by Lord Corinius

It was too late to escape. Lisa could feel the pull on her arms growing inexorably stronger. She tried to lower them, and she managed to pull the hook down to her eye level, but she could get it no further. She could see the ropes that bound her wrists together, the knots holding tightly and securely. Her bindings rested in the bottom of the hook, her wrists securely and tightly lashed to either side of the silver metal, and she was unable to free herself because of the pressure. Slowly, her long slender arms were pulled straight up over her head again as fatigue set in. She knew she was helpless, and the rigged device would do its work as it was designed. The barrel that acted as the counter weight descended as her arms again fully extended. The stream of water continued to pour into it from the tank above, causing it to increase in weight. It would eventually counter balance her weight, would then lift her off the ground in a full suspension.

She turned on the balls of her feet, which were bound tightly together at her ankles with duct tape. The aluminum step ladder lay on its side, out of reach. She could have used it to climb up and try to free her arms, but it was useless. She scanned the cinderblock walls of the basement, could see the gray mold snaking across it. Two windows were completely covered with cardboard, but she knew that just several feet beyond, people walked hurriedly along the Los Angeles sidewalk, oblivious to her desperate situation. It was hot in LA, and the heat had settled in the dark, enclosed basement. She could feel her sweat tickle down her back, from under her arms across her ribs. Perspiration dripped between her breasts, down her stomach. She was completely naked, alone in the house, bound, at the mercy of an impersonal machine that could show no mercy.

Still the tank suspended above the barrel continued to relentlessly pour its contents, emptying itself through an extended hose into the lower barrel, obeying only the laws of gravity. It had been pouring for over half an hour now, had to be almost empty. The pressure increased on her shoulders and wrists until she ached at the strain. Her rib cage was etched, and her breasts rose and fell with each gasped breath. The ball gag, buried deep in her mouth, allowed only muffled groans to escape her throat. It attached to a black strap that ran over her head, back to another that cinched tightly around her throat. Another looped under her chin, clamping her teeth tightly around the leather strap and ball. She couldn't push the rubber ball out with her tongue, and now her jaws pulsed with pain. Her lips closed around it, and her cheeks were deeply indented from the tightness of the buckled strap.

She looked up and saw the greased metal cable running up above her bound wrists from the hook to a pulley, where it wound over to another pulley, and then down to the large barrel, now filling slowly with water. The cable was secured to a large metal ring, to which three metal chains were attached. These ran to heavy reinforced handles on the sides of the round barrel. There was no chance the cable or the chains would break. They would easily hold her weight.

She pulled again on her arms, but she didn't have the strength to pull them down now. It would be just minutes. Then in a moment of panic, she thought, "What if the water stops now? What if the weight of the water wasn't worked out correctly and it doesn't lift me? I would be left, stretched, while the barrel hung in the air! But it has to go down! The plug will only be pulled out if it lifts me!" She struggled now against the ropes at her wrists as sweat stung into her eyes. She was suddenly sure that she had made a terrible mistake. The pressure on her wrists was tremendous now, and she could only work her fingers in the air. The knots were far out of reach, and too tight to untie even if she could reach them. Sweat rolled off her, dripped to the cement floor. Her long blond hair snaked in dark strands against her forehead, neck, back. Karen. Her only hope if something went wrong. Karen Richardson was due over in several hours. They were going out, and Karen had a key to the townhouse. But she might not come down to the basement, and Lisa wouldn't be able to call for her. This was all a bad idea, but ...

Slowly, finally, the barrel began to descend. She felt her heels leave the ground first, and she raised up on her toes as high as she could go. And several seconds later, her toes cleared the ground and she was hung. She moaned with agony as the ropes dug into her wrists, and movement to loosen the knots was impossible. Sweat flowed fresh with the realization that she was truly hung, totally helpless. Up she rose, several feet, then stopped as the barrel came to rest on the ground. She could hear the water continuing to flow from the tank into the barrel. She had filled it with more water than needed, and she knew that she would have to wait, hung by her wrists, as the excess water drained from the small hole in the bottom of the barrel that should be, must be, unstopped now. Every inch of her flesh glistened with her perspiration.

