Helpless at office
Apparently I don't learn from my mistakes. Last time I had to work at my office on weekend a burglar dominated me and left me tied and gagged until next monday. Maybe I liked that because I went back to work over the weekend only to be subdued by the same burglar who left me bound and gagged again.
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The office was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual Monday morning buzz. The fluorescent lights hummed a lonely tune, casting a cold glow over the rows of cubicles. The only sound was the occasional clack of a keyboard, echoing through the empty space. I, a young and slightly naive office worker, had decided to tackle the weekend's backlog, dressed in a black pair of pantyhose, a short gray minidress, and black high heels that pinched my toes just a bit too much.
My desk was a cluttered mess, with files and sticky notes scattered like confetti. As I sifted through the chaos, the phone on my desk let out a shrill ring, startling me. I picked it up, expecting a telemarketer or maybe a wrong number. Instead, it was my friend Rachel, her voice a mix of amusement and concern.
"Hey, are you really at the office on a Saturday?" Rachel asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Yeah, I just couldn't get it all done this week," I replied with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. "I figured I'd make the most of the peace and quiet."
"Well, just be careful," she warned. "You know what happened last time you were there alone over the weekend."
Her words sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of the terrifying encounter with the burglar who had left me bound and gagged until the cleaning crew found me on Monday morning. But that was in the past, and I was determined not to let fear dictate my life. I laughed it off, telling Rachel I had my pepper spray and knew where the exits were.
The conversation ended with a promise to meet up later, and I hung up the phone, feeling slightly more anxious than before. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each one a little louder than the last. I pushed aside the memories and focused on the task at hand, clicking away at my computer.
The sound of footsteps grew louder, each step echoing through the empty corridor. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced around the room, expecting a colleague who had also decided to burn the midnight oil. But as the steps grew closer, and the shadow grew larger, I realized my mistake. The door to my office creaked open, and there he was—the same burglar from before, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and malice.
"Looks like you forgot the memo about weekend breaks," he said, his voice a low, sinister purr.
My stomach dropped as I stumbled over my chair, trying to stand and run. But the heels of my shoes betrayed me, and I stumbled, the world spinning around me as I hit the floor with a thud. He was upon me in an instant, his strong arms pinning me down and dragging me gently leaving me with my back to an office column. Panic flooded my veins as I realized that, yet again, I was at his mercy.
The burglar chuckled darkly as he leaned in close, the scent of his aftershave making me nauseous. He proceed to tie my wrist behind the column with ropes. "Let's see those pretty feet of yours," he murmured, reaching down to slip off my shoes.
The feeling of the cool floor against my stockinged soles was almost a relief compared to the fear gripping my chest. He took his time, caressing my legs and feet before he began to tie my ankles with the rope, his touch lingering in a way that made my skin crawl.
As I lay there, bound and vulnerable, the reality of my situation began to sink in. This was not what I had signed up for when I decided to work over the weekend. This time, though, something was different. There was a strange, almost electrifying thrill that accompanied the fear. I didn't dare admit it to myself, but the way he looked at me made me feel... desired.
With a final knot, the burglar stepped back to admire his handiwork. My legs were tied together at the ankles and knees, the rope digging into my skin, leaving red marks. He leaned down and placed a piece of duct tape over my mouth, effectively silencing my protests.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "You're going to enjoy this more than you think."
And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving me to contemplate my fate. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was replaced by a cold dread as I tested the knots around my ankles and wrists. They were tight, unyielding, and expertly tied—a stark reminder of my captor's experience in this twisted game of cat and mouse.
I squirmed against the ropes, the fabric of my pantyhose stretching with every movement, the pressure from the tape against my mouth making it difficult to breathe. My heart raced, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I tried to calm down, telling myself that panic would only make things worse. I needed to think, to find a way out.
The minutes ticked by like hours, and the silence grew heavier, the only company my own shallow breaths and the distant hum of the office's air conditioning. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of life, any clue to when my tormentor would return. The anticipation was almost unbearable, my mind racing with images of what he might do to me.
