“Help, help!” cried a woman’s voice shrilly from the front door of her mid-terrace. Covid or no Covid, that’s not a sound you ignore. I broke from my walk and made eye contact.
“My grandma, she’s fallen. Please help,” the woman pleaded. Now at a petite five foot three, there’s not many people I can help. Once you’re down, you’re down. But even I could probably handle someone’s grandma. Without a second thought, I followed the woman inside. The front door led straight into the lounge, kitchen dead ahead and stairs to the right. The woman stopped just shy of the kitchen door, leaving me near the first spindles of the bannister. I looked around for the fallen grandparent.
“Where is she?” I asked the woman.
The only answer? A loud click as the front door shut. Aware for the first time that I may have made an error, walked into a trap, I turned round. There behind me, looming ever closer, was someone who was very clearly not the woman’s grandma, nor were they fallen in any way. A giant of a man strode towards me. Six foot two? Three? And he had handcuffs. The reality of my predicament hit me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but just as I did I glimpsed a hand snaking round my head from behind. Before I could send the message to my brain to close my mouth, refuse to comply, some form of material was thrust inside. Distracted as I was by this assault and trying not to gag, I barely noticed the giant grab my left wrist and cuff it violently. Only as he used the other end of the cuff as a leash to drag me a little closer to the white, wooden spindles holding up the bannister did I notice him again. Just in time to stumble forward and watch him attach the other end to the wood itself.
Instinct drove me to flail wildly with my right arm, anything to make contact, but he caught it mid-flight, again cuffing it and stretching it as far as it would go from my left wrist. I was attached to the furthest spindles I could reach my little arms up to of a stranger’s staircase.
The man and women functioned as some form of super team. Whilst one distracted me with one thing, the other swooped in to take a little more control from me. Distract her with handcuffing, then apply tape to keep the horrid rag in. So distract her with gagging, whilst he ducks around and starts tying my ankles together.
Only when the preliminary securing was complete did they stand back to survey their work. From my precariously balanced, off kilter cross position, I took a closer look at my assailants. She was black-haired and slender. I thought my hair was dark, but hers was coal black. With pale skin. It was a weird relief that her lips were normal, otherwise I’d have feared slightly that I’d been kidnapped by a vampire. Albeit an averagely dressed one: jeans, a plain green t-shirt,… Not gothic. Kidnapped by psychos seemed slightly less threatening than kidnapped by vampires, I think?
He was similarly plainly dressed. All six foot whatever of him. Messy sandy hair, too long since its last cut, and a five o’clock shadow. The t-shirt clung a little tightly round his belly, too. Lockdown hadn’t been kind to him (or anyone, but particularly not him).
I was terrified, but stubborn. I refused to break the silence with any form of gag talk. I stared, defiantly. And felt my heart race faster as they stared back, appraising their catch.
“Good find, my love,” the giant said, after what seemed like an age.
His partner nodded, as if confirming what he said.“I thought she seemed your type.”
They resumed their staring before the woman finally turned to the man.
“Right, shall we have some dinner, Jon?”
This was too much. Kidnapping, I could handle. But tell me why! I screamed through the gag, pulling my wrists against the wood, hoping with enough ferocity the wood might break. I kept the fight up long after they disappeared through the door into the kitchen. Why oh why was I here?
There's such a thing as too helpful (MF/F) (Part 3 added 4th April)
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Boundcurious
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There's such a thing as too helpful (MF/F) (Part 3 added 4th April)
Last edited by Boundcurious 3 years ago, edited 2 times in total.
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tickletied84
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Good start, clearly described the physical and emotional events. Keen to see where this goes next!
I agree. Very good start. Mind games seem to be ahead. Along with more bindings gags and who knows what else
Fantastic capture scene! Took no time at all to render her helpless. Please post more soon!
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Boundcurious
- Centennial Club
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Thank you [mention]Trickster[/mention], [mention]Bandit666[/mention] and [mention]tickletied84[/mention], I really appreciate you taking the time to respond 
I got my days confused (who isn’t, this last year?!) and thought I had more time to carry on than I did in reality. I’ll try and write some more this weekend
I got my days confused (who isn’t, this last year?!) and thought I had more time to carry on than I did in reality. I’ll try and write some more this weekend
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Boundcurious
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 155
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: Britain
Part 2 is just a short one, but I'm hoping to post more during the weekend. As my name suggests, I'm inexperienced. If anything rings particularly untrue or weird, please feel free to point it out! Any other feedback is obviously welcome, too.