Did the plug get pulled? She could only hear the relentless sound of the water pore from the upper tank. How much had she put into it? Her stretched form hung, silently suffering in agony. Lisa Mayer, super model, gorgeous, sexy, the dreams of countless gawking men, suspended helpless, alone in her LA basement, sweat on her body sparkling in the heat and fear of inescapable bondage. Money couldn't buy her the man of her dreams, but it could buy her the toys to pursue her offbeat brand of play. She had learned that self-bondage, if done right, could be a mind-blowing pursuit, and it was relatively safe. One of her friends on the modeling circuit had fallen in with a guy that she didn't know too well, and he had left her for dead in an LA slum, after bragging to his friends that he was dating a model. He and his friends had thrown her a party late one night, deep in the heart of LA, and she had never been able to model again. Avoiding weirdoes meant you couldn't go out with the first asshole that happened along. You had to do things on your own.

Lisa had always been attracted to bondage as a means of fantasy, and self-bondage, if done right, built genuine helplessness without the fear of abuse from another. It was true she would have dearly loved to find a sensitive but kinky guy that she could trust, could play with. But there was no one, and she couldn't see getting to know someone well enough to find out. Thus self-bondage, with its exciting prospect of vibrator heaven and "damsel in distress" fantasies. But self-bondage was dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing. If you got yourself into a situation that you couldn't get out of. Escape routes were important, although today, hung by her wrists, she knew she had no escape route. The suspension was completely real, and there would be no escape until the water had drained from the barrel and her toes again touched the ground.

As she had descended the basement stairs an hour earlier, wearing nothing but a silk robe, she felt so out of place in that dreary, dim cellar she normally avoided. The striking woman smiling so invitingly on page thirty-seven of the Fall 2001 issue of Natural Beauty magazine was not at home in these surroundings. The naked bulb caused her clean, flowing hair to glow gold. Her unadorned, clear skin was still rosy from the long warm bath in which she had just luxuriated, jets pulsing all around her, loosening the stress of tight muscles. No make-up was necessary to enhance her famous girl-next-door looks.

But as she stood barefoot on the hard cement feeling the warm air against her face, a hot feeling spread through her abdomen, and tingled deep within her, anticipation of the ordeal to come. Everything was ready for her, the duct tape, coils of rope, and gleaming heavy hook hanging in the middle of the room. Her skin became sticky as the robe slipped effortlessly to the cement, and she followed gracefully, the floor cool to her naked skin.

Was it a shadowy dark figure who appeared from nowhere and knelt beside her? The abductor, in whose trunk she had just spent the last several terrifying, stifling hours; the plastic ties cruelly connecting her wrists to her ankles contorting and compacting her into that cramped space until she ached for release. The frilly light nightie she had worn to bed clung wet to her sweating skin, and her hair was a tangled, suffocating mass of matted strands under a pillowcase from her bed that completely covered her head, anchored by the belt of her silk nightgown around it all, knotted deeply in her mouth. Her body sucked in desperately for air. A man, clothed in black, facial features hidden beneath a concealing mask, had taken her. Hands strong and rough. Release did come, only to be carried roughly over his shoulder to the cellar of an abandoned shack, stripped and prepared for her captivity.

One smooth layer of tape, then another, and another, bound her ankles tightly, ripped noisily from the full spool. She showed no mercy on herself (he showed no mercy), and winced as her ankle bones ground together. A bead of sweat trickled down her right cheek as she inserted the ball gag into her mouth and tightened the straps over her head and under her chin. The thin black leather deeply indented her flawless cheeks, and the corners of her mouth were distended into a comic parody of her wonderful smile, the hard ball settling behind her teeth. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she knew that all pleading was impossible. The abductor was not interested in her complaints.

Now the rope, a strong cotton weave, passed between her insteps for tension and wound around her wrists in four strands, then cinched with two loops between her arms and yanked tight. This required her to swing her arms, flinging the loose end of the rope up from below her hands. It only took a couple of tries, but practice makes perfect, and she had much practice. The knot was tricky, but accomplished by working the free ends of the rope into her palms and tightening with her fingers, a simple hitch. But that was all that was necessary. She was bound. And as she lay in a miserable heap, he laughed, a hideous sound against her rapid breathing. He was sure that no one knew where she was, her abduction planned and executed in absolute secrecy in the middle of the night.

She could feel the hot perspiration now covering her forehead, neck and torso, and her heart pounded with adrenaline. Standing on her taped feet, she hopped to the barrel and pulled out the hose that descended from the water tank. A red valve held the water from flowing. A simple twist, and her torture would begin. The hook opposite the barrel was counterweighted, so that water could flow for several seconds before it started to rise. Another moment with eyes closed, and then the whole process was put in motion. Several times she placed her wrists into the hook, then rapidly lifted them out in moment of panic, but he was always there to reposition them. And then, gently at first, the hook rose and applied upward pressure. The pressure was nothing, but she could not pull free. And then a slow battle against increasingly fatiguing muscles ensued as the upward pull increased inexorably.

