The Control Strap Page 3

  "Yes, sir."

  Brenda listened to the girl leave, and shuddered at the thought of being alone with Sanders again. Not that Twelve was much better company.

  "All right, Brenda, you can turn around now. Good girl. Have a seat while we wait."

  Brenda sat as far from Sanders as she could. She gathered her wits and glared at him defiantly. “You can't get away with this!” she said through her gag. The mumble that emerged was an unintelligible, “Oo ham ded a hay iff iss!"

  "You'll be pleased to know,” said Sanders, as if he hadn't even heard her, “that you are the new Number Ten."

  "Please, just let me go!” she persisted in equally garbled syllables.

  "It's a great honor to be Number Ten, Bren. Heh. See? It even rhymes with your old name. Ten ... Bren ... Anyway, I had hoped the number would be available by the time you came on board. And so it is."

  Brenda stopped trying to speak, as her bewilderment over what he was saying grew. Who was the previous Number Ten? Why was it available now? And ... Was he actually implying that their meeting on that flight had been planned?

  "That's right, Ten. I've had my eye on you for quite awhile now. But we can only employ so many attendants at any given time, as you can imagine. So your turn had to wait."

  "Hhmmph!” If she could have spit, she would have.

  "Yes, I see you have questions. Quite understandable as a new hire. I suggest you take them up with the trainer at your orientation session. But remember, everything that's happening to you now—and for the next three years—is authorized by your contract."

  "But not without my consent!” she protested.

  He laughed, and apparently understood her gag-talk perfectly. “I never said whose consent. The contract, in fact, gives me—the company—complete rights over your treatment. And should you have any concerns about its enforceability ... Well, feel free to take that up with an attorney. I'm proud to say, however, that it's never been challenged yet."

  Not if you trick women into signing and then tie them up and whisk them away, she screamed to herself.

  Sanders leaned over and opened one of the drawers along the side of his desk. He retrieved something and stood. It was a large coil of rope. “Enough small talk. Might as well finish getting you ready now."

  "No. No!” Brenda stood and bolted for the door. What she hoped to do when she got there she didn't know, but it hardly mattered. He was on her before she could even work her cuffed hands around to grasp the doorknob.

  He pulled her by the arm away from the door and shoved her face first against the wall. As she squealed and writhed in his grasp, he slipped the rope under her arms just above the elbows and roughly pulled it tight, forcing her arms snug together.

  "Ow!” she screamed. “You can't tie my elbows like that!"

  And yet he could. And did. Ignoring her frantic, indecipherable complaints, he cinched the cord in place and immediately stooped down and grabbed her ankles. She was still reeling from the painful arm binding and reacted too late to his hand on her legs.

  She tried to kick out at him, but the rope was already in place. Her kick only managed to loosen the wrapped cord slightly, which he tightened again and knotted immediately.

  Huffing desperately for air, she made one last attempt to fend him off. With her fingers curled into tiny fists, she flailed her cuffed hands backward, trying to strike him anyway she could. But she never even made contact; he simply grabbed her wrists and held them still.

  Whimpering, she tried to pull them back, but he kept his hold on her. Then he guided her hands downward, and pressed them against his crotch. Gasping, she could feel his cock, hard and ready beneath his trousers.

  This excites him! she realized in disgust. What kind of sick pervert gets excited by tying up a girl?

  Abruptly, he pulled her entire body back so her tightly bound elbows dug into his chest. She squirmed in his grasp, but he managed to reach around and mash his fingers into her soft breasts.

  "Please no!” she groaned. She wanted to turn away but couldn't. And with her arms pulled so far behind her by the ropes, it seemed as though her breast were actually straining into his clutches. “No, no, no...” she wailed, as his fingers clamped down onto her stiff nipples.

  Oh no! she thought with mounting anguish. This can't be happening! I—I'm so wet now. Excited by this myself. But how? Why?

  She tried to stop herself from moaning. She knew the sounds coming from her throat were no longer complaints, but sighs of pleasure. Could he tell? Oh God, she prayed, please don't let him find out.