Part 2.
Dinner took an age to cook, eat, wash up, the smell steadily creeping round the shut door between living room and kitchen. By the time they finished clearing up, I felt the first stirrings of hunger. I felt too sick to eat, and yet a part of me smelled food at tea time and subconsciously wanted in. I had long since given up my fight with a solid wood bannister, accepting escape would not be imminent, instead standing trapped in position and trying not to focus on burning legs which were keen for a rest.
Eventually, the door to the kitchen opened and the giant, Jon, came through holding a plate aloft. Hope soared. I didn’t know why I was here, or how long for, but at least they didn’t plan to starve me. That was always a bonus. Then he lowered the plate. Half empty, the food clearly came from their own plates. Sausage ends, half a fried egg, the chips everyone leaves till last, and a couple of baked beans. Scraps.
“We’ll give you dinner,” said Jon, “but you have to promise not to scream or make any loud sounds. Cara has a knife and will use it if you make a sound. Understand?”
Firstly, this has to be a bad sign if they’re telling me their names, right? Secondly, sure. I’m not happy with the suggestion, or enamoured with the food, but still better than starving. I nodded.
The tape stung as he ripped it off. I somehow hadn’t expected that. The moment the rag was removed, I forgot the sting though. Temporary relief. I glanced towards Cara to check whether she really had a knife. She did. So I fulfilled my end of the bargain and stayed quiet whilst I ate. Jon, in turn, fed me the meagre meal.
After eating, I wanted to ask their plans. What did they want with me? But a second glance at the knife changed my mind. I didn’t like being clueless, but I liked the idea of being stabbed and clueless even less. Instead, I feigned patiently waiting whilst Jon opened a drawer to grab something out. When he turned round, I saw it was a ball gag. An absolutely massive ball gag. Instinct kicked in and I fought against the cuffs again. Let me out of here. I even opened my mouth to scream. But Cara stepped into my eyeline, brandishing the knife. That put an end to my momentary rebellion, but the fear was still there, still needed an outlet. My breathing grew ragged and I shrunk back into the bannister, spindles digging into my back. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t help. Jon levered the ball into my mouth, forcing my jaw wider than it had ever been. It did not take long for the dribble to start. I had never felt so powerless. This was demeaning.
Part 2.
Dinner took an age to cook, eat, wash up, the smell steadily creeping round the shut door between living room and kitchen. By the time they finished clearing up, I felt the first stirrings of hunger. I felt too sick to eat, and yet a part of me smelled food at tea time and subconsciously wanted in. I had long since given up my fight with a solid wood bannister, accepting escape would not be imminent, instead standing trapped in position and trying not to focus on burning legs which were keen for a rest.
Eventually, the door to the kitchen opened and the giant, Jon, came through holding a plate aloft. Hope soared. I didn’t know why I was here, or how long for, but at least they didn’t plan to starve me. That was always a bonus. Then he lowered the plate. Half empty, the food clearly came from their own plates. Sausage ends, half a fried egg, the chips everyone leaves till last, and a couple of baked beans. Scraps.
“We’ll give you dinner,” said Jon, “but you have to promise not to scream or make any loud sounds. Cara has a knife and will use it if you make a sound. Understand?”
Firstly, this has to be a bad sign if they’re telling me their names, right? Secondly, sure. I’m not happy with the suggestion, or enamoured with the food, but still better than starving. I nodded.
The tape stung as he ripped it off. I somehow hadn’t expected that. The moment the rag was removed, I forgot the sting though. Temporary relief. I glanced towards Cara to check whether she really had a knife. She did. So I fulfilled my end of the bargain and stayed quiet whilst I ate. Jon, in turn, fed me the meagre meal.
