The Teleport 3 (sequel) | cable tie, cage | free bondage stories
free porn sex stories 2019 bondage stories
It was late at night and we didn't expect to find anybody down there in that basement launderette. It is so convenient to transfer the wash there without actually leaving a comfortable chair but, of course, it is something you cannot do when there are people about?
At first we assumed that someone had been careless and left the lights on but that error was soon corrected as we found the young girl sitting atop one of the machines. Clearly it was not a voluntary rest period because her ankles, in full view, were strapped together with a plastic cable tie and it was a fair bet that a similar circumstance was the reason that she held her arms behind her back.
I can't describe her beyond that for indeed I have only ever had but a fleeting view of her face. Her head was hidden from view by a bright-red cloth bag that encompassed even her shoulders but was pulled-in under her chin by yet another cable tie. No! It just was not possible that she had engaged in self-bondage. Someone had done this to her but that was not to say she had been forcibly restrained?
We debated a few moments but decided to wait and see. After all, now that we had discovered her and could track her, she was definitely NOT in any danger. From the way she kept shaking her head and writhing her neck I guessed that under that hood she was gagged. But then ... should she not be attempting to escape? Of course, plastic cable ties applied with even moderate skills, are just about as inescapable as steel shackles but it is the attempted escape that really motivates this kind of play. If play it was?
We had no idea about how long the situation had lasted but it continued for another ten minutes before a second player came into view. He was perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties but it was easy to see from his size that the woman had stood little chance in any contest of wills. That he was indeed the captor was amply demonstrated by the large leather trunk which he trailed behind him on its own wheels.
He opened it to bring forth a large canvas bag, either a kit bag or a mailbag, which he promptly pulled down over his victim's head. Then he lifted her off the machine, laid her on the ground and unceremoniously shook her down into its depths. Finally he produced a lock with a long shackle which he used to seal the top of the bag.
"Do you think he is afraid she might escape?" queried Bessy.
"I imagine he'll be very surprised if she does," I replied. "Now ... start thinking!" In good boy-scout preparation I started to train the scanner on to that bag and zoomed in; it would require but a jab on the ZAP button to deliver her safely into our cage.
It was at that point he began to show his true colours. In a game of love bondage most, if not all, show some consideration for their partner. This moron simply picked up the bag by each end and dumped it ... literally, DUMPED IT ... into the trunk.
At least that was his intention. In fact he was so careless about it that he struck the bag on the edge of the lid and slammed it shut. I could almost hear the oath that he spat out - I REALLY must see if it isn't possible to put an audio channel on to Uncle H's machine. He put his burden back on the ground, kicked the lid open again and once more dumped the unfortunate girl within. But the trunk wasn't deep enough and the lid remained partly open.
He stamped round to the back of the trunk and, seizing the moment, I pressed ZAP. The lid gave just as he slammed down on it and, as it fell, he all but threw himself over the top. I held my breath but he was too annoyed with himself and failed to check before beginning the journey to wherever he intended to journey. He didn't even realise that the trunk was too light!
Bessy was moving to help the girl but I stopped her: "She'll keep a moment. We must follow the moron." I followed him with the scanner to a large van into which he heaved the trunk without bothering to see which way up he had left it. Then I locked the scanner on to the van and went off in search of a very necessary object. Now what would you have chosen?
A couple of miles away we were graced with an abattoir and, in the yard behind the main building, there were bins with all sorts of horror rejects and I happened to know that the next day was the day for ultimate disposal. Hence ... there never was a better time for souvenirs. I chose a prime piece of ... er ... well, something ... of a suitable size and transferred it to the inside of the kidnapper's trunk. We could see maggots and flies a-plenty but had to rely on imagination for the olfactory effects. I found myself thereafter strangely without interest in his future but decided to leave the scanner tracking him against future necessities.
Of course, we could not let the girl know the reality behind her rescue and so a certain amount of discussion had to precede the next action. The biggest difficulty lay in our not knowing from where she came. The resourceful Bessy came up with a solution; inside the cage we swapped the bagged body for Bessy's body and I zapped her into the launderette. A quick search there and she found the girl's handbag and, as she waved it over her head, I transferred her back to the cage.
It was but a short step from there to discovering her address and from that we quickly found her apartment which she rented in the same building several floors above the launderette. I equipped Bessy with a pair of side cutters and Uncle H's key bunch then zapped first her and then the bagged-one into the residence. Bessy removed the lock from the bag and laid it on the ground then pulled her out of the bag. A quick snip released the cable tie on her ankles and a second cut the tie around her neck. Her third severed the tie around her wrists and at that point I zapped Bessy back to my own warm embrace. As it transpired I was a little too enthusiastic and zapped Bessy when she had only partially cut the wrist tie. We watched - with some enjoyment - as the girl struggled to shed the remains of the ties and get her head out of the red bag. At that she wasn't a bad looker at all.
