Stories of Tie Up Games

Nobody understands how such place can remain open for so long. The store owned by the endearing Mr. Hopkins is a mess of scattered jewels with prices written in black marker, most of them lack a box or anything that would resemble suitable packaging for the precious goods. It is rare that you will find the shopfront clean, the lightly-stained glass panes appear dusty. But somehow the business manages to stay afloat, perhaps thanks to the calm demeanor of the clerk. Perhaps it’s thanks to the charisma of the old man that their clients keep coming back. But customers inside the store are a rare sight, one would imagine that a place like this in a seedy part of town would draw the attention of criminals and people desperate for quick cash alike. Every day the owner proudly raises the shop shutter, at exactly 10:30. His punctuality is seldom shared by his assistant, who has developed a tendency of showing up later in the morning. Their difference in age would make one think this was a business ran by father and son, the assistant is paying his way through college by taking as many jobs as he can handle. Work is slow, each and every single day. Only a few customers of questionable intentions come to pawn their jewels for a quick buck. In spite of it, the shop manages to bring new jewelry to the shopfront almost every week. On Wednesdays, the clerk makes a vague effort in cleaning the tops of the showcase, and carefully places newly acquired pieces of precious metals in the store front.

For Amanda the sight is always the same. As she rides to work every morning her car passes in front of the store, shutters down. Her sight of 40 years of age is too fixated on the road ahead to notice how vandalized the metal shutter is. In fact she is very uninterested in looking at those streets, the store lays on a long avenue where every single commerce looks as irrelevant as the one next to it. The kind of place a woman like Amanda would not be caught dead in, the realtor displays a confident elegance even behind the steering wheel. Her job requires her to be at may different places during the same day, the list of properties to show customers is the guide of the work week. She stares at her notebook, her eyes behind the slight shade of a pair of glasses. The car mirrors reflect the cleanness of her work attire, carbon black blazer and silk blouse. The car is her best friend, she spends a considerable amount of time on the road as her house is also her office.

Right before sundown, Amanda’s SUV makes its way down the driveway. She lives in the kind of place one would imagine belongs to a realtor, a residential area where every house is an exact carbon copy of the next one. Perhaps it is too big of a house for somebody who lives alone, with two floors, a garage and a myriad of differently sized rooms. The most prominent being her bedroom, as spacious and diaphanous as they come, with a walk-in closet and a bathroom that would better fit inside a Vegas hotel room. Right outside of Amanda’s bedroom lies the flight of stairs leading down the living room. White walls and decoration make the inside space seem the more luminous during the day, the carpeted floor extends to every corner of a house rich in glass decorations. Amanda has no problem leaving her car in the driveway, the neighborhood is rather safe and the houses are not too spread apart. While she might not talk too much to her neighbors, she sees them every time she comes back from work. And just like that after a long day of showcasing properties to potential customers and taking pictures for the webpage, Amanda steps out of her vehicle and into her house. Not before kindly waving back at Ms. Williams, the old lady next door. The day has been inconsequential at best, the realtor removes her high heeled shoes and goes straight to the kitchen to grab a quick bite. In no time she’s watching television, her favorite show is on. Amanda likes to be home at the same hours, as to catch the show every night, it also helps her with her sleep. As big as a bedroom she has, it is a common occurrence for her to fall sleep on the couch. Such is the case tonight, with the television still playing in the background and the low sounds coming out of it Amanda drifts into a deep slumber.

