The Struggle

April 19th, 2012

Stuck. Fucked. Fuckable, for that matter. Helpless. Strung out and up and every which way. Tied up tight in a not-so-neat little package. Just the way she liked it. A challenge.

Eyes closed, focusing on every inch of rope as it touches body. Looking inwardly for the weak link. The knots, all in one place, rubbing tantalizingly on her ass. Left wrist in a simple cat’s paw. Right wrist in an even less secure hold. But both pulled tight, struggling would make at least one go numb and useless. Hair, always a weak link, and not overall helpful, but easily freed. Ankles were a little sloppy, they might be possible. One thing at a time.

Pushing up one hand and tilting her head back as far as she could. Fingers finding purchase on the hair tie string. Tugging back with finger tips, forward gently with head. Slowly, carefully, don’t pull too much hair out of her head. And she shakes it free. With a sigh, settles her head back to the floor, glancing up at him grinning over at her.

Wrist check. She twists and tugs gently, but not much movement. Not yet.

Ankles. A lot of wraps. Tightened in the center, pulled down. But some give.

“Five minutes down.” Crap.

Wiggle. Struggle, turn onto one side. Use the floor for friction, not much to get. Rub them together, just one loop. Over the heel. Come on, just one. Fuckfuckfuck, cramp. Breathe. Okay. One loop. Left foot. There, off the heel. Next one. Two, okay. Other foot. One, two. Wiggle, squirm, move them down. Four more loops to go. One at a time. More slack with each one. Keep breathing. Three. Four. Three Four. Last two, lots of slack, Off the go. Legs are down.

“Five minutes left.” Oh gods.

Arms. Arms are very stuck. Wait, knots are free. No, well, not useful knots. Damn. Um. Wrists. Gotta start at the wrists. How? Wiggle. Squirm. Would sitting up help? No. Just waste time. Cone, cone, cone for all you’re worth. Can’t, not enough movement. Stuck so high on the back already. Cat’s paw. Turn head, bite rope. Come on, pull it looser. Can’t, just as tight. Think!

Stop. Close eyes. Breathe. Think slower. Picture it. Okay, what can you do?

Nothing. Can’t move enough. Good and stuck. Flail, squirm, wiggle. Beg? Could beg. No, not yet. Twist. Push. Pull. Arms barely move. Fingers wave uselessly in the air. Nothing to grab.

Too much struggling, fingers start tingling. A glance shows his grin getting bigger as he alternates between her and the timer. Too late. Not going to get out of it.

She struggles to sitting and then standing, back into the corner she started from, glare a little less confident, smirk bigger, as he come towards her again, rope in hand.


2 Responses to “The Struggle”

  1. Lover says:

    Yep, that’s about the gist of it. 🙂

    Time constraints, pride on the line, progress in eeling giving a constant stream of hope to the bottom. All ingredients for a hot scene.

  2. PervertedImp says:

    Glad you approve. 😉