Stories of Tie Up Games

"So Elaine, can you define 'damsel in distress'?"

"A damsel in distress is a person confined by a villain that needs to be rescued by a brave hero. Often an attractive, innocent, and helpless young lady," Elaine answered. She hung blindfolded upside down and was wrapped in yellow saran. Her hip long blond locks floated freely, far from the floor below.

"Good, and what is the brave hero's reward upon saving her?"

"A kiss on her lips at worst. Marriage in extraordinary circumstances," Elaine replied. She was calm as none of her muscles were strained. This situation did not affect her the slightest.

"Excellent, and what if she frees herself?"

Elaine knew this was a trick question. "Then she is no damsel in distress."


Elaine's final theoretical exam on the School Preparing Ladies Enacting Noble Damsels In Distress (SPLENDID) went perfectly. Now, after two years of daily tie-ups and learning to depict a persecuted maiden, she almost had her degree. Then she would join the firm as a full-time damsel. Evil pundits could hire her and play out their fantasies by binding, tormenting, and having her saved by a hero. Needless to say, within limits. A damsel is a proper lady, no mindless whore, nor a simplistic bondage model.

As a long-term tie-up enthusiast, receiving SPLENDID's brochure in her mailbox had not shocked Elaine. After all, her mother had been a bondage model in her twenties, and she had been active on various online tie-up sites. Her parents had disagreed with this career path, but this was a one-time chance and paid well enough for a college degree after a few years.

Elaine had the highest grades of her class of four, although it should be noted ninety girls started. The program taught courses like knot theory, damsel and bondage history, elasticity, psychology, and acting. A proper damsel could panic when their captor enjoyed it and reach tranquility alone, to maximize their time in bondage. For example, they could laze relaxed in a spreadeagle with snakes slithering over them. Yet, they were smart, noble, and above all, powerless. SPLENDID trained them to deal with tickling, long-time ties, boredom, vulgar dialogue and plot, creepy crawlers, and fear. The ideal victims and few achieved this standard.

The other exams had been harder, almost absurd, as Elaine hardly had passed the cold water test. That is, being submerged in cold water with just enough air, at least when one kept calm. She had hung 100 feet above the ground in her own bed with a safety harness. The mental game was to sleep a regular amount, despite the wind and height. Awful arithmetic problems were yelled at her that she had to solve to test her intellect. As one could expect while tied up, tickled, and blindfolded in the back of a driving truck.

"Unkind," Elaine had called it, but she got full marks for both. A damsel's life was no sunshine and rainbows. Hard work with excellent pay. Her life would be no ordinary, tie-up free, office job, but exciting, filled with action, adventure, and ropes. Her dream.


For a week, the aspirant damsels had waited for the exam results in their high tower. The four had been locked in, and their ropes had been seized. Access to their phones and other electronics was seldom granted, so irritations and stress dwelled their tower. Their only distractions were old books with chivalrous tales, each other, and wondering about their grades. Their sole contact with the outside world was a bucket with food and drinks they hoisted up daily. Yet, they could not complain as that would result in punishment even a damsel wanted to avoid.

Now the headmistress unlocked the hatch to their attic. She was a lady in eighties, much crueler than her appearance suggested. "Good evening, ladies. You have five minutes to dress accordingly."

The four young ladies panicked in excitement before descending the ladder in long, sky blue dresses. The headmistress tied their arms behind them, elbows touching. After adding matching blindfolds and cleave-gags, she led them into her office. They knelt, and she read out the exam results. Elaine's last.

"Almost flawless, young lady," the shrill voice said. "Your only issue is still your inability to suppress your fondness of the ropes. You impressed us, and we hope you improve at disguising your minor drawback. Hence, we already arranged your first job. Two weeks in the big city. New York. Starting tomorrow."

Elaine's cheeks turned red. She had been delighted all four had passed. But now, as valedictorian, she received a job. An hour later, she lay lightly tied amid many pillows and blankets in the trunk of a car, the typical transport method for damsels. During the ten-hour ride, she slept, dreaming happily about her upcoming predicament.