After eating, I wanted to ask their plans. What did they want with me? But a second glance at the knife changed my mind. I didn’t like being clueless, but I liked the idea of being stabbed and clueless even less. Instead, I feigned patiently waiting whilst Jon opened a drawer to grab something out. When he turned round, I saw it was a ball gag. An absolutely massive ball gag. Instinct kicked in and I fought against the cuffs again. Let me out of here. I even opened my mouth to scream. But Cara stepped into my eyeline, brandishing the knife. That put an end to my momentary rebellion, but the fear was still there, still needed an outlet. My breathing grew ragged and I shrunk back into the bannister, spindles digging into my back. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t help. Jon levered the ball into my mouth, forcing my jaw wider than it had ever been. It did not take long for the dribble to start. I had never felt so powerless. This was demeaning.
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Boundcurious
- Centennial Club
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- Location: Britain
Part 3
So here I was, still tied in a tilted cross to the bannister, rope wrapped around my legs and a mammoth ball gag filling my mouth. My kidnappers held full control, no matter what they chose to do next.
They released my right wrist from the bannister, keeping the cuff connected to me. I wobbled, almost toppling over with the shift to my balance. Once I stood more confidently, Jon forced me to hop towards my left arm until it hung behind my back. He yanked the handcuff hanging limply from my right wrist, forcing that behind me too, and quickly attached it to my left wrist. Only then was I released from the spindles.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring fearfully up at Jon, wobbling slightly with my legs drawn so close together and my wrists pinned behind me.
“Oh sweetheart,” cooed Cara, “are you struggling there?” I glared at her. Of course I bloody was. I was hungry, scared and tied up. “No matter, hunny bunch, Jon here will give you a hand.” I didn’t know what that hand would be, but there was only one kind of hand I wanted. And that was one to release the cuffs and rope, and send me on my way. That didn’t seem likely after the effort so far, so I fought back. I grabbed onto the bannister and jumped my legs up to kick Jon in the fat stomach. That was the aim, anyway. Turns out I’m not as strong as I thought. I barely lifted my legs, not even enough to kick him in the knees, before crumbling awkwardly onto the floor.
Heaped in misery, the first tears came, mingling with the drool from the gag. Jon bent down and swept me over his shoulder. I saw nothing through the tears and bouncing as we climbed the stairs but could plainly hear Jon’s voice from in front of me.
“I’ll look after you. I’ll make sure you never fall again.” Not a promise I felt I needed from a kidnapper. That sounded ominous. Every inch of me wanted to struggle, but if he dropped me I’d fall down the stairs. As scared as I was for the future, I still wanted to avoid known evils…
On the landing he swung left and left again, into the room over the lounge. There, he dumped me on a bed. This kidnap was clearly not on a whim. The walls were soundproofed. The bed was a simple metal frame with a variety of tie-up options. One cabinet was locked shut. When Cara came in, she held a key and opened the draws. Inside were all manner of bondage items, some common ones, others I’d never come across. A sleeping bag, what purpose could that have? A hood. Those things existed? I thought that was just for fiction. Whips, rope, ratchet straps, different gag types. And most scary? A human size box, basically like a coffin, on the floor beside the cabinet. What did these psychos want with me?
“Now sit there quietly, hun, while we decide what to do with you,” Cara said, as Jon joined her at the cabinet. Like heck I would. Hopping would be too loud and obvious. But if I sat on the floor and inched forward moving my legs and arms, then letting them take my weight as I shifted my bum, that would be quieter. Slower, but more subtle. They gave me better odds.
So I eased myself off the bed and started the slow and awkward journey towards the door. My hands and wrists could barely take the weight, but desperation drove me forward. I watched the door creep ever closer as I wormed my way toward it. Quick glances back at Cara and Jon showed me that I was safe. They hadn’t spotted anything. Any noise I did make was covered by the sounds of them shifting items around in the drawers, metal clanging occasionally against the sides.
Outside the room, I worried less about sound and moved faster. In my head I planned ahead to the stairs, the hop to the door, twisting the handle with my arms behind me would be tough but do-able, then the final jumps to freedom. Hopefully, someone would be walking nearby. Hopefully, Cara and Jon would not overpower this person too.
“No! She’s gone!” I heard as I neared the staircase. I sped up even more. Feet. Hands. Bum. Feet. Hands. Bum. Yes, the stairs!
