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Cast into Bondage Part 2
|Rating:; Genre=Fiction; Pages=21; Characters=42,677;|
Angela's hands were sweaty as she sat beside Tom and checked her watch yet again. The handcuffs tinkled, traffic swirled about them on the expressway as the sun began to sink. "He would have to do better than this," she thought, "I'd never make it through security." She had no idea what time their flight left but he hadn't even given her a single clue about this marvelous new bondage idea of his. Anticipation fluttered like silken fire in her veins. When did that plane leave? Where were they going now? She rattled her handcuffs again. Why hadn't he done more than this before they left the house?
She turned her head and started to speak, then bit her tongue again. She knew darn well her rotten boyfriend was sitting there just waiting for her to ask, and she turned back to the window. She watched the city lights, ignoring his smothered chuckle, then quirked her eyebrows as he took the Mercy General exit. What in the world?
She shot him a sharp glance, but he only shrugged innocently and he took the next right, then turned into Glenview Orthopedic Surgical Associates' drive and parked in a space lettered with his name.
"Forget to pack your stethoscope, Pasteur?" She asked sarcastically waving across the parking lot at the darkened building. Her handcuffs tinkled merrily, she ducked her hands quickly back into her lap and glanced around but there was no one else in the lot. Office hours were over and Tom had timed it perfectly to arrive after everyone had just left. He knew he had several hours of work ahead now, plenty of time before their red eye flight left in the wee small hours of the morning. Plenty of time to carry out his plan.
"Follow me and all will be revealed," he intoned and got out of the car. Angela struggled with her door and then settled her sweater over her handcuffed hands so no one would see. She rolled her eyes in elaborate exasperation but followed him across the lot and her brain clicked as she tried to figure out what he was up to. She caught up with him just as he unlocked a side door and he waved her through it. Then relocked it carefully behind them and punched a number into a wall phone.
"Hi, Pete, Doctor Riocelli. Don't panic if anything lights up on your panel. It's just me tidying up a bit before I disappear on my vacation." He paused, listening to something from the security man, then laughed. "No, just a little project," he grinned devilishly at Angela, "a couple of loose ends I have to wrap up is all, nothing I can't handle without help. Shouldn't take me too long. I'll give you another ring when I leave, okay?" Another pause. "Fine thanks, Pete."
"And now," he murmured as he hung up, "to wrap up those loose ends. If you'll step into my workshop, I'll show you how a modern knave goes about abducting the damsel of his choice." He gestured gallantly at a doorway, and Angela shook her head
"You've lost it," she said kindly, "Overwork, that's what it is. Your itty bitty brain's finally burned out."
"Be nice, I'm about to put you in the most inescapable bondage known to man; you want to keep me happy," he admonished as he escorted her through the door into what appeared to be a treatment room of some sort. "And now, Madam, if you'll be so good as to disrobe."
"Disrobe?!" The sweater fell to the ground as she tried to gesture and her handcuffs clanked angrily. "Just what the heck do you have in mind here?"
"Sorry." He caught her wrists and quickly removed the cuffs. "I have in mind for you to take off your clothes. Come, come now!" He looked significantly at his watch, "Time's wasting, we don't want to miss our flight do we?"
He seemed so pleased with himself Angela hovered on the brink of rebelling just to see what he'd do, but she had to admit there was a thrill in the thought of being naked in this cool, silent room. She had never been in his office before, never even been in an orthopedist's office before, for that matter, never having done anything to herself that required their services. She looked around at the metal splints, gadgets and who-knew-what-all hanging on the walls and felt warm heat pulsing in her belly.
"All right," she said finally, "but this better be worth it!"
"Oh, it will be," he assured her, then almost to himself, "it will be."
She sighed and began removing her clothing but her attitude of martyred patience fell short of perfection, for her eyes glowed and she felt herself preening as she always did when she displayed her slender, supple nudity to Tom. Especially when he had some wonderfully horrid bondage predicament in mind for that same nudity.
Angela folded her blouse and laid it neatly over a chair. Her slacks followed, and her coral nipples peaked in the cool, almost chill air as she unhooked her bra. She looked over her shoulder at Tom who was filling a sink with warm water, for goodness sake! And peeled her panties down with a saucy role of her hips. She turned to face him and brushed back the short, silky helmet of her chestnut hair in a gesture that just coincidentally rounded her breasts and displayed her naked self to optimum advantage.
