tagNonConsent/ReluctanceHousebound Ch. 04

Housebound Ch. 04


Note: This, as you might guess, takes place just after and then during the events of chapters two and three. You don't need to read them to figure out what's going on, but if you like this kind of thing...


Emma had quickly grown to hate her workout clothes--the little black lycra shorts, low-rise cotton panties, tiny white socks and black-and-pink sports bra she'd thought were so cute when she checked herself out in the mirror. They itched now, and wearing so little in the back of the damn van all night had made for a very cold ride. Even her ponytail holder had betrayed her, falling out early on and letting her hair flop everywhere--and with the gag in, she couldn't blow it out of her face.

She was almost lucky he'd grabbed her at the beginning of her run, before she had a chance to get sweaty. She hadn't been able to believe it at first--grabbed and pulled into a van while out on a night jog? Really? Was this real life or a cautionary anecdote? But by the time he'd bound her hands behind her, locked her to the post, shoved vibrator inside her and spent the rest of the night picking up two more bewildered girls, she'd been forced to believe it. Especially when he stopped the van, far from anywhere she knew, and started pulling them out.

By the time he'd taken the rest of them, one by one, and carried them off into... whatever this place was, Emma had more or less given up on the idea of struggling; she'd watched the redhead, then the blindfolded girl, then the feisty brunette all kick and squirm like wildcats, only to be handled easily and spanked for their trouble, like this guy was some kind of judo master.

It hadn't escaped her notice that their hair colors all differed (brown, red, black and her own nearly-white blonde), or that they all had similar figures: from slender to athletic, petite but leggy, with small breasts and within a few years of the same age. This guy clearly had not only a well-honed system for picking up girls, but particular tastes he was looking to sate. The four of them were a matched set. But Emma had no intention of playing her part.

So when he returned for her, she went limp as he untied her, letting her shoulders shake a little, turning her face away. Yeah, she thought as he heaved her out, just lull yourself into believe I'm going easy, you bastard...

In the meantime, dangling upside-down over his shoulder, she tried to get an idea of where they were. The garage where he'd parked the van was large, holding two more vans just like it, along with a few expensive-looking cars and a motorcycle. Every one gleamed as if it'd been freshly detailed. That gave her hope: if there was some kind of staff here, or at least visiting attendants, there was a chance of escape.

Out of the garage and into a basement hallway lined with six ominous metal doors; the clanking she'd heard must mean that the brunette girl was behind one of these now. She noticed that each one had a peephole--but that the eyepiece was set to look inward.

They came to a more normal-looking staircase with hardwood steps, split by a landing halfway up, and began to climb. As they went, Emma noticed the door of what was almost definitely an elevator opposite the stairs. How big was this place? It seemed like just a large house, but what kind of house had an elevator, and why?

Then she had a vision of herself tied to that pillar again, but this time on a wheeled platform, on its way down the elevator to those metal doors. Emma felt her heart pound against her ribs.

Confirming her house hypothesis, Emma glimpsed some kind of large, open room at the top of the second flight--decorated like a teenage boy's dream hangout, with a massive television and speakers, but again incongruously spotless and organized. Then they were climbing up another flight, and another, until they emerged from the stairway (another elevator door here, she noted) onto a glassed-in balcony.

Emma was looking out onto a forest, with hills rising slightly to either side, and no other sign of civilization--the sun was rising, and she couldn't even see a streetlight anywhere. This house was completely isolated. A perfect place, she thought, to spend some time alone with your victims...

The balcony led to another hallway, though the doors up here were mahogany, not metal. Yet the one he opened seemed to belong in a much darker place.

It was laid out with a frightening clarity: the large bed in the center was a four-poster, but its posts were steel, anodized to a dark red color. There was only one sheet. A few feet away on either side were steel tool cabinets with dozens of drawers. One wall had several panel doors set into it, made of some kind of smoked glass that offered a dim view of another balcony and the trees beyond. Two more walls were lined with shackles. There were rings set into the floor, mirrored by rings welded to the ceiling--which, she noticed, was a grid of dark pipes like that of a black-box theater. In fact, the light in here came from a number of dimmed theatrical spotlights, aimed to highlight the gleaming metal pieces in the room.