  But then, to her horror, his hands inched downward. He lifted her skirt and plunged one hand between her glistening thighs. Holding her steady with the other hand, he sought out the source of the slickness. With her panties stuffed in her mouth, she was completely naked down there, fully available to him.

  "Please! Don't touch me there!"

  And then he did stop, at once, as if reacting to her mumbled plea. But...

  But she hadn't meant it! Her body ached for more of what had just happened to it. A pair of fingers had reached inside her, invading her, violating her. For a fleeting instant they'd touched, possessed, her burning clit. And then, too soon, they'd withdrawn as if singed on a hot iron.

  "Wait,” she moaned, unthinking. “D—Don't stop."

  Behind her, Sanders chuckled. “I understood that, Number Ten,” he whispered in her ear. “In fact, I understood it before you even said it."

  "Ooh!” she cried. This was too horrible. She tried not to let herself think about what her body wanted at that moment. What it needed. She forced herself to think of escape instead. Yes, she said to herself. I have to escape. From his strong arms. His powerful grasp. His commanding touch.

  "Oooh!” she sighed again. That is not working.

  As she fought for control of herself, he began applying even more of his rope to her. She became aware of strands of white cord around her waist. He pulled it snug and then guided it downward.

  What was he doing? she thought. Where could he possibly put that rope?

  "Oohh!" she squealed.

  Right between her pussy lips, that's where. A double strand of rope surrounded her clit and then continued upward. And it was so tight! It felt like she was being cut in two.

  She looked down at herself in disbelief. Her skirt was all bunched up around her hips, and the rope ... It completely disappeared into the slit of her throbbing cunt.

  And then her knees were tied too. When had he done that? She always seemed to be a step behind him.

  Just then the door opened again. She was still facing the wall and could only hear something being rolled in. Sanders had mentioned a trunk. She was afraid to turn around, but he gave her no choice, as he picked her up, turned her around, and began scooting her away from the wall.

  It was a trunk. Just a large piece of luggage. On its side was the logo she had notice before, the wolf howling at the moon. The Steppenwolf, she realized now. But there was something different about it. The company name wasn't spelled right. No, wait, she realized. It is right. It's meant to be spelled like that.

  In large, proud letters the printing on the trunk said, “Haul ‘er Airline."

  Next to the trunk stood Number Twelve. She was a girl again, dressed in a tight miniskirt, midriff-revealing halter-top, and high-heeled sandals. She stooped down to open the trunk.

  Unlike other trunks Brenda had seen, this one was designed to stand on end, so it was taller than it was wide. And instead of having a lid that opened upward, this trunk opened outward, as Twelve demonstrated at that very moment. She swung the door-like lid open and stepped back.

  Sanders tightened his grip on Brenda's arm and prodded her forward. She had to hop to keep up. With each movement, the rope bisecting her pussy rubbed with tantalizing persistence.

  Inside the trunk, at the bottom, was a raised section, like a short platform. It took up about half of the “floor” space.

  Pointing to the platform, S
anders said, “That's your seat, Number Ten."

  Brenda shook her head and tried to back away, but Sanders held her still. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head to face him. His eyes bore into hers as he said, “Be grateful, Number Ten. This is first class."

  CHAPTER 4: INSIDE THE TRUNK

  Inside the cramped trunk, Brenda whimpered and blinked into the utter darkness. Her eyes strained to find some glimmer, some speck of light, but all they found was void. She began to wonder if there was even an air hole in this thing. But there had to be, she assured herself. They wouldn't go to all this trouble just to suffocate her inside an airtight trunk.

  Even so, getting that air into her lungs was a constant effort. Her arms were still tightly bound behind her. Her mouth was still stuffed with her own panties, and her lips sealed with tape. She sat upon a tiny perch only a few inches high, with her knees folded against her chest. And the shortness of the trunk forced her head down so her upper body slumped forward.

  All told, she was such a snug little bundle that there was barely room for her to expand her chest.