And now, hanging fully stretched, eyes closed, she was lost in her fantasy: an abduction, ransom desperately hoped for, a madman who was slowly torturing her for the sheer thrill, when suddenly, fear like a jolt of electricity flowing through her, she heard a voice upstairs. Karen's. She was early! Lisa hung, quivering in the heat, eyes straining to see the stairs. What was Karen doing here so early?

"Lisa, where are you? I know you're here somewhere. Lisa!" The voice receded as Karen went up to the third floor of the apartment. It was again quiet, but Lisa knew Karen was there, looking for her. Would she come down to the basement? Sweat again dripped into her eyes, causing her to blink rapidly. She knew that the barrel had to empty for at least another ten minutes or so before she would even start to descend, and even then she would have to wait to free herself from her bindings as the barrel would be too heavy to pull against for a while. Again she gasped as she heard the basement door open.

"Lisa, you down here?" Karen's voice was now immediate, clear. Lisa tried to control her gasping breath, but it was forced out of her stretched torso. A step ... then another. Lisa had spun slowly away from the stairs, and she hung her head back to see them. Karen's legs came into view, and then her waist. Lisa could see that she was dressed in some sort of costume, what appeared to be black leather. Sparkles like metal rivets glistened up the side. She closed her eyes against the inevitable.

"Lisa? My God, Lisa!" Karen was now in the basement. Lisa could hear her steps, could feel her presence beside her. She opened her eyes and turned her head. Karen was below her.

"Did someone do this to you? Is there someone here?" Her voice tinged with fear as she quickly scanned the dim basement recesses, expecting to see a hooded captor leap from the shadows. She finally turned back to the bound woman. "You did this to yourself, didn't you? You sly fox."

Lisa finally moaned, letting her head fall back. Her secret was out. Someone else knew her passions. Her wrists screamed with pain, and her shoulders felt broken. Her breath came ragged through her nose, and she groaned again, to communicate to Karen that she needed help, was at the end of her rope, so to speak. Her naked body glistened with sweat, as it beaded into a sheen across her breasts, back, face. Karen again walked into Lisa's field of vision, and Lisa saw the black leather halter top, and neck choker studded with metal rivets. She looked stunning.

"Well, Lisa darling. This is an interesting twist on you that I suspected, but couldn't quite believe. So you like bondage, huh?" With another shock of recognition, Lisa felt Karen's hand on her side, a finger slowly trace through the sweat to her left breast. Two fingers gently rolled the hard nipple. Again, a finger tickled across the small of her back, and her head was yanked back forcefully, Karen's fingers enmeshed in her hair. Lisa opened her eyes, could see Karen's face. A wry grin played across her face, and her eyes narrowed maliciously.

"I guess you'd like to get down from there, wouldn't you. I'd imagine that gag is killing you, too. Maybe a little thirsty? How long have you been suspended? Not long, I suspect." Her voice had receded to where the barrel stood, full of water. "Hmm, ingenious. You built this all by yourself? Ah, I see how it works. Water slowly fills this barrel. It finally lowers and you go up. Hmm." She continued to study the barrel.

"You have a ways to go, Lisa. This barrel isn't nearly ready to rise. Oh, I see. There's the little stopper that must get pulled out when the barrel drops. Really ingenious. I wouldn't mind trying this myself." Karen was silent for a moment, then Lisa heard her voice close beside her.

"The stopper's back in, Lisa. The water can't escape, and neither can you. You're gonna hang for a while, darling. I'm going to go pick a few things up, but I'll be right back. Just to make sure you don't go anywhere, I think a little more water would be good."

Lisa moaned in agony as she heard the squeak of the water valve and again heard water flow from the tank to the barrel. It felt like her wrists were going to break! Her hands had gone tingly, as the blood flow was cut off. Karen let the water run for several minutes, then shut it off. "The barrel's almost full again, Lisa. So its got plenty of weight to hold you up."

Again her voice sounded low against Lisa's ear. "Just think, Lisa honey. I could get hit by a bus on the way home, and you'd die like this. You really are in a predicament, aren't you? Well, see you soon. Then we'll have a little real bondage fun. While I'm gone, try to be good. Who knows what creeps hang around this neighborhood? Maybe I'll pick someone up and we'll have a real party. How's that gag holding? Hmm. Pretty good, but I think we can do better. I really want you to stay secure for me till later."

