Pink gag

She stood and waited. Those were her only options, even though the restrictions were quite simple. A rope around her neck, tied of overhead and her wrists taped behind her back, knees taped together. That was it. That was all it took. Here she was, a veteran private eye, firearm expert, trained in various martial arts and looking like a fitness competition contender: helpless. All due to a piece of rope and some tape. And, of course, as an added insult, the ball gag.

That ball gag should have been a red flag, in hindsight. She had fully expected them to tape her mouth, just like her wrists. What band of lowlife, small-time burglars would carry around kinky equipment with them?

And it had all started off so wonderful. She had caught them red-handed at the scene. Then had come the most difficult part of the operation: the fight scene. She had had to make it believable that they had actually subdued her. It had been hard, first losing the gun, then deliberately missing with her kicks and punches, at the same time ducking as much of their wild swings as possible. After successfully bringing the fight to the ground she didn't have to pretend anymore: after all, there were three of them, all outweighing her by sixty pounds or more. At that point, she was just overwhelmed. As planned. She had even thrown in some grunts and squeels, as they taped her wrists and knees.

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Living statue

He closed the door and chuckled.

"Finally. It's just you and me now, my dear!"

No answer. He knew she wouldn't be able to give an intelligible response, due to the ball gag, but there wasn't even a grunt. Just the rattling sounds of the restraints that she was fighting. She was standing awkwardly bent over, her neck connected to the floor and her ankles by two stiff bars. A third bar, running from her waist to her wrists kept her hands behind her back, way up in the air. She couldn't straighten up, but she wasn't able to bend over any further either. Likewise, her arms were held up in a largely fixed position. What little movement she had was mainly lateral. And useless.
Her long blond hair was hanging down, obstructing her sight, and she couldn't toss it out if her face, even for a moment.

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Mrs. Wilson had been modeling regularly for Gerald for over a year now, and during exhibitions, she turned out to be one of his most-liked models, strange enough. And then, out of the blue, he asked her if she would be interested in making some extra money meeting her fans. The next exhibitions would be combined with a sort of fashion show, with a catwalk, and he thought it would be a great idea for her to participate.

Gerald had disappeared into the closet; she could hear him rummaging. As he reappeared she had already lost her skirt and was pulling her panties down her thighs, preparing to step out.

"Oh no, Mrs. Wilson: you don't have to fully undress this time! Just the skirt will do.
And the shoes, please."

As she hastily pulled her panties back up again, all of a sudden, the total weirdness of the situation struck her. For the first time in months! Maybe it was due to the reverse action, but for the first time since this whole thing had started, she was asking herself what kind of a person she had become. Here she was, a respected grandmother and widow, walking into this young man's dorm, and her first inclination was to take all her clothes off? How had it come to this? She tried to brush the thought away, but the uneasy feeling lingered around. Somehow she felt scolded, put in her place.

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The LBD challenge

"So that's IT? That's the whole challenge?"

"And the dress code, of course."

"Yeah-yeah: LBD, high heels... whatever. But that's the only bondage involved: my hands cuffed.. in front of me? No chains, not the hooks in the ceiling, no ropes?
And even so, you think you'll be able to make me beg for mercy?"

"Well, maybe not in those exact words; thing is, you will recognize defeat at some point, and I will have won."

Iris just couldn't believe her luck! Not only had she won the last two challenges: this one seemed like a true piece of cake. With her hands in front, she would always be capable of fighting him off, no matter what! Or... would she?

"But it will still be within the rules, right? I mean... you're not going to beat the shit out of me?"

Peter didn't even answer, just gave her a look of disdain at the thought of it. That was not what their channel was about, and she knew it. They would be losing members by the dozens! And above and beyond that: he would never hurt her in that kind of way! She ought to know that.

"Ok, I'm sorry. I just don't get it, but that's not my problem I guess. So, in the very unlikely case that you win: what do I have to do?"

"We go out to dinner tonight, with you wearing the Ohmibot, and me holding the remote!"

"And if I win?"

"Anything you like! The cage, ruined orgasm, breathplay, edging... anything!"

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