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From: apuleius@poboxes.com (Apuleius of Madaura)
Subject: RP: Marcia's Predicament by Walter Fortner (MF no-sex creepy)
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Reposter's note: I am not the author of this story.

- Apuleius.

-------------------------------------------

Marcia's Predicament
©1995 by Walter Fortner


"A lady came up to the farmer's house and said, 'I've just run over your cat and
I'd like to replace it.' The farmer scratched his chin, looked at her for a
moment, and said, 'Very well, how good are you at catching mice?'" It was an old
joke, buried deep in the recesses of Marcia's mind. But when the body is
restrained, the mind is free to wander where it will. Marcia's body was
definitely restrained, and her mind was definitely wandering. The past thirty
hours it had wandered far and wide, digging into the most remote areas of her
memory. Sometimes while she dreamt away the agony of the present, sometimes
while she absorbed every little nuance of her predicament, every sound in her
new world. This old story resurfaced over and over. 

His footsteps finally tore her from her reverie, and she watched his approach.
There was not much else she could do! He stepped through the last row of corn
stalks and grinned. "Ready for a little break?", he asked. A soft moan was her
response, which he took for a yes. "O.k., but remember the rules." He stepped
forward and undid the leather strap around her neck. Next he carefully rolled up
the stocking which he had pulled over her head. This stocking also covered the
post against which she strained, keeping her head pinned firmly against it. He
rolled the stocking up until the roll pressed across her eyes, forbidding her
looking down and offering her very little view any other direction. He undid the
strap which held the ball in her mouth; it, too, fastened behind the post and
prevented her from turning her head. Free to speak, Marcia desperately wanted to
plead for mercy, but not a word came out. She knew the drill; he was going to
give her food and water, but if she made a sound, the break was over. So she bit
her tongue and stifled her urge. 

She could not help herself; she was totally dependant upon his generosity. He
didn't seem to have much. He proffered a squeeze bottle of water; she drank
greedily. A small whimper escaped her lips as he withdrew the bottle; he ignored
it. He spooned some cereal into her mouth. It was already soggy with milk, so
she had little problem chewing it enough to swallow, even though her jaw ached.
"It has 100 percent of the vitamins and minerals you need every day", he
offered. A faint smile crossed her lips, then faded into the reality of her
helplessness. He alternated cereal and water, until both were gone. He dabbed up
the spillage and gave her a quick kiss. She knew he was ready to replace the gag
anyway, so she summoned her strength for one heartrending plea for mercy. It was
cut off before it got started as he stuffed the ball in her mouth the first time
she opened it enough to do so easily. Her tears were hidden by the rolled
stocking as he buckled the strap back behind the post. 

He fluffed her hair behind her back, rearranging it to fall evenly across her
back. Then he rolled the stocking back down and strapped it into place with the
collar. He removed the floppy straw hat she wore, and checked the stocking for
rips. There were none, so he replaced the hat, smoothed the stocking over her
face, briefly held her chin in his hand, and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek
through the nylon. He then set about checking the rest of her bonds. 

Her arms shared a long sleeved flannel shirt with a rough rod about eight feet
long. He had tied a rope across her right palm, pinning the back of her hand
against the rod. After knotting this first loop, he had arranged some bits of
straw around her wrist and up the sleeve of her shirt. The rope from her hand
was then wound repeated around her arm, clamping it firmly to the rod, until he
reached her shoulder, where he tied it off. The left arm was fixed similarly.
Nothing had come loose, and there was no need to replace the straw, she had not
worked any of it out. She groaned, knowing she would spend another day being
scratched and tickled by its presence. Her arms and the rod were fastened to the
post by a rope which started behind the post, came around on both sides above
her shoulders, passed under her arms and rod, and crossed behind the post. This
was repeated several times, with some passes being looped through the ropes
around her arms, to keep them from slipping up her arms. He checked, this
ropework was still tight, too. 

He surprised her. Instead of just checking the rope which held her torso against
the post, he undid it. He paused to unbutton the itchy flannel shirt, pulling it
apart enough to expose her breasts; she wore nothing underneath it. He allowed
as he was entitled to a little fun, after all. He teased her nipples a bit,
traced complex designs on her belly with his fingernail, and allowed a cool
breeze to caress her nakedness. Then he was done. He rebuttoned the shirt and
replaced the rope. Across her body, above the breasts and below her arms, back
behind the post and tug, to make sure it was tight. A knot would keep her from
shifting any slack she might find. Back around front, under her breasts this
time, back behind the post, and knot. Around again a little lower, and then one
more time around her waist. She was again plastered to the post and could not
move a muscle. 

The rope which glued her rump to the post was checked but not removed. It
started at the waist, made a couple of passes across her pelvic regions before
disappearing between her legs from the front. Resurfacing behind, this rope was
carefully situated between her cheeks before being drawn up behind her back,
brought around to the front of her arms, across her shoulders and tied behind
the post at the level of her neck. This was her main means of support since her
feet were far from the ground. 

>From there, he checked the ropes around her legs. The upper legs were fastened
in an alternating pattern -- one time tied around the legs themselves and
crossed behind them before finishing a figure eight around the post, the next
just around her legs and the post in one circle. He though this might be "more
interesting" to her. It took about a dozen loops to reach her knees. The jeans
she wore had rivets down each seam, providing a fine "catch" for each loop to
keep it from sliding down. She hadn't been able to move enough to cause any to
slip, but he found some slack and went about removing it. Below her knees,
another rope wound from behind the post to the inside of each leg, around the
front, and back behind the post. This pulled her legs slightly apart; more so as
the rope got lower. At her ankles, the rope around her legs passed in front of
the post instead and looped once more around her ankles, pulling her legs
together and keeping her from kicking them back in effort to loosen the rest of
the rope. After a couple of times around her ankles, the rope was passed over
the loop just above her ankle loop to cinch it. Nothing had come loose here, and
the straw he had tied under her jeans to hide her feet was still there. Like
that around her wrists, the straw irritated her with a thousand tiny pinpricks,
but she could not dislodge it. 

She wore stockings, but no shoes. Her feet were tied with a rope which came
around her ankles, across the top of her feet, and then several times around at
her instep. The way her legs were tied, her feet would not come together, but he
pulled them as close as he could. The last of the rope was used to cinch the
foot ropes before going around the post and being knotted there. Nothing was
loose here, and He paused a moment to tease the soles of her feet. Yes, she was
still receiving sensations from her feet; he could tell by her desperate
struggles and low moan. But she was definitely not going anywhere! 

Satisfied, he straightened up and took one more long look at her. Picking up the
bowl and water bottle, he stepped back through the row of corn. Before
disappearing from sight completely, he turned, waved cheerily, and said, "Keep
the crows away. I'll check on you again tonight!". 

Marcia cried as he vanished. Nothing to do but hang around all day in the hot
sun, watching the corn grow. Bitterly, she returned to that night two days ago
when she got into this predicament. With a sigh, she remembered tentatively
knocking on his door, hoping no one would be home. But he was there. "I'm
sorry," she had said, "but my car ran off the road. I destroyed your scarecrow,
and I'd like to replace it."


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