Demolition Man (M/F+)

[lanadelgagged]

The clock on the bus station struck 9:00 in the morning, his watch was five minutes fast, deliberately. His gaze befell upon his wrist and scanned the small LCD screen of the digital watch. Men and women of all walks of life await the arrival of the next bus, their faces varied in weariness. He sits inhaling the smoke from a foreign cigarette, lit up by a suited lady next to him. The hassles of the rush hour have passed and given way to a momentary calm on the streets, car horns and police sirens echoing as they fade into the distance. The bus finally arrives, the Demolition Man and his sports bag embark on the fifteen-minute journey to the hills outside the city. Setting a firm foot inside the vehicle, the bus driver examines the silhouette of a man as he draws the ticket from the machine. No remarkable features could be surveyed from the man’s ensemble other than his clothes fitting him well, accentuating a timidly toned upper body. He has become one of those usual suspects at this time of the day, the bus driver remembers the faces of most people who head to that relatively secluded part of the city. He has a vague idea of everyone’s duties in the day, their jobs, or the reason why they take the ride at this hour of the day. Except for one. Nobody knows the Demolition Man, his line of work, his intentions, and whatever he might conceal inside that sports bag. Perhaps this might be the reason why no one dares to mess around with the Demolition Man, albeit his presence is far from threatening. The ragged edges of his face are the livid portrait of a working man past his prime. Thus his presence arises no suspicion, nobody’s friend and nobody’s enemy. As the bus continues the route the backdrop of multi-story offices turn into picturesque postcards of the countryside, as upscale residential areas surround the confines of the well-paved mountain road. The bus grows emptier with every stop, passengers head to their daily lives. So does the Demolition Man.

In no time, the man carrying the sports bag leaves his seat, the doors open and he sets foot on the tarmac. A crystal silence ensues followed by the orchestra of nature hard at work, blooming in the light of day. Birds chirping, the wind blowing against the trees, and a coordinated dance of the elements interrupted by the sound of construction machinery. The Demolition Man walks past a construction site, where new residential bungalows are being built. He stares at the workers, the workers do not stare back. His nickname is deceitful, for the nature of his work has nothing to do with construction. As he walks past the complex architecture of newly built housing, he draws a piece of paper from the back pocket. Its edges lay jagged, but the handwriting is clear as day. In it, a numerated list of people, all of them distinctively female-named.




#1 PAIGE P. ROBERTS

The Roberts’ house sits at the end of the residential road, gracing the skirt of the mountain. The area surrounding it has been cursed with complex geography, the Demolition Man walks uphill across the bumpy stretch of road. A house with a characteristic whiteness that suggests the wall was painted not too long ago. With a firm grip on his sports bag, he presses on the door buzzer. The silhouette of a middle-aged woman, draped in a dark fuchsia lace gown summons in front of him as the door opens. Her dark hair extends behind her back and out from the sight of the Demolition Man. He looks at her with the eyes of a man who has grown accustomed to her stance.

“Good morning Miss Roberts.”
“You’re early today, come in! Would you like a glass of water?”
“That’d be much appreciated, got a long day ahead of me.” – he takes the offer without a sliver of hesitation.

Paige Roberts makes her way across the living room and from the kitchen she brings a glass of cold water. Demolition Man sips profusely as he lays the black bag with no markings on the floor. “Same as last week?” He said, turning his head towards the housewife. “Yes please, the money is on the kitchen counter. Don’t forget.” Thus began the ritual that defined his line of work, an unspoken contract signed to the satisfaction of both parties. The sports bag becomes unzipped and its contents are revealed. From within he draws coil after coil of red cotton rope, neatly arranging them on the floor next to him. The parquet floor creaks as Paige treads her barefoot against the wood, making her way once again to the living room and lying on the sofa. She lay on her stomach, raising her legs behind her until they formed an acute angle with the rest of her resting body. She then stretches her arms as far they can reach, then relaxes. It became apparent that this was far from being the first time she had engaged in this precious activity. The Demolition Man felt no need to grip her as he began to feed the red rope through the tenderness of her wrists. Ms Roberts liked it inescapable, but not tight. The Demolition Man is more than happy to comply with her requests. After a few sessions, he had managed to strike the sweet-spot Paige craved, his gentle touch was the token of his experience. To her request the ropes become tightened, and the housewife enjoyed a decent amount of slack, a comfort that does not translate into escape. The ritual proceeded, with her elbows being bound together, tethered to each other but not tightened, making the strain minimal. Ms Roberts felt comfortable with her forearms being pressed against each other, so the Demolition Man complies. Only three of his carefully selected coils of rope were employed to restrain her, leaving the man with a vast supply left to use.

