The Captive

This story opens with a visualisation exercise, with the intention that the reader should be able to imagine anyone they desire in the roles of the main characters - male or female, straight or gay, cis or trans. To maintain this throughout the rest of the piece, I have not used gender-specifc pronouns, and have tried to avoid using anatomical descriptions that would specify a male or female character. I'd be grateful for your comments as to whether this is successful!

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I want you to imagine someone. Close your eyes if it helps -- although that would make reading the rest of this story tricky. Picture this person clearly in your mind's eye. It could be anyone: your wife, an ex-boyfriend, the neighbour next door, or someone you've only seen in passing. Someone you love, or someone you hate. Maybe, for the narcissists, it's yourself you can see.

Visualise their height and build. Are they towering and broad-shouldered or petite with a delicate frame? Think about their skin -- is it fair, dark, freckled, or tanned? Is it smooth and flawless, or are there faint laughter lines around the eyes?

Now, focus on their face. Really picture them in your mind. What colour are their eyes? Is their nose broad or narrow? How do their eyebrows appear? How do their emotions play out across their face when they are surprised? What subtle signs do they give away when they are trying to hold in a laugh at a serious moment?

Picture their hair, how it falls across their face, whether it is long, short, curly, straight -- or even all gone. Is it fiery red, dirty blonde, chestnut brown or midnight black? Imagine its colour in different lights, how it shimmers in the sun, its deep richness, or the flecks of grey that reveal an inner wisdom.

Consider their style and how they present themselves to the world. Do they love bright colours and a flamboyant style, or do they prefer understated elegance? Think about the textures and colours they might choose; soft, flowing fabrics, or tight tailoring that hugs the body. Imagine them in an outfit that you think they would love.

Imagine them speaking to you. How does their voice sound in a crowded room, or in a quiet, intimate conversation, and how does it change when they are excited or angry? Is the tone of their voice low and rough, or a rippling soprano? Is their accent crisp and well-spoken from their time at boarding school, or is it rough and ready, full of slang and swearing? Is their speech peppered with laughter, or do they speak with thoughtful pauses? Consider the unique phrases or words they use, which make their speech their own.

Think about the way they move, their gestures, their unique walk. Visualise the way they might wave their hands while explaining something passionately, and imagine their posture when relaxed or how they might stand when they are tense. Picture them in motion -- walking, dancing, or swimming in the sea.

Now, hold this image of them in your mind. They are more than just a visual image; they are a real, complex person with thoughts, desires and emotions, and now they exist in a perfect likeness in your thoughts.

Keep this person in your head, and imagine them changed. At the mercy of another, unable to resist or disobey -- transformed from the person you know into a body to be watched, to be touched, to be used. In your imagination, their independence and vitality are gone, replaced with pure helplessness and obedience.

They have become a captive, and this story is about them.

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In the dimly lit room, the captive stood bound, a chilling sense of vulnerability washing over them. Their wrists were held above their head, tightly secured to a sturdy wooden frame, the coarse ropes biting into their skin with every futile twist and turn. Their ankles were also bound to the frame, each one tied to a lower corner, their legs held apart so that they were left in a stretched, uncomfortable position. The ropes were unyielding, restricting their movement to undignified writhing motions during unsuccessful attempts to loosen the bonds. The air seemed thick with the scent of fear, and the only sounds were their own shallow breaths and the distant creaks of the old building. Shadows danced around them, adding to their growing sense of dread. Despite their efforts, the ties held firm, a constant reminder of their defencelessness.

The captive thought back over the last half hour. "How did I let this happen?" they panicked, "I should have shouted, to have backed out. Why am I here?!". But now it was too late, and they were under their captor's control.

The events of earlier that evening already seemed like a distant memory. The captive had attended the supplied address as arranged, down a side street in a part of town they had thought they knew well. The receptionist had welcomed them, and taken their papers and fee. "Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?", they had asked. "It can be pretty intense." The captive had nodded firmly, jaw set firm, so the receptionist had shrugged and waved them down the corridor. "I look forward to seeing you later then", they had said with a grin they tried to hide from their face.