Seven o’clock in the morning, the sound of an alarm going off in the upper floor is enough to wake up the realtor. She quickly checks her phone and makes her way up the stairs, undressing and stepping into the shower. The bathroom quickly fills with a fine mist as the hot water runs down the body of the 40 year old. It does not take her long to dress up, for her outfit is always the same every day: carbon black blazer and fitting skirt, white blouse, black heels and sheer nude pantyhose. With that, Amanda has plenty of time to have breakfast while the radio plays in the background. Daylight peeks through the windows of the house, the realtor dips a muffin inside her black coffee. Her glasses rest atop the kitchen counter, right next to the cup saucer. Amanda grabs her car keys, puts her glasses on and makes a quick inspection around the house, making sure that no lights have been left on. She steps confidently inside the garage, the sound of the heels reverberate on the walls and the metallic garage door. Without carrying too much importance, the realtor pushes the green button. The gears begin to turn, the garage door slowly begins to open with an electrical sound. With the door not halfway open, Amanda notices two figures waiting behind it. There appears to be somebody on the driveway. With no time to react, the figures come close to the garage door and sneak inside. Amanda freezes, her heart sinks at the sight of two men dressed in black, their identities concealed behind a ski mask. The masked assailants approach the realtor with pace, time seems to run all too quick as Amanda is grabbed from behind by the taller assailant. The realtor’s screams are quickly cut by the gloved hand of the miscreant. With a firm grip on her, Amanda tries her best to draw the attention to herself, but her every screaming attempt is muffled by her assailant’s hand. The remaining man grabs her by the legs, hoisting them in the air. The realtor offers resistance by trying to wiggle loose of the assailant’s grip, but that only results in one of her heels falling to the floor. The masked men carry the realtor inside the house, and upstairs into the living room area. Amanda is still shocked and in visible confusion, her force is no match for the burglars, it is in Amanda’s best hopes that maybe one of their neighbors is aware of what’s happening inside the house. She has other things to worry about though, for even with her arms free she cannot break free of her captors. The burglars carry the realtor to the comfort of her own bedroom, they toss her body to the floor. The same masked man that grabbed her from behind in the garage now pins her to the floor, and locks both of her wrists behind her back. Amanda’s face is pushed to the carpeted floor, as she now feels pressure being exacted into her bare hands. The other assailant hands him a bundle of black rope, he quickly begins feeding it through the realtor’s wrists, cinching them tighter with every turn. Amanda fights the irresistible force to no avail, it is all happening too quickly for now her hands are secured tight behind her back. The intruders take out another bundle of black rope and begin to secure Amanda’s legs together. It takes the strength of both burglars to subdue the ever-growing struggling of the realtor, like a fish out of water she refuses to give in. While of the masked men hold her ankles together, the other coils the rope bringing them closer together until it’s tight enough for Amanda’s struggles to cease. The realtor’s face grows red in utter shame and anger, the more she struggles the tighter the predicament becomes. As she tries to wiggle free, more rope is applied to her upper body further straining her movement. Only a single bundle of rope remains inside the burglar’s duffle bag, it is quickly cinched between the realtor’s ankles and then fed between her wrists. The masked men pull the rope back and thus a hogtie is completed. The posture is not strict enough to discomfort the realtor, but the sole nature of her predicament is enough to provoke anguish in the now helpless Amanda. One of the assailants steps inside the walk-in closet, the other reaches inside the duffle bag and takes out a roll of silver tape. In between struggles, the realtor comforts her captors:

“What the hell do you want? I have a lot of money in my purse, please take it and let me go. Please…”

The realtor’s anguished attempt at negotiating only earns her a punishment. With a sharp zipping sound, the tape unrolls and the burglar wraps it carefully around her head, sealing her mouth shut in the act. With every turn of the tape, Amanda’s complains become the more muffled and unintelligible. The burglar makes sure to use a profuse amount of tape before stepping inside the closet to help his partner. Amanda’s look is defiant even in complete helplessness, the anger reads as clear as a book in her eyes. The realtor thrusts from side to side, then stops and wiggles her body attempting every possible motion that might loosen the bonds. But to her misfortune the assailants have done a good job on securing her, and are now about to make a good job at ransacking the house. Through the corner of her eyes, Amanda can see and hear the burglars open her jewelry cases. The duffle bag that only minutes ago contained bundles of rope and duct tape are now being filled with the realtor’s most precious jewels and ornaments. Years and years of hard work to afford the precious stones and jewels are now being taken away from her in a matter of minutes. Swarovski crystals, diamond rings, pearl collars, watches, rings from Tiffany’s are stuffed inside the duffle bags, the burglars are about to snatch the entire collection, with the owner not being able to do a thing. One of the burglars steps outside the closet and grabs Amanda’s purse. He takes all the bills and credit cards and tosses them inside the duffle bag, he leaves Amanda’s ID card on the floor and stuffs the purse itself inside. Amanda shakes her head in denial, wiggling from side to side. As her struggles increase in intensity her remain high heel shoe falls to the ground, exposing her pantyhose clad soles. It serves as a metaphor as to how futile her efforts are so far, the realtor has not made any progress in her bonds during the time the burglars ransacked the house, which now feels like an eternity.