Around eight in the morning, Elaine was dropped off at her new apartment, crushing her dreams. It was tiny, dark, and dirty. Completely different than the beautiful castle. Next to the bathroom, there was only one room with a low ceiling and plenty of cobwebs. A closet, broken couch, mattress on the floor, wooden chair, and wobbly black table formed its furniture. On the latter lay a map of the neighborhood and a note:

Dear Lynette Ragnelle,
We are glad you applied to be our new administrative help. Tomorrow, at 14:30, we expect you for a job interview.
With kind regards,
Benjamin DuBois,
DuBois enterprises

"Okay, Lynette," Elaine told herself, reading the address on the back. Clients could pick their names, and she liked Lynette Ragnelle. Not too simple, but still doable to remember. She glanced around her stale, cold apartment, and walked to the side that served as a kitchen. The cutlery drawer contained three knives, two forks, and a bent spoon. Moreover, Elaine found two glasses, a plate, and a pot. The fridge saddened her. No breakfast. Only a couple onions, stale bread, a bag of rice, and another note:

Dear Elaine,
For the next two weeks, you take the role of Lynette Ragnelle, a twenty-year-old girl in severe financial trouble. Her mother died young, her father is a drunkard, and her stepmom nasty, to say the least. Hence, she ran away at age 14, living on the street and in places like this, working odd jobs. Never prostitution or the like. She has dropped out of high school and needs to accept this job and urgently needs the money. Quitting is no option. She already can't pay for water, gas, and power and is almost kicked out of here. Her savings lie beneath her mattress and are yours to spend. Words like timid, shy, insecure, lonely, anxious, hopeless, and desperate describe her. She has no bondage experience and will fear and detest it.
Good luck, and enjoy being Lynette!

Elaine sighed, unhappy with her acting-heavy role. She was no princess held by a monster but forced to her evil captor due to her finances. Naturally, this would be exploited. She lifted the mattress and found $2.45. Then she ate two slices of bread, saving the other one for lunch. The bag of rice and onions seemed helpful but were useless with nothing to prepare them.

Elaine's client picked her apparel, so she checked out the wardrobe. Half broken sneakers, black tights filled with holes, dusty skirts, blouses in various colors, and a ripped denim jacket. She put her current soft, silky attire in a binbag, saying goodbye to her former identity. She got in fresh panties, tights, a crimson woolen skirt with black stripes, and a white blouse. There were no bras, so she joined all but the topmost button. Broken and baffled, she watched herself in the mirror and put on red lipstick and mascara. After brushing her hair, she braided it into one long strand.

Elaine checked running water was indeed cut off. Only a barrel stood in the bathroom, saying 'For the toilet only. Undrinkable.'. Lynette's life was as described. No cheating. In the castle, Elaine had always got fresh fruit and vegetables, decent clothes, and friends. Now, in this massive unknown city, she was on her own and poor. A novelty. She had to act like this before but for a day at most. She had never felt genuine hunger or desperation.


"Time to get into my role," Elaine thought, putting on the denim jacket and sneakers. She picked up the savings and map and walked to the nearest store to buy water. Her choice landed on a 2-liter bottle of $1.20, the cheapest per liter, taking almost half of her money. She felt watched in her old defective clothes but expected all would forget her within an hour. Passing many beggars on the road back, she grasped life could be worse. It was an act, and this damsel could handle it, but Lynette was another story.

At 1AM, Elaine began her four-mile journey to her job interview. She could not afford a cab or public transport and had to walk this twice daily. Her head exploded with ideas, hoping Lynette would end up in bondage tonight already. She was trembling in excitement. Who paid big to imprison his lovely damsel?
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I know this story is a bit odd and unconventional, so I would appreciate any comments. I intend to make it 3-5 chapters long.

This is a fantastic setup, beautifully setting the scene. I really enjoyed the style of this story and am anticipating more

A really good start, this story is a very interesting read. I look forward to more.

Everything is set up really well!

wolfman wrote: 5 years ago This is a fantastic setup, beautifully setting the scene. I really enjoyed the style of this story and am anticipating more

I agree! The Role Elaine has to play will definitivly challenge her - and I'm curious how Elaine adapts!

That was an excellent introduction. I’m already intrigued by the story. This could very easily become a series with different jobs and different damsels. The possibilities! Thanks for writing!

Interesting premise, nicely framed! One wonders if Elaine's superb training has truly prepared her for the rigors of the "real-life workaday world."

This is a unique, interesting premise with a lot of possibilities. I'm really looking forward to reading more about Elaine's damsel in distress adventures.

I have to agree with all those who’ve spoken so far, an interesting concept, well written and easy to follow, providing such an intriguing lead to what should follow, keep up the good work

Thanks for the overwhelming amount of comments! I hope to finish the next part tomorrow.

This could very easily become a series with different jobs and different damsels. The possibilities! Thanks for writing!

That would be fun, but I first want to see if this one job succeeds, and I don't want to pin myself down to an enormous long story.

