The Damsel Hypothesis (bondage story)

The following story contains semi-consensual bondage, humiliation, nudity and other sexual content. Please don't read it if you're likely to be upset by these elements.

1. John

I paused outside her room, doing my best to get my heart rate under control. No one else had the power to make me this angry… but then again, no-one else had the power to make my heart melt either. Only love could drive me this mad.

But was it love? My feelings about Amy were complicated, to say the least. She was easily the prettiest girl I had ever met: aged 22 like me, she was dark haired, green eyed, slender but bosomy, and bewitchingly beautiful. (Her mother was Japanese, her father Boston Irish, but neither offered the slightest hint of supermodel genetics.) She was intelligent, too, and could have been top of her class with a little application. The problem was that she very rarely felt like putting in the work.

Which was where I came in. We were lab partners, although the word ‘partners’ is doing almost as much heavy lifting in this sentence as I did in the lab. She knew I loved her - was besotted, had a crush, whatever - and that this gave her the power to get away with murder. She made me do all the work, treated me like crap while I did it, and barely even looked me in the eye, let alone thanked me for all the effort I put in. “Is that the best you can do?” she said to me in our last session together, after I did the entire experiment and gave her my write-up to copy. “Can’t you at least write a second essay in different words? I think you must be stupid.”

Yep, she was that oldest of male clichés: the cruel beautiful woman.

The whole thing was definitely getting old for me. I had finally had enough, and rushed over to her room in a fierce temper to set the matter straight. Although, now I was here, it suddenly seemed like less of a brilliant idea… Maybe I could wait until tomorrow to have the conversation.

But then I heard her voice, and realised she was on the phone. It wouldn’t hurt to eavesdrop for a moment while I gathered my thoughts together.

“The guys here? Ha! There’s not a real man among them,” she was saying in her high, clear, deceptively sweet voice. “I doubt I could find a man worth dating in the entire campus. They’re all simps and soyboys. Not one of them could put me in my place. And until I find someone who can, I’m staying single.”

Well now. This was an interesting development. And gave me an idea for a new experiment.

2. Amy

I looked down at my phone, which had just shouted out “I’m an idiot!” in the voice of my lab partner, John. I had set this up as the ringtone whenever he called or texted me, which he did far too often for my liking. (How did I get a recording of him saying he was an idiot? I asked him to do it, and he agreed. Which shows that he was, in fact, an idiot - or at least in love, which amounted to the same thing as far as I was concerned.) The guy was kinda almost cute, in good shape, and undeniably smart, and I had to admit that his attentions were flattering. But he was just too nice for his own good.

I sighed and read the text he had sent me.

“Hey Amy. I’ve written up the results of the last experiment. Do you want to pop over and we can discuss it? Then we can get on with planning our next experiment. John x”

Ugh! Why did he always put a kiss on the end of his texts? Surely I’d made it clear I wasn’t interested… except, of course, when I thought it would be useful for him to think I might be interested in the future. Ha! He was so easy to manipulate. And if he wasn’t intelligent enough to see what was going on, that was his own fault.

Well, there was no way I was going to do the work on that stupid experiment myself, so he was going to have to write up a second essay for me. I would go round to his pathetic room with all of its pathetic books and pathetic posters and flirt with the idiot until he agreed to do what I wanted… and then I would walk out coldly. The meaner I treated him, the keener he seemed to get. I smiled, thinking about how sad and mopey he would be when I left. The poor guy was head over heels and I couldn’t help getting a kick out of it.

I went over to the walk-in wardrobe (I’d managed to get the biggest room on campus by flirting shamelessly with the housing officer) and started picking out an outfit to give John a hard-on. I chose the shortest skirt (navy blue, pleated, schoolgirlish) and the tightest top I owned (white, midriff-baring), took a look at myself in the mirror - all smooth skin, long legs and pert tits - and locked the door behind me. Who could blame him for falling in love with me? I was stunning.

Walking over to John’s room on the crappy end of campus, I thought again about his text. What did he mean by “our next experiment”? It was the last day of term and most of the students had already left for the vacation. He must have gone mad.

I got to John’s room and he let me in, smiling. There was something about him that seemed… different, somehow. I couldn’t put my finger on it but he seemed older, more confident. I’d soon have him eating out of my hand, though.

