Glamour bondage by Uncle M

(The main character in this story is based around my friend Debbie.  She is about 5 foot 10, thin, and very tanned.  She has long dark brown hair.  Her fingernails are short, usually unpainted, and her toenails are usually red or boast a french pedicure.  Her feet are a size 9.5; she frequently talks about how embarassed she is of the size of her feet.  She is, however, very good at picking things up with her toes.)

Debbie rolled herself over, and thought about her situation.  Lying on the ground of her apartment, a million thoughts ran through her mind.  How did she get into this situation, and how would she get out of it?

It had started off as a normal evening; the workday had been stressful, and she just wanted to come home, have a glass of wine, and relax.  Slipping into her favorite pink pajama pants and a college gray t-shirt, she started for the kitchen when her apartment buzzer went off.  Walking over to press the button for the speaker, she heard the voice of Joanne, an old co-worker.  “Can I come up for a minute to talk?” she said.  Debbie sighed, but said “Ok,” put on a pair of flip flops, and went downstairs to let her in.

There was some history between the two; they had been co-workers previously, but a misunderstanding at work had gotten Joanne fired, and Debbie a promotion.  However, they had also been close friends; before accepting that job, they had met randomly in a local bondage interest group.  They were able to discuss, and even experiment, with the type of bondage and topics that were taboo with other friends.  Since the problem at work, they hadn’t spoken much, but as she walked down the stairs, she felt a bit happy that their relationship may blossom once again.  She opened the door and let in Joanne, who had a large duffle bag with her.

“I thought maybe we could have some fun, like the good ole days,” said Joanne, dropping the bag on Debbie’s apartment floor.  Joanne opened the bag, and took out some rope.  “You want to play a little?”  The week had been long, and a release would be the perfect thing for Debbie; smiling broadly, she said, “Ok, but who goes first?”  “You can,” said Joanne, grinning, adding “you were always more interested in the escape.  Lie down on the ground, and I’ll get you going.”  Joanne proceeded to tie Debbie into a partial hog tie, tying the rope around her chest, then moving the rope up so that her hands were bound, as were her feet.  She pulled tightly; Debbie never remembered it being so tight, or the rope being so coarse, but she just figured she was out of the habit.

All of a sudden, Joanne put back on her shoes and started walking for the door.  “Hey, where are you going?!” Debbie yelled.  “Well, since you’re so much better than me at everything else, I figure you don’t need my help for this!” Joanne yelled back with an evil grin.  Then, Debbie realized that this was revenge, and that Joanne had seized upon her weak moment.  As the front door slammed shut, Debbie felt the reality of the moment fall over her.

So it was, here, Debbie was lying in the center of her apartment, tied.  How would she get out of this?  Her mind worked feverishly, and her eyes searched the apartment.  She glanced at the knife block, but quickly put it out of mind; she couldn’t stand up, so the knives were well beyond her reach.  Then, she saw her red shoulder bag sitting on the coffee table.  She always had two things in her bag; a Swiss Army Knife and her Nokia N72 GSM cell phone.  If she could get to either, she could call for help or cut herself out.  She began the slow, painful shimmy towards the table.  The cold hardwood floor rubbed against her face, and bare legs, tickling her a bit.  She could hear the floor squeak under her with her effort, and the sweat poured down her face.  She grunted and groaned as she made her way towards the coffee table, her steely gaze fixed on the red bag, sitting like an oasis upon the horizon.

After 10 minutes of struggling, she was close to the table.  Now, how would she get to the bag?  She realized she would have to knock it off the table with her feet, then try to fish out the knife and/or phone.  She rocked so that she was facing up, and pivoted her legs towards the table.  The bag sat near the edge, so she tried to rock herself towards the bag, back and forth, trying to get her feet through the straps, or even better, grasp them between her toes.  She had picked up a million things before with her toes: pencils, pens, paper, even her cell phone on a couple of occasions, so this wouldn’t be hard.  She rocked, her toes spread wide in anticipating.  A couple of inches more, and…

She rocked too hard, knocking the purse over, away from her on the table.  She heard things fall out; a compact, pen, pad, the knife, and her cell phone.  The knife slid off the table at the opposite end, and she let out a whimper when she saw it fall under the table on the opposite side.  However, she also saw that the cell phone had taken a strange bounce, and now was sitting between the table and the couch.  Turning herself on her side, she tried to slide over to grasp it with her fingers.  She stretched out her fingers, wiggling them madly, just trying to touch her phone.  She spread them out wide, seeking the cool plastic of the small phone.  If she could have seen herself, she would have known the phone was a half inch beyond her fingertips grasp, maybe less, and her fingers were getting closer with each stretch.  Her fingers quivered as she strained, and she let out a yell as she pushed just a little more…

And succeeded in pushing the phone under the couch, entirely out of reach.  Oh, she would try to get it under the couch, groping with both her fingers and toes.  However, it wouldn’t be until Joanne returned three hours later to cut her out, that she would feel freedom.  And, she would never let a work come between her and friendship ever again…