Author's Note: First bondage story that I've written (and had the courage to post). Hopefully the first of a series. Maybe. Enjoy! :)


Another day of vacation gone by, Samantha thought as she continued wandering through the lush, green countryside of Tamriel. A world of tremendous beauty offset by the heavy daedric armor her character wore. She had just pilfered one of the scores of dungeons scattered throughout the game's massive landscape. This dungeon was unique in that it contained two bands of enemies who were not predictably aligned to kill her player-avatar. That's what she liked about Oblivion; not all the enemy factions hate just you. Bandits, thieving violent gangs, strapped with light armor, who would always attack the player on-sight, were off-set by the marauders; heavily armored warriors more interested in plunder. They both hated the player in the game, but they loathed each other even more. In this scripted dungeon one band of each faction was placed across a flooded dungeon floor and would attack each other until one side stood no more.

Samantha was a unique teenage girl at eighteen. She loved the video game genre; which was uncommon for her gender. Gaming was predominately a "guy thing" with the blazing guns, swords and shields, and among other things that would go hand-in-hand with dungeons and dragons. So much so that the prospect of female gamers was still, albeit jokingly, an inconceivable thing. This also gave Sam a competitive vendetta to keep up and beat the boys at what they treasured so deeply; what was considered sacred guy-dom or whatever they wanted to call it. But regardless, like some of the more mature and thoughtful gamers, she loved getting sucked into gaming universes.

Sam heard the turning door handle through the soft forest melody playing through her Turtle-beach headset, and reflexively hung the headset around her slim neck .

"I'm going golfing now honey," Sam's dad plainly announced his usual routine in the, in Sam's opinion, most boring sport of all time. "I'll probably head up to your uncle Monte's afterward and head into work." Dad ran the night shift QAE at the Commissary on base. Matter of fact, Sam also worked at the military grocery store as a warehouse worker. Yes, it was somewhat of a guy's job, but she proved she could handle it. Sam had even got compliments that she worked a lot harder than many of her co-workers...whom were guys.

"OK," was Sam's simple reply. She knew her dad's routine and simply smiled as he closed the door and left. He spent a lot of the daylight burning away on the golf course. Afterward he would council with uncle Monte about his latest renovation on the house; a walk in shower in the bathroom adjacent to Samantha's room.

Sam waited with her game paused, listening for the garage door to close. Once the coast was clear, she saved and turned off the gaming console. Sam stood up and stretched in her typical household attire. Long, creamy pink pajamas and a white tank top. This is what kind of lingerie she wore for the last week. Before the next inventory came up at work, she wanted some down time.

Sam lifted her long, straight ,fiery orange hair out from under her tank top. Holding it in one hand, she searched for her scrunchie. After some digging she found it buried among the sheets and comforter of her bed, and then secured her hair in a ponytail.

Next she walked next door to the adjacent bathroom undergoing renovations. The reflection staring back at her would have shattered the assumptive image that female gamers were overweight and unattractive. The opposite for Sam was the fact. Just a hair under five feet was somewhat tall in her mind, definitely an advantage for her frame. Her emerald green eyes, confident, defiant and knowledgeable; but also warm. Her body had some muscle on it, a side-effect of her job lifting boxes of various commercial items for hours a day, but certainly not she-hulk in comparison. Sam wasn't a twig, and was glad for that, because those ghostly looking I-can-see-your-bones supermodels just creeped her out. Only slivers of fat here and there for a very healthy look, not an ounce extra. The only way she may have fit the gamer's stereotype was her slightly pale complexion. Not getting a great deal of sunlight came with the territory. In a lot of ways, Sam thought she resembled Gwen Tennesen from the TV show. Same hair, eyes, figure, only difference was Sam was slightly bustier than Gwen. Sam developed about the right time. Her chest was perky, and while sizable, she did not look top-heavy like some of the other high-school girls that developed really early. In Sam's opinion, large breasts was more of a disadvantage, because they were heavier and meant the boys would always be looking down.

Sam calculated for a moment. Her father wouldn't return until well into the morning hours of the next day, and mother was on the other side of the country visiting grandma. Perfect time for some different games.

Aside from the video games she played quite often, she had a more...sensual game. A game where there was no plastic controller. One where the reward felt far more gratifying than a flow of meaningless achievements. And to a degree, far more treacherous than navigating a war zone that did not actually exist. Or in some cases, did exist, but not at this time. Sam was into the adventures of bondage and restraints.