The receptionist had pointed towards a distant door, which led into a sparsely furnished room, in which a solitary chair stood on the tiled floor. Lounging on the chair sat a bored looking figure, who the captive would soon come to know and obey. The seated individual exuded a calm authority that seemed to seep into the very walls of the room. The captive had stood nervously in a centre of the room, waiting for them to speak.

"You know why you're here," the captor had said smoothly, almost disinterested, as they had issued the command. "Take your clothes off." There was no malice in their tone, only an unwavering expectation of compliance.

With a nervous swallow, the captive had done as they were asked, the fabric sliding against their skin as it dropped to the floor. Trousers and top, then shoes and socks were removed quickly. They had paused when only their underwear remained, a silent plea for some shred of dignity, but the captor was unmoved. "Continue," they had commanded, and the captive stripped. Shoulders hunched and hands covering their groin to cover their nakedness, the captive had stood alone as the captor sucked air in through their teeth, rocking back in their chair to assess their prey.

Rising from the chair, the captor had approached with a length of rope, moving with a practiced ease to bind the captive's hands together in front of them. The captive's heart thudded in their chest as they held their wrists together, no longer able to cover their naked body, waiting for the captor to complete their work. The captor had then taken a longer rope and attached it securely to the wrist bindings before giving it a practice tug. The captive had felt their arms pulled forward, their shoulders complaining at the sudden jerk; they realised that they could now be pulled on this leash wherever the captor desired.

The captor had then crouched, using more rope to wrap each ankle with a snug coil, each rough loop pressing into the soft skin beneath. With expert style, the captor had made sure that each ankle was encircled with an equal number of turns, the symmetry and accuracy pleasing them. Once satisfied with the binding on each ankle, a smaller, thinner length of rope -- barely more than string -- had been produced. This piece was used to connect the two ankle wraps, threaded between them with precision to draw the legs in close.

The captor had then walked forwards, pulling the rope taut, forcing the captive to follow them, back out of the room and into the corridor. In the distance, the captive saw the receptionist, who had turned their head towards the noise and smiled at the scene.

The ankle restraints had allowed the captive only minimal, shuffling movements. Each attempt to take a step was met with the unyielding resistance of the short string linking their feet together, forcing them into an awkward, quick-stepped gait. Led like a dog on a lead, they had stumbled to keep pace, each step a struggle against the constricting bonds and their own rising panic. The sound of the rope stretching and rubbing against itself accompanied their every move, and their feet slapped loudly on the cold tile floor.

The captor was unfazed by the captive's plight and had pulled the rope sharply, leading them deeper into the building through unknown rooms and hallways. The cool air had flowed around the captive's naked form, sending a chill deep into their body and soul. They felt a shiver spread down their spine as they were pulled briskly along, goosebumps prickling on their skin.

Reaching their destination, the captor had untied the string that joined the captive's ankles, but the captive had felt no comfort in this act, their eyes remaining wide with a mix of fear and anticipation. The captive looked around the enormous room into which they had been led. Thick curtains stretched from floor to ceiling and covered one wall, and the ceiling was almost too high to see. The only furniture in the room was a rectangular wooden frame, about the size and shape of a large bed turned on its end. The captor had led the captive to the frame, positioning them directly between the stark pillars of wood, and facing them towards the curtain-draped wall. The captor had pulled the captives legs apart before re-securing each ankle to the lower corners of the frame.

Next, the captor had turned their attention to the captive's wrists. The captive had realised that the long rope was more than a leash - with a quick movement, the captor had flicked the rope over the top bar of the frame, where it looped around the wood before falling down behind the captive. Pulling the rope tight, the captor had forced the captive to raise their hands, with their arms stretched above their head.

And now here the captive found themselves, completely immobilized, at the mercy of the captor who had stepped back to survey their work. The captive's body was displayed like a canvas, stretched out and defenceless. The room was silent, save for the captive's shallow breaths, as the captor's eyes lingered over them, contemplating their next move.

