Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 24

Frozen in my panic, I made no noise as the inevitable happened – the move to slide the scissor-blade underneath the gusset of my only remaining clothing, a skimpy pair of white cotton knickers. When the ice-cold blade made contact with my labia, I hissed. Had he taken it straight from a fucking fridge?! I almost snapped at the man, but caught myself when I realized that it was lingering there longer than it should have. The touch of that cold, sharp steel cutting tool on my most intimate parts seemed to suggest things I was desperate not to think about. Was this some kind of unspoken threat? Unbidden, my mind filled with the most horrible images of mutilation that he could mete out on me without my being able to lift a finger in my defence. A sob rose up in my throat, and hung behind my teeth, but I held back by a force of will, not knowing what would happen if I let the floodgates open.

Then with a gesture, the gusset was gone. With another gesture, the panties were gone altogether, and my destructive yet methodical stripping was complete. I suddenly realized that not a word had passed since almost the start; silently, in mere moments, Dr McPhail had transformed me as much internally as he had outwardly, making the confident sex Goddess into a quivering plaything paralyzed by the knowledge that she was at the mercy of his every whim.

There was no point crying out, I knew, all the way down here in the dark. My captor would have made sure nobody could hear me. Unable to move, all I could do was wait for whatever Dr McPhail would do next. Probably fuck me. The thought garnered an enthusiastic response from my pinned body, but then it always did. Even through the wall of terror, lust exerted its unstoppable primal force.

What happened next, though, was absolutely nothing. I detected movement, and my headteacher’s silhouette appeared at the base of the stairs, lit from behind by the hallway light. He turned to look at me, but I could see nothing of his expression. I waited for him to undo his trousers… but instead, he turned and went up the stairs.

“Wait… Where are you going?! Aren’t you going to fuck me? Come back!” But my words were unheeded. He reached the top of the stairs, and closed the door, leaving me in pitch darkness.

I yanked experimentally at my bonds again, but they held me tight. I could not even move my legs closer together – I felt wood on the insides of my knees, and surmised that they were hanging just off the edges of some kind of wooden table or worktop, from which my lower legs dangled down to the leather and chains that held my ankles tight. Strapped to what amounted to a medieval torture device (although it was not inflicting actual pain at that point), I was totally, completely and utterly helpless, naked and bound in a dark basement, all alone.

It was alarming. Very alarming. I felt panic engulf me… and something else. I suddenly realized that the situation was getting me sexually aroused. That brought shame with it, that I could be so weak and easily influenced. All these new and surprising feelings rolled around my mind, blending together and feeding off each other.

In this environment of sensory deprivation, my other senses became heightened. I felt the slightly cool air breeze past my skin, brushing my damp pussy, and my now bullet-hard nipples. The leather on my ankles and wrists felt firm, yet soft, and I knew that if I tried to pull even harder, with all my strength, the force would spread evenly across the couple of inches of strap, and I would neither get free nor harm my soft, delicate teenage flesh. A part of my mind, too, noted that the sensation of leather on naked skin was quite a pleasant one, and maybe I should explore that more in future… if I ever escaped from here.