"School Preparing Ladies Enacting Noble Damsels In Distress (SPLENDID)"

I love that one Really great work again. Looking forward how this develops.

"Professional Damsels"

So many here would apply for that job!

Thanks again for all the comments!!

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"Lynette Ragnelle?" a strict older lady said from behind her walnut desk as Elaine entered the Mount Vernon mansion. The white marble entrance hall was luxurious, and due to the high, round windows also light. Shiny, curly copper letters, spelled DuBois Photography out on the wall.

"Yes, that's me," Elaine replied, delighted she had ended up in the correct place after walking ninety minutes on an empty stomach. The wind had blasted through her ripped tights, and her oversized shoes were shameful. Its thin soles made her feel the tiniest pebbles, and its suede stretched out, giving no support. She had stared forward with a neutral, hasty expression. Still, people had dodged away from the poorly clothed girl as if she was homeless, and a few men had whistled.

"You're early. Your shoes and jacket, please," the lady said. Elaine faked surprise and put her belongings in the iron container on the lady's desk, who locked it with a heavy padlock. "Next time, you do this immediately. Agreed?"

Elaine nodded, grasping her boss could lengthen her stay indefinitely, holding her keys. The lady told her to sit on a leather stool and wait on Mr. DuBois. "Ridiculous," she thought, fumbling with her long braided hair to portray nerves and wished the lady would overlook she was braless beneath her white blouse. "This job interview is a joke. No sane human being would hire me like this. Why not a simple abduction scenario to start with? A hostage situation as a bank teller? A tie-up freak princess in a dungeon? A caught spy?"

Real nerves seized the place of their acted counterparts as time crept by. The lady was working and ignored Elaine, whose ankle vibrated out of agitation. "This is intentional," her mind repeated as nothing occurred.


"Lynette Ragnelle, please come in," a deep masculine voice said over the intercom after years. Elaine jumped up, pressed her loose hairs behind her ears, but the lady shoved her further. "March on, he detests waiting!"

"Same," Elaine thought as bright spotlights blinded her in the room where soft piano music played. She bowed her head, adapting to the lights, and marked the contours of a large office chair, fifteen feet away. It rotated, revealing a gentleman in his late forties, with a trimmed inch-long beard, bluish-green eyes, and coal-black hair whisked backward. He wore a navy blue suit and a flower-patterned light blue shirt underneath. The first gray spots sprung in his beard, and Elaine froze, awaiting directions.

"Kneel, hands behind you. Back straight, knees one foot apart, and keep your eyes down," he said casually. "This is your standard position and assume it when not directed contrarily."

"Okay, sorry..." Elaine said as a nervous Lynette would definitely respond so impolite. Luckily, the carpet was soft, sparing her knees.

“Let's retry that,” the man laughed, enjoying Elaine's fumbling. "Say, I'm sorry, sir."

While Elaine spoke these words, he poured a drink in his glass. "Good, now you grasp basic decency, we can move on with business. Can you please motivate your application?"

Elaine gasped for breath, unprepared for this simple question. "I. I… I needed a job. It looked fun, and I'm skilled with numbers and such, so I like administrative work. Well, and eh, I also can use the money as you might understand."

"Good, honesty, I admire that. Although it's evident cash is tight for you," Mr. DuBois laughed, humiliating Elaine. "Today's second lesson: If I employ you, I own you during that time. That means your body follows my orders, your mind answers truthfully, and your heart reveals its deepest thoughts. Never lie, not even white lies, ever. Agreed?"

His friendly, calm voice did not match his absurd demands and conditions but amplified them somehow. "Yes, sir."

"So, am I scaring you?"

"If you desire an honest answer, yes, you do. None of my previous jobs had such strict rules,” Elaine replied with a bowed head. Mr. DuBois inquired about those, and her hometown's local fast-food chain entered her mind first.

"You're a quick learner. Onto business, Monday to Saturday, 12 hours a day, starting tomorrow. That is from 8PM to 8:15AM with a fifteen-minute lunch-break. The pay would be five dollars an hour, but another girl mentioned four this morning, so three should secure you the job. I pay you on Saturday, but only after working adequately for the rest of the week. Deal?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, sir," Elaine said, standing up. An obvious error, but Lynette, a novice damsel, lacked discipline. Elaine was directed to blunder as perfection was only attained after a client tutored her. Natural damsels in distress were rare, and training was a vital part of these long-term gigs.

"I only explained the terms, not that I'm hiring you. Down."