But as the time dragged on, a strange sensation began to build within me. It started as a warmth in my stomach, spreading through my body, igniting a fire that had nothing to do with fear. It was an unexpected arousal, a thrill that seemed to pulse in time with my racing heart. I tried to fight it, to focus on escape, but the sensation grew stronger, more insistent.
I felt a wetness between my thighs, and I realized with horror and fascination that I was turned on. The thought of his eyes on me, the way he had touched my feet—it was all mixing together into a dangerous cocktail of fear and desire. I didn't want to feel this way, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own.
After a couple of hours, or maybe more, my phone rang, shattering the silence like a gunshot. I jolted, the sudden sound making my heart skip a beat. It was Rachel's ringtone, a cheery melody that seemed wildly out of place in my current predicament. The burglar had left it on my desk, probably assuming I wouldn't be receiving any calls at this hour.
I watched as the phone danced across the surface, taunting me with its proximity. It was just out of reach, a silent cry for help that no one would hear. The vibration stopped, and the screen went dark, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.
My thoughts turned to Rachel, wondering if she had tried to call because she felt something was wrong or if it was a simple check-in. I wished I could tell her that I needed her, that I was scared and confused by the strange feelings that were building inside me. But all I could do was listen to the echo of her voice in my mind, reminding me of our conversation and the promise to be careful.
I don't know how long it was until I heard the sound of keys opening the office door. I began to moan through my gag for help. When my office door finally opened, I saw Rachel's face peeking out very carefully. She looked surprised and a bit scared. She had come to check on me after her call went unanswered. Rachel stepped into the room, and the sight of me, bound and gagged, must have been a shock. She rushed over, her eyes wide with concern, kneeling down beside me.
"Oh my God," Rachel whispered, her voice shaking as she reached out to touch my cheek gently. "Again?"
I mumbled incoherently against the tape, trying to explain my situation. Rachel's eyes scanned my body, taking in the ropes and the way I was bound.
"It's okay," she whispered, her voice soothing despite the tremble in her tone. "I'm here now."
With trembling hands, Rachel reached some scissors from the desk. She slowly began to cut through the ropes, starting with my wrists, the sharp blade slicing through the fibers with surprising ease. I felt the blood rush back into my arms as the circulation returned, the pain a stark reminder of my earlier struggles. Rachel then moved to my legs, her eyes never leaving mine, filled with a mix of pity and something else—curiosity?
As the last rope fell away, Rachel carefully peeled the tape from my mouth, her touch surprisingly gentle. I gasped for air, my mouth dry and sticky from the adhesive.
My desk was a cluttered mess, with files and sticky notes scattered like confetti. As I sifted through the chaos, the phone on my desk let out a shrill ring, startling me. I picked it up, expecting a telemarketer or maybe a wrong number. Instead, it was my friend Rachel, her voice a mix of amusement and concern.
"Hey, are you really at the office on a Saturday?" Rachel asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Yeah, I just couldn't get it all done this week," I replied with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. "I figured I'd make the most of the peace and quiet."
"Well, just be careful," she warned. "You know what happened last time you were there alone over the weekend."
Her words sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of the terrifying encounter with the burglar who had left me bound and gagged until the cleaning crew found me on Monday morning. But that was in the past, and I was determined not to let fear dictate my life. I laughed it off, telling Rachel I had my pepper spray and knew where the exits were.
The conversation ended with a promise to meet up later, and I hung up the phone, feeling slightly more anxious than before. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each one a little louder than the last. I pushed aside the memories and focused on the task at hand, clicking away at my computer.
The sound of footsteps grew louder, each step echoing through the empty corridor. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced around the room, expecting a colleague who had also decided to burn the midnight oil. But as the steps grew closer, and the shadow grew larger, I realized my mistake. The door to my office creaked open, and there he was—the same burglar from before, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and malice.
"Looks like you forgot the memo about weekend breaks," he said, his voice a low, sinister purr.
My stomach dropped as I stumbled over my chair, trying to stand and run. But the heels of my shoes betrayed me, and I stumbled, the world spinning around me as I hit the floor with a thud. He was upon me in an instant, his strong arms pinning me down and dragging me gently leaving me with my back to an office column. Panic flooded my veins as I realized that, yet again, I was at his mercy.
