1. Zipties


    Date: 6/24/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Bondage and restriction, Exhibitionism, Female solo, Humiliation, Voyeurism, Author: littlequitter, Rating: 50, Source: sexstories.com

    someone, someone had seen, but she didn’t want to think about that. She’d handled it. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe deeply, lungs feeling big enough to let her hold it forever, she could feel her heart beating in her wrist, stealing fingers around to press against the pulse. Slender currents of electricity pulsing around her body. Cars still raced underneath her infrequently, it had gotten colder and goosebumps stood out on her arms in sharp relief. Hard nipples, swollen cunt. She drifted. The sound of a car pulling over, tires crunching on the gravel shoulder and her eyes flew open, eyes darting wildly around, where was it coming from.. there. No more than fifty metres away, a cop car, lights flashing. Two officers, male, get out. She can’t hear them talking but they look around and one of them points toward the bridge, toward her, but there’s no way they can see her, how.. Briefly she wishes she could see what she looked like, it’s a pretty scene, red and blue lights flooding over pale, terrified skin, the reflection in her glassy eyes, and then she drags her hands against the tie to make the pain loop and whirl, this isn’t a fucking story or a movie it’s REAL and you had better start thinking VERY QUICKLY katy… you don’t want them to catch you, you don’t want to ...
    have to talk about why you’re here.. Hands scrabbling behind her back, terrified eyes on the approaching men, they’re on the steps, boots clanking, upward, closer. Ok. Ok shh. Breathe. You know how to get out of a ziptie lock. You’ve done it before. Remember how you trained. Clenched fists, thumbs in, make room, then wrists turned inwards and work the hands out. Face straining with effort. Just get the thumbs out, pull, pull. It hurts but the pain is distant, inconsquential. Almost..almost… The men reach the top of the stairs, no more than thirty metres away. She redoubles her efforts. One thumb slips through. “Excuse me miss, are you ok?“ Leaning her whole weight against the pole. Her hands rip free and she’s off, running to the other set of stairs, half blind and hyperventilating. Scramble down the stairs, tripping and fleeing into whatever car will take her, arms waving in the middle of the highway, please see me, stop or hit me I don’t care. A car pulls over and she half sits, half falls into the seat, mumbles the name of her city. Looking down at her hands to see bright red blood dripping from raw wounds around her wrists. Now the shakes come in earnest. "Rough night?” She looks over at her transport, and finds she can’t even speak. “You look cold. Here, have a cigarette."
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