With deliberate and unsettling calmness, the captor approached the captive, holding a tangle of leather straps and glossy rubber in their hand. The captive's eyes widened as they recognised the ball gag. The captor drew in closer, and the captive felt their breath on their face. Still closer the captor leant in, before pressing their lips to the captive's to kiss them. Surprised at this act, uncertain of what the captor expected, the captive found themselves kissing back, their head tilting to the side for a long moment as they lightly touched tongues. The captor pulled back, a smirk on their face. With the captive's lips still parted from the kiss, the captor suddenly raised their hand and pushed the smooth black ball of the gag into the captive's mouth, so that it slipped behind their teeth. Once firmly inside, the captor began the process of fastening the straps, the gentleness of the kiss replaced with tightening leather. The captive felt a surge of adrenaline course through their body, their eyes wide and heart pounding, but with a new sense of desire for the captor's attention.

The first straps were pulled tightly across the captive's cheeks, buckling securely behind their head. Two more straps stretching upwards across their face, reaching diagonally and partially obscuring their vision as the thin leather bands passed in front of their eyes. The crisscross of straps joined together between their eyebrows, from where a single strap extended up and over the crown of the captive's head before descending at the back to meet the horizontal bands. All straps locked fast to each other behind the head to ensure that the gag was held firmly in place. The captive grunted as the straps were adjusted, their speech now restricted to unintelligible noises.

A final strap stretched around the jaw and buckled under the chin to complete the harness, holding the captive's tongue against the ball in their mouth and rendering them effectively mute. The captor adjusted the straps and buckles to a snug fit, ensuring no possibility of dislodging the gag, no matter how much the captive might struggle. The captive, now deprived of their voice, felt themselves falling into helplessness and isolation. Suddenly, brutally, the captor reached up to the captive's chest to pinch their nipple, twisting the flesh as they did so. A brief jolt of pain spread through their body before the captor let go. "You're mine now," they whispered in the captive's ear.

Finishing their adjustments, the captor reached up to the ball now held securely in the captive's mouth. Attached to the gag, hidden from initial view, was a small inflation device. The captive's eyes grew with terror as the captor held the tubing and inflation bulb up to their eye-level to demonstrate how the apparatus worked.

One, two, three presses of the bulb caused the gag to start to swell. As the inflation balloon deep inside the captive's mouth expanded, it pressed down on their tongue, filling the cavity of their mouth. The pressure increased relentlessly, pushing against the insides of their cheeks, rendering any attempt at speech impossible. The captive could feel the unyielding pressure of the expanding balloon, its presence becoming more and more intrusive as it grew. The sensation was not just silencing but deeply oppressive, a physical manifestation of their complete loss of control.

As the gag was inflated, the captive's breathing became laboured and frantic. Each breath was a struggle, the air rushing in and out through their nose with a harsh, raspy sound. Their chest rose and fell rapidly, the movement pronounced and desperate, their body in a state of panic, trying to draw in as much air as possible.

The inflation process was slow and deliberate, each pump of the captor's hand reducing the captive's ability to make any coherent sound, the captor relishing the growing sense of discomfort evident in the captive's eyes. Once satisfied with the inflation, the captor stepped back to observe their handiwork, leaving the captive in a state of utter subjugation, silenced by the oppressive force of the inflated gag.

The captive mind raced with fear and confusion. They felt overwhelmed, the combination of the tight restraints and the inflated gag filling their mouth creating a suffocating sense of powerlessness and distress. The sound of their own strained breathing echoed in their ears.

The captor's voice cut through the tense air. "Slow down, calm down. Focus on taking deeper and slower breaths, or you'll never get through the scene." The words, meant to be calming, felt like an impossible demand in the captive's heightened state of anxiety. Nevertheless, they nodded and tried to comply, drawing in longer, more controlled breaths. It was a struggle; their breaths were still fast and noisy, each inhale and exhale a loud, trembling affair. The ropes that bound them, the gag that filled their mouth, and their racing heart made any sense of calm unattainable. The captive managed to reduce the intensity of their breathing a little, but the fast, noisy rhythm persisted.