I sashayed in and gave him a little twirl, knowing this would make my skirt rise up and give him a glimpse of my panties. I wanted to drive him mad with lust before telling him what I wanted. But before I could say anything he held up a hand and starting talking.

“Amy, I asked you to come round so we could talk about the project. I’m sure you’ll agree that the division of labour just wasn’t equitable, and I hope we can agree to do better in future.”

“What are you talking about?” I cried.

“We both know that I did all the work on this,” he replied calmly, holding up a neat bundle of pages. “And that just isn’t fair on either of us. I’m doing the work of two, and you’re missing out on a first-class education. I should have said something long ago, but we need to change the way we work together. Would you agree?”

“No, I wouldn’t! I could do this experiment in my sleep! You’re the one who needs an education, not me, you, you - moron!”

“How would you determine the titration coefficient of copper sulphate solution, Amy?”

“That’s not-“

“How many moles are contained in each mil of zinc substrate, Amy?”

“You don’t-“

“How does increasing pressure affect the speed of sublimation, Amy?”

“What does that-“

“I mean, heavens, can you even tell me if potassium is a metal or a non-metal?”

“Er… a non-metal?”

“Oh, Amy. You haven’t learned a single thing this term, have you?”

“Well…” I wasn’t sure what to say. After all, he was right. Losing an argument to this dork was weirdly humiliating. “I thought you liked working with me,” I pouted, pressing the nuclear button in desperation. Working for me would have been closer to the truth, and we both knew it. He was dominating me effortlessly in the conversation, and I didn’t much like it… But I could see his eyes flitting downwards while we talked, checking out my perky tits and cute ass. I knew the outfit would get results. He shook his head and seemed to tell himself to concentrate.

“I enjoy being your lab partner, Amy, but you can’t take advantage of my good nature any longer. It isn’t doing either of us any good. However, I’m prepared to let you work from my notes this one last time. Work from my notes, mind you, not copy them wholesale, or I’ll need to think carefully about working with you in future.”

Was he threatening to punish me? I felt the tiniest tingle between my legs. I liked this new version of John! But there was no way I was going to let him see.

“If you stopped working with me, you great idiot, you’d be finished at this college,” I said, allowing my voice to rise just enough for him to start worrying about his neighbours. “You’d never be invited to a party again, none of the other girls would even talk to you, and I bet I could persuade one of the guys to beat you up.”

“That’s all true, Amy, but what would you do afterwards? If you want to get into med school, you need to pass chemistry. And we both know that’s not happening without my help.”

“Fine! I won’t copy your stupid essay.” All I had left was bratty defiance. I reached out to take the report. “Are we done?”

“Not quite. I’ve got a condition for letting you borrow my notes. You have to participate in one last experiment for my personal research. It’s a favour to me, to pay me back for all my help this term.”

So that’s what he was talking about.

“Is this something weird, you little pervert?”

“Not at all. It’s related to some advanced metallurgical studies I’ve been conducting in my spare time. It won’t take more than a couple of hours. Are you in?”

“God, you’re such a boring little man. Fine, I’ll do it, but I’d better be free in time for happy hour.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling enigmatically. “That depends on how you get on.”

“What does that mean, you weirdo?”

“Well, you see, I’ve been studying the tensile strength of various materials. I’m trying to establish how easy they are to break for human subjects of various physiques. All of my test subjects so far have been at least moderately strong, but you would make a fine control subject because you are… how can I put this? Very delicate. You obviously won’t be able to break the materials at all, but it’s important to establish a baseline for other tests.”

I was furious! Imagine calling me delicate.

“I’m stronger than you, you little dork! I go to the gym every week.”

“Yes,” he replied, “but just to watch Jersey Shore and drink smoothies. You don’t use the actual, you know, machines.”

I was outraged - that he knew what I did at the gym (had he been spying on me?), that he dared to disagree with me, and that he was… right.

“We’ll see who’s been using the machines, dork!” That didn’t exactly make sense, but I was too angry to insult him properly. “I’ll arm-wrestle you.”

He laughed, making me even angrier.

“Amy, I promise you, if you were bound with even my thinnest cords, you wouldn’t be able to get free in - let’s say one hour.”

“I certainly would! Wait - what do you mean, ‘bound’?”

