Never Let You Go

After several pain-filled moments of neglect and being tied up and bound in the closet, Arielle finally opened the doors and light flooded into the darkness. She bent down and grabbed Tyler’s chin in her pointy fingertips. She locked eyes with him. He moaned up to her, willing her to remove the tape and the bikini from his mouth.

Instead of listening to him, she backed up, holding the camera in her hand. Tyler shook his head, eyeing her with hatred. Not again! He grunted in distress, struggling at the ropes that bound him helplessly. With each thrust he gave, shifting his torso back and forth, he produced a higher pitched groan and the woman enjoyed it. She snapped four more pictures and then recorded a short video of his struggle. He was sure that would go on Youtube and be liked by many. He would be taunted and teased at games.

He just wanted to get free from her. He wanted to find his friends: Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews and Patrice Bergeron. And speaking of the three boys, where were they? What was happening to them?

As he became distracted, she had lugged him out of the small space and back into the main room. Here, she began to construct a new bondage look on him. It pulled Tyler away from his thoughts. She carefully and gradually peeled the tape away from his mouth. She flicked it to the side. Then she wrenched his mouth open, grabbing his lips and buried her small fingers into his mouth, making sure to rape the inside walls, until she finally grabbed the bikini and removed it. She tossed it to the side as well and then immediately let Tyler’s head go.

“You beautiful princess bitch!” He growled at her, narrowing his eyes in fury, as he gagged on the aftertaste, still floating around inside his mouth.

“You’re a bad listener, Tyler!” She mused, slapping him hard on the behind, as she rolled him over on the ground.

He dry humped the floor, with a few pelvis thrusts, at the sudden action of punishment. “Stop!! Please, stop!”

She ignored his cries and placed a cloth drenched in the chloroform liquid over his mouth and nose. He screamed himself into unconsciousness. She had just long enough to get him onto the bed and bind him with a few ropes, before he snapped awake and fought with her again. She hadn’t used that much and she wanted him awake once more, but she also had to get him into the new vision of bondage she had. The grande finale!

Before he could even place it, he found himself back on the bed. The new rope smelled of petroleum product. It was called manila rope and it was hard and scratchy and then there was the smell. The faint odor from each strand, exaggerated by the large amount of rope in use, was upsetting his stomach. It was dampening the mood, making him dizzy. But he forced control over his ill feelings. He wasn’t going to show her any weakness.

Tyler shifted his upper chest to try and relieve the stress in his shoulders. There was little room to maneuver and less relief for his efforts. He sighed and tried to find that place in his mind where he went during one of these marathon bondage sessions. Where had he been before, in the closet or on the bed previously? Oh right, distracted by random thoughts!

He concentrated on different parts of his body, assessing the effect of the ropes. The fronts of his anklebones were tightly laced to the headboard rail and he found no comfort there. The heavy wool rag over the knee socks, which was the only thing he was wearing, helped cushion his ankles against the rail a bit, but not much! The big toes on each of his feet were tied together with twine, even though his legs were spread. His socks, bunched down between his toes, made it all the more uncomfortable. He hated the feeling and apparently she knew that. The twine pulled his feet towards each other across the two-foot gulf between his legs. He wondered, not for the first time, what the long-term effects of this abuse of his limbs and joints might be.

He catalogued the bindings on his arms. His wrists and his elbows were crushed together. She had even encircled his forearms. The elbow rope wound through his armpits and behind his neck. The harsh rope would surely leave semi-permanent impressions there. If there weren’t any there already.

The worst part of his arm bondage was the rope tied to his wrists that pulled his shoulders and upper body up off the bed and back towards the headboard rail. He was quite flexible, but this was taxing even his abilities to contort himself. His shoulder joints ached because they were rotated up behind him and then pulled towards the middle of his back by the elbow ropes. He complained loudly as she pulled him into position, obviously to no avail. His back was arched so much that the plane of his shoulders to his breasts was almost perpendicular to the bed. Always the engineer, he thought.