"And now?" She tried to sound cool and disinterested, but the question came out soft and husky instead. She might not have the least idea what he planned, but it was certainly sending a warm, tingling sensation through her.
"Ah, yes, let me see . . . " He regarded her as she stood there. She saw a slight frown begin in his brows that grew into an expression of deep thought. His eyes flicked over her as if she were some arcane medical tome that he was consulting.
"Mm hm . . . Mm hm . . . Ah ha! According to 'The Compleat Evil Villain', and I quote, 'The properly kidnaped damsel must be safely restrained at all times.' Time for these again, I fear." He held out the handcuffs she had so recently been wearing and grinned. Her face fell. She really didn't know what he had planned but so far, other than the location, things were pretty mundane.
"Turn around, please and place your hands behind your back."
She shot him a smouldering glance under her lowered brows and held him with her eyes as she slowly complied with his directions her head turning until she was looking over her shoulder, her eyes glowing flirtatiously through her hair. Slowly she rolled back her shoulders, her hands gliding sinuously over the outsides of her breasts, down her flanks, over her thrust out hip until they met behind her back. She clasped them together and stretched them down feeling the fold of her cheeks as she pressed her elbows close together and arched her back. Her breasts stood high and proud and she could feel her nipples harden in the cool air of the room. A small throaty laugh escaped her and her tongue parted her lips.
"Laugh all you want now, my pretty, but you won't laugh long, hold that pose, Ah ha ha ha," he twirled a fictitious moustache as he approached and she giggled at his outrageous stage accent. Her giggle turned to a sensuous sigh as she felt his warm hands on her shoulders and a gasp of indrawn breath as she felt the cold steel of the handcuff when it brushed her back. He ran his hands down her arms to her wrists and then firmly snapped the cuffs in place. She tensed against them feeling their unforgiving embrace as he ran his hands back up her arms and her temperature rose. His lips found the back of her neck and she snuggled back into him as his hands cupped her breasts. His right hand pulled away and she started but he increased the pressure of his left hand pulling her deeper into the kiss he was placing in that very special place, just there on her neck. She lost herself in him and the feel of the steel on her wrists and hadn't noticed his left hand leaving until the sound of tape being pulled from the roll nearly brought her back to reality, another flick of his tongue distracted her long enough for him to secure the tape to the top of her right breast and have it wrapped halfway around until she became aware of her plight again and pulled away.
"What the . . . ?" She jerked involuntarily and he dropped the tape. She turned around to face him and the roll dangled from her breast twisting back and forth. She looked from him to the tape and back again.
"Oops!" It came out together. She giggled again. "Did you say, 'Oops?' I don't like it when I hear a doctor say, 'Oops!'" They both laughed again but Tom fought to regain his composure.
"Well, this is a mess but easily remedied." He reached out to pull the tape from her breast. Angela winced as if it was going to hurt. "My dear," he intoned in his best Marcus Welby M.D. voice, "you are working with a professional who has behind him years of study and experience . . . besides it's only what you deserve for distracting me." Her jaw dropped, aghast at his accusation and he pulled the tape from her breast. She was amazed. His action had been so gentle that rather than hurting the pull of the tape was actually arousing. He tore the tangled tape from the roll and spoke again.
"Arch your back and don't move." She did as she was told and he firmly wrapped a few turns of tape around the base of each breast. She looked down at them and enjoyed the way her flesh bulged slightly out beyond the tape. It wasn't tight just very snug and she internalized the sensations of the way it made her breasts pull away from her body. Angela grinned wickedly at Tom and her handcuffs jingled as she shook her breasts at him. He answered with a sly grin but when he twirled the nonexistent moustache she knew he was getting back to the plot and it seemed to be thickening slowly.
"Ah, yes, me precious, won't you join me in a drink?" Angela was getting thirsty but she knew the proper thing to do was refuse such a dastardly villain. Anything he offered her couldn't be for her own good.
"No, never!" He smiled and went to the refrigerator in the corner. He returned with a half-bottle of her favorite champagne and two glasses.
"Are you quite sure?" Tom opened the bottle and poured out a glass. "It is quite harmless and you have a long night ahead." Coming close to her he took a sip then held out the glass.