Yes, Sam thought deviously. Now is very good for some restraint play.

Sam returned the short distance from the tool-ridden and dust-caked bathroom to her own room. First she made her bed; purely a cleaning habit and began dressing for a short shopping trip. Nothing fancy of an outfit – that was not Samantha's style. She preferred simple jeans, some tennis shoes, and red t-shirt.

After half an hour, she returned with two paper bags with what she would need for this adventure. Setting them on the chair in her room, she pulled out a medium sized suitcase from under her bed and unceremoniously heaved it on the comforter. Sam had told her parents that she kept her old trading cards in here as a farce to what it really contained – her bondage toys.

Inside was a menagerie of assorted equipment. Nothing real serious, a few different gags, some simple cuffs – plastic, metal and leather. A triage of dildos and butt-plugs – she had a hard time sneaking those into the house. An assortment of minor latex clothing; including one jet-black full cat suit.

For what she had planned today, Sam did not need much from her treasure chest. She retrieved a medium dildo with electronics embedded inside it. This allowed the device to perform more than just fill her. Opposite of the dildo was a completely innocent butt plug – of medium strength, and feeling submissive, she pulled out her ring gag and pump-up penis gag. If it hadn't been for the two paper bags, Sam would have thought herself forgetful for not removing and rope or chain or cuffs from the suitcase. However the bags had all the restraints she would need right now.

"OK," Sam whispered, suddenly quivering in anticipation. Her muscles feeling tight. "Now to get started." She stated with a sly smile.

From the two bags, Sam unceremoniously dumped out the dozens of rolls of duct tape and saran wrap on her bed and quickly organized her workspace. Today she wanted to mummify herself.

Before she set to work, Sam walked to the kitchen and withdrew a chef's knife and deposited it on the floor – that was her key. Proceeding quickly back to her room, she removed her clothing until she was naked, even doing away with the scrunchie.

First Sam took a role of duct tape and began making a one foot by two foot rectangle out of tape. Filling in the center, all sticky side up. When that was finished, she carefully set it aside, and made another rectangle with the same dimensions, except double the length to four feet, carefully setting that aside as well. But Sam wasn't ready to bundle herself up just yet. Tools needed inserting.

Sam unrolled a pack of saran wrap to stand by. She took the dildo, checking to make sure the batteries were fresh, set the device on almost its lowest setting. The very thought was making Sam warm in her lower section. Taking both the butt plug and the dildo, now vibrating at low speed, and knelt on the floor with her face down on the floor. The dildo slid in easily, but the butt plug required more effort. Sam yelped right as the plug seemed too much, before sliding to the narrow end after the cap.

Now Sam picked up the roll of saran wrap and made herself a pair of transparent panties – to hold in the dildo should it try to slide out. Sam paused for a moment. Imagining the tightness of the saran wrap around her whole body. She realized she needed to get on with it.

Before continuing with the wrapping, Sam applied the ring gag to her mouth, buckling it behind her head. The ring stretched her oral hole open, not to the aching point, but enough to effectively make any sort of cry unintelligible gibberish. Then Sam added the penis gag and inflated it as much as she could stand. Sam decided to test the effectiveness.

"Mmpph." Sam was pleased. Any cry she could made was muffled to a whisper. Sam applied the buckle that ran up her face to join the ring gag's buckle behind her head. She took a moment to admire the gag, reveling in the slave look the simple straps gave. The erotic look of her cheeks bulging slightly over the tightened straps.

Continuing, Sam picked up the first roll of duct tape and began taping the base of her breasts. This caused them to swell change color in a very sexy way; Sam also loved the feel of breast bondage and felt her nipples as they perked up and stiffened. But she wasn't through with herself yet. Now she took a smaller roll of scotch tape and applied it to the base of her nipples, erecting them further and matching the bulging from her breasts. Stopping to admire her work, Sam thought they resembled metallic bras that were in an en-point, almost military atten-shun, position.

Sam briefly looked through her case and impulsively added some small clamps into the mix. She'd pay for that later, but Sam did not care at the moment. Taking up the saran wrap once more, she started wrapping her torso and crotch some more. Wounding up and compressing her breast as a couple layers were applied over her body, the lavish tightness becoming ever more delightful. Once she finished with her torso, she rehearsed the same pattern on her limbs – two layers on each leg and two

on each arm. The arms proved to be tiresome, but she got it all applied eventually.

