such an sdorable chsracter!

wolfman wrote: 5 years ago Such a beautifully realise tale, this is one of my go to stories. Cannot wait for the next episode.

Caesar73 wrote: 5 years ago This tale is amazing - the concept so different from many others, Elaine is such an sdorable chsracter!

Thanks a lot for commenting! As I said in the beginning, this is a bit experimental, so I'm glad you comment. Then I know at least someone appreciates my weird fantasies/thoughts.

I wanted to write a unique, reluctant or non-consenual D/s like story, but found too little freedom. The plot got too serious and not lighhearted/playful. The personalities were also standard: the sub is either always afraid/crying and slowly developing Stockholm syndrome while the dom is ruthless or maybe a bit tender/caring. The dom creates the action, and the tension is created by the sub's fear and lack of knowledge about what happens next. The sub is forced to obey, otherwise the dom looks weak, and gradually more and more extreme scenes are necessary to keep the sub scared. So the dom carries the plot and the sub's emotions don't matter, creating dull dialogue and a dom, who needs reason to keep creating interesting scenes, bully his sub, and literally ruin the sub's life for their own lusts. Not really my style.

To solve this, I wanted to add brattiness, extravagant ties/costumes, and some sort of extra layer for the sub to criticize the absurdness without making her disobedient/ruining the atmosphere. Now Elaine fights her client, creating dialogue and let them build their story together. Her training enables me not to use constant hyperboles for her emotions while her dom is no over the top psychopath, but human and also trying to find the correct dynamic. It's far from perfect, but I'm glad it seems to work out decently.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the concept underlying the story. Till now you avoided the problems you refer to above nicely. And so far the basic idea carries the story very good. The Idea of Elaine working for an agency which fullfills the special wishs of its clients is the heart and soul of your concept. As far as I can tell, this idea is pretty unique.

This has been a great story, well thought out, and well written. The content and length of each chapter, is just right. Well done.

Beaumains wrote: 5 years ago

wolfman wrote: 5 years ago Such a beautifully realise tale, this is one of my go to stories. Cannot wait for the next episode.

Caesar73 wrote: 5 years ago This tale is amazing - the concept so different from many others, Elaine is such an sdorable chsracter!

Thanks a lot for commenting! As I said in the beginning, this is a bit experimental, so I'm glad you comment. Then I know at least someone appreciates my weird fantasies/thoughts.

I wanted to write a unique, reluctant or non-consenual D/s like story, but found too little freedom. The plot got too serious and not lighhearted/playful. The personalities were also standard: the sub is either always afraid/crying and slowly developing Stockholm syndrome while the dom is ruthless or maybe a bit tender/caring. The dom creates the action, and the tension is created by the sub's fear and lack of knowledge about what happens next. The sub is forced to obey, otherwise the dom looks weak, and gradually more and more extreme scenes are necessary to keep the sub scared. So the dom carries the plot and the sub's emotions don't matter, creating dull dialogue and a dom, who needs reason to keep creating interesting scenes, bully his sub, and literally ruin the sub's life for their own lusts. Not really my style.

To solve this, I wanted to add brattiness, extravagant ties/costumes, and some sort of extra layer for the sub to criticize the absurdness without making her disobedient/ruining the atmosphere. Now Elaine fights her client, creating dialogue and let them build their story together. Her training enables me not to use constant hyperboles for her emotions while her dom is no over the top psychopath, but human and also trying to find the correct dynamic. It's far from perfect, but I'm glad it seems to work out decently.

Never been a fan of a stories with damsels who are held and tortured against their will, or who are otherwise genuinely hating the predicament they are in. The site is called Stories of Tie up Games after all. Torture isn't a game. This story has an incredibly interesting dynamic because on one side, you do have a damsel that strongly dislikes their predicament and doesn't want to be there, but it's all the act of someone who loves it, which makes the whole storyline so much more playful/easier to swallow than if "Lynette" was the sole persona. I think it's an absolutely genius idea.