Break a Leg (F/M)

[ZTVFemdomtales]

Break a leg. It’s an old superstition in the theater. Saying ‘good luck’ is really bad luck. So you just say ‘break a leg’ instead. I never paid it much mind. Like I said, it was just a silly little superstition. That’s what I thought. Then came the night of our community theater debut. My mother popped her head backstage to say how proud she was of me. Blushing, I tried to get her back into the theater. Before I could she, not being a theater person, let the words fly.
“Good luck, Honey.”
From that moment on the entire cast and crew were on edge. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the shoe to drop. The first dangling laces showed themselves when our costume designer arrived. She was flushed and wiping sweat off her forehead.
“That nervous?” I asked.
“No, it’s my new medicine. They said it could have some… side effects.”
“Hopefully they won’t last too long.”
I patted her on the shoulder and went back to last minute rehearsing.

The shoe finally dropped just twenty minutes before the curtains would rise. It was a worker’s steel toed boot. The man checking one of the lights up in the catwalk had taken it off to pull a nail out of the sole. His buddy bumped into him, and it fell, striking me in the knee.
The show had to go on. My understudy had to go on. I was stuck backstage with an ice pack on my knee, having to listen to the whole thing. I sat in a rolling chair with my leg up on a box while our costume designer worked away, sweating away. I was pulled from my own miserable pouting by her moaning. Hers weren’t sorrow or pain. Hers were… lustful? I looked over and gasped. She had unbuttoned her top as far as it would go and was playing with her nipples.
“Uh, what kind of side effects did you say you were having?”
She looked at me as if for the first time. Her face was wild with lust. She grabbed my head and forced her tongue down my throat.

I’m sure when everyone came backstage for the scene change, they were shocked to find us gone. They were probably even more shocked to find the rolling chair out in the parking lot where her minivan once was. I would never know. At that moment she was speeding back to her house. I was stretched out on the back bench seat, bound in rope she seemed to keep on hand. My mouth was gagged with rags and tape from backstage. The ice pack was still wrapped to my knee. She kept promising me that once she got me tied to her bed she would take good care of my knee, and my dick.