"Sir, I am sorry and hopeful this won't influence your decision," Elaine begged, resuming her standard position. During training, they played a game who could kneel the longest, and Elaine won often. A proper damsel knelt a lot.

"I doubt that. Now back to you, Lynette. Tell me more about your past jobs," the man said, sipping from his glass. Elaine made up various illegal, short-lived careers: babysitter, tractor cleaner, waitress, handyman, and stock photo model. Then Mr. DuBois dived deeper in her history, asking about her apartment, friends, and finally, her family.

Mr. DuBois not only tested her acting skills and kneeling ability but implicitly outlined his plan. He could have tied her up like a sobbing doll and exploit her money shortage but portrayed a more human character. He was patient and kind while demanding excellence from the helpless girl. Weirdly sweet, grinning at her jokes, listening when she spoke, and correcting her when her spine curved. An unusual villain.

"When I was nine, my two sisters and mother died in a car accident," Elaine sobbed. "This broke dad, and he became an alcoholic. He married a cheating gold digger, doing blokes on their bed, as he lay passed out on the couch. Stepmom tied me on my bed or chair, giving them time to do their thing. So I cared for myself, failed high school, ran away, and haven't seen my family ever since." She almost cried. "If not for that idiotic ghost rider, I would be in college now. Happy."

She glanced up and believed she blundered, ruining her client's careful plot as her story startled Mr. DuBois. He had likely picked his own path to introduce bondage but stayed calm. "How did your stepmom bind you?"

"Nothing striking, you can make a fair guess," Elaine replied after a moment of thought. In this way, her client could fill in her zeal for the ropes, and Lynette could not know bondage jargon. "It was terrible, hearing them, unable to leave, but the past is gone."

Mr. DuBois welcomed this answer. He immersed deeper, inquiring how she felt about ties, to specify her binds, and describe other bondage adventures.

"That's disgusting and inappropriate for a job interview," Elaine said, dodging the questions. Her client should select these details.

Mr. DuBois agreed. "We specialize in fetish photography, tied up women to be exact. I only verified you aren't traumatized."

"No, no problem," Elaine blurted out. "I've seen a lot but don't desire to be bound. It's okay."

"Lynette, everyone has their own likings. Despite your poor taste of clothing, I'm impressed, so tomorrow eight sharp. Now rise, and Ms. Silverman will help you sign the contract."


As Elaine stood up, she figured out Ms. Silverman was the lady at the front desk. She signed the 200-page contract, guessing it contained many loopholes and traps. "Did he like my performance?" she asked herself, walking home. "What subtle clues did I miss? What should I do differently?"

En route, Elaine spent her last savings on a head of lettuce and a loaf of day-old bread, and her feet and knees were sore when she got home. "Am I robbed?" she thought as her apartment had changed: The window was wide open, letting all warm air escape. The bank lay upside down over the middle of the room, splitting it in two. She closed the window and verified nothing was stolen from the kitchen and climbed over her bank. Its weight had quadrupled, and it was impossible to move, let alone flip over. Then she noticed her pillow was gone, her mattress sawn along the length into two parts, and her blanket cut into four triangles.

The sole positive changes were the addition of a fluffy grey elephant plush and an analog alarm clock. The closet was open, showing only the binbag with the silky dress missed. Elaine found a note and old Nokia on the wobbly table, sat down on the wooden chair, and fell as one of its front legs had been shortened. She cursed as no fair damsel ever should and read the handwritten note:

Dear Elaine,
For your first paid gig, we started softly this morning, but now Lynette's home is in its final state. It should reflect her living conditions and wealth better.
You are likely tired, hungry, and doubtful after today, but I can assure you charmed your client. I call you tonight to provide your client's input.

Elaine's empty stomach growled, seeking dinner. Having no water, electricity, or gas, she filled a plate with lettuce, raw onion, stale bread, and water. It tasted awful, and Elaine pleaded to get some money or proper food tomorrow.

Another strong chapter, I hope Elaine gets to grips with her role. She is finding it tough already !

Interesting story. Looking forward to see where this goes.
Thank you for composing it.

The second Chapter is as good as the first. You described Elaines feelings very well. And the circumstances she lifes in are dire - to say the least ...

Caesar73 wrote: 5 years ago The second Chapter is as good as the first. You described Elaines feelings very well. And the circumstances she lifes in are dire - to say the least ...

Thanks! Yeah, Elaine (or better said, Lynette), has not been lucky in her life...

slackywacky wrote: 5 years ago Interesting story. Looking forward to see where this goes.
Thank you for composing it.