Visibly satisfied with the job, the taller masked man exits the bedroom. Amanda can see him climbing down the stairs, it is unknown to her what additional trophies he might take from her house. The remaining assailant on the other hand, stays vigilant of the realtor. In reality he might as well had helped his partner, for the predicament was so tight it was starting to take a toll in both Amanda’s strength and willingness. The inescapable rope work had drained the realtor’s energies to keep struggling, her frustration now being made apparent by the muffled noises coming from her gag. The masked assailant leaves the bag on the floor and approaches Amanda. His face is hidden behind the balaclava, but he stares directly at the eyes of the helpless captive. Amanda is visibly confused, he pauses for a second. In a quick movement, she turns her body on her side and forcefully removes the silk blouse. The violence of the motion has broken the buttoned shirt, the assailant rips the remaining material intro shreds exposing her brassiere.

LGGMMTT MMMMPGHFF GHHGPPHH! – Amanda screams into her gag, this time much louder than ever before.

Picking up a pair of scissors, the masked man cuts the brassiere in the middle section. The undergarment ceases, exposing her bare breasts. Amanda closes her eyes and flinches as she screams against the gag, in a vague attempt to stop whatever fate she was about to suffer. The masked assailant gently cups her exposed bosoms, massaging them and fondling them. He caresses the underside of the breast, then pinches her nipples as he keeps cupping them in a gentle circular motion. All of the sudden, the taller masked man makes his way up the stairs. He looks at his partner, and in a deep voice confronts him:

“What the hell are you doing? Let’s go now, we don’t have time for that.”

Frustrated but obedient, the other masked man lets go of the helpless realtor, not before pushing her skirt down revealing her undergarments.

“I said GO”

The commanding tone of the voice is more than enough for the miscreant to comply, Amanda by this stage has lost track of time. Satisfied with the bounty, the assailants pick up the duffle bags. Before leaving however, the taller intruder issues his partner a clear command:

“Put her inside the closet.”

Amanda’s eyes open in denial, her muffled complaints becoming the more vocal. No sooner had she started wiggling against her restraints than Amanda’s body was picked up from the floor and stuffed inside the darkness of the closet. The space is now in disarray on account of the ransacking, Amanda gets a final glimpse of her captor before the door slams shut behind him. A thumping noise coming from the closet resounds in the bedroom, the noise would be ignored by the captors, who promptly make their way down the stairs. They leave the house, leaving no traces of their mischievous escapade. A job well done in their books. In spite of their appearance they draw no suspicion, for there are no witnesses to be found in the nearness of Amanda’s house. Meanwhile, poor Amanda remains hogtied inside her own closet. As she moans against the tape sealing her lips, she focuses her energies on squirming free of the merciless rope work. Her ankles tethered to her bound wrists are making a good job of keeping the realtor on the ground, she pushes back on the ropes using all the strength that her 40 old legs allow her. In a similar fashion, Amanda tries to pull her wrists away from the ankles, in contrary motion trying to gain some slack. This proves to be successful, she can feel her ankles and wrists starting to stretch apart, the rope cinching them coming looser by the minute. It is evident that the captors did not give the same attention to the hogtie as they did with the rest of the realtor’s body, it takes Amanda a few attempts before the rope binding her wrists to her ankles comes loose. Amanda knows this is a step in the right direction, but as she continues to test the remaining restraints she realizes it is gonna take more than just strength to break free. As soon as the ankles become untethered to the wrists, Amanda rolls her body first to a side, and finally coming rest with her back against the floor. Even in the darkness of the closet she is able to locate the door handle of the walk-in stance. Wiggling on the floor in a worm-like fashion, the realtor approaches the door finding the necessary momentum to lift her legs up in the darkness. As she does, the soles of her feet rest against the wooden door. She begins sliding them upwards, making sideways adjustments until she can finally feel the cold metal of the door handle. Amanda envelops the door handle using the arches of her feet, but finding a grip proves to be a challenge on account of her pantyhose soles. She can feel the door handle starting to give in, but every time she tries to turn it the pantyhose makes the handle slip away. But Amanda is resilient, she knows it’s the only way out. It takes her more than just a couple of attempts, the elusive handle refuses to open and now becomes a matter of who gives up first: the door handle or the helpless realtor. Gathering enough strength and with just grip, the handle clicks and Amanda kicks it open right before resting her legs on the ground and letting a gasp of relief through her gag.