Lisa rolled her head sideways, tears of pain and humiliation flowing with her sweat across her cheeks. Karen picked up the fresh role of duct tape that Lisa had used earlier on her ankles, and jerked a piece free. With a deep moan, really a muffled scream, Lisa felt Karen reach up and tightly layer it over the ball gag, pushing the strap and ball deeper into her mouth. Karen wrapped it several times around her head, until Lisa's lips were completely sealed and the strap of the gag was just a lump under the silver tape.

Karen then wrapped more tape above Lisa's knees, binding her legs tightly together. Finally, Lisa heard the step ladder scrape across the cement floor. Her eyes were wide above the tape-reinforced gag, pleading in pain. She looked up. Karen was now standing on the ladder near her, inspecting the ropes that bound her wrists to the hook.

"That has to hurt like hell. Next time, I'd suggest nice wide padded cuffs. Oh well." Again ripping duct tape off the spool, she wrapped it around the girl's wrists, directly on top of the rope. The bindings and knots disappeared under layers of duct tape. Lisa's breath came now frantic through her nose. Shit! Karen was going to leave her like this! No! But only a muffled mmppff escaped.

"Well, little Lisa. I guess you're pretty secure now. Don't think you're going anywhere. You know, this would never have happened if you had hidden those rope marks a little better. I got suspicious the third time I saw marks on your wrists last week, and I just had to see if those suspicions were true. Sure enough. Well, I'll be seeing ya'. Hope I don't get run over!"

Lisa screamed in agony through the gag as she heard Karen's tread on the stairs, then heard the basement door slam shut. Lisa again hung alone in the semi-darkness. The weight of the barrel held her suspended, and she knew from the absolute silence that no water flowed from it. Karen had completely plugged the drain so that the barrel held its water, would not lighten to return her to earth. The worst discomfort came from the ropes that held her suspended to the hook. The tape only caused the ropes to dig deeper, causing her wrists to scream in burning agony. Lisa desperately studied Karen's work, could see that the duct tape was tightly applied, and would prevent any loosening of the ropes underneath.

The minutes crept by. Where had Karen gone? She lived a bus ride away, and Lisa figured if she went all the way home it could be several hours before she would get back. And still she hung, each breath a moan of pain. Sweat continued to pour off of her, and her arms ached with the strain of hanging. The minutes turned to ten minutes, then fifteen, as she struggled to fight back panic, her moans now sobs as tears flowed freely. Her body became a column of pain, as her own weight slowly tortured her. Completely alone, kept absolutely silent by the tape-reinforced gag, she blinked the stinging sweat away. Each breath had become a muffled moan as her nostrils flared, desperate to suck in the heavy, hot air, her exhausted diaphragm slowly succumbing to the unnatural strain. Twenty minutes, and her hands had gone completely numb. Toes pointed futilely towards the floor, several feet below, she knew she was dying. And only Karen could be her savior. Where the hell was she?

Finally, gaining possession of her reason, fighting through the panic, she again scanned the room. She had rotated in her free hang towards the barrel, could see it full of water. Could see the chains pulled tight to the cable. Letting her head fall back and rolling it to the left, something else came into view, shiny and silver. The ladder! Karen had pulled it over and stood on it when she applied tape to Lisa's wrists, and had left it standing near her!

The ladder! Could she possibly use it? Karen had taped her legs together, so that they were bound at ankles and knees. But ... if she could somehow link her legs through a step and pull it around to face her, she just might be able to get up on a higher step. The problem was that she wasn't square with the ladder, and in fact the cable had begun to rotate her slightly the other way. She swung her bound legs, experimenting desperately. Initially, all she succeeded in accomplishing was to swing herself slightly, and spin so that the ladder was completely out of sight. She rested, gasping in the pain, again closing her eyes and feeling her shoulders pull against the weight of her body. Beads of sweat ran down her back to her buttocks. She could feel her body running with perspiration, as she had never felt before. Her hair was now matted to her scalp, and lay in dark, wet strands against her face and back.

Then an idea flickered through the pain. Again she swung her legs, this time in a circular fashion. It worked! She had managed to slightly rotate herself back towards the ladder. Childhood memories of swing-sets and summer fun returned, and she swung her legs around again. The ladder was now just off to her left. One more swing and ... it was now directly in front of her. But slowly, she saw it drift again as the cable rotated her back. Moaning in extreme discomfort and frustration, breath ragged through her nose, she again swung her legs, bringing the ladder once again in front of her. This time, raising her bound legs, she reached out for it. Too far away! She couldn't quite reach it. Swinging her legs back, then forwards, they hit the second step, and a loud scraping sound echoed through the basement as it was pushed further away from her.