Thanks! But to be honest, I still have to figure that out myself

Tieup1 wrote: 5 years ago Another strong chapter, I hope Elaine gets to grips with her role. She is finding it tough already !

Thanks! I think she has grip on it, but liking is another question. Part of the method acting is to feel sad about it, so that's no problem. The only issue is she's a bit unsure whether her client likes her, but that's part of job, feeling what her client desires of her.

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"B-r-r-r-ring!" Elaine's alarm clock clanked the next morning at 6:00. This may sound early, but she had lain awake for an hour already. Her cut mattress and blanket and missing pillow had been partly guilty, but without light, hitting the hay around dusk felt natural. Elaine had slept through worse: dungeon floors, humid beaches, and driving vehicles, all while tied up.

Her client had given the fluffy elephant plush for a reason, so she had clinched it all night, but let it go to switch her alarm off. She stood up, brushed her lengthy hair, recalling her contact's words: "Be more flawed, blunder, tremble, and fear him." Communication is vital for a proper damsel to behave as her client dreamed, but direct contact breaks the magic. So she keeps in touch with an agent from the firm: Geraint in Elaine’s case. Last night, he had told her Mr. DuBois had loved her job interview, including her improvised history, only having this minor critique. It gnawed Elaine, a perfectionistic damsel. Well, and no make-up anymore and a ponytail instead of a braid.

Elaine dressed in a new blouse, today's was pink lace, orchid torn tights, a black-pink pleated tartan skirt, and a girly rosy cotton scrunchie. Much more daring than yesterday, almost a man's fantasy schoolgirl, except for a tie, heels, and make-up. She ate breakfast, stale bread with lettuce and raw onion, and brushed her teeth as required. Hygiene matters. Damsels have a few fundamental rights, and one was brushing her teeth twice a day.

Then Elaine used the bathroom and retraced her plan one last time: drink one liter of water now, hold up, and request a toilet break half an hour in. An ignorant mistake she could have faked, but the real deal made it more swaying and risky. The same reason why ropes and steel cuffs were used: The damsel's distress is more authentic than acting alone can provide.


"Good morning, Lynette," Miss Silverman said as Elaine entered the mansion and put her jacket and shoes in the metal box. The walk had been uneventful, passing grumpy commuters, solely caring about their own shitty jobs and lives. The leather stool was gone, and Elaine stood still in the hallway, aware she had to kneel in the standard position. She fiddled in her corner, as her full bladder needed and grabbed her attention, letting her question her mischievous plot. Back on SPLENDID, her teachers had loved these creative spurts, but Mr. DuBois was a paying client she met yesterday. A whole different story.

"Lynette, good morning. Come further," Mr. DuBois greeted, emerging from another room than yesterday. He led her deep into the mansion. "You remember the standard position?"

"Kneeling, arms behind me?"

"Correct, you're supposed to assume it when not directed otherwise in this building, regardless of my presence. I let this one slide, as you look stunning today. Pink suits you well," Mr. DuBois said nonchalantly, winking.

This comment startled Elaine, who had learned to deal with creepiness and dirty talk, but his timing had surprised her. Quickly, she got her act back together. "Thank you, sir, for your generosity. I'm glad my clothes are to your taste, despite their quality."

They entered a dimly lit ballroom, stretching fifty feet each way with a few pieces of furniture in a corner: an oaken bureau and a leather office chair. Twelve filing cabinets stood on the opposite side, with numbered drawers. In the middle stood several desk lamps on the floor, surrounding a pile of paper.

"Lynette, my grandfather founded this wonderful company in 1961. In the past 60 years, we shot tens of thousands commissioned pictures of lovely bound women. You need to file these photos still in our archive. The pseudonym of the model, rigger, and client are on the back, and you can find their names in the books. By matching the years we cooperated with them, you can date the picture. Understood?"

"Think, so."

"Oh, and remember, I watch you from my desk as I pay for 12 hours of efficient work today. That means only standing, squatting, and kneeling, so no sitting or resting. Also, do not move the records and do not touch the floor with your hands as it's dirty. Got it?" He helped Elaine in a pair of white cotton clothes, showing each little dust particle.

"Clear as day, sir, but I've one minor request. Mind if I go to the bathroom? I mistakenly drank a lot, hoping not to waste your time here," Elaine said, puppy-eying her foot-taller employer. Her last sentence was redundant but exposed her delicate position, so he could act accordingly.

"Lynette, that's clumsy and unprofessional, to say the least. I own your time momentarily. The toilet is in the hall, second door to the right, but you should show your motivation. If you go within half an hour, you stay ten minutes extra today for every minute you're away. Otherwise, only two. Get to work."