And so the darkness turned into light, like a glimmer of hope Amanda sees her ransacked bedroom right in from of her. Even in the disarray created by the masked miscreants, the telephone by the bedside table remains untouched. The realtor takes a moment to breathe, the gag makes breathing through her nose the more challenging and left the realtor gasping for air. Once she recomposes herself, she lifts her body up trying to stand upright. She stares at the bedroom, her own room now feels strange, violated almost. But she sees exactly what she was looking for: the telephone on the bedside table along with some of her scattered possessions. The realtor begins to wiggle her body in an almost swinging motion that allows her a slow tedious crawl. She advances slowly, every single inch that she manages to move forwards takes a toll in her stamina and strength. The rope work makes things worse, as some of them have began to tighten around her body. With such a restriction exacted on her body it’s almost a miracle that she’s made it this far. Her breathing becomes heavier with each crawl, halfway through Amanda has broken into a hot sweat that travels downwards from her forehead. But escape is inches away, the realtor knows who to call for help once she gets to the telephone. Amanda crawls, her efforts become more vivid, so much so that the tips of her nylon clad feet have began to run and break. The restraints may haven’t come loose, but they haven’t managed to stop her from crawling to the telephone either. The realtor rests her body against the bedside table, her efforts have rendered her in a state of utter exhaustion. But she is comforted by the knowledge that help is only a call away. She takes the time she needs to recompose herself and control her breathing, by this stage the sweat on her face has fallen to the tip of the tape sealing her lips shut. Amanda begins thrusting her body against the bedside violently, thumping the furniture until eventually the telephone falls the ground beside her. It does, the white telephone now lays on the ground.

But no sound is coming out of it… No dial tone, just complete silence.

To Amanda’s horror, the cables have been cut. It takes her a second to realize the true nature and extent of her predicament, her only means of escaping have been cut through mercilessly. Amanda’s eyes widen, then close shut as she flinches. She lets out a series of unconsolable screams that come out as muffled ramble, the signature of a defeated captive. Amanda sobs uncontrollably as she lets her bound body fall to the ground, there she lays talking against the silver tape. Escape was futile…




A WEEK LATER




The realtor drives to work, like every morning she passes in front of the Jewelry Store as the windows reflect the silhouette of her SUV. But this time it’s different, something draws her attention and it isn’t the seediness of the shopfront. She parks her park on the side walk, steps out of the vehicle and makes a short walk to the store front. Behind the glass panes, neatly arranged lay a series of jewels, precious stones, earrings, collars and rings. All differently sized, all differently shaped, with an incredible variety in make and contour. The quality of the jewelry displayed merits a closer inspection by the realtor. Behind her glasses, her eyes carefully examine the astounding variety of ornaments. Upon closer inspection, looking down on the glass pane right under the display, Amanda sees Swarovski crystals, diamond rings, pearl collars, watches, rings from Tiffany’s. They look familiar, perhaps all too familiar. It quickly dawned on her that this were the exact possessions that stole only a week ago…

She is puzzled, infuriated and confused. Amanda looks to the inside of the shop through the glass, meeting the gaze of the clerk and his assistant. Their silhouettes are also too familiar, one taller than the other and with similar complexion. She identifies them as the masked assailants that ransacked her home. Her face turns pale, her heart sank like a stone thrown in the water. She stares at them defiantly. Both the clerk and the assistant smirk in return, as their shapes return into the shadows of The Jewelry Store…

The Jewelry Store II

Her lonely eyes were like knives across the glass cutting through the gleam and reflections. Irises like diamonds scan the hypnotic qualities of quartz and pearls, emerald and amethyst. Flawless, unblemished pearls inside the display cabinets of the store, isolated from the outside world. The ticking of golden watches as the hour hands hover across the embedded crystals, waiting for a wrist to own. Handsome glossy stones with intriguing matrix, and graceful diaphanous silks not unlike the cut of clothes worn by the intriguing lady on the other side of the glass. The warm lights above cast a golden glow over the seemingly infinite set of jewellery enhancing their craftsmanship, qualities laid bare. Her lonely eyes are induced in a trance that opaques the hassle of people walking by, the soft muzak echoing across the mall cascading from the roof beams.