"Oh! Silly me, you can't hold it, can you?" Her eyes flashed. He held the champagne under her nose and the tickling bubbles made her turn her head away.
"Please, just one little glass?"
"No, no, a thousand times no!" She knew the proper responses in the damsel-in-distress game.
"That's such a shame," he murmured, his hand cupping her chin and holding her head still as he passed the champagne flute back and forth under her nose, the bubbles bursting on her skin until a sheen of champagne formed like sweat on her upper lip. She knew from the first she would give in but for form's sake she held out just a moment or two longer prolonging the fun for both of them.
"Enough, enough, torture me no longer, foul fiend, I give in to your evil demands but I will only drink from your glass."
"Oh cruel maiden, your distrust wounds me to my depths," Tom held the glass for her and she drank the rest of his champagne and asked for more.
"More? Why, my dear, this was already more than enough. For you see you were right to distrust me. The champagne is drugged! I have spent years building up an immunity to this drug. It is a quick acting sedative, with no taste or smell, that completely breaks down your will. You will soon become drowsy then you will do everything I tell you. Unfortunately its effects are not permanent but it will last long enough to prepare you for shipment to my inner sanctum where you will stay until you agree to my greatest demand! Now, put this on."
He handed her a white knit garment that looked a little like a turtleneck with short-sleeves. She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
"I said, 'It is a quick acting sedative, with no taste or smell, that completely breaks down your will. You will soon become drowsy then you will do everything I tell you.' So, now you are drowsy and will do everything I tell you." She giggled at him again and her handcuffs tinkled. "Oh . . . um . . . yes . . . I, uh, I was just testing to see if the drug was taking effect yet and it would be safe to remove the restraints."
He went behind her and took off the right cuff. She brought her hands in front of her the cuff dangling from her left wrist. He handed her the garment. The weave was fine and smooth. But the edges were slightly ragged and unhemmed. She shrugged at him, smiled and pulled it over her head. It stretched to fit her snugly, clinging to every curve and came to the top of her thighs. He smoothed it out, stretched it more where it pressed against her taped breasts and fussed over it until he was satisfied. Angela tried to shoo him away, his fussing was slightly annoying.
"Not docile yet, I see, my pretty, your resistance to the drug is stronger than I thought," he rumbled as he caught her hands and drew them behind her back, fastening them together again. She grinned. She was feeling a bit too "free" and wanted him to cuff her again. How she loved to wear his restraints.
"Lovely," he sighed, and she blushed. "Just lovely! And now if you will sit up here." Curiosity and amusement vied with suspicion in the look Angela gave him, but she couldn't have refused him now. She just had to know what he was up to. He helped her on the treatment table and she subsided. He went to a cabinet and pulled out a length of some knit material. It was made of the same soft finely woven stuff as the tunic she was wearing. As he approached, he gathered it up and she saw it was like a stocking without a foot.
"Lift your foot, please." She did and he began pulling the stuff up her leg. Tom pulled it right up to her hip and she stiffened as his hand brushed her pubic hair. He fussed with her new "legging" until he had all the wrinkles out of it then he went back to the cabinet for more. She looked down to see her leg encased in soft white material that extended about six inches past her toes. She wiggled her leg taking pleasure in the clingy feel of the stuff against her skin. He returned and repeated the procedure on her other leg and then went to a deep drawer in the cabinet near the sink. Again she enjoyed the look and feel of her legs. They were well toned and trim and the white set them off nicely. She had barely composed herself in time for his return and hadn't noticed the rattling he made sorting through the orthopedic hardware. He returned with an armload of white cottony rolls, two oddly curved metal splints and a roll of wide adhesive tape.
"Are those for me?" she inquired lifting an eyebrow, and he nodded. "But I don't have any broken bones," she said innocently.
"Of course you don't," he replied, "but this little melodrama requires that you let me put them on you anyway."
"And why would I do a thing like that?"
"Because, I'm the evil villain who is abducting you and I have by the nefarious means of the drugged champagne reduced you to pliancy so I can prepare you for shipment to my inner sanctum and there have my evil way with you until you agree to my greatest demand."
"But I don't feel pliant," she said rounding her eyes and her mouth.
"Of course you do!" he scolded. "Where is your sense of tradition? I'm the evil abductor, you are the sweet innocent abductee. Haven't you read 'The Complete Damsel-In-Distress,' companion guide to 'The Compleat Evil Villain'? What is happening to the youth of today?"