Sam took a moment to test her work. She flexed and worked her joint and found the tight saran wrap hindering her every joint. Checking to make sure she could still breath properly, Sam continued. She now Carefully applied just one layer of saran wrap all over her head, careful to avoid her nose, eyes, and ears. She wanted those unhindered this time. Her escape device was a knife, and she needed to be alert to not injure herself.

The claustrophobic pressure set in quickly as Sam's head was smothered by the single layer of wrap. Her red mane plastered against her skull, added to the delight. Now Sam started to apply the duct tape. Being very careful not to wrinkle while applying – bondage was a form of art after all. As with the saran wrap, she covered her legs and torso separately – but not her arms yet, she needed those less restricted for now. After the layers were applied, Sam's lower limbs were almost as stiff as a tree branch. Now she covered her head in a single layer of the sticky tape, covering here ears this time – a single layer would not hinder her hearing much. Making the head bondage as one with the torso assemblage by working the tape loosely down her neck. Aside from her eyes and arms, her body was now silvery mass with legs. Sam soon fixed that. She cocooned her legs all the way up from her feet to her abdomen. Making it seamless, her legs no longer existed as separate entities.

Finishing the final wrapping was her arms. This, like with the saran wrap, took some doing, but lots of practice made it manageable. Now came the tricky part. She had to immobilize her arms behind her back to complete the outfit. Sam planned ahead carefully though, the two towels of duct tape had been where she left them. Bending as much as she could, Sam landed her fore arms parallel on the smaller blanket, tilting left and then right. Finally, wiping her arms on the side of the bed to seal the deal. This was the point of no return, and she still had one last piece. Instead of crouching on the floor, Sam checked her position, and flopped onto the waiting blanket and rolled until she had the blanket on correctly. She was now complete. Aside from her eyes, nose, and hands, no part of Sam's flesh was visible under the gray of the tape.

Sam inspected what she could with her eyes. She had done a masterful job in keeping the tape looking beautifully smooth. So many other mummification pictures she looked at on the internet were ugly in that they were wrinkled and unprofessional looking. Sam's diligent practice at mummification made her an expert in keeping the tape pristine.

Sam tested her bonds. She could barely bend at her waste ninety degrees, and only managed forty with her knees. Perfect. Sam had done well. As expected, she had no purchase whatsoever with her arms. They were pinned by the two blankets acting as an arm binder. Even though her breasts were squished and squashed, they still stood out prominently due to her breast bondage earlier and her ingenious strappado.

The dildo was doing its work. Sam vibrated in her home-made cocoon sending her closer, but not quite over the edge. She looked at a mirror hanging on the wall, even with the bed. Sam saw her body's reaction to the stimulus they were getting. Under the tight gray wrap, tightening and clenching, was clearly visible. Her body strained against the tightness and she struggled against her bonds. No give at all. Perfect.

Sam closed her eyes and took in her feelings. The vibrations of the dildo encouraging her towards the orgasmic crevice, but also holding her back. The unforgettable fullness from the butt-plug filling her aft cavity. The familiar curvature of the inflated penis gag in her mouth. Sam sucked on it constantly, imagining she had her captor inside her, using her as an object. She loved the helplessness of not being able to do anything about any of it. Forgetting the fact that she had done this to herself.

Sam imagined she had been encased in rubber cement and put on display as a sampler in a sex toy shop run by dirty gangsters, the customers oblivious to her being an unwilling toy. Now she was imprisoned in a cocoon made by a mutant spider and some poachers had found her. But instead of letting the poor victim go, she had simply changed hands to them. Now Sam imagined she was a harem girl in a high-tech, rubberized storage device, awaiting her fate to be sold to some Arabian warlord for his amusement.

Sam did not orgasm, but damn it she felt close. She cursed herself – as she so often did – for not setting the vibrator higher. Sam thrashed around, struggling in the cocoon, pretending in false hope of getting free. It did not last long though, breathing was restricted to only her nose and her chest was wrapped tight. Sam tired out with thirty seconds.

An uncomfortable heat was setting in as the insulating cocoon held fast to every drop of heat Sam was generating in her struggles. While she was resting Sam was still panting from the temperature. She had a moments fantasy that she was hogtied and being baked in an oven. Sam felt her sweat, among other things, accumulating inside. She would be a human water balloon soon enough, marinating in her own juicy cocktail of human excretions.