I stretched my legs that little bit further, pushing them over the edge to the next step down. And a thick arm appeared, tightening itself round my neck. I tried to shake it loose, drive myself forward, but the arm choked me. I moved back to release the pressure on my throat, bowing my head in reluctant submission. Again, Jon swept me into his arms. Damn the massive difference between us. And he walked me back into the same prison room.
We stood this time, locked together with one arm around my arms, the other around my neck again. I was compliant, growing ever more fearful as I watched Cara place five ratchet straps at equal distance along the box. This didn’t bode well. I assume I was going in and the straps would be too narrow for me to escape through. That would be horrible. Claustrophobic.
Turns out I was wrong about the plan. Happy with the layout of the straps, next she approached with rope, tying it above my knees, round my waist, and above and below my breasts. She cinched each off tightly, leaving barely enough space to breathe. Not ideal as I was closer and closer to hyperventilating. As an afterthought, she took pity (?) and loosened everything enough to release my wrists from behind my back, placing them at my side instead. Then tightening everything painfully tight again.
At no point did Jon take the pressure from my throat, preventing me from putting up any form of fight. I had never felt so controlled in the thirty-four years of my life.
After finishing the tying, and checking each knot, Cara headed back to the cabinet one last time, this time bringing a collection of socks and some duct tape. Guess where they were going… Reaching behind my head, she released the ball gag, pulling it roughly out. Uncomfortable, but better than the gag itself. She took her time, placing one sock then the next into my mouth, filling every cavity, pinning my tongue, sucking my mouth dry. When my cheeks bulged like a hamster, she grabbed the tape, placing strip after strip across my mouth, under the jaw. Everywhere.
I assumed that would be all for the tape, but she told me to ball my hands. The pause as I considered refusing was broken by a tug on my throat, reminding me of my precarious situation. Reluctantly, I placed both hands into fists, and she wrapped yet more tape around them both, trapping them into that position.
Finally content, they half dragged me towards the box. Panic set in and I fought back, wriggling and squirming, but I was no match. They lifted me up and placed me inside. Now for the ratchet straps, I imagine.
But first, Cara knelt down and put her hand inside to stroke my cheek.
“My husband is only happy with someone to dominate. I don’t want that to be me, but I saw you walk past each day. Pale skin, dark hair, and I realised how much he might enjoy dominating you instead. A perfect substitute, you might say. I can’t promise it will be nice, but it’s best to comply. If you don’t, there are punishments. You saw the sleeping bag in the drawer? There are ways he can make your time in this box even worse. And he will, trust me on that. So be a good girl and work with us, not against us. It’s in your best interests.”
“Mnoh, mwee!” I called. But even I could barely understand the plea for her to put an end to this.
With one final stroke of the cheek she stood up and I prepared myself for the straps to appear and keep me in the box. What I didn’t prepare myself for was the box to have a lid placed on top. As I plunged into darkness, it felt like being buried alive. As my eyes adjusted, I saw some air holes. But that was worse in some ways, it meant they planned to keep me here for a while, unhindered by air running out. As I fought one last time, I tried to dislodge the lid with my head, but someone was sitting on it as they did the straps up, keeping the lid in place. All I had to show for my fight was the beginnings of a headache.
Damn then. Damn me for running blindly into the house to be helpful. Damn this damn coffin. Alone, scared, in the dark. Would I ever get free?
So here I was, still tied in a tilted cross to the bannister, rope wrapped around my legs and a mammoth ball gag filling my mouth. My kidnappers held full control, no matter what they chose to do next.
They released my right wrist from the bannister, keeping the cuff connected to me. I wobbled, almost toppling over with the shift to my balance. Once I stood more confidently, Jon forced me to hop towards my left arm until it hung behind my back. He yanked the handcuff hanging limply from my right wrist, forcing that behind me too, and quickly attached it to my left wrist. Only then was I released from the spindles.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring fearfully up at Jon, wobbling slightly with my legs drawn so close together and my wrists pinned behind me.