He bound her ankles together, stretching her legs before bringing them close to her body. One more coil of rope was threaded, connecting her ankles to the bonds on her elbows. As he tugged gently on the rope, her hogtie was completed. Almost instinctively Ms Roberts tried to stretch her legs behind her, pulling on the rope and feeling the resistance. The Demolition Man liked it when his clients tested the effectiveness of her bonds, as he regarded it as a sign of appreciation for his skills as a rigger. He returns with a nearly-finished roll of silver PVC on one hand and a roll of white microfoam tape on the other, offering them to his client. “Which one?” He said, as if he was presenting them for the first time. Paige never uttered a single word, instead, she limited herself to shaking her head in the direction of the roll of microfoam tape. Perhaps she was already coming to terms with having her words snatched, she held her silence even before the gag was applied. What ensued was the announced and inevitable course of events that would result in Ms Roberts losing the privilege of speech. The Demolition Man found a tear in the tape and started to unspool it. He stretched out a couple of inches of the white material before pressing it against Paige’s lips with the palm of his hand. Ms Roberts had pressed her lips shut beforehand in anticipation, allowing for a clear imprint of her lips to form in the tape. As the tape was wrapped around her head it stuck to itself, every turn made the imprint of her lips the less clear. Soon the soft embrace of the white material sealed her lips and kept her silent, the deal was consummated. The Demolition Man pressed the end of the tape against the cheek of his captive, ensuring the gag was secured. His work here was done, but still he took the liberty to reach for the remote and put Ms Roberts’ favourite channel at a low volume. “Be back in an hour.” He got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen, on his way he zipped the bag and picked it up. Exactly as she said, the money was right on top of the kitchen counter. The Demolition Man counted the $20 bills and put them in his wallet before heading for the exit.

Outside he stood for a couple of minutes, checking his watch and once again drawing the list from his pocket. It was roughly 9:30 in his head, the sun became obscured by grey clouds looming in the distance. His eyes scanned the list for the next name.




#2 VALERIE

Valerie lived only a few yards away from the Roberts’ house, despite it being in a separate residential area it was a short walk down the hill. The houses seem to stretch forever as if a knife had cut a wound in the skin of the mountain. Valerie’s boyfriend had left for work in the early hours of the morning, her house lay nearly desolate. When the Demolition Man rang twice, Valerie was standing by the doorway with her cat between her arms. As much as he liked Valerie’s cat, he had no time for pets as the clock kept ticking. Valerie is well aware of his line of work, but is oblivious to the fact that only a few houses away, her neighbour is enjoying the same fate that is about to befall her. Valerie was younger than Ms Roberts, he never knew how much younger, nor did he care. For all he knew, Valerie didn’t look a day older than 30. From her attire, it was apparent that she had returned from a morning jog or a gym session. The yoga pants and tank top accentuated her fit body, and toned muscles that speak loudly of her consistency and discipline.

