Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction, that involves bondage and humiliation. If this is not for you, then please don't read it. Any resemblance to people or places is unintentional and coincidental, possibly.
*****
The flow of people traffic, steadily began to swamp the wet pavement of The Kings Road in SW3. Charlotte looked out of her shop window; she had been awake for some hours and watched the individuals rush past, in their single-minded endeavours to get to work on time. It was a rainy, overcast, Thursday morning in June. Many of the passers-by had on coats, hoodies or brollies, to prevent themselves from getting wet and spending an uncomfortable morning in damp clothing. Others had been caught out by the rain and ran or walked quickly, winding through the plethora of human flotsam, hoping that they would reduce their level of soaking. It was useless, they already looked like drowned rats.
Charlotte was in two minds, she wanted people to look into her up-market lingerie shop, and notice her predicament. But on the other hand, it was the last thing that she wanted people to see.
She had spent the past hour and a half, clearing her foggy head, but things were still not firm in her mind. She remembered being on the verge of locking the front door to the shop, when she heard a movement behind her. Thinking that she had missed a customer, she began to turn with a smile on her face. But before she had fully turned around, a powerful arm had grabbed her about the waist. A gloved hand had swamped her mouth and nose and before too long, her eyelids fluttered closed as she blacked out. Knowing nothing of her assailant, other than he had black gloves, black jumper and strong arms.
Charlotte guessed that whoever it was, had probably used chloroform or something similar to knock her out. Though the strength in that one arm was mind-numbing, she had not been able to move. But then again, that might have been because of fear, a concept that to that point, she had not faced before.
She tried to look about the shop, to see if anything had been disturbed, or was stolen. She couldn't see anything untoward. But then, why would there be? After all, who would break into a lingerie shop and steal a frilly bra and panty set? No, this attack must have been for another reason.
She shivered suddenly, not because of the cold, but because a rather gross looking man, had stopped to leer at her through the large display window. He had on what looked like a dirty old raincoat; one of his hands was deep in his pocket and he made it very clear to her, what he was doing with it. He stared intently at her whilst he manipulated himself, making her feel dirty and cheap. She turned her head away as much as possible. Not wanting to see if the gross character, fully exposed himself and certainly not wanting to see his face as he reached his final release.
She caught a sudden movement, from the corner of her eye and cautiously looked round to find that he had gone. More people flooded the pavement, occasionally looking in at her and witnessing her predicament, before moving on. Though every now and then, a few of the men would return for another look, before sneering and sniggering at her and then moving on.
Charlotte was at a loss. She needed someone to notice her in this state and to realise that she needed assistance. The shop however, was not due to open until 10:00. Looking over at the clock, she could see that was still two hours away. Two further hours of humiliation. And that was assuming that the door was open and that someone could gain access. She didn't think she had finished locking up the night before, but things were a little hazy and anyway, maybe her assailant had?
Charlotte looked down at herself as more people, mainly men, looked in at her as if she were a Dutch prostitute, intentionally putting herself on display; before they too, reluctantly, moved on. Her breasts looked like the warheads from artillery shells, so tightly were her naked, chalky-orbs bound. The narrow rope, wound around them, Shibari fashion, forcing them into their stream-line shape. Her large engorged nipples, the fuses of the shells.
Her arms were bound in a similar fashion, from just under the armpit to the elbow, they were individually tied. But at the elbows, they had been lashed together, behind her back, all the way to her wrists, where the end of the rope had then been passed through an eye in the ceiling, which was there to support the modelling mannequins from falling over. This was now used to pull her arms upwards, forcing her somewhat forwards. Were her breasts not so tightly bound, they would have been dangling freely.
Her business-like pencil skirt had been dropped on the floor at her feet, as was her white blouse. Her panties and bra, she noticed were being held up by one of the mannequins beside her as if the pseudo female was displaying them to the passers-by. Charlotte flushed, then told herself to get a grip. She was sitting here naked, what did it matter what people thought about her displayed undies, not that they would know they were hers?
Charlotte's silk-stocking clad legs, were each bound, from just below the exquisitely filigreed stocking top, to the knees, where a length of curtain pole had been used as a spreader bar to separate her thighs as far as they would go. Her calves were similarly bound, with another bar at her ankles, spreading those wide too.
Had a female mannequin not been posed, kneeling before her, its face, mere millimetres away from the junction of her thighs, then the puffy coral folds of her vagina, would have been readily on display. As it was, it looked like she was receiving cunnilingus from the display model. Its painted red lips were up tight against Charlotte's genitals. She flushed again at the embarrassment of the situation, wondering why someone would do this to her. Suddenly a woman in her thirties stopped to stare at her "displayed goods". She craned her neck to see about the face of the mannequin and view Charlotte's gaping valley. The gag in Charlotte's mouth, prevented her from saying anything, but her eyes said it all. "Fuck Off!" The woman smirked at her, blew her a kiss and moved on too.
Charlotte had never felt as humiliated as this in her entire life, nor as helpless. All she could move was her head. She was now dying for a pee and was desperately trying not to think about it. She was also getting more and more admiring looks from the passers-by as the people traffic was changing from a predominance of commuters, to one of shoppers. She began to realise that she had another problem too. One that had been creeping up on her, much like her filling bladder.