Emma knew exactly what was going to happen in here.

So the minute he tossed her onto the bed, she rolled away frantically, bouncing sideways off it and stumbling onto her feet. He was already moving for the door, but she faked toward him, then spun and darted for the balcony door.

Before he could get to her, she wedged a toe into one side, and the door slid open as she'd hoped; a quick glance confirmed that it was too high to jump down from the outside, but she was out of the room. This balcony seemed to continue all the way around the second floor, so she picked right at random and ran, tucking her feet in a roll as she went to get her hands under her legs. They were still bound, but at least now they were in front of her.

Emma ran.

Glad he hadn't removed her running shoes, she made for the corner of the house. She could hear him stepping out onto the balcony behind her. Emma darted around the corner, adrenaline making her weary muscles suddenly alive and quick.

There were more of the same smoked-glass sliding doors on this side. Taking a gamble, she ran to the second one and pulled it open with her bound hands--then left it behind and headed forward again, around the next corner of the wraparound balcony. With luck, he'd assume she'd gone back inside and check that room, whatever it was. She thought she'd glimpsed workout equipment inside it.

No time to wonder. Rounding onto the back side of the house, she saw that the balcony extended onto a proper deck with an external stairway--yes! Trying to move quickly without making much noise, she headed straight to it and swung herself around and down.

Glancing back where she'd come, she still didn't see him. Her ruse had bought her some time! Emma was sure her heart was pounding loud enough to give her away, but she made her footsteps careful and quiet, angling to get far enough down that the deck would hide her from sight.

Soon she was back at the ground floor, looking in the large windows of a huge kitchen that extended from the back of the house. She ducked around behind it and took a moment to untie and toss aside the gag from her mouth, then to stick a hand down her shorts and pull the insistent egg vibrator out of her pussy. She tossed both aside with a hateful look.

Breathing fast, Emma took a moment to consider her options. Until she figured out where she was, finding a phone wouldn't help--she wouldn't be able to tell anyone where to find her. That left two choices: running off through the woods and hoping she stumbled onto civilization, or stealing a car. Without any knowledge of the surrounding forest, she liked her odds with the car better. Unfortunately, that meant going back inside.

If her mental map of the house was right, the garage was in a partially-exposed basement--on the opposite side from her. He'd have to have figured out that she wasn't in the workout room now, so he'd be looking around the perimeter of the balcony. Going straight through the house was a better choice.

Climbing to her feet, she crept to the exterior door of the kitchen and softly twisted the knob. The door opened without a creak. She remembered noticing how well-maintained this place was. Inside, she crouched for a moment; the only sound she could hear was a soft whimpering from somewhere else on this floor. It caught at her heart, but the fact was that she had no way to uncuff the other captives, any more than she could herself. Her best chance was to get out and send help back to them.

Still, there were no footsteps. Keeping herself crouched to hide behind the big island in the middle of the kitchen's tile floor, she moved slowly to its open side, and found herself looking out at the big entertainment center she'd noticed on her way up. She was closer to the garage than she'd thought--there was the doorway to the staircase.

Every part of her body wanted to sprint for it, but Emma knew she had to be cautious. A house built to keep girls prisoner, as she was beginning to suspect this one was, had to have cameras everywhere. She made herself step softly onto the carpet and creep around the edge of the wall until she arrived.

Emma stepped into the staircase, knowing this was the riskiest part: he could easily look down the center gap and spot her. She pulled off her shoes and, holding them in one hand, took two steps at a time down the wooden stairs.

She was out into the frightening hallway and its array of steel doors. Emma wanted to peek inside--whatever was happening to the brown-haired girl in there, she was sure it was awful--but she didn't know which was the right one, and her time was running out. She gritted her teeth and moved past them.

She was in the garage at last. Emma didn't know much about cars, but the second one in the line had a logo that she thought she recognized as a Bentley. More importantly, it looked fast. Still in her socks, she padded to the driver's side and pulled open the unlocked door.