  Without warning, the whole crate tilted backward. She should have known it would happen. The trunk had been wheeled into Sanders’ office on a hand truck, so it had to leave that way as well. But the movement still caught her by surprise.

  "Oohhmmph!” she squealed.

  "Hush, Ten,” came Sanders’ voice from behind her. “You act like you've never been hauled around in a trunk before."

  She heard Number Twelve giggle at that. The short burst of laughter was followed immediately by a loud rap on the side of the trunk that made Brenda squeal again with surprise. “And you better get used to it!” added Twelve.

  More laughter from both of them.

  As they guided the trunk along, Brenda to began to feel nauseous. The complete darkness combined with the disorienting movement wreaked havoc on sense of her equilibrium, and none of her experience on airplanes had prepared her for anything like it.

  But after a few minutes, she discovered that closing her eyes helped a little. Apparently, her brain didn't expect any visual input that way, so it was easier to accept the darkness as natural. It didn't help the fear, however. Whenever she let herself wonder where she was being taken, panic gripped her like a passionate lover. If only it was a lover, she thought.

  Any yet, she couldn't stop thinking about it. Where were they taking her? And what were they going to do to her once they got there? She wished she had something else to focus her mind on.

  And then she realized there was something else. In the midst of so many painful and unpleasant feelings fighting for her attention she'd almost forgotten the lone pleasurable sensation. Except it wasn't that she had overlooked it so much as subconsciously refused to acknowledge its existence.

  But as the ache in her limbs grew, as she sank deeper into despair, she found herself drawn to it more and more. It was the one harmonious chord in the cacophony of pain and fright that her body had become.

  "It” was that humiliating rope bisecting her pussy.

  There was no denying that the pressure from the tight binding provided pleasure, but she didn't quite trust it. Why would he tie her so cruelly, and then leave her this one source of pleasure? She hated the thought of giving into it; it had to be a trap of some kind. Like that contract he somehow convinced her to sign.

  But even if it was a trap, it was an irresistible one. If she had any chance of maintaining her sanity she had to have something to focus her mind on other than the horror of her situation, and this was it. Yes, she told herself. I have to do it. They've given me no choice.

  Deliberately, she rocked her hips forward, trying to rub against the tight cord, but it simply moved with her. That wouldn't do. She needed to create some friction. But how?

  As she wiggled this way and that, one of her fingers accidentally snagged the rope and she yanked it hard.

  "Oh!” she gasped.

  That was it! There was just enough slack in the binding that the rope had slid slightly, rubbing her just so.

  Now she groped blindly behind her, fingers clawing at the snug cord. The trunk continued on its journey, tilting and rolling, shifting and turning, but she no longer fretted over the movements or where they would eventually take her. Her only concern was getting a good grip on the rope and using whatever leverage and strength she had left to force it to rub her again.

  At last, she managed to grab it and give it a tug. This time, it was a more deliberate effort. As she pulled on the rope with her bound hands, she also thrust her hips forward at the same time. And then, as she let out the slack again, she rocked her hips back again. The contrary motion had exactly the desired effect.

  "Mmmm...” she sighed with contentment. Opening her eyes now, Brenda peered defiantly into the darkness. The impenetrable black was no longer frightening or disorienting, but a welcome cloak. Within it, invisible to even herself, she felt a sudden, incongruous sense of freedom as she doggedly sought to pleasure herself in a way she would never dare in the open.

  The strict confines of the trunk made the going arduous, however. With her lips sealed by the tape, large gulps of air were out of the question, so she had to pause often to catch her breath, or risk passing out completely. Despite the frequent stops and starts, she soon had her body on the brink of orgasm.

  She tugged at the rope with renewed vigor. She was so close. The cord was drenched with her excitement just as her body was drenched with sweat. But it didn't take long before she realized that no amount of writhing against the rope would bring her the ultimate release she craved. No matter how hard she pressed onward, she could tell the rope simply could not provide enough stimulation by itself.

  But what else could she use? Nothing!

