|by Cynthia Trusscot|
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|© Copyright 2013 - Cynthia Trusscot - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/f; MF/ff; wager; bond; rope; gag; chairtie; hotel; discovery; hum; cons; X||
|Election Wager Cynthia Trusscot F/f; MF/ff; wager; bond; rope; gag; chairtie; hotel; discovery; hum; cons; X|
“Oh—Hi, Paula”. Paula Traggert had remained one of Helen Ryder’s friends, even after they had taken jobs as campaign coordinators for two opposing candidates in the local election. Helen had admitted to herself that it wasn’t a very important office, but she still wanted to do a good job.
“Ready for the big debate?”
“Not nearly. I’ve got a thousand things to do yet, so if you’ll excuse me—“
“Not so fast. Have you forgotten about our little wager?”
Paula smirked. “Let me remind you, then. The one whose candidate was leading in the polls on the afternoon of the debate has to allow herself to be tied up during the debate.”
“What! I never—“
“Yes, you did. I even got it in writing,” Paula produced a sheet of paper, with Helen’s signature on it. “Right here. Your guy is seven undeniable points ahead!”
“That doesn’t make sense! My candidate is leading! Why—“
“That is why. We decided it was leveling the playing field.” It was coming back, now. How many drinks had she had when they’d been talking about this, months ago?
“So I’ll be seeing you tonight! Wear something sexy!”
“But—but—but—“ Helen was talking to Paula’s back. She couldn’t miss the debate – she had to feed her candidate talking points, make sure the notes were ready, send signals, provide moral (or, in his case, slightly immoral) support. But—
“A wager is a wager, Helen dear! See ya’s tonight!”
A half an hour before the debate was set to begin, Helen morosely knocked on Paula’s hotel suite door. Her friend opened it. “Come right in, captive! I’m all ready for ya!” Helen glanced around. The suite was blessedly empty.
“Can I get you anything, before? Drink?”
“No, thank you,” replied Helen coldly. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Yeah—I gotta bunch of things I have to do yet. Of course, so do you—difference is you won’t be doing them, because you’re gonna be tied up with –other things!” Paula plopped a straight chair down in the middle of the room. “Sit yourself down, dear, and I’ll get started.” As Helen seated herself, Paula pulled several pieces of soft white rope out of a hardware store bag. “They even cut these to length for me! Wasn’t that thoughtful of them?” She began roping Helene’s body to the chair: First her waist to the chair back, then a criss-cross over her hips, then around her lap and the chair seat.
“Aren’t you going to tie my hands?” asked Helene.
“That comes almost last,” replied the other woman as she tied her ankles together, then attached them to the crossbar of the chair. She tied her legs at the knee, just under the hem of the short skirt of her blue power suit.
“Raise your arms, dear,” she said. As Helene held her arms up, she roped her upper body just above her breasts to the chair back.
“How’s that? Comfy? Good, ‘cause you’ll be like this for awhile.” She pulled her arms down, placed her wrists together, and securely tied the woman’s hands behind her and to the rung of the chair. Helene moved, experimentally. She was comfortable, but she couldn’t move.
“There ya go, dear,” crowed Paula. She reached over and turned on the TV to the channel covering the debate. “You’ll be able to watch your guy fall flat on his face, and you won’t be able to do a thing about it. Oh—last thing—“she produced a white perforated plastic ball on a leather strap. Before Helene could object, it was forced into her mouth and the strap buckled over her curly red hair.
“Safest gag there is—not likely to choke ‘ya,” she said as she smoothed down the other woman’s hair under the strap. Her ass swayed as she stepped to the door.
“Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, dear,” she said as she took the ‘Do Not Disturb’ tag off the inside knob. “Your guy will blow it, crash in the polls, lose the election, and we’ll finally have Good Government in the District. Bye!” She stepped out. The lock clicked. Helen listened as the other woman’s high heels strutted down the hall.
Helen sat for a moment. Then she twisted her hands behind her. Her wrists were tied tightly. She strained at the roped pinning her body to the chair. There was a small creaking noise, but no give in the wood and rope. She kicked her legs, her feet brought up short by the rope binding her ankles. Planting her high heels in the carpet, she strained upward, but quit when she started to tip backwards. She yelled in frustration, her scream reduced to a muffled “Rrrrrrugh!
Then the debate began. Her attention quickly focused on the program, despite being tightly tied to a chair. Once, she even thought she saw Paula wink at the camera—at her. It made her yank at the ropes again.