If these cars had been professionally detailed, then something she'd seen on TV shows might work--she reached her bound hands up above the little flip-down shade, and a thrill of elation ran through her as she felt a key ring. She was going to make it out of here. She was going to escape!

The arrogant bastard hadn't even bothered closing the garage door behind himself. Emma buckled her seat belt, shoved the key into the ignition, and turned it.

"Thumbprint identification failed," purred the car. "Initiating restraint procedures."

"NO!" Emma cried out in horror as the belt suddenly tightened across her waist and shoulder; within a second, more belts were deploying, snapping over her arms and ankles. Her hands were ripped away from the ignition and pulled back against her body. The seat was reclining automatically, going back impossibly far, until she was forced to arch upwards by the tightness of her bonds. A belt snapped across her mouth, pulling her head back and gagging her once again.

Emma struggled desperately, but the belts were immovable. After being so close to freedom, here she was--strapped down tight and helpless, with her grinning captor looking down at her through the windshield.

"I sort of hoped you'd try this," he said, opening the driver's door. "I thought you looked like a fighter. And if there's one thing I love, it's when a girl assumes I'm an idiot."

"Mmmm MMMM!" Emma managed to jerk a little against the straps, but they only drew tighter. Meanwhile, he climbed into the car and straddled her, pulling a rubber-lined steel circle from his back pocket.

"You should have tried making it on foot," he says. "You wouldn't have, of course--the woods are filled with security cameras, and there's a fifteen-foot fence around the perimeter of the estate--but you could have stayed out a little longer, since I hadn't gotten this on you yet." Carefully, he pulled her loose hair from behind her slender neck, then fastened the collar snugly around it.

Emma felt her heart drop as it clicked shut. She was sure there was more to this than just the symbolism--which was confirmed as she felt a paralyzing jolt of electricity down her spine. She gasped through the gag.

"Refreshing, isn't it?" He tapped the face of his wristwatch, and Emma let out a little squeak this time as the collar jolted her again. "It does all kinds of other things, too, as you'll learn... like emitting a tracking beacon that will let me find you pretty quickly if you try to run off again." He was pulling more slender straps out of the glove compartment now, clipping the metal ring at one end of them to her wrist cuffs, the other end to her collar. Then he pulled a pair of blunt scissors from his pocket.

"I bet you hate these clothes by now anyway," he chuckled, and began to slice through the sides of her shorts.

Emma closed her eyes and tried to think as she felt the tight fabric start to go slack. Playing possum had worked once, but he wouldn't fall for that trick again. The bonds obviously weren't about to give her any slack. She'd foolishly bypassed the other girls in her rush to save herself, so she had no backup--she hadn't even thought to grab a knife from the kitchen. She was running out of plans...

Her shorts were gone; the cold metal of the scissors slid up her side and under her sports bra, then began to cut.

She couldn't plead with him, gagged; she couldn't bargain, or even threaten. If she somehow managed to get free of him, she wouldn't get far without shoes. The tight elastic of her top snapped loose as he finished cutting through one side and moved the scissors to the other. In a moment, it would be gone. She was helpless, stripped and out of options; she could be shocked like cattle whenever he wanted, or tracked down on a whim. She was utterly defeated.

Emma tried very hard not to admit that the thought made her pulse race.

He tossed aside the remains of her bra, and she squirmed under him in nothing but her black cotton panties, socks and steel collar. He took one of her small pink nipples between his fingers and pinched, then began to pull slowly upwards, until her back arched even further and she clenched her eyes shut against the painful tightness.

"I'm going to undo the belts," he said. "I'm going to paralyze you and lift you out of the car, and I'm going to make you crawl on your knees and elbows before me, like a little bitch. We're going back upstairs to the red room, where I will chain you to the bed and violate your cunt, your mouth, and your ass. Your clit will be stimulated thoroughly, but you will not be permitted to come. Any sign of struggle will be punished swiftly and sharply. And oh, Emma... I do so hope you struggle."

Emma groaned through the strap and shut her eyes. She tried to tell herself it was from fear, and not from the pulsing ache in her pussy--and then the shock hit.