“Of course you’ll be bound. How else would you measure tensile strength? Whatever did you think you were agreeing to? Dear me, Amy, we need to work on your scientific literacy! I suppose this means you want to withdraw, since you realise you won’t stand a chance.”

There was no way I was backing down to that smarmy geek.

“Of course I knew what you meant. Just get on it with it.”

3. John

It didn’t take much to persuade Amy to strip down to her underwear, which was pretty and lacy and pink. I suspected that she thought this would help to win me round, and I could see why: her long smooth legs and gorgeous round breasts looked amazing in the skimpy pink garments. I was reminded yet again of how much I enjoyed looking at her.

At the same time, I wasn’t going to let her scantily clad beauty distract me from what I planned to do. I instructed her to cross her wrists behind her back, and was faintly surprised when she did so obediently; she even allowed me to bind them tightly together with thin cord, not complaining once even though I looped and cinched the cord multiple times in each direction and tied the most secure knot I could manage. I examined the bonds carefully. There was no way she was getting free.

I then got her to sit down on the grimy carpet and quickly and tightly bound her ankles together. “That’s not uncomfortable, is it?” I asked, innocently, knowing full well that it was. But she refused to give me the satisfaction of admitting this.

I went to get more cord from a bag under my bed and slyly watched her flex her muscles and test the strength of the cord. She didn’t think I was watching, which gave my voyeurism an extra pleasure. The cords were evidently stronger and tighter than she had expected; she twisted and strained and wriggled and made no progress whatsoever in escaping her bonds.

“Just a few more cords, Ames,” I told her cheerfully, knowing that she hated that nickname.

“Get on with it then, dumbass. This has to be the stupidest experiment I ever heard of.”

“Right, because you’ve heard of so many experiments.”

She had no answer to that, which was rather nice. I carefully bound her elbows together with the cord (if nothing else her gym regime seemed to have made her flexible), tied her legs tightly at the knee, and wrapped more cord around her chest, above and below her lovely, pink-clad breasts. She was a neat, helpless, tightly wrapped package and it was a pleasure to watch her writhe and jiggle in futile attempts to escape.

“You’ve used far too much cord, idiot,” she complained, her first tacit admission that she didn’t fancy her chances. “It’s not a fair experimmmppphhh!”

That was better. I tied off the thick knotted cleave gag at the nape of her neck, enjoying her inability to make her objections understood, and her consequent humiliated fury. I patted her on the head. “Why don’t you let me worry about the scientific side of things, Ames? You just concentrate on escaping. You have one hour. My hypothesis is that you won’t have broken even one of these cords, but let’s give you every chance. And don’t worry, I’m going to document all of our findings.”

I took out my phone and started taking photos of the furious damsel in distress, who found she was entirely unable to opt out of the impromptu bondage photoshoot. I made sure to get close-ups of all her tight bonds, the lovely cleave gag parting her sweet lips, and of course her tits and ass. She blushed and mewled with embarrassment and unaccustomed vulnerability.

“I’ve got a tripod round here somewhere… oh yes. Here we are.”

I set up the phone to video her struggles, set a timer on my watch, took one last look at the prisoner, laughed, and strolled off to grab a coffee.

4. Amy

The next hour is a nightmarish blur of sweat and annoyance and humiliation. I know I struggled: there was no way I was giving that geek the satisfaction of finding me still securely trussed up when he get back. Lord, I struggled. But I don’t remember all the ways I tried to escape, because none of them worked. Like, at all.

The cords didn’t break, I know that much, they just creaked and held firm and seemed to get tighter, if anything. And I certainly couldn’t wriggle my way anywhere useful - the phone, if you’re thinking of that, was out of reach on a little tripod on a very high shelf, capturing all of my futile escape attempts. I hated being recorded in such a humbling situation. And I suppose I tried to wiggle, caterpillar-like, across the floor, in search of some scissors or a knife. Not that the dork would have known how to cook. But it was all in vain, and when he got back… I was still utterly helpless and effectively silenced. The pitying, self-satisfied grin he gave me was absolutely insufferable.

“I thought you were going to escape easily, Ames?”

“Ymm gddmmm fmmggmmpph mmppphhmm!!”

Gagged insults, I now know, are rarely worth the effort. John had no idea what I had tried to call him, and to make matters worse he found my impotent gagged mewling very, very funny.

