Message-ID: <15126eli$9809090619@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: apuleius@poboxes.com (Apuleius of Madaura) Subject: RP: Marcia's Predicament by Walter Fortner (MF no-sex creepy) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: apuleius@poboxes.com Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <35f63b16.3610911@news.labyrinth.net.au> Reposter's note: I am not the author of this story. - Apuleius. ------------------------------------------- Marcia's Predicament ©1995 by Walter Fortner "A lady came up to the farmer's house and said, 'I've just run over your cat and I'd like to replace it.' The farmer scratched his chin, looked at her for a moment, and said, 'Very well, how good are you at catching mice?'" It was an old joke, buried deep in the recesses of Marcia's mind. But when the body is restrained, the mind is free to wander where it will. Marcia's body was definitely restrained, and her mind was definitely wandering. The past thirty hours it had wandered far and wide, digging into the most remote areas of her memory. Sometimes while she dreamt away the agony of the present, sometimes while she absorbed every little nuance of her predicament, every sound in her new world. This old story resurfaced over and over. His footsteps finally tore her from her reverie, and she watched his approach. There was not much else she could do! He stepped through the last row of corn stalks and grinned. "Ready for a little break?", he asked. A soft moan was her response, which he took for a yes. "O.k., but remember the rules." He stepped forward and undid the leather strap around her neck. Next he carefully rolled up the stocking which he had pulled over her head. This stocking also covered the post against which she strained, keeping her head pinned firmly against it. He rolled the stocking up until the roll pressed across her eyes, forbidding her looking down and offering her very little view any other direction. He undid the strap which held the ball in her mouth; it, too, fastened behind the post and prevented her from turning her head. Free to speak, Marcia desperately wanted to plead for mercy, but not a word came out. She knew the drill; he was going to give her food and water, but if she made a sound, the break was over. So she bit her tongue and stifled her urge. She could not help herself; she was totally dependant upon his generosity. He didn't seem to have much. He proffered a squeeze bottle of water; she drank greedily. A small whimper escaped her lips as he withdrew the bottle; he ignored it. He spooned some cereal into her mouth. It was already soggy with milk, so she had little problem chewing it enough to swallow, even though her jaw ached. "It has 100 percent of the vitamins and minerals you need every day", he offered. A faint smile crossed her lips, then faded into the reality of her helplessness. He alternated cereal and water, until both were gone. He dabbed up the spillage and gave her a quick kiss. She knew he was ready to replace the gag anyway, so she summoned her strength for one heartrending plea for mercy. It was cut off before it got started as he stuffed the ball in her mouth the first time she opened it enough to do so easily. Her tears were hidden by the rolled stocking as he buckled the strap back behind the post. He fluffed her hair behind her back, rearranging it to fall evenly across her back. Then he rolled the stocking back down and strapped it into place with the collar. He removed the floppy straw hat she wore, and checked the stocking for rips. There were none, so he replaced the hat, smoothed the stocking over her face, briefly held her chin in his hand, and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek through the nylon. He then set about checking the rest of her bonds. Her arms shared a long sleeved flannel shirt with a rough rod about eight feet long. He had tied a rope across her right palm, pinning the back of her hand against the rod. After knotting this first loop, he had arranged some bits of straw around her wrist and up the sleeve of her shirt. The rope from her hand was then wound repeated around her arm, clamping it firmly to the rod, until he reached her shoulder, where he tied it off. The left arm was fixed similarly. Nothing had come loose, and there was no need to replace the straw, she had not worked any of it out. She groaned, knowing she would spend another day being scratched and tickled by its presence. Her arms and the rod were fastened to the post by a rope which started behind the post, came around on both sides above her shoulders, passed under her arms and rod, and crossed behind the post. This was repeated several times, with some passes being looped through the ropes around her arms, to keep them from slipping up her arms. He checked, this ropework was still tight, too. He surprised her. Instead of just checking the rope which held her torso against the post, he undid it. He paused to unbutton the itchy flannel shirt, pulling it apart enough to expose her breasts; she wore nothing underneath it. He allowed as he was entitled to a little fun, after all. He teased her nipples a bit, traced complex designs on her belly with his fingernail, and allowed a cool breeze to caress her nakedness. Then he was done. He rebuttoned the shirt and replaced the rope. Across her body, above the breasts and below her arms, back behind the post and tug, to make sure it was tight. A knot would keep her from shifting any slack she might find. Back around front, under her breasts this time, back behind the post, and knot. Around again a little lower, and then one more time around her waist. She was again plastered to the post and could not move a muscle. The rope which glued her rump to the post was checked but not removed. It started at the waist, made a couple of passes across her pelvic regions before disappearing between her legs from the front. Resurfacing behind, this rope was carefully situated between her cheeks before being drawn up behind her back, brought around to the front of her arms, across her shoulders and tied behind the post at the level of her neck. This was her main means of support since her feet were far from the ground. >From there, he checked the ropes around her legs. The upper legs were fastened in an alternating pattern -- one time tied around the legs themselves and crossed behind them before finishing a figure eight around the post, the next just around her legs and the post in one circle. He though this might be "more interesting" to her. It took about a dozen loops to reach her knees. The jeans she wore had rivets down each seam, providing a fine "catch" for each loop to keep it from sliding down. She hadn't been able to move enough to cause any to slip, but he found some slack and went about removing it. Below her knees, another rope wound from behind the post to the inside of each leg, around the front, and back behind the post. This pulled her legs slightly apart; more so as the rope got lower. At her ankles, the rope around her legs passed in front of the post instead and looped once more around her ankles, pulling her legs together and keeping her from kicking them back in effort to loosen the rest of the rope. After a couple of times around her ankles, the rope was passed over the loop just above her ankle loop to cinch it. Nothing had come loose here, and the straw he had tied under her jeans to hide her feet was still there. Like that around her wrists, the straw irritated her with a thousand tiny pinpricks, but she could not dislodge it. She wore stockings, but no shoes. Her feet were tied with a rope which came around her ankles, across the top of her feet, and then several times around at her instep. The way her legs were tied, her feet would not come together, but he pulled them as close as he could. The last of the rope was used to cinch the foot ropes before going around the post and being knotted there. Nothing was loose here, and He paused a moment to tease the soles of her feet. Yes, she was still receiving sensations from her feet; he could tell by her desperate struggles and low moan. But she was definitely not going anywhere! Satisfied, he straightened up and took one more long look at her. Picking up the bowl and water bottle, he stepped back through the row of corn. Before disappearing from sight completely, he turned, waved cheerily, and said, "Keep the crows away. I'll check on you again tonight!". Marcia cried as he vanished. Nothing to do but hang around all day in the hot sun, watching the corn grow. Bitterly, she returned to that night two days ago when she got into this predicament. With a sigh, she remembered tentatively knocking on his door, hoping no one would be home. But he was there. "I'm sorry," she had said, "but my car ran off the road. I destroyed your scarecrow, and I'd like to replace it." -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----