The burglar chuckled darkly as he leaned in close, the scent of his aftershave making me nauseous. He proceed to tie my wrist behind the column with ropes. "Let's see those pretty feet of yours," he murmured, reaching down to slip off my shoes.
The feeling of the cool floor against my stockinged soles was almost a relief compared to the fear gripping my chest. He took his time, caressing my legs and feet before he began to tie my ankles with the rope, his touch lingering in a way that made my skin crawl.
As I lay there, bound and vulnerable, the reality of my situation began to sink in. This was not what I had signed up for when I decided to work over the weekend. This time, though, something was different. There was a strange, almost electrifying thrill that accompanied the fear. I didn't dare admit it to myself, but the way he looked at me made me feel... desired.
With a final knot, the burglar stepped back to admire his handiwork. My legs were tied together at the ankles and knees, the rope digging into my skin, leaving red marks. He leaned down and placed a piece of duct tape over my mouth, effectively silencing my protests.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "You're going to enjoy this more than you think."
And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving me to contemplate my fate. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was replaced by a cold dread as I tested the knots around my ankles and wrists. They were tight, unyielding, and expertly tied—a stark reminder of my captor's experience in this twisted game of cat and mouse.
I squirmed against the ropes, the fabric of my pantyhose stretching with every movement, the pressure from the tape against my mouth making it difficult to breathe. My heart raced, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I tried to calm down, telling myself that panic would only make things worse. I needed to think, to find a way out.
The minutes ticked by like hours, and the silence grew heavier, the only company my own shallow breaths and the distant hum of the office's air conditioning. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of life, any clue to when my tormentor would return. The anticipation was almost unbearable, my mind racing with images of what he might do to me.
But as the time dragged on, a strange sensation began to build within me. It started as a warmth in my stomach, spreading through my body, igniting a fire that had nothing to do with fear. It was an unexpected arousal, a thrill that seemed to pulse in time with my racing heart. I tried to fight it, to focus on escape, but the sensation grew stronger, more insistent.
I felt a wetness between my thighs, and I realized with horror and fascination that I was turned on. The thought of his eyes on me, the way he had touched my feet—it was all mixing together into a dangerous cocktail of fear and desire. I didn't want to feel this way, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own.
After a couple of hours, or maybe more, my phone rang, shattering the silence like a gunshot. I jolted, the sudden sound making my heart skip a beat. It was Rachel's ringtone, a cheery melody that seemed wildly out of place in my current predicament. The burglar had left it on my desk, probably assuming I wouldn't be receiving any calls at this hour.
I watched as the phone danced across the surface, taunting me with its proximity. It was just out of reach, a silent cry for help that no one would hear. The vibration stopped, and the screen went dark, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.
My thoughts turned to Rachel, wondering if she had tried to call because she felt something was wrong or if it was a simple check-in. I wished I could tell her that I needed her, that I was scared and confused by the strange feelings that were building inside me. But all I could do was listen to the echo of her voice in my mind, reminding me of our conversation and the promise to be careful.
I don't know how long it was until I heard the sound of keys opening the office door. I began to moan through my gag for help. When my office door finally opened, I saw Rachel's face peeking out very carefully. She looked surprised and a bit scared. She had come to check on me after her call went unanswered. Rachel stepped into the room, and the sight of me, bound and gagged, must have been a shock. She rushed over, her eyes wide with concern, kneeling down beside me.
"Oh my God," Rachel whispered, her voice shaking as she reached out to touch my cheek gently. "Again?"
I mumbled incoherently against the tape, trying to explain my situation. Rachel's eyes scanned my body, taking in the ropes and the way I was bound.
"It's okay," she whispered, her voice soothing despite the tremble in her tone. "I'm here now."
With trembling hands, Rachel reached some scissors from the desk. She slowly began to cut through the ropes, starting with my wrists, the sharp blade slicing through the fibers with surprising ease. I felt the blood rush back into my arms as the circulation returned, the pain a stark reminder of my earlier struggles. Rachel then moved to my legs, her eyes never leaving mine, filled with a mix of pity and something else—curiosity?
As the last rope fell away, Rachel carefully peeled the tape from my mouth, her touch surprisingly gentle. I gasped for air, my mouth dry and sticky from the adhesive.
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