Suddenly there came a tap at the door. A muffled, “turndown service,” She was glad the sign was on the knob. The person would go away and not see her—
Then the door opened! Helen, wild eyed, jerked against the ropes binding her. The room maid came in, saw her—she paused, her eyes widened. She glanced around the room, seeing it empty except for the pretty woman tied to the chair.
The maid glanced at the TV, then at her bondage. “Election wager?” she asked as she skillfully removed the gag.
Helen smiled back. “Yes, actually.”
“Are you very, very sure you are all right?”
“Bueno” Without another word, the maid popped the ball back into Helen’s mouth and re-buckled the strap. Humming, she turned down the bed, placed the chocolate mint on the pillow, and added another one to the table near Helen. “Perhaps this will drive your friends loco, wondering,“ she said with a wink. As she left, she checked the sign on the doorknob. “I am sorry, senorita, but the sign does say ‘turndown service’. Perhaps a Freudian slip? Buenos nochas,” she said, and she left.
Helen went back to watching the debate. She realized that, even without her presence, her candidate was doing well, sticking to his points and managing to twist Paula’s guy in knots (fitting, she thought, twisting her bound hands behind her)
At last, the debate was over. Hands were shaken, cheeks were kissed, and the broadcast switched to a rerun of a ‘60’s adventure show.
Helene waited. And waited. She had hoped to gloat, but when over 20 minutes went by, she started to wonder if she’d been forgotten. Finally the door opened and Paula came in. She wasn’t alone. Right behind her came the candidates—both of them, Paula’s guy and Helen’s.
“There. See?” Paula said to the other two.
Helen’s candidate stepped over to her. “I was so mad at you,” he said, “If I’d known you really were ‘tied up’ with something else, I would’ve been—more distracted.” He smiled and set about untying her.
“Not so fast,” said Paula’s candidate. She smiled maliciously. “Want to have some fun?”
“Always, dear. What do you have in mind?”
“Don’t untie her. Toss me some of that rope she didn’t use.” The white cord flew through the air. “Take your suit jacket off, dear,” she ordered Paula, “And put your hands behind you.” In a few moments, Paula, wearing only a bra and skirt, had her hands tied.
“What are you doing?” she protested as she pulled against the cords binding her.
“You’ll see. Don’t untie that one, dear—just get her out of that chair, then unbutton her jacket and pull off her skirt.” Helen hadn’t worn a bra, but the ropes pinning her arms held her suit jacket closed enough. Under it, she wore a waist cincher, garters, stockings and heels.
“You said ‘dress sexy’,” she accused Paula.
“Shut up, you two,” ordered the third woman. She replaced Helen’s ball gag, then improvised another for Paula from a knotted silk scarf. “Sit her on the side of the bed, and tie her legs,” she told Helen’s guy. Meanwhile, she led Paula to the opposite corner of the bed. Sitting her down, she efficiently tied the political operative’s ankles and knees together, crossing her ankles and adding a loop under the arch of her high heels. Helen’s candidate noticed what she was doing, and tied Helen the same way.
“Tighter than that, you wimp,” she said. Personally she pulled the knots binding Helen excruciatingly tight. She stepped to the middle of the room, looking about with satisfaction. Helen and Paula, wearing one power suit between them, sat on opposite sides of the bed, bound hand and foot, glaring at the two opposing candidates over their gags.
“Come along, Honey,” said Paula’s candidate. She blew a kiss at the two women, and stepped to the door. The two left the suite, making sure the “do not disturb” sign was correctly placed.
“You said something about fun, dear?” asked Helen’s candidate in the hall.
“Sure. The only way these two are going to get loose is if one unties the other. But neither one is going to want the other to get free first. They’ll spend all night arguing while tied and gagged. It’ll be a blast!”
“You are a devious little wench,” he said, and kissed his opponent. Then he pulled a leftover piece of rope from his jacket pocket. “Speaking of fun…” The woman smiled, turned, and waited while her hands were tied behind her.
“Whisking me off to your lair, where you’ll torture all my campaign secrets out of me? I can’t wait!” The two walked off down the hotel corridor.
Helen tugged at the ropes binding her. She looked across the bed. Her friend Paula was squirming sexily in her own set of bonds. “Unhhh!” she grunted, twisting her bound wrists out towards the other woman.
“Nuh-nuh! Nuhhh! Answered Paula, shaking her head. Helen would… lose the next three elections before she would untie the bitch who had gotten her into this. With a toss of her head, she began working to free herself.
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