Elaine sighed, feeling her bladder and knelt near the pile of photos. He expected her to work as long as possible. She picked up the photograph: A red-haired girl in a black catsuit taped upside down to a St. Andrews cross with a setting sun as background. She admired it, but feigned disgust.

"Haha, that's quite a cute composition," Mr. DuBois laughed before sitting down behind his bureau. "No worries, she's fine and enjoying this."

Elaine nodded, not having an answer ready and read the names printed on the reverse side.

Model: Rosamund Ropemore
Rigger: Bastian
Client: 054851156

Elaine had expected something quite different than her current endeavors from an administrative job. First, she browsed a fifty-page catalog with the models' real names, also containing the bondage model's fetishes and limits. Unfortunately, sorted alphabetically on their actual names. This made finding Rosamund's real name, Helen Oldmore, painful. It cost her several minutes before deriving Bastian's surname was Hanson in another file. Then she shifted to the 1961-2019 files with payroll data ordered by the total payout per year. With much luck, Elaine rapidly determined both were on the payroll in 2003, 2004, and 2007. So she first had to find the client's name in another catalog, identify its commission date in the payment data, and conclude the photo was from 2004.

Elaine groaned and grabbed the next image: a pit with a bikini-wearing ball-tied girl. She concluded someone had coded a script to extract the names and photos from the internet, create the files, and print everything. About a day's work, while thousands of pictures could occupy Lynette for weeks. Ctr+F could have saved her life, but paper records meant skimming the same pages every time and remembering the other hints. Oh, and with a full bladder and sitting ban. Doing this 12 hours a day already scared Elaine. The low desk lights provided the only usable light, and her legs, back, and mainly, knees hated the kneeling, bending, and standing up routine.

Despite a client's fantasies, tying, caging, blindfolding, or (but preferably and) gagging their damsel for their job's duration, often weeks or months, wrecks her. As ordinary humans, their tolerance for prolonged boredom and immobility is limited. Hence, her agent helps the client to fill her day with stimuli and speaks daily with both to monitor their mental sanity. Both can sink deep in their role, and a damsel in distress is no BDSM slave but a longterm actress using genuine props. For her mental health, she gets a pet, drawing equipment, study supplies, or an odd job. Cleaning and cooking are popular but considered stereotypical, so like for Lynette, new dull, petty trades are invented. For example, sort a thousand stones by weight with a pendulum, read the newspaper aloud each morning, copy a book by hand, or count large amounts. Elaine's favorite during training was a 2500-piece jigsaw puzzle of herself, frog-tied in a leotard. Live-sized. Labor creates options for failure, interaction, annoying ties, and genuinely frustrated damsels. In short, a more realistic, pure scene, healthier for both.

Elaine guessed each picture took around ten minutes. So she pledged to do five photos before going to the toilet to play safe. But, halfway through the fourth photo, her bladder could not hold the pressure anymore. She dropped her gloves, ran to the bathroom, sat down, and let it all go. She took a brief moment to let her legs rest, knowing this time was expansive and found a short note and pencil attached to the faucet:

Lynette, your water drinking blunder was excellent, and you looked incredible, fighting to hold up. I appreciate you dared to do this for real. Proceed like this!
Mr. DuBois

Elaine smiled, loving her client's compliment. Beaming, she wrote Thank you, will do and walked back with a timid, hopeless expression. She had forgotten the model's real name, bound in a strappado of black rope and a banana-yellow ball gown.

This lasted for some time, Elaine figured an hour or two, while Mr. DuBois wandered in and out. She did not dare to rest despite her aching knees, fatigued hips, sore back, and burned brain. The countless names, faint lights, and lack of breaks started to take their toll.

"Lynette, here. Quick. Standard position," Mr. DuBois shouted after a while, and Elaine jogged to him, knelt down, and aimed her eyes at his ankles. "I have a present for you,"

He showed two long, silk, pink ribbons he folded in half and tied in two bows around her scrunchie, making their ends match her hair's length. Elaine wanted to thank him, but he rapidly pressed a medium-sized pink ball-gag in her mouth. He fastened it, leaving her ponytail free to swing. "I'm sorry, Lynette, but I see no other solution. I try to work too, and your sighing, grunting, and squeaking distract me. Now back to work."

Elaine had received no warning and knew her noises were the least distraction she caused. He liked her to be gagged.

This was again very fine. Elaine is doing a good job!