Then there were the blindfold and gag. He hated being blindfolded, because he liked to look at her and himself when he was tied up. He didn’t like being in suspense and not knowing what was going on. She knew it frustrated the hell out of him to not be able to see. The gag, she’d chosen, was that awful piece of black electrical tape.

All in all, it was a complicated and challenging position. He loved to be challenged, on the ice, but not like this and not by her inventive approach to bondage. He loathed this and she knew it. Each time, she came up with something that pushed his limits and this was certainly no exception.

He heard her walk around the room, giggling with pleasure and soon thereafter heard the beep and whir of the camera. More pictures. One after another, as he imagined her taking every possible viewing angle. The thought of being photographed in bondage was something that didn’t exactly thrill him. His heart rate increased, as did his level of arousal. The photos would be posted in various groups and sites on the Internet and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing and hearing about it.

He had built a following and that always embarrassed him, most of the time it was a good thing. He liked his fans for his hockey career, not his sex life. But he knew the Seguinistas would love him no matter what. and after a few saw the footage and photos of him bound and gagged, helplessly, he was sure they’d flip out (sexually).

He knew that after these were posted, his mailbox would be full and he knew that there would be many women, including his Seguinistas and some men masturbating as they looked at him. He moaned as he thought of all the attention because of his helpless situation and pose. He heard her chuckle! She knew him so well! What made him tick and lose it!

All he could do was flex his fingers and turn his head slightly. She didn't seem to mind and she remained rather silent as she recorded his captivity. It made him boil inside. He screamed at her, but it was no use. He couldn’t move or do anything, but wait until the photographs were snapped of him.

She switched out different looks on him, swapping the gag around. It went from duct tape, to vinyl, to a ball gag, then a towel, a towel and tape and etc… All he could do was submit to her and let her do her sick fetish thing. Oh, and take more pictures of him!

He heard the familiar scraping of the tripod legs. She had finally put the camera down, in place on the stand. The bed sagged as she climbed on and he protested a bit, under the tape, as the ropes tightened here and there. She was going to record her fucking with him! It drove him crazy, as he lashed his head back and forth, muffling screams and wails.

She’d ultimately decided on the electric tape as the grand finale for him. He heard the groaning of the bed and the subtitle noise as she slipped out of her bra and panties finally. She took her underwear and brushed the dirty undergarments against his skin, letting him know what she had done and he knew what was about to happen. Her wish would come true. It was the grand finale, indeed.

He shifted in his bondage at the end and begged to be released. It came out muffled and unrecognizable, but she knew his gag talk fairly well by now. It was getting uncomfortable, exceedingly so, and he wanted her to screw him properly if she was. He was sure she had like 100 pictures of him now on her camera, including an array of sick videos, enough to give her infinite pleasure.

After they finally screwed and she fucked him up, raping his inner soul to death, she finally sighed and gave in. “Alright, Tyler, I’ll let you go!”

She cut the ropes from him and made sure to free him completely. He promised not to fight or try anything. He was too frightened and scarred anyway. She removed the blindfold and the tape gag. He licked his lips, wetting them, since they were uncomfortably dry. He could only taste the adhesive sticky material, which made him gag violently. She finished the job, patting his crotch again, but she handcuffed his hands together.

“You can breath and I won’t gag you anymore, but I have to keep you under control. I don’t trust you completely my Segsy man! You fought with me the entire time and I don’t like that!” She slipped off the bed again, touched him on the nose, flirtatiously and left the room. She was back to being her cute, adorable, innocent self.

As soon as the door shut, Tyler got off the bed. He bolted to the door and worked the handle, but it was locked. He whimpered, desperately wanting to get out. He gave up and leaned against the door instead. He raised his hands and tried to pull the handcuffs, snapping them apart, but his strength was dangerously low. He continued to grunt and groan in frustration, driving himself into tears. He tossed his head back, gazing upward at the low ceiling that seemed to suffocate him.

“Marchy!” He cried, thinking of no other name. “HELP ME!!”

And he dashed back to the bed and flung himself over the mattress face down, where he wailed against the comforter. (Yeah, that’s a princess move!)