AUTHOR'S NOTE: It will not escape the attention of perceptive readers that, in this episode, whilst our heroine's predicament at its start is forced upon her fully unwillingly, she is not, in substance, out of control of much of the action which thereafter occurs.
Nonetheless, as we learn, it is psychologically important to her that she does
not
give her consent -- formally at least -- to what is done to her at the hands of the man to whom she submits. Perverse as this may be, it is our heroine's view of the matter. Out of deference to her, therefore, inasmuch as we must categorise at all, we should continue to categorise her story -- and this is indeed primarily her story (notwithstanding the wider social ramifications that we will start to see unfold from chapter 3 onwards) -- as one of non-consensual, or reluctant, relations. The wisdom of this approach is, perhaps, underlined by the cruel breach of trust to which she will soon be subjected, alluded to at the very end of this chapter.
Chapter 2: Taking the Plunge
Monday morning
Rich looked at the text: "
I need your help with another leak. Come over soon. x Astrid".
Ten days ago, he had turned up at her home with the genuine intention of simply doing his job, i.e fixing the plumbing. After a certain amount of provocation, and a nasty altercation that had left him dazed and bloodied on his face, he had ended up stripping, spanking and fucking the young social media star in her own kitchen. She had been left naked, gagged and tied to a chair. Now, incredibly, she was asking him to return.
Certainly, the treatment he had meted out to Astrid had seemed to switch on something inside of her. She had orgasmed twice, which was
some
indication -- but, more than this, her whole personality had appeared to shift during their encounter: the bratty, insecure persona that had so wound him up at the start melted away as her subjugation intensified; she had become pleasant and serene, seemingly at peace with herself.
Rich was nonetheless surprised that Astrid wanted to see him again. He wondered idly what had happened in the intervening period. What, for instance, had gone down between her and her boyfriend, who, when he returned from his trip, would have found her tied up in her kitchen?
Rich would find out soon enough. He replied: "
I think I can fit you in on Friday. See you at 3pm. Greet me with a smile this time."
Ten days previously...
A short while after Rich walked out of the house, Astrid gave up struggling with her bindings. She was not going to free herself. Nearly the whole length of each of her limbs was tied to the chair by a long coil of cable, firmly and expertly tied off at its ends.
Later, she might have to revisit the problem of how to escape if, for some reason, her boyfriend, Darren, failed to return home on time. In that eventuality -- and it was an alarming possibility -- she could perhaps bite through the gag and scream to alert her neighbours.
Right now, her time would be better spent thinking how she would explain her predicament to her boyfriend, assuming he did indeed return in time to find her tied up like this. Informing Darren that Rich, the plumber, had done this to her was pointless, she realised. She had consented (arguably) to much of what had happened. The only person bearing a physical injury from the encounter was Rich. And Rich had an audio recording of her begging to be fucked by him, which he had said he would use if she ever tried to claim the sex was not consensual. What a cunning bastard he was!
The alternate tack of blaming some nameless intruder was also, she saw, unlikely to work out well in the long run. Darren would insist on calling the police. Yet there was no evidence of a break-in. The only DNA evidence that could be collected would point back to Rich anyway.
Could she, perhaps, convince her boyfriend that she had tied
herself
to the chair like this? He would have to be pretty dumb to swallow that. But then Darren wasn't the sharpest of guys. He was a fit, handsome -- but rather air-headed -- photographer who Astrid was with for no better reason -- it sometimes seemed to her in her more reflective moments -- than he looked like the kind of guy that a woman like her ought to be with.
* * *
Darren was horrified at the sight that presented itself when, after arriving back home and dumping his luggage in the hall, he walked through to the kitchen. There was his girlfriend, completely naked, gagged and tied tightly to a chair with reams of cabling. Tear tracks streaked down her face. Her long, dark brown hair was tangled and matted; a film of sweat covered her body.
She started squealing into her gag as soon as she saw him.
"Oh Christ!", Darren exclaimed as he swooped to untie his girlfriend, first pulling down her gag.
"Who did this to you, Astrid?" he demanded.
Astrid gulped. "No one, babe" she lied. "I tied myself up. For fun. There are YouTube videos that show you how to do it. But .... it went wrong. I couldn't get out of it!"
"What?? Why the hell did you do that?" her boyfriend asked, bewildered.
"I'm sorry, Darren. I was ... curious ... to know what it would be like. Look, just get me out of this ... Can we talk about something else for a moment? How was Brazil?"
"Fucking hell, Astrid", Darren exclaimed, ignoring the question. "I didn't know you were into such weird shit." Darren was upset. He hated surprises -- anything that pushed him outside of his narrow comfort zone, which consisted essentially of taking and posing for pictures, hanging out with hot women and working out in the gym. The discovery that his girlfriend was seriously kinky, far from turning him on, he found vaguely disgusting.
He finished untying her in silence and helped her to her feet. Then he noticed, with horror, milky white streaks around her pussy entrance and down her inside thigh.
"Astrid, that looks like a man's cum on you! What the fuck actually happened here!?"