Damn it! So close. Lift your legs next time, Lisa! It’s going to be too far away if you do that again. She had to rotate herself again, then, praying that her aim would be true, she swung back, then forwards. Pulling up her legs, they landed heavily on the second step, stayed there, then slipped off! Shit! This had to work. Her body was almost completely fatigued, and she knew soon that the strain of being hung would overcome her. Sweat beaded into her eyes again, and stifling strands of wet hair had fallen in front of her face. She hung her head back, could see the bare single light bulb glowing dimly above her. She could see her arms shiny with sweat, and the silver of the duct tape that encircled her bound wrists.

"All right, bitch. If I get out of this, I swear ..."

Once again (last time, she knew), she swung herself back to the ladder, but this time went even further, not stopping till the ladder was slightly to her right. She immediately began to rotate back as the cable acted as a coil. She swung her bound legs forward, then back, then forward. The ladder was again directly in front of her as she swung back a second time, gaining more momentum than on her previous attempts. Lifting her legs, she swung them forward with force. This time the added speed carried her legs past the step, and it hit painfully (but wonderfully) on her calf muscles. The light aluminum ladder immediately jerked forward, pulled by her weight. In a flood of relief, she pulled it even further so that it was directly in front of her. Lifting her legs, she felt with her toes for a foothold. It was there, and she cautiously placed her weight on it.

Immediately, the terrible pressure on her arms and shoulders eased, and she stood shakily on the ladder step, flooded with relief. Eyes closed, she lay her head to rest on her still-stretched arms. Okay, Lisa, now what? Looking up, she saw the hook, saw how Karen had wrapped the duct tape only over the ropes binding her wrists. The rope was still simply resting in the elbow of the hook. With great determination, she stretched, going on tip toes, and lifted her wrists as high as she could. The tooth of the hook rose too high to allow her bindings to come free. She had to get higher, but this would mean hanging again with her full weight on her arms and lifting her legs to the next step.

Easing the pressure back onto her wrists and shoulders, moaning with the renewed bite of the knotted ropes under the tape, she summoned all her remaining strength. Stomach muscles, well-conditioned from hours sweatin' to the oldies, tightened as she carefully lifted her bound knees. Don't hit the ladder! Just one step up, Lisa. Don't swing or rotate! Anyone standing there would have heard repeated moans, and breath ragged through flared nostrils. They would have seen a beautiful, slim body shiny with perspiration, and hair matted as from a shower, only Lisa's hair had soaked in the sweat that poured from her body's seemingly endless reservoir of cooling moisture. They would have marveled at the controlled, slow way that she raised her legs, and her toes came to rest lightly on the step above.

Finally raising herself up once again, Lisa's wild eyes saw the hook, almost at the level of her head. A moment of vertigo hit her, and she almost fell sideways off the ladder. The spots on her retinas thankfully cleared quickly as she concentrated for dear life to stay upright. She saw that some of the tape had indeed made contact with the metal, and would not allow her to simply raise her wrists out of the hook’s elbow. Slippery fingers grasped the hook base and pulled, not making any headway at first, but then slowly freeing the tape one strand at a time. And finally her wrists did pull clear of the hook and she pulled them down to rest on the top cross-beam of the ladder. She rested there, leaning her weight heavily against the steps, breathing heavily. Pain exploded through her shoulders, abdomen, jaws, but ... she was free!

Now to get down. She would have to lower herself off the ladder slowly, taking the weight on her forearms, then hopping off the last step without killing herself. This done, she then hopped, feet bound together, across to the long workbench, where a coping saw was mounted vertically in a vise, serrated teeth shining in the poor light of the basement. Sawing through the tape was easy, and the white nylon rope slowly gave up strand after strand until it parted and Lisa finally was free! To her dismay she saw blood stains on the rope, and traced the deeply indented rope marks in her slender wrists. It would be a while before the revealing strapless dresses would grace her body!

A knife made short work of her knee and ankle bindings. The gag was more difficult, because the duct tape had been pressed directly on top of her hair. Finally removing the ball from deep in her mouth, pain sparked from points just below her ears and she slowly moved her lower jaw back and forth. Leaving the quite basement, barrel still resting on the ground full of water, she climbed the stairs exhausted, feeling like she had just run the Boston Marathon, sweat dripping freely from nose, chin, breasts. First to get herself together, then ... plans! Karen Richardson would be returning soon, and oh, what a surprise would await her!

Soon ... Karen gets hers.