“Sorry, babe, didn’t catch that. Based on your contributions in class this term it probably wasn’t a huge loss, though.”

It was incredibly humiliating having to just lie there and listen to his smartass quips. No comebacks, no insults, just beaten silence with the occasional embarrassing mmmph that only made him laugh. I felt like some poor medieval maiden, kept firmly in her place and told never to speak unless given permission by a man.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s time for the next phase. If you couldn’t manage to escape from a few thin pieces of cord I don’t much fancy your chances with this, but we’d better stick to the scientific method.”

What did he mean?! My eyes widened in alarm as he started fishing broad leather belts and straps out of the bag under his bed.

“Dmpph ymm fmmggmmpph dmmpphh!!”

He smiled at me patronisingly, then set to work. First he reinforced all of my existing bonds, adding belts over the cord around my wrists, elbows, knees and chest, pulling and straining until he cinched in the straps to the very last hole. It was torment, and I mewled and mumbled my complaints as best I could.

“You’re still making a little noise, I see,” he said thoughtfully. “We shall have to address that shortly.”

Before I could find out what he meant by that, however, there were more belts to distribute around my already tightly strapped body. He cinched belts around my pale soft legs at mid-calf and high up on my thigh, his fingers brushing perilously close to my pink panties and eliciting a confused response, half mewled complaint and half frustrated moan. He ignored this and added another tightly cinched belt around my waist - almost the correct use of a belt, except it went over my bound arms - and a little belt around my forearms. I was utterly helpless and in quite a lot of pain.

But next came a surprise. John reached up and, almost tenderly, untied the knot behind my neck and lifted the sodden cloth gag out of my mouth. I immediately started to complain, but he put a finger to my lips and for some reason I felt compelled to obediently hold my tongue. Was I growing used to submission? Did I even like it?

5. John

“Hush,” I said to an inexplicably meek and compliant Amy. “Let me explain what is happening.”

As she gazed at me with adorable nervousness and confusion, I revealed the truth. The real experiment was nothing to do with the strength of materials, as if that was something of the slightest scientific interest: if she’d paid attention in class she might have seen through that ruse, although her general dimwitted gullibility might still have helped me out. In fact, I was testing the effects of punishment on bitchy women.

“Your behaviour to me today was a clear 10 on the Bitch Scale,” I said, smiling. “So why don’t we see what you score after an hour bound with cord?”

6. Amy

“The Bitch Scale?” I was almost screaming, having found my voice at last. “You goddamn worm, who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Take these fucking straps off me and shove your Bitch Scale up your ass!”

I stopped, realising that he wasn’t really paying attention; instead, he was calmly making notes on a clipboard.

“Long story short, Amy,” he said almost sadly, “that’s another 10. We’re not making progress just yet. But the night is young. Let’s try an hour with the belts.”

“What the fuummmmppphh!”

Barely even looking in my direction, he had casually reached out and silenced me with a hand over my mouth. I was outraged at being prevented from having my say yet again, while being oddly conscious of the strength of his grip and the ease with which he kept me under control. Had he been working out? Was that how he knew my gym routine?

Keeping one hand over my mouth, John reached down with the other and pulled a pair of scissors from his bag. Carefully, oh so gently, he snipped through my pink panties and pulled them free from my pussy as I squealed in embarrassment. He repeated the action with my lacy pink bra, uncovering my perky breasts and oddly stiff nipples. How dare he expose me like this! I yelled in outrage, or tried to… but suddenly the hand was gone and the balled-up underwear was being stuffed into my mouth, filing the cavity completely and almost making me choke. My tongue was forced down and I couldn’t make a sound. Then he jammed the damp cloth gag back between my teeth, pulled it back hard and knotted it tightly at the nape of my neck. I was throughly gagged once again, and even more effectively silenced than before.

“I must apologise, by the way, for an omission while you were testing the cords. Let’s put that right.”

John grabbed me and held me still, then starting looping cord around and around my waist until it was cinched in cruelly. I felt like a Victorian lady, squeezed in with whalebone and lace. But no Victorian lady could imagine what happened next: he took one end of the cord, tied a fat knot in it, then slipped it down between my legs. He fumbled between my thighs from behind, fingertips brushing against all sorts of intimate areas, before catching hold of the cord, yanking it up between my butt cheeks and tying it off to my waist cords. I was instantly aware of the knot rubbing scratchily against my pussy, and knew that any sort of struggling had just become dangerously stimulating. I mewled with surprise and embarrassment, and dreaded to think how I was going to last an hour like this without climaxing, let alone escape.

