escape attempts

Your orgasm is a fading memory. You take stock of your body. The ropes around your wrists feel as secure as ever. Any movement causes the crotchrope to tighten, and the rope itself is firmly wedged in your crack. You experiment with various ways of moving your legs to try to find a position in which the pressure is reduced, but to no avail.

The crotch of your leotard is soaked by your juices, and the effect is to lubricate the rope so that the rise and fall of your belly as you breathe makes it slide easily between your labia and across your clitoris. The result is like a slow masturbation that you can't escape. Quite apart from the need to escape, you don't want to cum again. Your last orgasm was almost frightening in the way that you found yourself trapped in a body that you couldn't control. But you can already feel stirrings deep within you, and you know that they'll only grow stronger with time.

You struggle to your feet and wobble over to your dresser. You know that there's a pair of scissors in the top drawer. You turn around and back up to the dresser, groping for the drawer handle with your fingers. Damn! You're at least six inches too low. You stand on tiptoe, bend forward and strain your bound wrists upward, trying to make those extra few inches, but fail, and your efforts tighten the crotchrope and threaten to send you over the edge again.

You could probably open the drawer with your teeth, but you wouldn't be able to reach inside it.

Over the next ten minutes you explore your room as thoroughly as you can, using your feet to move things and open cupboards, searching for anything with a sharp edge that you might be able to use to cut your bonds. You find a hairbrush, an emery board, a hair dryer and assorted other items. All useless. All the time your movements exacerbate the feelings between your legs, and several times you have to stop to fight down another orgasm.

This is ridiculous. There must be a way out.

You stand with your back to the mirror and crane your neck to look over your shoulder at the reflection. You can clearly see three loops of rope around each wrist and the cinching which holds them tight. You can see the rope emerging from between your buttocks and how it's tied to the wrist ropes. What you can't see is a knot. Amy must have tucked it away against your back. You give up on any idea of being able to twist your hands free.

Then the door opens.