Author's Note: The following is a (heavy) CNC story in several parts.
Each chapter is themed around one or more kinks/fetishes.
At the time of writing, I am still finishing up segments of the story, and they will be uploaded (hopefully) over the course of a month or two. I am aiming at four to five installments, though I will not rule out further chapters in the future. Feel free to contact me to show support and encouragement for future installments.
A noise came to her as if from a long way away, but she didn't stir from her sleep. It was deep, the deepest of sleeps, where all was dark and silent and not even a dream was there to distract her from her slumber. It seemed to slip away from her as she pondered how deep and perfect it had been, for even thinking of it had set the cogs of her brain slowly turning. She tried to stop them, to discard thought, and to let herself sink back into that thoughtless abyss, but for some reason her mind betrayed her and willed her to think and to function.
She made a light noise of disapproval and turned her head to bury her face in cool pillows and to dive back beneath those deep, dreamless waves of unconsciousness. But no cushion met her cheek; instead, her head lolled into nothingness. She gave a grunt of annoyance and went to turn on her side in the opposite direction, but found she couldn't. Once again, her head swung and met no pillow, and her legs caught up in the sheets, forcing her to wiggle them uncomfortably.
She tried once more to embrace sleep, even though that deep dreamless state had fled, she fancied she could at least snooze lightly and let her unconscious mind idly dream.
Her neck ached, but with a third turn of the head, she still couldn't find her pillow. It was no good; she would never sleep with her head dangling off the mattress and her legs all tangled in her bedding.
She pouted and made a final 'hmph' of annoyance. Still, taking a trip to the bathroom and a swing by the kitchen for snacks to eat in bed wouldn't be so bad.
Before she knew it, she'd be tucked back in bed with a freshly plumped pillow and covers settled snugly about her.
With a yawn, she raised her arms to stretch and to rub her tired eyes, or at least tried to, for her arms stayed tightly at her sides.
Confusion flooded her sleepy brain. She couldn't move from where she lay. No, from where she sat, for she felt certain she was upright.
She shifted her body but ended up in exactly the same place. For a second or two more, her mind fumbled for understanding, but then she came to her senses, and a sick dread coiled within her like a well of roiling black smoke.
Something was wrong.
It took a conscious effort to gain control of her body; she felt sluggish and weak. With pure force of will, she made herself open her eyes.
Lifting her lids was like bench-pressing a heavy weight; it took considerable focus and effort. As they opened, she felt blinded, though wherever she sat, it was quite dim. Even so, her surroundings seemed too bright, and her vision was cloudy and unfocused.
She closed her eyes a few times to clear them, and yet more force of will was needed to open them again each time.
When she could see, she peered around with a bleary gaze and took in her surroundings.
She found that she couldn't make sense of things further away; she couldn't seem to focus on anything.
Her chin dropped to her chest as she sleepily hung her head and decided to start closer to home.
She was sitting in a chair, or a similar contraption, at least. On either side was a toothed wheel, with what was presumably an axel that ran beneath the seat. The seat itself wasn't very large, as the tops of her thighs rested on it, but her buttocks seemed to be unsupported.
Her legs disappeared below and rested on a step, but moving each leg in turn revealed that she was probably strapped in place. Her wrists were also clasped at her sides, leather straps wrapping around and binding them to the armrests. Tightened around her waist was an unyielding leather belt, to which was clipped harness straps that ran up over her shoulders to clip securely to the seat behind her. And around her neck she felt the cool touch of a metal ring, like a solid metal band.
Even had she not felt so weak, she did not believe she could have forced them to release her, for all of the bindings were thick and sturdy.
As her eyes focused, she realised she was in a simple, unfurnished room. The floor was made of simple, roughly-hewn slabs of stone. The walls were blank and windowless, made of heavy stone, and whitewashed. If there was a door, it must've been behind her, for the three walls she could see held none.
Apart from her chair, the only things she could see were tripods, one on either side and one in front.