  Groaning in despair, her moans became desperate cries. “No!” she shouted through her panty-stuffed mouth. “Please! Just a little more. Come on!” Her muffled screams were drowned out as she kicked her legs, smashing her toes against trunk, and rocking violently, back and forth and to the sides.

  And then, as she made herself stop for a breather, she noticed the trunk had stopped as well. There hadn't been any movement for several moments in fact. She heard the latches now being opened.

  Oh my God, she thought. They'll find me like this! All sweaty and panting. And they probably heard her. Of course they had! The trunk may have hidden her shameful efforts from view, but it wasn't soundproof.

  The last latched unsnapped, and the side of the trunk swung out. Her cloak of darkness was lifted beneath the sudden glare of fluorescent lights. Dreading his expression, she blinked and forced herself to glance upward, meeting the stare of her new “employer".

  Sanders looked down at her with as much amusement as she had feared. He knew! He'd probably known what she was up to the whole time, with her loud thrashing and muted moans of self-pleasure.

  "Well, well, well...” he chuckled. “What have you been up to in there, Ten?"

  "Nuffimg!” she lied, trying to hold back the tears. The flush of humiliation burned her cheeks, and she could feel her pulse against the tape that was wrapped so tightly across her face.

  "Oh, really?” he said sharply. “Nothing?” He stooped down and grabbed her by the hair with his left hand. At the same time, he thrust his right between her thighs. Her legs were so tightly tied, she didn't think his hand would fit, but he muscled it in, aided in no small part by her own slick juices.

  Moaning uncontrollably, she writhed in his grasp as he crudely groped her sopping cunt. To her shock, his rough touch almost made her come. But he pulled his hand away too soon.

  His fingers glistened with her own arousal, and he thrust them under her nose, as if she couldn't detect the unmistakable scent from further away.

  "Nothing?” he repeated, louder.

  "Please!” she rasped.

  "There's to be no use of that cunt, except when I say so. Is that clear, Number Ten?"

  "Yeffir,” she mumbled. She tried to nod, but
his grip of her hair kept her head still.

  "It's in your contract. Don't forget it."

  "But—” she started. To herself, she finished: but I never read the whole contract!

  He released her and stood. To Number Twelve he said, “Make sure this gets in her file as well."

  "Yes, sir."

  Until then, Brenda had almost forgotten the other woman. Now she stepped forward, coming plainly into view. With Sanders, she stooped down and helped him pull Brenda's cramped body from the trunk.

  They laid her out on the ground, where she could at least stretch out her legs. Even though she was still bound, it was a welcome relief after being confined in the trunk. But as she heard them exchange whispers a few feet away, she had a feeling her relief would be short lived.

  CHAPTER 5: BRENDA GOES AIRBORNE

  Much to Brenda's surprise, when the whispering stopped, Sanders and Twelve stooped down and began untying her legs. Although the ache in her arms was worse, she was glad to at least have use of her legs again.

  But even as the ropes fell away, it became clear that their intent was not to free her legs. Instead, they immediately set about locking leather cuffs around her ankles and attaching the cuffs to chains dangling from the ends of a metal beam about three feet long.

  As soon as her ankles were secured, Sanders stood and walked off, while Twelve began removing the tape from Brenda's face. She winced as the wide, sticky strips tugged at her skin. Finally, after removing the last piece of tape, she was able to spit out her panties.

  "Ugh! Ick!” exclaimed Brenda, quickly adding, “And ouch! That tape hurt coming off.” Twelve said nothing, but held a finger to her lips. Brenda glared at her. “I can talk if I want to. Do you have any Chapstick or something like that? My lips are so—"

  Just then, she heard the whir of an electric motor. At the same instant, she felt her legs being pulled by the chains. “Wha—What's going on?"

  A giggle was Twelve's only answer. She stood up and stepped back as the motor whined away. Brenda's spread legs rose inch by inch. “Hey!” she cried, as she thrashed about on the floor, trying to resist the inexorable pull of the motorized winch.