"Sorry, I guess I forgot. It must be a side effect of the nefarious drug you gave me in the champagne. I seem to be getting drowsy . . . " Stifling a giggle she leaned back against the wall behind the table and drooped her head artfully. "How's this?"
"Not bad," he said admiringly, "Not bad at all."
Angela closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feeling as he wrapped her legs in the cotton padding but she forgot to droop and raised her head as Tom fitted a splint to her right leg. It was a neat fit, with an acute but smoothly curved bend that fitted into the back of her knee and bent her leg to a natural sitting position. She watched with bright interest as he secured it to her snow white cotton encased leg with four bands of tape: one each about her thigh and calf and two more just above and below her knee.
Tom checked to be sure none of the tape was tight enough to affect her circulation, then turned to her other leg. Tape peeled and tore as he secured an identical splint to her left leg with equal neatness and dispatch. Both legs were locked in a sitting position, and she waved them, opening and closing her knees playfully and giggling at the glow in Tom's admiring eye.
He watched her for several seconds, then assumed a stern expression and waved a finger under her nose.
"No distracting the villain!" he said severely, "You remember what happened last time." She pressed her lips together stifling yet another giggle and assumed her stricken drooping pose again. Tom was such fun.
Angela leaned forward to watch Tom, feeling the unnatural stiffness in her legs and the bite of the steel in her wrists feed her excitement. She watched him fasten odd looking straps about her thighs, just above the knee. They didn't look like standard orthopedic appliances to her but she could have been wrong. At any rate, there were metal plates on them, facing one another between her thighs and pierced by holes threaded as if to take a bolt. She wanted to scratch her nose in perplexity but her cuffed hands were uncooperative and then she inhaled sharply as he took an adjustable shiny steel rod and screwed each threaded end into each plate and then tightened the adjusting screw in the middle, locking it solidly in place.
The rod parted her thighs, holding her knees sixteen inches apart, and she squirmed, feeling open and exposed as it conspired with the white knit -- what was it Tom called it? stockinette -- and the snowy cotton padding to display her tingling petals.
"This is beginning to get definitely weird," she remarked, and heard the lustful quiver in her voice.
"My dear, you have no idea," Tom replied as he positioned her left foot on a stand that looked like an inverted capital 'L', the metal was cold against her skin, then he went to the sink. She heard him rummaging in another of the drawers and muttering something about colors as he started piling bulging plastic pouches on the counter. She last heard him say something like, "Pink, yes, I think pink is perfect . . . " before she lost herself in exploring the growing sensations of her predicament and their affect on her arousal. She barely registered a soft ripping sound and some watery gurgles when Tom returned.
He had blue rubber surgical gloves on now and was holding a wet dripping pink looking bundle in his hand. He plucked the end loose and held it against her left foot, then began unrolling the rest of the bundle. He wrapped it up over her instep, building it into a smooth thick layer and Angela gasped in sudden understanding. He was putting her into a cast!
"Hey, Buster! You never said I'd have to hobble around in plaster!" This was more than playing. This stuff wouldn't come off!
"It isn't plaster. It's fiberglass. And besides, who said anything about hobbling?" he replied as he calmly continued rolling and smoothing the pink fiberglass casting tape into place. It was up over her ankle now, warm from the water in the sink, a heavy damp presence clinging to her calf with an almost sensual presence. He continued wrapping and smoothing up her leg now with a second roll. Angela's emotions were roiling. She had never been in a cast before and this was too new, too much for her almost. She clamped her lips into a line to keep from speaking as she watched her leg disappear under a new skin of pink fiberglass. Tom had reached her crotch and was continuing back down her leg, he looked up in response to her smothered whimper and smiled tenderly. He knew she smouldered and was reacting to the touch of his hands to her encased thigh. Tom continued his work, now back at her foot folding back the stockinette and finishing it off neatly. He had wrapped beyond her toes and trimmed the top back before pulling the stockinette back so just the tips of her dainty toes and their red painted toenails winked slyly out of their white and pink nest. He finished the roll he was working with and was smoothing and shaping, molding the now completed cast to her leg. It clung and repeated every curve and echoed and restated its underlying sexiness in its own curves and swells.
