Here's a bit of fiction inspired by that.
I whistled wetly as the warm water sluiced over my body. The
shower was a luxury; warm, wet, powerful, just the way I liked it. As I rubbed
body wash over my legs I thought about the woman tied up in my basement. She
didn’t seem to mind; of course, she was there by choice. A paying customer.
Thinking about a woman tied up should have set me tingling, should have found a
response from my groin, but no; this was business.
Out of the shower, I towelled off; my vest and boxer shorts
were on the floor where I’d dropped them, and I picked them up to redress. The
vest was tight across the breasts but, almost as if making up for it, the
boxers were baggy; I guess men had more to put in there. Truthfully, they were
comfortable, and made strap-ons easier to hide.
I grabbed a carton of juice from the fridge and took a swig,
then put it back in; the kitchen floor felt smooth under my bare feet. Clients
came in here sometimes and it didn’t put a good impression across to find dirty
living accommodations. I snagged the bottle of water from the worktop and
headed downstairs.
Everything was pretty much as I’d left it. The client, a
young girl who asked me to call her Gemma, was still stood in the centre of the
room. There wasn’t much choice; the rope from the hook in the ceiling was tied
firmly around the straitjacket’s straps, which meant that even if she slumped
she was supported. That was part of the deal; she wanted to be upright, at
least, when it happened.
I’d blindfolded her, one of those you get from airlines.
They weren’t much to look at, but they were effective; in the dark, no sound in
the basement, she’d have lost track of time. Perfect.
My feet made no noise as I walked towards her. To one side
of her I’d placed a table, and I quietly put the bottle of water down. It was a
tall one, two litres, some name brand originally; now it held tap water. The
only other things on the table were the obscenely long straw and the printouts
from the internet. The straw had been both the simplest and the hardest thing
to come across; where does one go for a straw that’s long enough to hit the
bottom of a two-litre water bottle? The printouts had been easier, but were far
more important. Gemma’s weight; dietary information that suggested a human
kidney could excrete a litre of water an hour; cautionary documents regarding
water intoxication. Gemma was paying for the experience, not for health
problems or, at worst, death by drowning.
I moved so that I was stood in front of her, and now a
thread of excitement trilled through me. She was completely under my control.
Bondaid Fantasies existed for the money, yes; it was putting me through
college. But I had to admit, I liked it. I enjoyed the research, the build-up,
the process and, of course, the climax.
I moved over to the only other piece of furniture in the
room, a camera on a tripod, and clicked it on. There was a small beep, and
Gemma was instantly alert. She wriggled delightfully, testing the straitjacket,
a futile gesture. I took her blindfold off and smoothed her black hair where the
elastic had pulled it out of shape.
“I brought you a drink,” I said. Turning my back on her I
opened the bottle of water and put the straw into it. I offered it to Gemma and
she pulled a face.
“I... I don’t think I can,” she murmured. She was so softly-spoken,
quite at odds with the scenario we were enjoying. Or at least, I was enjoying
it.
“I know you can. I don’t want to have to force you, Gemma.”
She closed her mouth and firmed her lips. I stood back to
think about my next move. The straitjacket covered her upper body quite
securely, her breasts were completely out of the question. Her lower body was
dressed in some quite inexpensive blue leggings, skintight; every contour of
her legs was picked out in the play of light over the lycra. Last time it had
been spanking; she had wriggled plenty at that as I had held the bottle in
front of her, but finally she had gasped and drunk the water. That wouldn’t do
this time.
“You understand that I need you to drink this. You wouldn’t
want to disappoint anyone, now, would you?” I asked. She eyed me a little
uncertainly but kept her mouth closed.
The bottle went back in front of her mouth, straw to her
lips, and I’m sure her buttocks moved in sympathy; she expected the first
swipes to come at any moment. Instead, I leaned closer to her ear and lowered
my voice to a whisper.
“You don’t understand, Gemma. I need you to drink this, much
like any need. If you don’t, basic needs of my own won’t be met, like food,
shelter and, eventually, life.” She frowned a bit at this and I began to wonder
if I was laying it on a bit thick, but I was committed now. I carried on
whispering, a strange gesture considering we were completely alone in the
basement.
“If you don’t drink, I will deprive you of a basic need. Do
I make myself clear?”
For the rest of the story, please visit my Kindle store!
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