7. John

Satisfied that Amy was thoroughly belted and bound, I carefully photographed every part of her body.

“You’ve got one hour to escape,” I told her cheerfully. “Good luck!”

This time I had decided to stay and observe Amy’s struggles first hand, although I made sure to set up the phone again so I would have documentary evidence to peruse afterwards. At first it was quite entertaining, as she wriggled and flexed her body and twisted her tits and ass into all sorts of demeaning, compromising positions. But the bondage was so restrictive, and she was so tired already from the previous hour of cord bondage, that her struggles soon dwindled to little more than feeble twitches. Strands of her pretty dark hair were stuck to her face, and her breasts and legs were shiny with sweat.

“You haven’t given up, I hope?”

“Mmmpphh!”

She gave me a look of furious spite, and I was happy to see she still had plenty of fight. And after a short rest she bravely started struggling again, clearly determined not to give me the satisfaction of surrendering.

“Good girl! You can do it!”

I couldn’t help laughing. And of course her attempts to escape were entirely futile; when the hour was up she had made absolutely zero progress. Her bonds were just as mercilessly tight as ever; her gag just as thoroughly silencing. All she had achieved was generating a great deal of sweat.

“Never mind, Ames. I’m sure you’ll do better on the next phase.”

“Nnmmph pphhmm?”

“Oh yes, we’re not finished yet!”

I pulled a large roll of silver duct tape from my bag with a grand flourish, as Amy’s pretty eyes widened once again. The experiment was not going the way she had expected.

I set to work, wrapping a layer of tight tape over each of Amy’s bonds, leaving her triple-bound with cord, belt and tape. Wrists and ankles; elbows and chest; calves, knees and thighs; every belt and strap was thoroughly covered, reinforced and tightened with shiny tape, almost mummifying her limbs and body. She was beginning to look like a silver statue of a woman, except that the forgetful sculptor had left a few places flesh-coloured: face, tits, pussy, ass. I completed the job with a final tape wrap, pulled as tight as I could possibly manage, over her bound forearms, now a single useless limb held behind her back. As she wriggled in the bonds, testing the limits of her ever-dwindling freedom, the leather straps and thick layers of tape creaked and flexed but did not yield a single millimetre of slack.

“Pretty girls like you should always beware men carrying rolls of duct tape,” I smiled. “This stuff is wonderful: every layer ramps up the escape difficulty that little bit further. Any fool can render a damsel completely helpless with it in seconds.”

She glared at me, evidently resenting both my jolly tone and my referring to her as a “damsel”. I grinned. The roll was half used up by now, but there was still plenty to completely cocoon each of her hands, trapping her fingers and thumbs together and turning her hands into useless flippers. That should remove for good your final tiny hope of escape, I thought to myself: you won’t be undoing any knots without the use of your fingers.

“Right then sweetheart, it’s time for another test. Now, please don’t cry out when I remove your gag, because there’s no one around to hear you, and I will have to punish you anyway.”

I untied the cloth around the back of her head and gently lifted out the damp gag and the pink underwear stuffed in her mouth. There was a brief pause while she licked her lips and tried to find her voice, then she said, quietly, “Could I have a drink of water please?”

“Of course, dear. Here you go.”

She gulped it down greedily, doing her best to ignore the humiliation of being fed water from a bottle in my hand. Her hands weren’t free to hold anything, unfortunately, and weren’t likely to be freed any time soon. I was feeling a little cruel, remembering some of the things she’d said to me in class, and started lifting the bottle upwards while she was still drinking; at first she craned her neck, trying to keep her lips around it, but she couldn’t keep this up. It lifted out of her reach and the rest of the water spilled all over her face and chest.

“Why did you do that, you fucking moron? Christ, of all the idiots to get kidnapped by, I have to get you. Look at me, dumbass! I’m all wet!”

I calmly made some notes on the clipboard, tutting to myself.

“Sorry Ames, that’s another 10 on the Bitch Scale. Maybe you’re just an incurable bitch.”