At least I won't have a fudge rub down, Sam mused, thinking on the bright side. Thanks to that damned butt plug.

She rested for a while, conjuring up more wild fantasies about her predicament. Before she knew it, the sun had gone down some time ago. Sam panicked for just a moment and wormed her way into position to observe the clock. It was only ten-thirty.

Still plenty of time, She calmed herself down. But I think that's enough for one night.

Sam sat up on the bed with effort. He body protested profusely, from both exhaustion and the tight wrapping cocoon. Sam felt liquid shift to her feet. All her sweat and what little orgasmic juices were draining down to her feet and slowly filling up.

Ewwww! Sam thought. Definitely gonna need a shower.

The situation was all the better when she made her first small hop towards the kitchen, and discovered that the juices swished with the sudden agitation. Sam mmphed more disgust, but she loved the fact that she had no choice but to deal with her human broth.

The going to the kitchen was slow and treacherous. Sam had to be very careful not to fall; she wasn't sure she could get back up. When she exited the small hall way that divided the two guest rooms and the renovated bathroom, Sam elated when she realized she would be free soon...

...until Sam heard a familiar, and, at the time, absolutely horrible sound.

It was the garage door opening.

SHIT! "MMPHT!" Sam just panicked. Her body flew into distress. Her dad was home! But he should be as work, shouldn't he?!

Sam had to find a place to hide and damn quick. The last thing she wanted was her dad to find her trussed up like this. She had a brief fantasy about her dad finding her and giving her bondage-like punishments like spankings, instead of freeing and lecturing her. She quickly stomped that fantasy, even if it did get her aroused a bit.

This was serious.

The possibility of exposure was one of many elements that made bondage fun, but actual exposure was a death sentence to Samantha's games. Dad would confiscate her bondage gear and throw it out. She would never have any privacy again. And that was the least of it if her parents thought she was psychotic or something. Even worse if their opinions changed to thinking she was a dirty, sex-crazed whore.

All this flew through Sam's mind while she twisted in her bondage. A triage of dreading the consequences, fighting desperately for freedom that was futile right now, and finding a hiding sport before he entered the house. However Sam felt shit-out-of-luck. The living room was a big room, and was not junky. Only a couple chairs, one revealing table and a loveseat populated as furniture. Basically...

Nowhere to hide.

Come on Sam! THINK! Sam thought desperately as she fought back the tears welling in her

eyes. There must be somewhere to hide! Then she saw her ray of possible hope.

The coat closet by the front door! It was only a couple of feet away. If she hurried she could get in and shut the door well before he'd notice. Sam hobbled for all she was worth, but still desperately trying to keep her balance. If she fell now, she was one-hundred percent screwed. The scene would have been erotic, because despite their bondage, Samantha's taught and tight breasts juggled almost happily.

Sam examined the door with a mixture of frustration and despair. It was closed. She had to maneuver her hands to open the door. She heard the garage door closing now. She had maybe thirty seconds to get in and close the damn door. Opening the door was hard enough, now she had to cling to it for dear life.

Hobbling along inside with the door handle in hand, the light dissipated to a crack at the bottom. Sam's sight was now cut in pitch black. But she still wasn't done. She pressed against the corner to the left of the door, and went dead silent and listened.

Heavy footfalls were wandering around the kitchen. She thought she heard a voice, thinking it was dad's. But then another voice chimed in. Someone came home with him.

Sam squeezed her eyes shut. Oh just perfect.

Sam froze. The footsteps were right outside the door; her heart rate soared. Sam squeezed desperately into the corner as far as she could. Dad stood right outside the door. Only about a foot from his bound and gagged daughter hid barely from sight.

"Yeah," She heard him say. "She's a beauty...."

Sam's eyes went wide. Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! Sam started panicking even more. Heart rate was going a mile-a-minute. Despair caught up with her and she was being forced to admit defeat, and at that time she started formulating her explanation.

"They're supposed to show her off at the stadium." Dad continued.

What!? Sam was confused. Did he mean her? Was his own father going to embarrass her in a stadium!?

"That's if they fix the transmission in time." The other voice she recognized as uncle Monte.

Sam heard "transmission" and calmed down. They were talking about some vehicle or something, not bound and gagged Samantha.