Great story. The F/F tag might be wrong though.

Who knows?

This is truly something different! A fun, short read with humor and bondage both

Roboticrobin20 wrote: 5 years ago Great story. The F/F tag might be wrong though.

Oops, forgot about that. Changed.

Beaumains wrote: 5 years ago

Roboticrobin20 wrote: 5 years ago Great story. The F/F tag might be wrong though.

Oops, forgot about that. Changed.

Great

Emma wrote: 5 years ago This is truly something different! A fun, short read with humor and bondage both

Thanks! Although the real bondage has yet to come...

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"Mmmpphhhhh," Elaine grunted in her gag for the nth time, not trying to form words. Mr. DuBois devoured a tuna salad, after his bowl of pumpkin soup, assuring her it was almost lunchtime. He watched his employee work, or better said, limping forward. Her body had exhausted all its energy. Yet, like a proper damsel, she put on a show by faking hating her gag, shrieking into it, and touching it. She stumbled more than needed but hoped to get the message across before collapsing herself.

The ballroom's aromas let Elaine's empty stomach grumble as she gazed at two girls in yellow swimsuits bound on inflatable rubber bands in a pool. She devised a plan and executed it. She wiggled to the payroll records, put her foot on them, and pushed them forward, making herself tumble backward.

SPLENDID has taught Elaine to struggle realistically to please her clients. This meant hours of laying bonds in a dark, lonely room, having to show fear, tears, or panic. Some sessions were filmed, and students had to watch themselves and interpret, discuss, and report their struggles. All to look authentic and provide the world's best damsels in distress. Elaine applied those techniques now.

"Outsshhh," she screamed in her gag while she rolled to spread the force and slammed the wooden floor with her arms, enhancing the impact.

After ten seconds, she raised, as Mr. DuBois's hands supported her back. "You're okay?"

Elaine nodded, produced a tear effortlessly, and pushed herself up, getting free from her boss's hands. "You sure? That had to hurt."

Another nod followed, and Elaine picked up the picture, groaned, and stumbled back to work. Mr. DuBois watched her in wonder, unsure whether she intended this slip. He sat down at the table, picked up his fork, and continued with his dessert: ice cream, strawberries, and banana slices. "No worries. Your lunch break is in 20 minutes."


As time advanced, Elaine's body's remaining stamina dripped away, and she worked robotically while her tears flew. This task required concentration, but her empty head possessed none anymore, leaving her struggling, mindlessly reading but unable to memorize any names. So she was delighted when Mr. DuBois called her, let her into an enormous spotless kitchen, and pointed at a barstool. "It's no problem you brought no lunch, as you can rest nevertheless. Letting you work instead would be cruel, wouldn't it?"

"Mph," Elaine wailed, staring at the shiny black granite. If she had known, she would have brought her cabbage and stale bread. Yet, she doubted Mr. DuBois's threat as starving her would interfere with his responsibility for her well-being. He sipped from a glass of water, letting her taste her own dry mouth and left, leaving her to enjoy her break alone and stressfree.

As trained, Elaine calmed down, controlled her breathing, and thought about her client's next steps and her reaction. She scanned the kitchen and noticed a three-feet long iron pole and a few pink ropes, laying on a fridge. A threat, clear as day. Yet, few scenarios entered her tired brain, and each ended in: "At least, I hope I get food and sleep."

As if her client read her mind, he returned grinning. "Lynette, I reconsidered it. Letting you work hungry is irresponsible, and your productivity is already depressingly low. We can supply you with lunch today but lower your payment to $2.50 an hour and grant you a fresh reminder you're my property here. Deal?"

Elaine weighed the options. Declining meant straight back to work and receiving another offer soon. Maybe worse, likely better. Her other option bored her too. Lynette was hopeless, but despised restraints. As Mr. DuBois had conveyed, he welcomed showing initiative, so Elaine crafted another dumb scheme. She tapped on her ball-gag, and Mr. DuBois removed it in silence, smiled, and stroked her head.

"What... What are you for freak?" Elaine sobbed, almost crying. "That stupid rubber thing, those sickening pictures of tortured girls, and your petty rules are pathetic. You saw my misery and exploit it for your miserable insensitive self? You're a pitiful human being. I'm out. Better on the street than another minute in this hell."

She walked out of the kitchen and banged the door, leaving her former boss tongue-tied. She smiled as her speech had the intended effect, and strolled through the hallway, enabling Mr. DuBois to catch up.

"Lynette, stop. Better don't," Mr. DuBois exclaimed. "There're thousands to fill your shoes. Last chance. You'll regret it and end up sleeping under a bridge."