8. Amy

Maybe I was. Or maybe I was getting cured right now, and just didn’t want to admit it. I could feel my thoughts drifting to a more submissive place as I grew used to the bonds and the gag, accepted my captivity, and started to look at John in a new light. He had put me in my place so easily. How was he single? If he knew what I was feeling, how happily I had accepted his authority over me, he would have scored me a 4 at most. I was a bitch who had been at least half tamed.

Embarrassed by these thoughts, I forgot to even protest when he shoved the pink underwear back where it belonged: in my mouth. He tied the soaking wet cloth cleave gag over the top, almost choking me, but this time he plastered duct tape over that, wrapping it over my hair, around and around my head until the lower part of my face, from chin to just under my nose, was a shiny silver blank. I experimentally ventured a shriek of protest, and could barely hear myself. As far as the rest of campus was concerned, I was silent until John chose to return my right to speak. Did I even want that..? Yes, of course I did! Or did I?

Suddenly my world exploded in sharp pain. I looked down to see that John had attached a nasty-looking clip to my left nipple, and was holding another over the right with a mischievous smile on his face.

“I did warn you not to make any noise, sweetheart,” he said.

9. John

It was getting late and I had to hand in my essay, so I grabbed some photos of my subject, then set a timer, made sure the camera was running fine, and headed off to my tutor’s house. Bound, strapped and taped, I was fairly confident Amy wasn’t going anywhere.

An hour gone, I slipped in through the door, hoping to catch my captive doing something amusing. But she was barely struggling at all: the only signs of resistance were a little wriggle here, a soft little grunt there, and a body so drenched in sweat that she wouldn’t look out of place climbing out of a pool. Well, other than the comprehensive bindings… and total nudity. Okay, she would have stuck out a little at a swimming pool.

But what a sight for the other bathers! Securely and tightly bound with yards of cord, strong leather straps, and an entire roll of duct tape, she was utterly helpless, a captive damsel in distress with zero hope of escape. Aside from reducing her movement to the tiniest twitches, the bonds forced her body into pleasing and objectifying contortions, her tits forced out at the front, her ass stuck out at the rear, and all of her most enjoyable assets framed and placed on display at the viewer’s convenience. I could freely ogle any part of her I chose, and she had no choice but to endure my lustful male gaze.

Thoroughly bound as she was, however, I was adamant that the experiment must continue, so I smacked her firmly on the ass to get her attention, then withdrew a handful of thin strong chains from my bag. There were plenty more to follow, too.

“Next set of bindings, Amy!” I told her. Her eyes rolled, but she was unable to offer any further criticism thanks to the silencing layered gag.

Ignoring her expression of disapproval, I set to work. I began by wrapping chain around her wrists, pulling it painfully tight and locking it in place with a cute little padlock. (Cute, I should say, but strong. I had spared no expense to ensure my binding materials were of the highest quality.) Quadruple bound now with cord, belt, tape and chain, Amy’s wrists were utterly immobile behind her back, and it was difficult to see how even a willing rescuer could have freed her, unless he had access to my set of keys: the chains were too tight to slip off without opening the padlocks, and far too strong to break. I did the same thing with her ankles, using chains to tighten and reinforce the three previous sets of bonds, before moving on to her chest, above and below her breasts, her elbows, calves and knees, her thighs and forearms. The strong chains clanked and rattled as I pulled them tight and locked the padlocks in place, satisfied that she was more helpless than ever. She was soon comprehensively bound with the chains. It was overkill, really: even an invincible superheroine would have struggled to free herself now. But scientific inquiry requires a thorough approach and an open mind, and unlike Amy I was prepared to put in the work.

To complete this step of the experiment I buckled a collar securely around her throat, and attached a sturdy leash.

“You’re all set, Amy,” I said. “But we’d better see how you’re getting on temperamentally. Maybe we won’t need to give you an hour in the chains.”

It took some time to free her mouth from the gag: I peeled off the duct tape, doing my best not to pull her hair (but not always succeeding), untying and extracting the cloth cleave, and finally removing the sodden pink underwear.

“Are you feeling obedient?” I asked in an official voice.

“Water, please,” she asked politely. I wondered, as she drank, if her spirit had been broken, but was soon disillusioned.

“That’s enough, that’s enough! Get this goddamn bottle out of my face, you moron, you cretin. And get these chains and straps and ropes off my body. How dare you, how dare you?! I’m going to kill you!”