"Yeah," Dad exasperated, Clearly disappointed. "the damn truck would be the show piece of the show if those grease monkeys knew what the hell they were doing." He tossed his jacket into the closet, the sleeve brushed Sam's clamped nipple. She fought back an immense moan with success. The door closed, and Samantha nearly passed out from relief.

She wanted to start laughing hysterically. She had been a hairs breadth from discovery, and as far as she was concerned, persecution or execution. Over-elated with joy that she remained safe and secret.

Sam listened more. The TV had been turned on...and a football game was on.

Oh damn it. Sam rolled her eyes in annoyance. I'll be stuck here for hours if they're watching a damned game. Fuck my luck sucks.

Sam knelt in the corner of the closet, resting her head on the wall in near-utter darkness. She had no choice but to wait them out in all this. At least it was cooler in the closet.

Sam's imagination kicked back in now that she believed she was safe. She imagined she was hiding from her handlers as a slave, trying desperately to escape. The fantasies went on a little while before Sam drifted into sleep.



Some time later...



Sam eased into consciousness.

The closet, as dark as it was, was pitch black now – not even the light through the door crack was available. Sam was a little disoriented. She remembered falling asleep upright, but now she was on her side; lying on a pile of coats. She felt somewhat cold, and very, very wet. The sweat and other liquids must have cooled significantly.

Now I know what a pickle feels like. Sam thought humorously. Her body was probably pruned a bit, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. Even so though, she shivered as her human broth adjusted with her. Standing up when you're mummified and exhausted was especially difficult in the dark. Sam fell a couple times, but she finally righted herself and gained her balance.

Very quietly, she eased the door open. The room was pitch black with the exception of some power indicator lights on many appliances. Sam read an electronic clock that read one thirty-seven AM.

Good, Sam thought. No way in hell he'll get up at this time of night.

Even if she had not effectively calculated her father's schedule today, she knew for sure that he slept like a rock. That meant she didn't have to worry as much about noise – even still, she had to be quiet. Sam knew she was still in the danger zone.

Hopping a few inches at a time – because it was dark – Sam slowly made her way to where the

light switch was, and jabbed it with her nose.

A small, nearby lamb flickered on. That gave her just enough light to see what the hell she was doing without fear of waking her father up. When Sam reached the threshold of the kitchen, she knelt and wormed her way towards where she put the knife.

However, it wasn't there.

Sam looked around desperately. She knew she had left the knife right there in the corner. But it was nowhere to be found. Sam rolled from her stomach to her back, fighting more tears. She knew that without that knife she was fucked. The sleeves would not just give, she needed to cut them.

"MmmmPPHHHH!," Sam groaned with anger.

Damn it! Sam despaired yet again. Can't I get a break!? Sam quickly regretted that statement. She had gotten an enormous break from not being discovered. Re-gathering her composure, or what was left of it in the disheveled teen, she searched for other options.

He must have seen it and put it away. Sam stated the obvious to herself. It helped her think. I just need to get another one. It took her an hour, but through diligent effort, Sam was back on her feet. She cautiously searched for a suitable knife, being aware that many sharp objects were present. She found the familiar handle of the chef's knife.

Sam had a moment of recall from one of her favorite terrorist movies. Towards the end the lone hero had been captured and had his hands plastic-cuffed behind him. The bad guys had been beating him for killing some of their men. While on the floor, he picked up some glass that had landed on the floor nearby and used it to cut the plastic-cuffs and jump the unsuspecting terrorists.

Sam was doing the same thing now, except she was her own terrorist. She kept envisioning the motion inside her mind, using it to guide her own hand. She wouldn't be able to cut all the way through the sheath to her elbows, but what Sam was not able to reach, she could just tear by flexing.

Forty minutes of hard work later, Sam briefly flexed ad the duct tape and plastic wrap, while it did not break, it stretched enough to slide off her arms. Another half hour later, she had the rest of her bondage off and was cleaning up the puddle made from her home made human pickling juice.

Sam stood in the mirror and looked at her disheveled self. Her body was a lobster red. Where the liquid had been the longest, she had indeed pruned the most. And oh man, Sam stuck to the high heavens. But before she took her long relaxing shower, she removed the butt plug and relived herself. Once that was done, she finished the torturous job of the vibrator by giving herself a mind-blowing orgasm in the shower.

Sam slid under her covers and went to sleep naked, thinking about how thrilling her session had been and the unexpected twist of horror. She still had some vacation time left....she was gonna make the most of it.