"Hold still while this sets. It will only be a few minutes." Tom smiled at her and she relaxed into his embrace, the cast on her leg warming. It was his embrace too, his vicarious embrace that would be there as long as she was in this cast. Her mind raced ahead at what else was in store for her. She glanced at her right leg in its snowy cocoon and flexed her ankle and realized that her turtleneck was made of the same stuff as the stockinette on her leg, she shuddered, wanted to cry out. She knew if she used her safeword he would stop and end the scenario now, she would be free of the cast and it would be over. It would be over . . . Angela did not want to end this now, she did not want to stop it here. She wanted to do all that he had planned for her. She would. She would do whatever he asked now. She realized he had told her the truth about the drug. But it wasn't in the champagne, it was in Tom and his effect on her. She licked her lips, her heart trembled, what she saw of his plans for her frightened her and excited her. Suddenly she no longer wanted to be able to speak to him. She was more afraid of losing her nerve and saying the wrong thing than anything he had planned and she didn't want this to end. She took a breath, steeled herself and spoke.
"About now," she said huskily, her voice thickened by her emotions, "the heroine in every melodrama would wake up and start screaming for help." Her breath came in pants and she collapsed back against the wall. The cast on her leg had set and she tensed her muscles against it and slow fire rippled through her.
"Why, silly of me!" Tom let go of the firmly attached end he had been holding. He slapped himself on the forehead and lost a bit of villainous dignity as he had to peel the still tacky glove from his skin. Angela giggled. Trust Tom to know how to lighten the moment and take her out of herself when he realized things were becoming too intense. He knew what she wanted and was more than ready and eager to oblige.
"Thank you for reminding me. Now I know I've got a gag around here somewhere . . . " His voice trailed off into a mutter as he fumbled out of the gloves and fumbled through his satchel. Angela laughed again. "Ah ha! Here it is!"
He turned from his satchel and her laughter sighed into rapt silence. She'd never seen that harness gag before, but its ball was about the largest she could accept comfortably and its small air holes indicated he expected it to be in place for a while. It had a welter of straps and snaps and buckles but the most splendidly ominous looking part seemed to be the brow strap. It looked to have four metal plates spaced equally around it and they were similar to the ones on her thighs.
Tom presented the ball, and her ripe mouth opened instantly, eager to abandon the power of speech. He worked the ball into place and made sure that she could breathe properly. Angela bent her head so he could get to all the straps but he had disappeared. She raised her head and saw him opening another plastic pouch and pulling clear plastic tubing from it. He came to her with the tubing and a roll of adhesive tape. She realized he was holding a nasal cannula and smiled around the ball. Tom was taking no chances here. He was making sure she could breathe easily through nose and mouth. He eased the short tubes into her nose then used strips of tape to secure the tube in place on her cheeks. Once it was secure, he pasted a long strip down one cheek, under her chin and up the other side. Not only was the tube secure but it was very difficult to open her mouth. Tom set about making that impossible, fastening and securing all the straps. She was right about those steel plates they were riveted to the strap that went around her head just above her ears and they were placed just in front of her temples on her forehead and just behind her ears. She didn't have much time to ponder their purpose because now Tom had started casting her right leg and she wanted to devote all her attention to enjoying that process. She watched in a sensual haze as the pink fiberglass licked up and down her leg freezing it rigidly in Tom's loving grasp. She crooned in her gag as she felt him rub the fiberglass smooth to the contours of her thigh and breath caught in her throat as he again brushed her pubis. She reveled in the sight of the contrasting white stockinette, pink fiberglass, red of her toenails, now both feet were barely visible, and the blue of Tom's gloves. She sighed to the feel of the rigid cast on her left leg and the warming and stiffening cast on her right. Tom took a deep breath checked the end he had been holding, approved and stood.