The Demolition Man followed Valerie to her bedroom upstairs. The room was much tidier than other times before but still was in visible disarray. Its amplitude and the size of its windows allowed for plenty of sunlight to creep inside the beige walls, perhaps too much. The bed was separated from the windows and the wall by a wooden nightstand. Valerie climbed onto the bed, and similarly to the client before her, she lay on her stomach. The Demolition Man drew more coils of rope from within the trusty sports bag. “Could you make it look like a robbery?” She said in an almost playful tone, timidly smirking. The Demolition Man scanned the room noticing its disarray before turning his head towards her: “It already looks like it.” They both chuckled as seriousness in his face started to form. The Demolition Man rested his knees on the side of the bed, being careful not to put his shoes near the linens. Valerie eagerly put her hands together behind her back, her palms intertwined. Before she could account for, her wrists had been cinched together in an instant. The rope clung to her skin in the way that only a true captive enjoys. The Demolition Man applied the bonds almost automatically, in an impersonal mechanical fashion that contrasted heavily with the ripples of passion going through Valerie’s body. Bondage had become her substitute for meditation, and no one was better at this than the Demolition Man. The tugging of the ropes as they gently scrape the skin put her at ease, she lies induced in a trance. The Demolition Man removes one of his socks before placing her in a strict hogtie. He gently ties her hair into a bun and connects it to the ropes binding her feet together at the soles. Her sock is rolled up into a ball that’s almost the size of her mouth, the Demolition Man holds the soft garment to her lips. Finally, they open, and the sock is shoved inside her mouth and between her feet. He allows for a sliver of the white fabric to stick out her upper lip, ensuring that the contents of her mouth will not move in his absence and restrict her airwaves. The silver tape seals her mouth shut, concealing and further secluding the contents inside it. Valerie had become her favourite client, he considered her to be the most entertaining one to bind. Valerie started to show one of many reasons why, as she started to complain against her gag while the tape was fed. Every turn of the tape blurred her words considerably, he found that characteristic sound very appealing and almost arousing. As the tape unspools around her head, she stares straight into the eyes of the Demolition Man. Their gazes meet and time freezes for an instant. A shy blush begins to draw on his face, causing him to break eye contact and resume his duties. The tone of her voice changes significantly with the gag, as he cuts the tape and presses its end with the palm of his hand Valerie begins to shake her head in silent protest.

Much to her desires, her bedroom was the vivid image of a burglary. The untidy room, the mysterious assailant packing up his things and heading for the door, the helpless woman viciously struggling against her bonds as she grows in frustration. The Demolition Man realised the money had been in Valerie’s bound hand the entire time, now it really looked like a robbery. He took the bills and headed for the door. Her muffled moans echoed across the hallway and grew in intensity, being audible from downstairs. Less obvious were Valerie’s struggles, the nuanced sound of rope against the linens, and the springs of the mattress as she tries wriggling free of the ropes. The Demolition Man counted the money and checked his supplies, upon exiting he looked at his watch once again.

The mere thought of her name was enough to send shivers down his spine. Deep down, the Demolition Man had developed a deeply ingrained devotion for the lady. It all started with the sound of her voice, and grew until today. Her looks, her charm, how naturally her movements unfold against his bonds. Ravishing with captivity, a display of effortless poise… The Demolition Man tries not to become too attached to any client, and Valerie seems to be the exception. For all he knows his work there was done, and the satisfaction of tying her up every week prevails.




#3 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

The Demolition Man stands by the doorway with a puzzled face that scans the silhouette of an unexpected visitor. To his surprise he finds Rebecca joined by her Tennis instructor. He examines the unfamiliar face of the Asian woman, her skin was darker than Rebecca’s and the features of her face suggested she was wearing some sort of makeup on her cheeks. “Come in!” She says without providing an explanation. Rebecca’s house can best be described as ‘quaint’, a county cottage-like construction that provides a stark contrast to the architecture of the area. As he steps in, the Demolition Man is overcome by the scent of sandalwood and a blend of spices. The outside of the house s very colourful and floral while the interior is much more monochromic and sober. Still without an explanation, the awkwardness of the moment is worsened when the Demolition Man drops his sports bag on the floor. “Don’t worry, he’s just my rigger.” Rebecca whispers in her instructor’s ear. “Rigger? What do you mean?” The puzzling look on the instructor’s face nearly matches the Demolition Man’s. “You’ll see what I mean in a moment.” The proprietress now turns to him and raises her voice.

“Hey, do you mind if my friend here watches?”
“Sure, no problem.” – he responded in a deep voice as he turned his attention to the supplies in his bag.