“And you were doing so well,” I said sadly, marking another 10 on the clipboard. “Well, we’d better get you gagged again.”

“No, you don’t need to-mmmmppphh!”

I stuffed the underwear back inside, and secured it in place with the fabric cleave gag between her teeth. The tape was unusable now, so I dug out a fresh roll and wrapped her lower face thoroughly and tightly until her moans became almost inaudible. And then, for good measure, I tied a heavier piece of cloth on top of that, completely covering the tape. I could still make out the outline of her pretty plump lips through all the layers, but they could barely move, and certainly couldn’t form any discernible sounds.

“Another hour, then. Good luck!”

10. Amy

He hadn’t the first idea about women, I realised. Or at least, he didn’t understand the female psyche. He could handle a female body with a masterful hand, yet he couldn’t spot the difference between a woman’s real and pretended defiance. A 10! In reality I was at most a 3 and very likely a 2 on his Bitch Scale by this point, and had been well tamed. My pretended defiance was a question of pride… or perhaps I simply wanted to goad him into punishing me. I shivered at the thought.

My hour in the chains was torturous, and blissful. I was a helpless bundle, stretched and contorted, objectified and humiliated, my nipples pinpoints of agony under the cruel clips, my pussy chafed and stimulated by the crotch rope, and it was glorious. The time passed quickly… too quickly. And then he was back, and checking my bonds for the tiniest hint of progress, the merest suggestion that I might at some point in the distant future gain my freedom. But of course there was none. No human had ever been more helpless.

“I must confess,” he said, smiling, “to being a little disappointed. I had high hopes for you, Amy. I thought you might be able to escape. You’ve had hours and hours to at least work your way out of the cords.”

“Hhmmppphhh!”

“Well, never mind. We’ve got one more Bitch Test to run, but before we get to that point, I’d like to give you a physical. Just to make sure everything is still in working order. You’ve been bound very tight for a long time.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by this, and wasn’t keen on the idea of him ’testing’ my body. And simultaneously I was very keen on the idea indeed. How odd to think that only this morning I had viewed him as an inadequate dating prospect.

“Up you get, then.”

John gave my leash a tug, and my ass a moderate smack, so - with the assistance of his roaming hands - I struggled obediently to my feet. He set me on my bound feet, wobbling precariously, and got out his phone to take more photos.

“Right,” he said, evidently now taking a video, “please start hopping in a circle until I say to stop.”

“Hmmpphhnngg?!”

“Yes. Or do I need to give you another spank?” He raised his hand threateningly. I dropped my eyes, blushed, and did as I was told, hopping and grunting around the room. It was exhausting, but I could feel myself moistening down below, growing almost dizzy from the hot flush of humiliation, the joy of submission. It was wonderful.

After 20 minutes of bouncing and sweating I was ready to drop, although I wished it could go on all night. He eased me back down to the floor and began to work on my gag, untying the heavy cloth, peeling off the tape, extracting the cloth cleave gag and the underwear, then tenderly feeding me water from a bottle.

“Well, Ames? How obedient do you feel, on a scale of 1 to 10? Have I tamed the bitch?”

I took a deep breath.

“Obedient? You can shove it up your ass. How dare you kidnap me like this! When I get free from these bonds, I’m gonna tear you limb from limb and stomp on your corpse…” I paused, the temptation to submit just too strong… “Mr Black.”

“‘Mr Black’?” An eyebrow raised, and John looked ready to burst into laughter. “Are we on the verge of a breakthrough, Amy? I think you just earned yourself a 9!”

As he said this, the mockery stinging in the best way possible, I silently gave myself a score of 1. I had never felt so submissive, or enjoyed myself so much. I never wanted to leave this room.

“Sadly, however, that’s not enough of an improvement to support my hypothesis,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to declare this experiment a failure… for now.”

11. John

Maybe I hadn’t managed to break Amy’s spirit quite yet… and I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I had imagined her in a state of subservience by now, perhaps cleaning my room or serving me drinks. My hypothesis, that Bitch + Bondage = Obedient Damsel, was clearly not exactly right.

At the same time, the results were not a total surprise, and I had made some backup plans. A good scientist always has an alternative hypothesis.