“Oh sweetheart,” cooed Cara, “are you struggling there?” I glared at her. Of course I bloody was. I was hungry, scared and tied up. “No matter, hunny bunch, Jon here will give you a hand.” I didn’t know what that hand would be, but there was only one kind of hand I wanted. And that was one to release the cuffs and rope, and send me on my way. That didn’t seem likely after the effort so far, so I fought back. I grabbed onto the bannister and jumped my legs up to kick Jon in the fat stomach. That was the aim, anyway. Turns out I’m not as strong as I thought. I barely lifted my legs, not even enough to kick him in the knees, before crumbling awkwardly onto the floor.
Heaped in misery, the first tears came, mingling with the drool from the gag. Jon bent down and swept me over his shoulder. I saw nothing through the tears and bouncing as we climbed the stairs but could plainly hear Jon’s voice from in front of me.
“I’ll look after you. I’ll make sure you never fall again.” Not a promise I felt I needed from a kidnapper. That sounded ominous. Every inch of me wanted to struggle, but if he dropped me I’d fall down the stairs. As scared as I was for the future, I still wanted to avoid known evils…
On the landing he swung left and left again, into the room over the lounge. There, he dumped me on a bed. This kidnap was clearly not on a whim. The walls were soundproofed. The bed was a simple metal frame with a variety of tie-up options. One cabinet was locked shut. When Cara came in, she held a key and opened the draws. Inside were all manner of bondage items, some common ones, others I’d never come across. A sleeping bag, what purpose could that have? A hood. Those things existed? I thought that was just for fiction. Whips, rope, ratchet straps, different gag types. And most scary? A human size box, basically like a coffin, on the floor beside the cabinet. What did these psychos want with me?
“Now sit there quietly, hun, while we decide what to do with you,” Cara said, as Jon joined her at the cabinet. Like heck I would. Hopping would be too loud and obvious. But if I sat on the floor and inched forward moving my legs and arms, then letting them take my weight as I shifted my bum, that would be quieter. Slower, but more subtle. They gave me better odds.
So I eased myself off the bed and started the slow and awkward journey towards the door. My hands and wrists could barely take the weight, but desperation drove me forward. I watched the door creep ever closer as I wormed my way toward it. Quick glances back at Cara and Jon showed me that I was safe. They hadn’t spotted anything. Any noise I did make was covered by the sounds of them shifting items around in the drawers, metal clanging occasionally against the sides.
Outside the room, I worried less about sound and moved faster. In my head I planned ahead to the stairs, the hop to the door, twisting the handle with my arms behind me would be tough but do-able, then the final jumps to freedom. Hopefully, someone would be walking nearby. Hopefully, Cara and Jon would not overpower this person too.
“No! She’s gone!” I heard as I neared the staircase. I sped up even more. Feet. Hands. Bum. Feet. Hands. Bum. Yes, the stairs!
I stretched my legs that little bit further, pushing them over the edge to the next step down. And a thick arm appeared, tightening itself round my neck. I tried to shake it loose, drive myself forward, but the arm choked me. I moved back to release the pressure on my throat, bowing my head in reluctant submission. Again, Jon swept me into his arms. Damn the massive difference between us. And he walked me back into the same prison room.
We stood this time, locked together with one arm around my arms, the other around my neck again. I was compliant, growing ever more fearful as I watched Cara place five ratchet straps at equal distance along the box. This didn’t bode well. I assume I was going in and the straps would be too narrow for me to escape through. That would be horrible. Claustrophobic.
Turns out I was wrong about the plan. Happy with the layout of the straps, next she approached with rope, tying it above my knees, round my waist, and above and below my breasts. She cinched each off tightly, leaving barely enough space to breathe. Not ideal as I was closer and closer to hyperventilating. As an afterthought, she took pity (?) and loosened everything enough to release my wrists from behind my back, placing them at my side instead. Then tightening everything painfully tight again.
At no point did Jon take the pressure from my throat, preventing me from putting up any form of fight. I had never felt so controlled in the thirty-four years of my life.
