I Want to Play a Game

Sarah knew she had fallen asleep in her own bed last night, but this was not where she awoke. Even before opening her eyes she was aware of a discomfort in her arms and legs and a sensation of fullness in her loins. Drowsily she tried to roll over, to find a more comfortable position so that she might drift back into sleep, but found herself immobilised.

In a panic she opened her eyes and began to struggle against whatever was holding her in place and within seconds the drowsiness flooded out of her, replaced with an urgent fear as she realised that something was very wrong.

Her head was held stationary between what felt like two padded supports, and she could only move her eyes, shielded behind a pair of sunglasses, in order to assess her position. Her mouth was full; it felt like a billiard ball and she tried to push the object out with her tongue, finding that it was held there by a strap which must fasten at the nape of her neck. A fabric face mask covered her nose and mouth, and it already felt wet against her chin from her own drool.

She was sitting up straight, secured to a plastic seat with her forearms strapped vertically to two soft pads in front of her body. The pads were attached to black rods which passed up over her head toward the back of her seat. Her knees and calves were similarly held tight to two more pads on this framework of metal bars. After her brief struggle Sarah realised that she was quite unable to move, the structure holding her still. It seemed like some sort of gym equipment, where the user squeezes their legs together against some springs or weights to give resistance to tone the thighs, and the same for the arms, shoulders and pectorals.

Her knees were together with the pads in between them, and her forearms sandwiched the cushions in front of her face. Sarah discovered that she could move her hips and bottom slightly on the seat pad, and there was something hard there, maybe attached to the seat, pushing deep inside her. She couldn’t see what it was, but every movement of her hips caused a ripple of excited energy to pass through her abdomen as her pussy moved against it.

Her pyjamas were gone, replaced by a flimsy cloth covering her breasts and a short skirt which reached half way down her thighs. Thin wires, attached to each of the two garments, ran upward between the soft pads at her knees and wrists and out of sight.

In front of Sarah was a large window to what looked like a busy street. She guessed that it was early morning, traffic was fairly light and a few people hurried past holding newspapers or cardboard coffee cups. She didn’t know what street she was on, but this felt like it might be a display window of some large store. As far as she could tell, nobody had yet noticed her strapped to this contraption behind the glass.

Her arms and legs were becoming tired from struggling against her bonds, and even trying to shout through her gag at passers-by was futile – hardly any sound escaped her full mouth, and what there was presumably couldn’t make it past the window. After a moment she tried to calm herself, to think of a way out of this predicament.

She tried to focus on whatever was going on here. She was clever, and quick-witted. She owned a small property business and was quite well connected in local society, she figured she had done pretty well for herself in her twenty eight years and dealt with a good number of puzzles and problems. Surely she would be able to work this all out. She kept herself pretty fit, so perhaps she could eventually her way out. She tried to think of who might have done this, of any enemies who might be twisted enough to leave her almost naked on display like this with what felt like a dildo inside her. Or even any friends who might think this was a terribly funny jape. Nobody came to mind; whoever had done this had gone to a huge amount of effort and presumably expense.

A flicker of light in her periphery caused Sarah to look over at a monitor on the floor to her left as the screen glowed suddenly: an image of herself in this machine, from what must be a camera directly in front of her which she couldn’t see. She looked at her own toned thighs, at the little white skirt, her tense stomach muscles, her slim waist. Her forearms shielded her face and breasts, covered by the small top from the camera, and only her forehead and dark brown hair pulled back from her face were visible. At least nobody could see her face like this, she thought, and thank goodness for the shades and the face mask. This would be absolutely mortifying if anybody recognised her in this position.

Then the screen changed to show the face of some grotesque ventriloquist’s dummy. Flaking white paint covered what seemed to be an old wooden caricature with dark eyes and pronounced cheekbones. Its chin and bottom lip moved up and down as if to speak as a distorted voice rang out.

‘Hello, Sarah,’ the dummy spoke in a hollow rasp. ‘I want to play a game.’