He did not apologize as Elaine had hoped, so she proceeded. "And then, work me to death? Tie me up like those poor girls? Get raped? No thanks, play your sick fantasies with those thousand others."

"Lynette, you've no idea what you're saying. Let's go to the kitchen, and I make your lunch," Mr. DuBois said, leveling himself to her height and laying his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me, pervert!" Elaine yelled, pushing him away. He grabbed her right wrist and pulled her toward him, earning a slap against his neck. She kicked and screamed, and Miss Silverman ran toward them to help Mr. DuBois pin her to the floor with his knees pressing on her upper arms.

"Lynette, reevaluate the situation and imagine how this benefits you," he said, letting her squirm and cry on the floor while Miss Silverman handed him something. "You've to know, I'm wealthy, so basically above the law. I like you, Lynette, and can raise your pay, now I understand your value. So, you want the easy route or the hard route? Tough choice, but the hard path is more unpleasant and might shorten your life significantly."

These life-threatening words shocked Elaine, who nodded, seeing Lynette had lost this battle. Mr. DuBois beamed, revealed a black inch-wide leather band, and fastened it around her neck with a tiny silver padlock. He let Elaine go, who explored the smooth leather collar in fear.

"Come now, lunch will spruce you up," Mr. DuBois comforted, letting Elaine stand up and sit down on the barstool. He took three plates out of the fridge, the same three courses he had eaten himself, and put a spoonful from each in a blender. "Originally, your entire lunch would be blended, but now it's a teaching. Here, drink this."

Elaine's training also involved learning not to be a picky eater. Expressing disgust for a particular meal meant eating it often. Clients selected her diet, and her character could love it. A proper damsel had no opinions, fears, or flaws herself and played those a client demanded.

Elaine accepted the half-full glass and smelled it: Pumpkin, tuna, and banana was a disgusting combination. He reordered to drink all, and she did and almost vomiting in disgust. This monstrosity was worse than anything SPLENDID had fed her.

Mr. DuBois heated the pumpkin soup and placed it in front of Elaine. "Now try this. This illustrates the easy and hard paths."

Elaine nodded and ate the tasty soup while her boss abandoned her. This was a real break from her damsel job, so running away would not be appreciated. So she relaxed, thinking about future stunts.


"Good, Lynette, see compliance eases your life," Mr. DuBois said 30 minutes later, picking the ropes and pole of the fridge. "You stay an hour longer due to your lengthy break, and as agreed, you receive your reminder. If you cooperate and work hard, you get breaks, snacks, and no gag. Promise?"

Elaine sighed. The warm food had reenergized her and had cleared her head. "Sure, but is that necessary?"

"Yes, Lynette, and I won't hurt you. I recall your history, but ropes are no evil nor used solely by freaks. Stand up."

Elaine complied, grasping her client desired no games or rebellion. Instead of the expected spreader bar, Mr. DuBois set the bar behind her back such that her elbow pits bore it. He tied her biceps together parallel to her body and cinched the ropes, forming a thick knot pushing into her back. He repeated this with her wrists, crushing the knot against her stomach and her arms into her sides. With two rubber stops screwed on the pole's ends, so it could not slide off, her bondage was complete.

During the rest of the afternoon, Elaine sorted photos in the waitress position. The bondage limited her, but kneeling and leaning forward enabled her to reach each paper. As agreed, she got breaks, five minutes each hour, in which she got a drink, chocolate, or an energy bar. This kept her busy, functioning, and efficient.

The intense silence of the morning had left. Elaine discussed her tie and recounted horror stories about her former bosses and stepmom. Meanwhile, Mr. DuBois explained more about the company and the pictures' content. Despite their rough start, both were content with this. Elaine could survive this, and he enjoyed seeing her work tied, only having to put the photos in the correct drawers. About two weeks remained for more clashes and punishments, so a get-to-know-you afternoon did not hurt.

Around nine, Mr. DuBois cleared his hungry, worn employee, unlocked her shoes and jacket, and sent her home. "I demand you work harder tomorrow. Today, you were inadequate, and I halve your pay."

After two minutes of walking over the cold dark road, a car halted. "Elaine, I'm Geraint, your contact. Your client was notably entertained. He doesn't want you to walk home alone and asked me to get you dinner. What will it be?"

"Pasta," Elaine replied, getting in the car, glad not to walk home with a collar and long pink ribbons in her hair. "Drive-through, no restaurant."

Fascinating! Again Chapeau!