"Time to move you, my dear." He couldn't be finished yet. She would die of embarrassment to go out looking like this. And just how was he going to move her? The last question answered all the rest as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to a large contraption that looked like a cross between a rack, a jungle gym and a hammock that had been strung sideways and slashed to wide ribbons. He laid her on a couple of the support bands and quickly adjusted a center support under her back. She couldn't have fallen if she tried but her legs were so awkward in their casts that she gasped in fear. Tom soon had them supported from the framework overhead and she relaxed in their security. She was in the same posture she had been while sitting only now she was on her back. Her hands were still cuffed behind her and she spent a moment worrying about that until Tom released her right arm, quickly cuffed her left to the rail beside her and started to put stockinette on her right arm. He slipped her thumb through a little hole he had made in the stockinette and then added a narrower piece to cover her thumb. Next he wrapped her arm in cast padding including her thumb. She was shivered with delight as he also wrapped her little finger and ring fingers separately then together. She clenched in eager anticipation of the cast that would hold them in its grip. He bent her elbow and she was surprised as he used ace bandages to wrap her forearm to the frame rail holding her upper arm straight out from her side. Mutely she watched as he repeated the process with her left arm after removing the handcuff. This time it was her index and middle finger that got his attention. Soon her left arm too was attached to the frame.
"This is the apparatus we use for positioning and support when we apply a body cast. It has traction bands and I will apply one around your hips and a cervical traction harness to your head for the next part." He was as good as his word and soon Angela was well stretched out. She could feel her back and neck unkink and all the tension was drawn out of her muscles. "Be right back, don't go anywhere." She mmphed at his bad joke and tensed at the thought of being left alone suspended as she was but he was back before she had time to really start getting into her current immobilization. He was pushing what looked like a tall portable chalkboard covered by a cloth. When he uncovered it and positioned it she realized it was a mirror. Tom had placed it so she could watch his every move as he encased her in his love.
Tom wound her into a shroud of padding but never covered her breasts. He avoided them, winding a figure eight to leave them, though still covered by stockinette, exposed. Every now and then he would brush her nipples, rock hard against the thin knit covering. Once he stopped and massaged them. She squirmed and pulled against her restraints and moaned into her gag but he stopped much too soon.
By the time he had finished with the padding she was cocooned in white from her chin to the pink of her leg casts. Only her head remained uncovered and suddenly she thought about the metal plates on her brow band. He left for a second and returned with a plastic gizmo that looked like some sort of yoke, it rested on each shoulder and came down across the front top of her chest where it connected and across her shoulder blades in back where it also connected. The yoke had the same kind of plates on it as the thigh straps had and she wondered what he would be attaching to them. The answer came quickly. She watched as he threaded a large black metal ring over her brow. It had been dangling from the traction cords that pulled on her head. He fitted four rods to it and then screwed them into the holes on the plastic yoke on her shoulders.
"This is a 'halo'. It is appropriate for my 'Angel'," Tom smirked.
"Mmmpphh," was all Angela could manage through her ball-gag.
"It will immobilize your head." He began screwing four shorter screws into the ring. She realized that they were designed to screw into her head and fear pierced her like a hot lance. She mmmphed mightily and began to struggle to free herself. She wanted no part of screws in her skull. This was just too weird now.
"Angela, calm down. It's ok. Listen to me. If you want to stop now, we will. But listen before you decide." Tom's voice stilled her struggles but her breathing was still ragged and edged with panic.
"If you want to stop, blink twice." Angela closed her eyes but didn't open them for a few minutes as she calmed her breathing. Tom touched her shoulder and she opened her eyes slowly. She gazed steadily up into his strong face, his deep eyes.
"Normally these pins screw into the skull. But these don't, these are different. They are made to match those plates on your brow band. We are still just playing here and you know I always have your limits in mind. Shall we get back to it? We still have a plane to catch and I am still the Evil Villain preparing you, the Innocent Damsel-in-Distress for shipment to my hideout." Angela took a deep breath, smiled as much as she could, and mmmphed in agreement. Tom screwed the screws into her browband and she could feel the increased pressure against her head. Her breathing quickened again but there was no panic in it this time. He adjusted the rods connecting the halo to the yoke and tightened everything securely.
"Comfy, my dear?" Angela crooned her response. Tom moved away and she allowed herself to sink into her immobilization. She tensed each muscle against its corresponding restraint and her arousal began to rise again.
"I have returned for the final preparations." He had another roll of casting tape in his hands and began again at her right thigh. She felt the warm wet fiberglass run up over her right hip. It circled her waist, working as high as the small of her back to confine her hip joints, then licked down over the flare of her left hip and about her left thigh. He opened new packages as he needed them and soon her leg casts were rigidly joined to the cast around her hips and waist; her legs were locked into the shapes he had ordained for them but her crotch was bare and her bottom was conspicuously available to his further ministrations.