The captive's hopes for a swift release sank further as the captor produced two additional ropes. Each rope was meticulously looped around the captive's knees, and the captive watched with a growing sense of dread, their heart pounding in their chest, as the captor methodically secured the other ends of the ropes to the outer edges of the frame. With slow precision, the captor began to pull on the ropes, gradually forcing the captive's knees to turn outward. The action was relentless, stretching the captive's legs further apart and straining their muscles uncomfortably. The sensation was both physically taxing and psychologically daunting, as the captive realized the extent of their incapacity. The captor only stopped when the ropes were taut, the captive's legs now held in a painfully wide position. The captor adjusted and tightened the knots with a level of care that contrasted starkly with the cruelty of the act. The captive could feel the pressure on their knees, a constant and uncomfortable reminder of their hopeless and exposed state.

With the captive's limbs now thoroughly restrained and stretched, the captor took another step back. The room was silent except for the captive's laboured breathing, muffled by the inflated gag, and the faint creaking of the strained ropes. The captive had nowhere to hide, more immobilized than ever, their body and will equally ensnared by the captor's careful preparations. Another unexpected kiss followed, the captor bending low to teasingly press their lips to the captive's abdomen. Desire surged once more through their body, and they now had no choice but to trust their captor and surrender to their fate.

The captor, observing the captive's wide-eyed gaze, produced a tight-fitting leather blindfold from their pocket, its surface smooth and unyielding. The captive's eyes flickered with the last glimpses of their surroundings before the captor slipped the blindfold under the diagonal straps of the gag and into position. With a practiced motion, the captor stretched the blindfold over the captive's eyes, pressing the leather against their skin. The blindfold felt warm from the heat of the captor's pocket. The fit was snug, contouring closely to the shape of their face, and the blindfold plunged them into darkness. The sensation was claustrophobic, the leather pressing against their eyelids, denying them even the faintest hint of light. The captor adjusted the blindfold, ensuring that it sat perfectly with no chance for slippage. The strap was pulled tight around the back of the captive's head, nestling securely under the straps of the gag harness, enveloping the captive in a world devoid of sight, speech, and freedom. A tiny, involuntary whimper escaped from the captive's throat as their sense of isolation became complete.

With their vision obliterated, the captive's other senses heightened, making them acutely aware of the sounds and smells of the room, yet unable to discern anything about their captor's next move. They heard footsteps as the captor walked about, checking their work and adjusting ropes. Finally satisfied, the captor stood in front of the frame and spoke, their tone carrying a mockingly cheerful edge.

"Smile for the camera," they taunted. The words struck the captive with a wave of fear, their inability to comply made all the more frustrating by the gag that filled their mouth, stifling any form of expression.

Blindfolded, the captive saw no flash, no hint of light to indicate a photograph being taken. Yet, the distinctive sound of an old-fashioned Polaroid camera whirring to life was unmistakable. The mechanical noise of the camera spitting out a photo filled the room, their predicament being captured forever in the frozen picture.

Trapped in darkness, the captive could only imagine the shot the captor had taken. Their mind raced with questions. Why was the captor doing this? Would the photo be added to some scrapbook of victims, available for anyone to flick through? Perhaps the captor kept them as personal trophies, or used them for blackmail. Whatever the reason, a permanent record of their shame had now been made, lasting proof that the captive couldn't deny. The thought was deeply unsettling, the psychological torment adding to their physical constraints. The sound of the photograph being fanned back and forth filled the room as the captor developed the shot.

The captor's voice, steady and ominous, broke the tense silence that enveloped the room. "It's time to begin the show," they announced, their tone laced with anticipation. The captive, bound and blindfolded, tensed at the words, a wave of fear washing over them.