After finishing the tying, and checking each knot, Cara headed back to the cabinet one last time, this time bringing a collection of socks and some duct tape. Guess where they were going… Reaching behind my head, she released the ball gag, pulling it roughly out. Uncomfortable, but better than the gag itself. She took her time, placing one sock then the next into my mouth, filling every cavity, pinning my tongue, sucking my mouth dry. When my cheeks bulged like a hamster, she grabbed the tape, placing strip after strip across my mouth, under the jaw. Everywhere.
I assumed that would be all for the tape, but she told me to ball my hands. The pause as I considered refusing was broken by a tug on my throat, reminding me of my precarious situation. Reluctantly, I placed both hands into fists, and she wrapped yet more tape around them both, trapping them into that position.
Finally content, they half dragged me towards the box. Panic set in and I fought back, wriggling and squirming, but I was no match. They lifted me up and placed me inside. Now for the ratchet straps, I imagine.
But first, Cara knelt down and put her hand inside to stroke my cheek.
“My husband is only happy with someone to dominate. I don’t want that to be me, but I saw you walk past each day. Pale skin, dark hair, and I realised how much he might enjoy dominating you instead. A perfect substitute, you might say. I can’t promise it will be nice, but it’s best to comply. If you don’t, there are punishments. You saw the sleeping bag in the drawer? There are ways he can make your time in this box even worse. And he will, trust me on that. So be a good girl and work with us, not against us. It’s in your best interests.”
“Mnoh, mwee!” I called. But even I could barely understand the plea for her to put an end to this.
With one final stroke of the cheek she stood up and I prepared myself for the straps to appear and keep me in the box. What I didn’t prepare myself for was the box to have a lid placed on top. As I plunged into darkness, it felt like being buried alive. As my eyes adjusted, I saw some air holes. But that was worse in some ways, it meant they planned to keep me here for a while, unhindered by air running out. As I fought one last time, I tried to dislodge the lid with my head, but someone was sitting on it as they did the straps up, keeping the lid in place. All I had to show for my fight was the beginnings of a headache.
Damn then. Damn me for running blindly into the house to be helpful. Damn this damn coffin. Alone, scared, in the dark. Would I ever get free?
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slackywacky
- Millennial Club
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- Location: Canada
Will see ever get free? Hope you will tell us. Thanks for writing this very nice tale.
Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt
My active stories:
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt
My active stories:
- All in the family - Updated 24/04
- Bondage model by choice - Updated 10/04
- Hitchhiker - Updated 29/03
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Boundcurious
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- Location: Britain
Thank you for your kind words and taking the time to share them. I’m about to go off the grid for a while, so I won’t be writing. As there hasn’t been much feedback I’ll hold off continuing, but if the interest is there then I’ll carry on when I’m back in society again!slackywacky wrote: ↑3 years ago Will see ever get free? Hope you will tell us. Thanks for writing this very nice tale.
This is one of the scarier stories I've read, which is neat! I feel for her and am torn between seeing if she escapes or finds herself deeper and deeper in peril, distress and bondage. Can't wait to see how it plays out. (Plus, you write really well, which adds to my enjoyment of the story.)
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Boundcurious
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Thank you very much for your kind words. Sorry I’m only acknowledging now - in my head I had assumed I wouldn’t get any more feedback so I didn’t even checkTrickster wrote: ↑3 years ago This is one of the scarier stories I've read, which is neat! I feel for her and am torn between seeing if she escapes or finds herself deeper and deeper in peril, distress and bondage. Can't wait to see how it plays out. (Plus, you write really well, which adds to my enjoyment of the story.)
I hope you're going to continue the story???
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Boundcurious
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 155
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: Britain
I intend to [mention]Trickster[/mention]
I’ve got something going on at the moment so I’m able to come in and post on other stories, but it’ll probably be a few weeks until I’m in a position to write myself. I appreciate your interest, though. It’s people like you who give the desire to continue!
(And anyone else who has been kind enough to respond!)
I’ve got something going on at the moment so I’m able to come in and post on other stories, but it’ll probably be a few weeks until I’m in a position to write myself. I appreciate your interest, though. It’s people like you who give the desire to continue!
(And anyone else who has been kind enough to respond!)
I'm glad to hear you'll be continuing it. I'll be patient lol Good luck with what you have going on right now! 
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Boundcurious
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Thank you [mention]Trickster[/mention] !