Angela whuffled through her gag, writhing in delicious frustration at her inability even to shake her head and Tom paused. He looked up, and she whuffled more loudly. Her muted sounds were meaningless but her eyes were eloquent, and his eyes glowed as he read her message.
"I love you too." He tenderly kissed her gag distended lips, his tongue flicking over each and probing between them and the ball so firmly held behind her teeth; it traced the edges of her teeth as she bit into the ball and a small shudder of pleasure coursed through her body.
"Ah ha!" he rasped in the villainous dialect he had adopted, "Didn't I say you would submit to my every whim, my helpless pretty? And now to make you even more helpless!" Her eyes flicked to his face and she giggled in spite of herself as he twirled the phantom moustache again.
"Back to work!"
Angela gazed into the mirror so she could again admire his handiwork, and fire sparkled in the depths of her eyes. The casts held her legs gently but inescapably, opened by the rod whose ends vanished into their fiberglass, and enclosed the curly chestnut silk of her exposed loins in a frame of almost shocking pink, edged, softened, highlighted by the white of the stockinette. Tom's work was so neat. There were no sharp edges to chafe or irritate and no wrinkles or bulges just smooth pink and white. The fiberglass clung and molded to her body like a second skin, a rigid exoskeleton of his love holding its precious contents safe from the perils of the outer world. She sighed in admiration and Tom went back to work. More casting tape circled her, but this time it wrapped up over her belly and ribs, coiling about her torso and crossing wetly and warmly between her breasts. She had no concept of how long it took but soon her cast covered her spine, ascended up over her shoulder blades covering the plastic of the halo yoke. It continued up her neck to her chin holding her back as rigid as her legs and crossed the tops of her shoulders. He released her right arm and wrapped down it to her fingers. She watched as her white swaddled arm disappeared under layer after layer of pink fiberglass. He held, squeezed her hand and fingers as she felt the hardening cast slowly steal her freedom. Her eyes glowed, so did his. Angela closed her eyes and sighed again. She wasn't aware of exactly when he let go and the cast took over support of her arm until she felt him releasing her other arm from the frame. Soon it too was lost in pink fiberglass. She crooned in her throat as she admired the contrast of her red fingernail polish, her creamy skin, the white of the stockinette and the pink of the casting tape. All she could see of her thumbs were their nails. She couldn't even get them to wiggle. The tip of her right pinkie was barely visible and it wouldn't budge even a millimeter. Her right ring finger pressed against the padding of its neighbor and she could just flex the last joint. She waggled the two fingers that were free and discovered that freedom was indeed relative. She could barely curl them down to touch the cast covering her palm and try as she might she couldn't reach her thumb. Angela was so lost in exploring the limits of her immobilized right arm that she didn't realize that Tom was working on her left arm until she tried to compare index fingers and found her left one was now incorporated in her cast. Tom chuckled as she looked at him smoothing and molding the finishing touches on her left arm. The cast now snaked down both her arms locking her forearms out before her as if resting on the arms of an invisible chair. She waggled her free fingers at him. He caught them one by one and kissed them tenderly then he kissed the fingertips of the fingers he had just immobilized a shudder went through her. He smiled then turned away to retrieve something from the counter.
Angela watched in the mirror as he returned to her breasts. They were the only visible part of her torso not covered by the rapidly hardening pink shell. Producing a pair of scissors, he reached for her right breast. Angela squeaked in her gag and tried to move. She managed to curl her pinkie and ring fingers on her left hand, her first and second fingers on her right hand and raise her toes. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she felt his fingers close on her nipple and pull. Tom's fingers slipped free and she heard the scissors snip. Cracking one eye open slightly she saw Tom trimming the restraining stockinette from her breast. It expanded and bulged through the circular opening in the rigid fiberglass and she both saw and felt her nipple come to attention as her inheld breath escaped in a whoosh of relief. She watched more attentively as Tom trimmed her other breast free then left. She wiggled as much as she could to get the feel of the cast pressing against her chest and all around her breasts. Tom had worked the casting tape into a turned back edge thick enough that it wouldn't cut into her tender flesh and she noticed he had paid especial attention to the padding around these openings. He returned with another roll of pink casting tape and used it to secure the ragged edges of the stockinette back against her cast. She sighed as she admired the look of the even white edges against the skin of her exposed breasts. Her breasts were now as naked as her crotch, but the rest of her body was sealed into an inflexible cocoon that made any movement impossible. She could still wiggle a little but that was all.
