All Characters in this story are over 18 years of age. Considerably over. This story meets all Literotica content guidelines.
Enjoy
Key
My name is Mary.
Stella, my neighbor, three houses down in the suburb where we live, gave me her key something like two years ago. I exchanged one with her at the same time, as a sign of trust. A handshake kind of thing, just so there would be someone in the area who would have a key, in case of emergency; like if you are on vacation and need someone to check the gas for a leak, or just someone you could call to feed your cat or something. I should explain that our subdivision backs up to a big state forest preserve, so the houses in our area are pretty isolated, and no one can build around the neighborhood. Mary's house, especially, is at the end of the cul-de-sac and has a lot that is surrounded on three sides by woods where nobody ever goes. I imagine it made her feel more secure to know that someone nearby could check on her house, if necessary. She has lived alone since we moved in five years ago. She told me once that she was a teacher, elementary school, if I recall. She also told me she is getting close to retirement age. She mentioned it maybe a year ago, but I have not been keeping close tabs, so I do not know if she had quit working or not. She is in her late forties, and probably could take her pension and quit working if she wanted. I assumed she had some other source of money coming in as a teacher's pension would not be enormous. Probably her husband had left her some investments or insurance or other means in the will, when he passed away about six years ago.
To be frank, I put the key in a drawer at home and forgot about it.
Until Tuesday.
I was baking a big cake. I needed some baking powder and realized I was fresh out. My own car was in the shop. My husband had taken his to work. The nearest grocery store was five miles away. I was banging through cupboards looking to see if I had something, anything, that would do the same job as baking soda when I happened to see her key in the drawer. I remembered Mary had a pantry off her kitchen that had been well stocked looking the last time I had gone over for a barbeque last July. I grabbed my phone and called her, but she did not answer, the phone going straight to voice mail. I figured she was possibly at work, if she was still doing that, or shopping or some other errand. I think I mentally shrugged and grabbing the key, went jogging over to her house and let myself in. It felt weird just going in like that, but I figured I'd grab the baking soda from her stocks and just knock on her door later and tell her I took it and return it after I went to the store and bought a replacement box tomorrow.
I went in the back door and, after sixty seconds, spotted the soda on a shelf. As I stepped out of the pantry, I heard it. A faint cry. Distant, but just barely audible in the house. I already mentioned that the house was isolated. I was certain no one else would hear it outside. I stopped. Then heard it again. I walked over to the hallway off the kitchen and paused, listening. Then I heard it more clearly.
"Oh...help! Help!" I knew the voice. It was Mary's. I suddenly realized her car had been in the driveway when I came, so she must actually be home. I then instantly thought she must be hurt or something. I went to a door a bit down the hall.
"Oh! Someone! I'm... I'm..." I was only half alarmed so far. Thinking maybe she had locked herself in a room or some such, but realized she definitely could be hurt a moment later.
I opened the door. I knew what it was, in general. Stella's house had a big, wide basement kind of living room down there. What we used to call a rumpus room. It had a fireplace, was carpeted and insulated well. I think she had a pool table at one end, a big TV, a couple of couches and chairs and if memory served me right, some kind of massive coffee table. I remembered the table only because I had thought it looked really blocky when I had seen it. There was nothing graceful about it. Nothing elegant. Not art Nouveau or even Danish modern. Just a big hunk of a thing made of inelegant timbers and planks. I remembered all this in a rush, since I had been down there last summer for a few minutes while she fetched a croquet set from a closet for kids outside at the barbecue, that I helped tote back up for the party.
As I opened the door, I started down without hesitation. The lights were on.
In most houses this would have made a creaking and clumping sound on wooden stairs, but for some reason whoever built the place had actually poured concrete stairs down to the cellar and with the carpet on them I did not make a sound as I started down.
I was halfway down when I heard her clear as day.
"Oh, somebody! Help! They have me! They have me so helpless!" I stopped dead. Perhaps some home invaders or burglar had broken in! I pulled my cell phone out, and activated the screen so that the 911 button was ready. I wasn't planning on going down there until I knew if there were guys holding her or something. On the other hand, I hesitated. I am a responsible person. Not like those idiots on YouTube or TV who call in the cops while drunk or stupid. Where I was raised, you don't call 911 unless you are absolutely certain something bad is really going on.