Gasping in pain, she felt the belts loosen, but her muscles wouldn't work. She was lifted out easily and dropped belly-down on the dirty garage floor, her pale, slender form twitching and rigid. When at last the shock subsided, she discovered that the gag was gone, but that the straps around her wrist cuffs still kept them tight against her neck. He hadn't been kidding about crawling on her elbows; she was going to have to do exactly that, and with her face practically pressed to the floor to boot.

"You don't have to do this," she managed, and then yelped in pain as his open-handed smack landed square on her pussy.

"Trying to negotiate," he said calmly, "is resistance," and one hand tangled tightly in her fine blonde hair. The other spanked her most sensitive place again and again, while a knee in her back kept her from rolling over or pulling her legs together.

Emma tried to count them to distract herself--five, six, seven--soon she was squealing loudly each time, unable to contain it. Fuck, he was strong! "Please!" she finally cried out. "Don't, please, stop, stop!"

One more slap, even harder than the rest, and then he finally relented. "Then move, Emma," he murmured, and she could hear him panting from exertion too. The pressure on her back let up, and she felt a click as he snapped a chain leash into the back of her collar.

Emma moved.

Inch by inch, she made her way into the hallway again, with him close behind and the chain wound up short. If she went too fast, she felt the leash jerk tight, choking her; when she slowed down a tiny bit, she was rewarded with another spank. Her face was bright pink with effort, anger, frustration and fear. Emma tried desperately to think of something to say that would make him reconsider, give him pause, convince him to let her go or even just wait a minute, but nothing came; the pounding of her blood in her ears mirrored the throbbing in her swollen pussy, and only some of that was from pain. She could barely think at all.

They were at the elevator; another reason to have it, she thought, to transport crawling women. But he jerked her away from the door and forced her to turn the other direction. "Ah ah," he said, smacking her again and making her gasp, "your little stunt with the workout room means you get to take the scenic route."

Panting and humiliated, Emma found herself crawling step by step up the staircase, like a child. At the first landing, he pulled her up short and put a knee on her back again, forcing her face against the hardwood. Then he yanked down on the back of her panties, and Emma felt her eyes go wide at a sudden pressure between her cheeks.

"Every good bitch needs a tail," he said, and the first lubricated bead slid into her ass. Emma squirmed desperately, wanting it out, now, but he held her down and pushed in a second... then a third.

At last he released her, and she felt the rest of the chain of beads fall to swing down between her thighs. "Y-you're a sick fuck," she managed.

"Acknowledged," he said. "Now mush."

Two steps. Four steps. Seven steps. Ten. Emma couldn't bear to look out into the main living area, where she'd been free for such a short time; she kept her face turned to the wall and bit her lip as he held her down again and shortened her "tail" by pushing three more beads inside her. The worst part of it was that each time he pushed one in, she felt her pussy pulse with need; he was degrading her, humiliating her, and it was making her soak right through her panties.

Another flight. Three more beads. The last flight, and they were at the top, where he forced five beads inside her--the last of which felt twice as big as any of the others, so that he had to press painfully hard.

Emma yelped at the sensation as it slid inside her at last. With his knee still pushing down on her back, she felt his finger run gently up her neck, then brush a little of her fine blonde hair away from her heated cheek.

"You're wet," he murmured. "I can smell you from here, girl."

"You had a vibrator inside me all night," she managed. "Don't be too fucking proud of yourself."

He laughed a little. "No, I know you left that one outside. This... this is fresh." His hand worked its way under the side of her panties and stroked slowly over her swollen, moist, achingly tender lips. "You're not just a bitch, are you, Emma? You're a bitch in heat."

Emma was about to retort when his fingers closed on the little nub at the top of her pussy and began to slowly tighten. She bit her lip and panted through her nose as he toyed with her; her clit had been cruelly denied any pressure all night, until he'd started spanking it downstairs, and now this mix of pain and pleasure was almost a sensory overload. She felt her hips jerking involuntarily as she tried not to let him have the satisfaction of hearing her squeak like a toy.

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byDoctor_Tease© 14 comments/ 140972 views/ 50 favorites

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