The store lies empty, with no customers to be seen. It is with the utmost hesitation but enthralling curiosity that she would set foot inside the store. A bell rings as the doors open and the silence is cut by the clacking of her heels as she walked across the marble floor, that Manhattan strut so characteristic to her person. Maya continues to examine the precious stones inside, facing the expository. Finally, a young man emerges from the back end of the store.

“May I help you miss?”

A voice with velvety undertones soothes the ears of the unsuspecting customer, Maya turns around to face the store clerk. Their gazes would have met hadn’t it been for the clerk’s attention to Maya’s black heels, his eyes travelled from her silky legs up to her face revealing her entire ensemble.

“I was examining your great collection.” — she responds after taking a moment
“If you need any help, or would like to try a piece of jewellery let me know” – 

A gentle grin was drawn upon the ragged edges of his face as he turned to polish a set of silver-plated rings. Inside the display cabinets, the pieces were evenly distributed and separated from each other. Most lay resting over a soft black fabric with dark green undertones, and small price tags lined in front of the different items. Maya continued her careful examination of the pieces until a necklace caught her attention. A piece of tantalising quality right before her eyes, a delicate chain made of fine gold that begins and ends on the most divine cut of amethyst her eyes had ever seen. Curves of magnetic proportions and gleams of luscious sights would steal all the looks. Maya could only but picture the piece on her neck and against a black turtleneck, in a matter of seconds, the necklace’s infinite potential flashed before her eyes. With only a thousand dollars separating her from the luscious stone, Maya turned to the clerk asking for assistance.

“Excuse me.” – she raised her voice.

The clerk gently rolled up the fine polishing cloth and rested it neatly right next to the jewels, he walked across the store and stood beside her.

“Yes, Miss?”
“I’d like to try the necklace with the amethyst right there” – she said with her index finger gently pointed towards the marvellous jewel.
“An excellent choice indeed” – the clerk said almost ceremoniously as he drew the small keys from the pocket in his vest.

The small glass door opened and the clerk fetched the ornament, not before cladding his hands with white gloves. With a slow and calculated movement, he approached the woman from behind. Maya grabbed her long hair and pulled it to one side, offering the back of her neck to the clerk and looking at the mirror in front of her. Thus the chain was attached in place, the silver links cascading down until the amethyst came to rest right over her bosom. Maya was in awe of the delicate jewel, her eyes examined it from various angles, and different positions and all of them flattered her. It was as beautiful as she had ever imagined. Meanwhile, the clerk stood right beside her with her hands crossed in front of him.

“What you are looking at madam is a Vintage piece. Made in 1964 by the daughter of a German jeweller, we imported it in a mint condition that has lasted to this day. Your black turtleneck allows the piece to shine on its own, and it looks great in darker shades of colour too. If you are interested in acquiring this piece I should let you know it has a 20% discount.”

Maya pondered this for a minute, a thousand dollars on a single item of jewellery would make a considerable dent in her bank account. However, she was determined to walk out of the store with that necklace and preferably wearing it.

“So that would be 800 dollars in the end?”
“That’s right Miss.”
“Hmmm… I’m not too sure about this.”
“We can also offer you a much more significant discount, which ends tomorrow…”
“How much are we talking about?”

The clerk paused for a second as if he was coming up with an answer on the spot.

“If you let us take promotional pictures of you wearing that necklace for the gram, we’ll give you 75%. 250 dollars and it’s yours.”
“Promotional pictures?”
“That’s right, you just wear the necklace in different poses with that same outfit you’re wearing. It will be like a short modelling session.”
“Hmmm… that’s fine with me I guess. Will it take too long?”
“I won’t hold you on for long.”
“I’ll take it, I don’t think I’m gonna get a better deal than this”

The clerk grinned as he typed the numbers into the machine.