"Help!" Stella yelled. "They have me tied up! They are going to... to come back and rape me! Take me!"
I caught the 'come back' part of this and realized that perhaps whoever was molesting her had left for a while and I might have a window of opportunity to help her. Get her out of there.
I started down the steps ever so slowly. Nervous. There was a kind of false wall along one side of the stairs and arrived at the bottom, level with the basement floor at the end. I tiptoed down. I could hear Stella grunting and some rustling sounds. I heard her groan. I kept my thumb on the dial button for the police as I peeked around the final corner and into the basement.
I glanced around and could see no one but Mary.
Mary was certainly there. I started suddenly when I looked more closely and realized she lay face down the carpet kind beside that big coffee table.
She was naked. Starkers.
I stared at her in astonishment and embarrassment at seeing my neighbor nude. Her buttocks poking up in the air. I was all ready to bring in the cops then, but some corner of my mind analyzed the scene and I hesitated again because I slowly realized something about it was off.
Sure, Mary was tied up. Mary's hands were handcuffed behind her back and tied to a rope that went around her waist, knotted under her belly as she lay face down. She was tugging and pulling on the cuffs. Each of her ankles was tied by a short length of rope to the same cord around her waist, letting her kick her legs a bit, but not fully straighten them. There was something wrapped around her head too, I could not see it well from that angle, but it was almost certainly a blindfold of some kind.
"Oh. I'm helpless." She rattled the cuffs. "Tied up. Naked! Help me!"
Then, the oddity that had struck me became clear. It was a bulge of plastic between her round thighs. I moved a step closer and could see it was one of those bulbous headed vibrator things. It was literally tied to her thigh. It was buzzing away, and though Mary was struggling to free herself from the bondage, she was also working her hips around. A lot. After a few seconds watching, it was obvious she was humping up and down and wiggling side to side as she twisted about on her belly and panted.
Then I got it.
It was the panting that finally penetrated my shocked brain.
She was panting pretty hard. Really hard. Some atavistic corner of my mind knew what the kind of breathing meant.
Then she groaned.
"Ah! I am cuffed. Helpless. In bondage. Oh... they are touching me. Touching my... my... my cunt!" She yelled. She was breathing through her mouth as she said it. Short on oxygen from breathing so hard.
I took yet another step forward. Still not completely certain in my rational mind, then I saw the old suitcase on the floor next to the couch. One of those ancient American Tourister bags. One of the tough, hard plastic ones made back in the 60s and 70s to be indestructible. The kind nobody wants or uses anymore for travel, as they had no wheels and only the one handle. It lay wide open. I could see inside it now. I stepped still closer trying to get my head around what I was seeing.
"Please!" Mary cried, rolling her hips about and up and down. Clearly trying to get her labia and clitoris into closer contact with the vibrating head of toy, which was making a grinding sound each time she pressed her weight more on it.
I was busy staring into the luggage though. It clearly contained a heap of lengths of various types of rope, pieces of chain with padlocks on them, two or three sex toys of various colors, a couple leather-looking items I could not immediately identify and something right on top what was absolutely and clearly a ball gag. I stared at the pile even as Mary yelled out again.
"Please! They've tied me up. They are teasing me. I'm Naked! Stripped! I've got to get free." She began to writhe all the harder on her belly.
Then I saw the absolute clincher that there was no one coming. Lying on the carpet near her was a little key. A handcuff key. I am not completely clueless. I have heard of bondage. My husband has tied me up a half dozen times over the course of our marriage. I remembered even hearing about self-bondage in some sex manual we owned. But to walk in on it! Unsuspecting. To see it suddenly revealed! It was a shock to my system. My neighbor had tied herself up. She was clearly trying to get herself off on the vibrating toy.
It penetrated fully. There were no men coming. Not even a boyfriend who was helping her. No home invaders. No intruders of any kind. This was all Mary's doing.
