She Gets Loose

Left alone, bound and collared to the heavy chair with no cover but brief lace panties, Fennec squirmed in anticipation of her captors’ return. The Black Sun enforcers would post videos of her bound, bare, and begging to be used on the holo-net. It would be a crushing humiliation that would destroy her career as a mercenary. She’d be nothing after this. They called her their weak-will, little bimbo and that nothing would happily become one for them.

Her mind drifted in a euphoric fog. She reveled in the feeling of the cracked leather sliding against her bare hips and thighs. Anyone who saw her would see a fast fading shadow of the assassin she had been minutes ago; the old steely Fennec Shan overwhelmed by the needy heat the supercharged pheromones ignited inside of her.

She writhed her hips in a futile attempt to find a position that gave her some release as she awaited her inevitable subjugation. Her wriggling rammed the small, forgotten tool she’d palmed deep into the heel of her hand. With a pained gasp, the euphoria receded. For a brief moment the weak voice inside screaming for her to fight burst through before the fog began to roll in again. In a **** attempt to break free from the smothering bliss, she writhed again, bucking her hips once, twice, thrice more, ramming the little pick into her hand each time.

It worked. Fennec was still randy as a rancor in rutting season, but at least she’d regained the presence of mind to know she needed to escape and fast. Those two would be back any minute.

Getting loose would be easier said than done. The same magnetic **** that was cuffing her ankles and elbows together was also keeping her ankle cuffs and collar adhered firmly to the metal chair. A bit of wiggling let Fennec discover that while she couldn’t lift her ankles away from the chair she could slide them along its metal frame. Sliding her ankles up the side of the chair in a series of hard jerks was simple enough for her toned core muscles, but getting them under her butt where she could use the tool in her palm to pick the lock was a more complicated matter.

The elbow cuffs pulled her arms back till they touched behind her, bowing her back suggestively and stealing any slack from her torso. Getting her ankles up to her wrists required her to thrust her hips into the air as she **** her whole body in a bow. The ad hoc contortionist act turned Fennec’s body into a lewd archway that would make a barracks pinup blush. Holding the position long enough to pick the lock left her panting and shining with a fresh coat of sweat.

This was ridiculous. She should be panting, getting bent over backwards for other reasons. Fennec shook her head. She needed to focus.

Reaching out to carefully pick the magnacuff's slim control fob off the nearby table with her toes, was an exercise in coordination, patience, and hip flexibility. It was only her years of grueling training that allowed her to succeed.

Once in hand, a little fumbling entered the control code. The muted buzz from behind her back was a discouraging sound. She reminded her distracted self to be careful. Most of these devices sound an alarm after three bad entries. If that happened those enforcers would come running and she’d lose any chance of getting out of here and then it would be holo-net humiliation and being a helpless toy to horny thugs.

Forcing those tempting thoughts from her head, she tried again. Again, it buzzed. This third try would be her last, then she’d never get out of these cuffs. Fennec reminded herself that wasn’t strictly true. They’d take her bindings off when she was bought at an auction. There was a hutt she’d crossed years ago. He’d probably buy her. Reducing one of his feared enemies to a naked pet on a leash would be a huge boost to the hutt’s prestige. She could imagine the heavy metal collar around her throat reminding her she was his toy that danced to demonstrate her submission, gyrating for the pleasure of her master’s court. She was sweating again.

The rational part of her mind made her jab herself in the butt with the little pick. That cleared things up well enough to go back over the conversation between the two enforcers to remember the code before her final try.

1-1-3-8. With a quiet beep, the magnetic binds on her cuffs released. Her entire being sagged in relief.

She didn’t have long to stretch her tired muscles. A glance around showed no windows and the only exits were a door locked from the outside and a vent too small to shimmy through. The room held small picks and pliers for **** and that damned pheromone spray. Nothing useful in a fight against hardened enforcers with blasters, especially when she had no protection but the binders still on her wrists and thin bikini underwear.

As Fenne went over her resources again an escape plan started forming. A crazy **** plan.