“You’re right, and you’re walking away with a very exclusive jewel. Would you like to pay in cash or by card?…”




Of all things, Maya would have never expected to become an impromptu jewellery model. But there she was, sitting in a poorly lit corner of the storage room awaiting the clerk’s return. To her side, a studio background paper with marks on the floor indicating there have been other models before her. The clerk emerges from the store and turns the lights on. They are considerably brighter than the floor lights inside the store, and all of sudden the dimensions of that menial storage room become apparent to her. The store clerk returns with boxes of camera equipment that he slowly begins to arrange. He tries out a couple of optical lenses before picking one and screwing it into the camera with a discreet clicking sound. In front of the studio tarp Maya finds a tripod already set up for the shots, the clerk fixes the camera on its end screw and points it towards Maya. She inches closer to the studio tarp, making sure the clerk now turned photographer gets a clear shot of the necklace. From her position, Maya cannot see the true qualities of the jewel coming to life in the glow of the bright lights, in a colder shade that brings the astonishing details of the piece even more remarkable. Maya tries different poses before the clerk starts taking the shot. In an instant, the silence of the room is invaded by the unmistakable sound of the shutter opening and closing in a matter of nanoseconds. The clerk seems generous with the shots since he takes photographs of her impromptu model at vertiginous speeds.

“Now cross your arms and tilt your head slightly to one side.” – the tone of his voice remained as calm and as velvety as before.

Maya complies, checking with the clerk. By this point, Maya believes her deed is completed, and that she can finally walk out of that storage room to carry the necklace with pride. The clerk pauses for a second, he opens up one of his boxes seemingly peeping inside, but not drawing any new items in the end. He turns his back to Maya a fetches a stool from his desk, bringing it behind his model.

“Take a seat please.”

Maya complies with a sliver of hesitation, driven by the dreaded sense of someone who doesn’t want to be there. But she is certain that her compliance is part of the deed, the unspoken contract she just signed with a store clerk that was kind enough to come up with a discount just for her. Not unlike before, the clerk presses on the shutter as the complex shadows and lights are trapped in an instant. This time he removes the camera from the tripod and begins to take close-up shots of Maya’s bust decorated with the untimely jewel.

The clerk looks at Maya sitting on the stool and momentarily leaves the camera on the floor. Once again he turns his back to the model and reaches for one of his camera boxes right beside him. This time Maya can see him drawing something from the box, but from her position, she cannot identify it. He turns around revealing the contents, firmly gripping a coil of red rope that has been neatly folded and arranged to avoid them tangling on their own.

“What are you doing with those?” – Maya inquires as she gets up from the stool, only to be shoved back onto it by a gentle push from the clerk.
“Don’t worry about it.”

And worry she did, as the clerk stood behind her and gripped the unsuspecting arms of his model behind her to the point where her limbs were almost parallel to each other. With the same force and a gentle touch, he brings her wrists closer together until they touch, Maya’s body strains in reaction to the position she was being held into. It didn’t take long before the clerk found the end of the coil, and began to feel it through the soft skin around her wrists, cinching them together in the act. The ropes clung to her bare skin like a warm embrace, soon her elbows would suffer the same fate. In a matter of minutes, Maya’s body was straining severely on account of the position of her arms and the strictness with which the rope was coiled on her limbs.

As the clerk approached Maya once again, more rope in hand he began to tie her fair hair in a bun. This time, the rope was used to secure the hair in place but bringing the bight to the centre of her back and knotting it to the bonds on her elbows. The pressure on her limbs became unbearable, and her head was fixed in such a position she was looking at the ceiling. With such a limited field of view Maya was oblivious to what might come next, as she could hear the clerk unzipping one of his bags.

“Cross your legs.” – his tone became assertive, almost violent. What once was a velvety voice had now become a testament to his menace.