"Now," he said, his voice shocking her into a tiny gasp after his long silence, "If I were a truly rotten, nasty Evil Villain," he beamed so fatuously that she would have smacked him if she wasn't casted into immobility, "this is when I'd anesthetize the hapless heroine thus she would droop within her mobile plaster . . . uh, fiberglass prison." She giggled and he paused. "Plaster prison is much more onomatopoetic, don't you think? But what's a modern Evil Villain to do? One must keep abreast of technology and besides plaster would have weighed a ton and taken days to dry properly and we have a plane to catch." He glanced at his watch, "Ah, right on schedule." Angela giggled again at the way he pronounced 'schedule' without the 'k' sound. Tom hmmphed and began dealing with the traction straps that still held her stretched on the frame. He had used a band of wide stockinette on her hips and trimmed it with his scissors and covered the ragged ends with yet another layer of fiberglass. The cervical harness slipped easily out from under the cast. Angela had been expecting the stretched feeling in her neck to relax as he removed the traction and was surprised that it didn't. She did feel a little increased pressure on her head and chin but she realized her head wasn't moving an inch in any direction. She gasped again and realized Tom was still talking to her.
"As I was saying, thus anesthetized, she would be too dazed to do anything to attract attention to her plight while longing for the hero to speed to her rescue. Under the circumstances, and given how dreadfully embarrassed I know you would be if anyone realized what was going on, I trust I can rely on you to act as if I had done such a wicked thing?"
She couldn't nod but her answering sound was decidedly affirmative, and she blushed again, blood crackling with the thought of being found out.
"I thought I might," he murmured, "but that leaves this." He stroked the leather of her gag and his eyes twinkled. "Rather, um, obvious, wouldn't you say?" She made another sound of agreement, laced this time with a bit of challenge, and he clucked reprovingly. "Surely you didn't think an Evil Villain of my infinite resource and depravity had overlooked that point!"
He produced another roll of cast padding and wrapped it about her throat. He worked upward leaving her mouth uncovered to clear her air holes, and wound his busy way up over the crown of her head and back down, building the cotton into a thick smooth layer. Then he covered his handiwork with gauze. Unlike the cotton, the gauze did cross her mouth, and the professional looking bandage hid even the contours of her gag, allowing only her eyes to show, startling brown in their deep nests of snowy gauze.
"Voila! One completely anonymous, if you will allow me the poetic license, 'plaster' angel," he announced and added softly, "and a lovely little angel she is. But not yet ready for transport of course." Tom teased her bare nipples to make his point, Angela squirmed and crooned in her immobility, then he extracted a white blouse from his satchel. It was several sizes too big, large enough to fit over her casts and he worked her inflexible arms into its short sleeves like a life-sized doll, buttoned its back and tucked a colorful scarf around her neck.
"Almost done," he murmured, and a stretchy skirt followed the blouse. Working it up under her was a struggle, given her unbending rigidity and the weight of her cast, but he succeeded at last, and her opened thighs stretched it tightly, forcing its hem high. It was a taut, shallow tent, and she shivered as cool air swirled up into its warm, humid interior.
He stood back to admire her, and her own eyes glowed in the openings in the gauze as she looked in the mirror to admire herself one last time. Then he lifted her, careful of her weight and immobility and lowered her into a waiting wheelchair.
"There! See how sneaky a doctor can be when he turns to Evil Villainy?" She tried to nod, then snuffled through her gag when her head refused to move. He laughed and kissed her fingers, adjusted the portable oxygen apparatus that fed her nasal cannula, collected her discarded garments and handcuffs and tidied up. Only when all traces of their visit had vanished did he turn her wheelchair and wheel her back towards the door through which they had entered. Angela closed her eyes, savoring the predicament he'd created for her while he phoned the security man once more to explain he was done. Then the door creaked open and he wheeled her out into the cool night and across the parking lot. Getting her back into the car was a bit awkward, but he managed, and stowed the folded chair in the trunk. He slid behind the wheel, and she sat staring rigidly ahead through the windshield, the only way she could stare as he started the engine.
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