There was a bonus for us - well, speak for myself - because the black ball gag that was jammed in her mouth was also secured with a cable tie and Bessy had not cut that at all. Here was true theatre as a very puzzled, slightly apprehensive, much relieved and slobbering girl gazed in disbelief at the discarded bag, its lock and the remains of cable-ties; after all, as far as she was concerned, she had been bound, gagged, hooded and bagged and then trundled in a case of some sort to - her own apartment? Finally she began to search for something to cut the diabolical thing that was strung so tightly through her mouth.
Satisfied that she was OK I next went on the path of vengeance and Bessy thoroughly approved. The scanner had tracked him and we found him unloading the trunk in some sort of barn. He didn't open it on the spot and we let him depart with his vision of untrammelled joy.
Our mission of prime importance, our number-one priority was to remove all six wheels from the offending vehicle. Six? Aye, verily. There were four in contact with the ground, one hanging on the back as a spare plus the steering wheel. My own fancy was to replace the steering-column with a stick of rhubarb but, unfortunately, that would have put other road users in peril.
In the back of the vehicle, clearly visible through the doors which our hero had left open, was a can which we presumed held a standby emergency supply of petrol. "Hang on a moment," said Bessy and departed at a gallop. She returned carrying the sugar pot from our afternoon tea tray. "Send me," was her brief instruction.
It is not a matter for surprise that Bessy, that maniacal driver of horses, should know about putting sugar into an equine fuel-input port but to think that my angelic Bessy knew the catastrophic effect of putting that same commodity into the fuel orifice of an iron horse... ?
To think that my sweet Bessy could do such a dastardly thing as to create a booby trap for someone who, in the future, was to recover from an acute and expensive loss of wheels.
Oh, well. We live to learn.
The next morning, after I had delivered Bessy to care for her horses, I had an hour or so to waste until I was required to shift the accumulated dung heap. Curiosity prevailed and I sent the scanner back to the SAVED co-ordinates where we had denuded the vandals van. A very perplexed, and not a little angry, giant stood surveying his van as it rested on its belly in the dirt. You see, we had not unbolted any of those six wheels - we had simply zapped them on to a dump somewhere in Cumberland with the interesting, nay puzzling, result that (for example) his back axle terminated each end in a clean cut from which the oil had leaked out to make a respectable mess on the ground. I speculated on the effect had he been using front-wheel drive?
Scouting around outside I spied a house nearby and the first room into which I pried proved to be a bachelor kitchen-cum-living room. On a side counter lay a pile of plastic cable ties, two red ball-gags, two green baize bags of useful size for hoods and some hanks of sash cord. Yes, this was definitely the lair of a habitual abductor. For starters I zapped away the bondage gear and then toured the premises to transfer every single chair he possessed to that remote Scottish beach. I satisfied myself that he was not holding any captives around the place and left him to his misery. That place would definitely rate a regular return visit.
Checking on Bessy I found her waiting behind a huge pile of muck which I promptly disposed of for her. Then I transferred some bales of hay and more of straw from her main barn to the stable side-room then brought Bessy back to the cage. I recited to her my activities of the last hour and she expressed her approval with a shout of laughter, a great hug and a most sincere kiss. Then she suggested that we ought to make a quick check on last night's victim.
That indeed produced a surprise. We found the girl, clad only in bra and G-string, bending over the canvas bag with a small hacksaw in hand. Clearly it now contained a new victim whom she was trying to release. "Humm," said Bessy. "Bondage freaks! I left the lock but she doesn't have the key. Do you suppose she has been giving a practical demonstration of what happened to her?"
"Looks that way. But the way she's wielding that saw it's going to take her a long time. I'd say that's a toughened security lock to judge by her lack of progress."
"I think we'd better sort this out," said the ever practical Bessy. She scampered away and returned with my small bolt-cutters. "Now, let's move into her kitchen. There ... zap that little pile of breakfast crocks off the table on to the floor. When she comes to investigate the crash you zap me beside the bag. I'll cut the lock - which will make it useless in future - and then you bring me back. Give her something else to think about?"
It worked perfectly, according to plan. But then I have learned over time that all Bessy's plans work perfectly. But she doesn't necessarily get to do all the planning. On her arrival back in the cage she slipped off the bed and moved to the gate but found that it wouldn't open. She put down the bolt-cutters to use both hands and I seized the chance to zap away the cutters. My Bessy was now defenceless, stuck in a locked cage and starting to make noises of objection.
"You are getting too peripatetic," I said as I came out of the control room. "I can't have you careering all over the place in this manner. Time for you to settle down." I returned to my chair and a few moments later she rounded at the sound of clanging metal. On the bed I had sent a pair of handcuffs, a pair of leg irons, the beautiful little stainless-steel collar with its twenty-feet of stainless chain and one of Uncle H's exquisite gowns.
"When you are properly dressed I will consider unlocking the gate. Meanwhile I have duties to perform in league with the coffeepot. Make my day ... and yours."
Sometimes, when faced with absolutely no alternative, women can be SO co-operative. So VERY obedient??? Even my charming, intelligent, bondage-loving Bessy. But those cuffs were a VERY good precaution!