With Maya’s crossed legs almost parallel to the legs of the stool, the clerk bound her ankles together with more red rope, feeding it through the chair and fixing the bight to the stool with a knot. The same technique was applied to her thighs, which lay flush against the stool allowing the captor to secure them to the seat. He tugged on the rope gently, testing their strength. He would do the same with the ropes binding Maya’s upper body causing her a painful strain. Maya’s options of escaping had been reduced to her voice, for her every move was futile and merely inflicted more aches on her already straining body. Her arms were overcome by tingles, pins and needles like acupuncture against her limbs. As if it weren’t enough to discourage her from wriggling free, the door to the storage room had been locked.

Maya kept looking towards the ceiling, almost as if the answer to her predicament was there. The occasional sharp pain caused by the rope made her flinch and close her eyes in response. Out of sight, the clerk keeps fiddling with his boxes. Those boxes of deviancy, not culprits of her peril but rather necessary accomplices to the clerk’s heinous act.

“Open up.”

A red rubber ball is shoved between Maya’s teeth even before she had the chance to comply with the instruction. The clerk brought the leather straps back around Maya’s head, buckling them. The pressure meant this rubber ball was pushed ever so slightly deeper, with a clear imprint of both her lipstick against the silicone. She quickly noticed that the ball had roughly the same dimensions as her mouth cavity, however this did not prevent Maya’s jaw from aching. She tried to speak, but there was simply no way she could mutter any coherent words. The ball allowed barely any slack, her mouth was almost wide open and every single motion of her face caused a painful strain on her jaw. Adding insult to injury, as Maya tried to relax her jaw drool began to drip slowly from within the rubber ball. Ribbons of saliva began to fall gracefully on Maya’s skirt creating a timid puddle of drool. The clerk returned holding a roll of silver duct tape. He found a tear in the PVC and began to unroll it with a distinct but discreet sound. He started feeding around Maya’s bust, as it unspools the tape stretches ever so slightly and clings to the fabric of her turtleneck. The pressure begins mounting and the more the clerk wraps it, the more her bosoms are accentuated. She feels the cold embrace of the silver material sticking to her hands, as her captor tapes her fingers together rolling them up into balls of tape.

It was no use escaping now, stripped of all her senses and deprived of her freedom. Maya watched helplessly as his captor reinforced the bonds on her legs by feeding the remainder of the tape over the rope. The effect was minimal, for the rope had already been effective in its task, but the psychological effect of helplessness was nearly devastating. Maya looks to the ceiling, she stays still but not by choice for her bonds were too much to overcome. Her senses reduced to sight and hearing, and the room had become silent. Occasionally she breaks the silence with timid complaints against the rubber ball, almost lodged inside her mouth.

Her muffled cries of help would go unattended, as they soon join the characteristic sound of the camera’s shutter. Maya had become the unwilling star of a show she didn’t sign for, and in the limelight of her predicament she struggled in vain. Struggles that cause the joy of her lone spectator, struggles that drain her forces and increase the unlikeliness of her escape. But the camera’s shutter keeps clicking, the lens captures every intricate detail of her captivity. Every move, every single motion, captured by both camera and cameraman. The vague sound of her muffled voice uttering cries of help, the blurred questions of what her fate might have in store for the lady. Perhaps the discount wasn’t worth it in the end, even amongst the binds the precious jewel stood proud and majestic...

Great writing! It would be interesting to know how the realtor finally escaped. Your account of her escape from the closet was so detailed and quite good.

Excellent story! If I may make suggestion? If you make shorter paragraphs - reading becomes easier

Trammel wrote: 2 years ago Great writing! It would be interesting to know how the realtor finally escaped. Your account of her escape from the closet was so detailed and quite good.

Thank you very much! I plan on expanding the realtor's escape, so lots of Jewelry Store still to come :p

Caesar73 wrote: 2 years ago Excellent story! If I may make suggestion? If you make shorter paragraphs - reading becomes easier

I will take that into consideration the next time I post a story, thank you for the advice! It's much appreciated <3

I am late getting onto this story, [mention]lanadelgagged[/mention]. Maya has gotten herself tied up twice, just a week apart. She is in a difficult position. The second time is much of her own making. The story is excellent and you provide great detailed descriptions of the bondage. Well done.

Some time has passed since you posted Part II. Do you still intend to continue this story?