With great effort, she forced her head up and looked straight ahead. The tripod in front of her held a camera, and she looked at it in puzzlement, mesmerised by the steady, pulsing red light.
Above it sat a wide-screen television, though it was blank and held no picture but her fuzzy image reflected from its black surface.
She was being filmed. That thought came to her slowly, as if it were being pushed desperately forwards from the back of her mind. She wondered at that, something deep inside screamed at her to pay attention, but god she was tired. She needed a few moments more sleep, she was sure she could make sense of it all if she was allowed just a little more rest.
A noise came from far away as it had before the first time she woke, and after a minute or perhaps an hour, she responded, dragging her head back upwards.
She had fallen asleep again, but this time as she woke, she felt at least slightly more alert. She didn't open her eyes immediately, that still felt like too much effort. Instead she listened again for the noise that had woken her.
She became aware of more noises--not the regular and rhythmic noises of machines or processes unknown, but the natural intermittent sounds made by someone at work. To what they were working, she couldn't say, but from behind her, she could hear the odd clatter, occasional step, and general everyday noises of someone going about their business.
That set alarm bells ringing, and for that coiling black dread in her stomach to writhe again.
Where was she? What was going on?
Why was she bound? WHO HAD BOUND HER?
She tried to remember what she had been doing before. Then, all of a sudden, she remembered him.
Oh, she had been so silly, flying to a different country and meeting a stranger.
It was obviously not just men who got themselves into stupid situations by listening to their dicks. She'd listened to her pussy. It had tingled so delightfully at his words, and she'd followed it so eagerly, imagining that beard brushing her thighs as he ate it. Now was strapped down, and if she didn't do something, she'd probably end up as the focus of a grisly news story. Not to mention with all her organs winging their way around the world to new owners.
With an energy that had eluded her before, she shook her arms and legs, but even with newfound vigour, had no effect on lessening them.
The black leather was fastened by strong, shining metal buckles and pierced by sturdy pins. She did not think that she could have broken through then if she had been at full strength, or even with a few dedicated weeks of weightlifting and fitness training. She certainly would have no effect on the belt. Even if she had freed her arms, its clasps were out of sight, likely at her back. No amount of clawing, bending, or pulling would dislodge it, whether she had use of her hands or not, for it was in all appearances similar to a wrestler's trophy belt, wide, heavy, and missing only the shining medals. The harness straps alone were the only parts of her bindings she thought she'd be able to break, but even then, only with the use of her hands.
She began to jerk about in her seat, desperate to loosen any of her bonds or to find a weakness in them she could exploit, but all she succeeded in doing was tire herself further.
And to make a lot of noise.
Silence greeted her, but it was not the silence born of the absence of sound, but the silence of a breath held expectantly, of someone stopping to listen.
There was a clatter of something being dropped or discarded, then the slow, steady pace of footsteps approaching her. Those steps were like adrenaline injections; each one pumped another dose of fiery panic into her blood.
The natural shake that had begun in her hands increased to the point where she was frantically yanking her wrists back and forth until her skin chaffed and burned. She tightened the muscles in her legs, planted her feet firmly on the step, and forced herself upwards so that the braces at her ankles cut into her flesh and the band about her stomach gripped her like a vice.
She knew that she'd already been heard, and she did nothing to limit the noise of her struggles. And she realised too, that just as much noise had begun to escape her lips.
She whimpered pathetically, and as his footsteps drew ever closer, she began the panicked squeal made by a prey animal when it is cornered by a predator. Her fear reached such a height, that by the time he stood next to her, she thought she might pass out.
He shushed her gently, hands playing with the curled locks that danced about her shoulders. And finally, her face found a cushion on which to rest when his arm wrapped around her and he laid his palm against her cheek.
Helplessly, she eased into it, laying herself against it, panting and exhausted.
'Shhhh' he said again,'shhh, there.' And for a moment or two, he simply caressed her cheek and hushed her.