Thus the three would make their way to Rebecca’s bedroom. Lying on her bed in a similar fashion to his other clients she stretches her limbs to each corner of the bed. Rebecca liked spreadeagles, the comfort of her bed was her favourite place to unwind and soon the bondage would join in. She required somewhat of a special treatment that did not pose any trouble with the Demolition Man. The instructor fixed her eyes on the man as he started tying Rebecca’s wrists to separate corners of the bed until her arms were stretch wide apart. He did the same with the ankles, needing more rope to secure the legs in place against the corners of the bed. Over the linens Rebecca made herself at home, the ritual of captivity unfolded with a pair of unsuspecting eyes surveying it. The instructor now crossed her arms and her face grew in interest. The Demolition Man was done with the rope, and proceeded to draw the same roll of tape that had sealed Valerie’s lips not ten minutes ago. Turning his attention to Rebecca’s hands, she clenched her right hand and was immediately encased in silver tape. Her left hand followed. The finishing touches would ensue, and the Demolition Man started cutting strips from the tape and placing them over Rebecca’s lips. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven strips ensured the proprietress would stay silent for the time being. As he pressed the tape with his fingers, Rebecca’s eyes closed in anticipation. Meanwhile, the instructor kept watching, the scene hadn’t yet caused any reactions as she merely stood still with her arms closed. From under the bed, the Demolition Man summons a Hitachi Magic wand, and the moment of truth awaits. Rebecca’s hour of grace; the tape secures the device between her legs and gently against her femininity. With the flick of switch waves of pleasure wash the shores of Rebecca’s body, her instructor witnessing the scene in a blend of interest and disbelief. Her moans and whimpers against the gag become a testament to its effectiveness, Rebecca closes her eyes once again as she rocks her body from side to side. Timidly attempting to wriggle free from the bonds, but deep inside wishing this moment could stretch forever. The Demolition Man’s job is done, or so he thought…

Standing between him and the doorway was the instructor. It was at this time that he notices she is roughly the same height as him. The instructor’s eyes filled with curiosity, it was so obvious at this moment that even Rebecca would have noticed if she weren’t so busy. Still with her arms crossed, she brings her hand to her face and leans against the doorframe.

“You do this for a living?”
“Yeah.” – he responded, rather uninterested.
“Oh, I see.”

As the instructor leaned against the doorframe, the Demolition Man left the bedroom to search for the money. From within the hallway, the voice of the instructor echoed, blended with Rebecca’s whimpers of muffled passion. “Wait!” She exclaims, prompting the Demolition Man to stop in his tracks. He turns around, their gazes meet. “Can you do the same to me?” He turned around and almost declined, he truly did not have a minute to waste. Pondering her words of eagerness, he finally complies bringing his supplies back inside the bedroom. Ignoring the proprietress’s moment of desire, the Demolition Man brings a chair to the side of the bed, next to the window. “Sit down.” He says in an almost menacing tone. Without exchanging a single word the instructor complies. It must have been her lucky day, by this point the Demolition Man has almost run out of supplies and starts his untying route around the neighbourhood. But it was different this time, there was still enough rope to secure the instructor to the chair. Red rope began to be fed around her breasts, pressing her chest against the back of the chair accentuating her attributes in the act. Her hands were tied to each side of the chair, in a way that her limbs were flush against the furniture and almost stretched to their entirety. The Demolition Man had run out of rope so instead, he used the remainder of the tape to secure her ankles together. Tape was further wrapped around her calves, over and under her knees, and finally binding her thighs together and against the seat. He surveyed the state of her unexpected captive, and his face became the portrait of satisfaction. Despite the instructor having short hair, he decided it was in her best interest to use the roll of white microfoam tape to seal her lips. No hesitation, no complaints, no objections to be made. Still with the soundtrack of Rebecca’s pleasure in the background, his work here was done. He pressed the tape against her mouth for a final tape to secure it and ensure it would not move. Her eyes of jealousy observed Rebecca as she wriggled and rocked her body, trying to get a better feel for the wand. The Demolition Man had no more time to waste, he gathered his belongings and slammed the door shut.

No sooner had he finished counting the money than he left the house and made his way across the residential area. The hard part was done, now he had to undo the route, freeing his willing captives one by one…

[Trammel]

Sounds like a great neighborhood. How do I get a job like this? Great story...again!

[harveygasson]

Cool story. What a brilliant job that would be

[lanadelgagged]

Sounds like a great neighborhood. How do I get a job like this? Great story...again!

By being business partners with me! Or moving to the neighbourhood :p
Thank you for your kind words and feedback, you are amazing!

[AlexUSA3]

I enjoyed reading this tale. You really brought the characters to life in this one.

[GreyLord]

Hello, [mention]lanadelgagged[/mention]. Welcome to tugstories. Both this story and a quick look at your DeviantArt work show you to be a skilled and talented writer. I will certainly read more of your work and hope to see more posted on this site.

[StringTheorist]

Intriguing story. Lots of hooks for follow up- the untie process, why the name Demolition man, the reaction of the instructor.

Thanks.