“Amy, Amy, Amy…” I sighed, busily stuffing the underwear back in her mouth, then the cloth, then applying a fresh layer of tape, and finally tying the thick fabric over her mouth to complete the monstrous gag. “What are we going to do with you?”

She mewled softly, oh so softly, from beneath the mountains of cloth and tape. It was a lovely sound, but uncommunicative.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I will tell you. We’re going to continue the experiment tomorrow.”

Her eyes opened wide; her skin flushed pink, then white.

“I took the liberty - please don’t be angry, Ames - of sending a message to your aunt and uncle. Oh, I hacked into your laptop, it wasn’t hard. I told them you’d been selected to participate in a long-term science project over the vacation… which is true! Anyway, they were delighted to hear about your newfound academic enthusiasm and promptly booked a cruise in the Caribbean. That’s nice for them, isn’t it?”

“Hmmphh!”

“I know! But don’t worry, you’re welcome to stay here with me, since I’m sticking around for the vacation. In fact, I won’t take no for an answer. You can use the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor. But before we turn in, I’d better check your restraints one last time to make sure nothing has come loose. I doubt it has, but better safe than sorry, right?”

I carefully checked the cords, the belts, the tape and the chains, the crotch rope and the nipple clamps, the multilayered gag, looking for the tiniest hints of slack, the faintest hope of escape. I reknotted where necessary, adjusted the padlocks to tighten up the chains, cut extra holes into some of the belts so I could squeeze them one notch tighter, and generally made sure the bonds were even more absurdly tight and inescapable than before. Then I looked down at the restraint bag, which was almost empty… but not quite.

“You know, it seems a waste to leave this stuff unused. We might as well get our money’s worth, right?”

Amy squeaked with dismay, although I half thought I noticed a gleam of pleasure in her eye… I set to work, reinforcing her bonds, or binding previously untouched parts of her body with the last of the cord, the rest of the last roll of duct tape, and the remaining chains, locks and belts. She could now barely move a muscle.

“Phew! I hope that’s comfortable, Ames,” I said, with a mocking smile. “You look amazing.”

This at least was true: she looked exceptionally lovely wrapped in chains, like a helpless captured princess. Her eyes gleamed again, and I wondered what the rest of the vacation held for us. And smiled as another thought occurred to me.

“I’m such a klutz, Amy! There’s another bag in the cupboard and I only just remembered. I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on. Don’t go anywhere, sweetheart, I’ll be back in a moment.”

She looked alarmed when I walked back into the room carrying another holdall, which was clanking and rattling rather ominously. I smiled at her reaction, and dumped a fresh pile of bindings on the floor. I cracked my knuckles, and set to work yet again. More cord, cinched around her wrists; more belts, tightened about her ankles, knees and thighs; more chain, locked in place over her chest; more tape, plastered carefully around her forearms; and yet another muffling bandanna tied this time over both her mouth and her nose. She looked like the helpless damsel in distress from a Saturday morning cartoon, but unfortunately there was no hero coming to her rescue. And as a final touch I tied her big toes together with a small loop of fine cord.

“Well,” I said ruefully, “it’s getting late, so let’s get you tucked in.”

I lifted Amy on to the bed, and began strapping her down securely with a set of belts I had set aside for just this eventuality, restraining her and attaching her to the sides of the bed at ankle, knee, thigh, waist and chest. For good measure I used cord to attach her toes to the foot of the bed and keep her legs and feet absolutely immobile, and attached her chest bindings to the headboard to achieve the same degree of helplessness for her top half. Then I paused and watched for any final escape attempts.

Amy gave an experimental wriggle, but found that, with the exception of her head, she was now held completely motionless, and would not be able to move for the next eight hours. Her fit, naked body was tightly bound with a ridiculous excess of cord, straps, tape and chains, her mouth so thoroughly gagged that she could barely make a peep, and certainly couldn’t be heard by anyone outside of this room. There was a mountain of bindings keeping her helpless and covering much of her body, but I was pleased to note that my two favourite parts of Amy were on display and easily accessible. I gave her damp, naked breasts a gentle stroke and kissed her on the cheek, before settling down on the floor with a sleeping bag.

I sat up one last time to look at my beautiful, bound prisoner.

“Goodnight, Amy,” I whispered.

And she lifted her head, and looked over at me for a second, and winked.

FIN