Trust Ch. 10

Even though I was right next to Emma on the bed I was amazed at how difficult it was in my blinded state to orient my body to hers before starting to inch myself up her prone length. She helped me by hooting to me in a prearranged signal of two short hoots for 'warmer' and one longer hoot for 'colder' as she felt me slowly advancing on top of her. My progress was hard as, like some strange subterranean species of shiny black blind worm hissing with effort and the intense longing to impregnate its genes into its mate, I pushed and squirmed up the length of her legs.

There were painful moments too as I instinctively aimed to position my genitals within the groove between her tightly bound legs to guide my erection to her entrance. First the toes of her plimsolls and then her knees dug uncomfortably into my sensitive swollenness. My eyes watered under my blindfold and I made muffled grunts of pain in my gag. Emma, aware of what was happening, hooted sympathetically and encouragingly and tried to shuffle her body a little under mine to make things easier for me.

Shrugging off the pain and concentrating on my goal I continued to inch further up her legs until my sensitive helmet felt the stretchy cling of rubber covering her thighs give way to the open triangle of soft warm skin around her waiting womanhood. She hooted excitedly as I strained to feel the first contact on my helmet of her moist and swollen labia. It took several tentative exploratory pushes until, like a fighter plane taking several bobbing attempts to dock for an in flight refuelling with a tanker, I finally and exultantly felt my swollen head achieve a firm contact within the spread of her lips.

Even though we were both well lubricated it was hard to achieve entrance into her through the fast gate of her tightly bound thighs as she accompanied my efforts with high pitched hoots of delighted discomfort and I matched her with deep muffled grunts as I shoved at her again and again. We 'oofed' and 'mmmphd' in unison as my weight, unsupported by my bound arms, ground into her breasts and my knees rubbed uncomfortably over hers and I strained to keep balanced on top of her while she did her best to brace and set her body to provide a stable platform for me.

We carried on in that fashion until, already half exhausted and feeling very hot and sweaty, I was fully inside her and felt the gorgeously tight grip of her entrance around the base of my shaft as my groin rubbed and pushed into hers. It was an amazing experience to be mating with her whilst unable to see her or feel the contact of her skin on mine or have the full range of communication with her. With so much else of the stimuli of sex removed, it was as if the whole experience was concentrated in the deep, close, warm and moist cradling of her womanhood around my manhood.

Knowing that Emma would, as well as having to cope with her own body heat sweltering inside her suit, also be absorbing the heat from my body pressing down on top of her, I got to work on her and straight away began shafting her deeply. My deep muffled grunts were answered by her high pitched muffled 'mmphs' that were a mixture of pleasure and pain. Our bodies rippled and undulated like a pair of shiny black sealions humping with all the sexual instinct of their species. Our gas masks knocked against each other as I pressed into her again and again and willed her to come. But with all the physical distractions and lack of many of her normal sexual stimuli to bring her on she was a long time coming. This was sex of the hard slog through a muddy field while under heavy artillery bombardment variety. I curled my toes tightly in my white plimsolls and ground my jaws together under my gag in a desperate attempt to stop myself from coming but I couldn't hold on any longer and with a deep muffled gnash of anguish rattling in my ears within the dark and close confinement of my gas mask I pumped her full of my load.

Mercifully my climax seemed to give her the encouragement she needed and as I felt my erection begin to fade within her she clenched me tightly, pushed and squirmed her breasts into me and gave out a long, high pitched muffled wavering hoot of ecstasy that sounded far away as it echoed inside her gas mask, even though my head was right next to hers. I felt her orgasm resound through her through the still close coupling of my rod deep inside her. I kept still on top of her for a moment until she stopped clenching me and then we both gasped in a final outburst of physical pleasure as my well greased piston slid back out of her moist and fleshy pressure vessel.

I rolled uncomfortably and awkwardly off her and lay on my back next to her. Now the only clue we shared for our close proximity was the sound of our rasping hissing breath through our gas masks as our bodies heaved in exhaustion and in our spent passion. I waited for several minutes for the handcuffs to unlock. When they failed to open at what I thought would be the right time I waited for a few more minutes feeling a little more anxious.

When the cuffs still refused to open I began to get worried, especially as I was aware that Emma was starting to get restless, rolling her tightly bound body from side to side and making anxious little muffled gasping noises in her gas mask through her firmly taped up mouth. In the stuffy darkness inside my own gas mask I screwed my eyes up tight beneath my blindfold and tried to think where I had last seen the safety key that would override the timed release mechanism of the cuffs, but I was gripped by a rapidly increasing panic as I came to the horrifying, inescapable conclusion that I had never seen the key and therefore had no idea where it could possibly be.

By this time Emma was clearly in the grip of her own panic, no doubt being fuelled by her awareness of her state of total physical helplessness and her almost total sensory deprivation and what must have been by now her extreme discomfort encased inside her rubber suit. The bed was shaking and creaking as she thrashed her body more and more violently in her increasingly frantic efforts to somehow squirm out of her tight bindings and she hooted ever more loudly to me for help. She caught me a couple of times with painful blows from her tightly trussed legs as she bent at her waist and knees and kicked out with her white plimsolls.

I did my best to ignore her plight for a moment while I tried desperately to think of how to save us both from slowly cooking to death inside our latex suits before suffocation did for us first. For a moment I thought of crawling to the kitchen and returning with a sharp knife to cut through her bonds before remembering that, blindfolded as I was, I had virtually no chance of finding my way to the kitchen, finding a knife, and crawling back to her before she most likely expired through extreme shock and stress. I decided that the only chance I had of saving us was to get her out of her gas mask and release her from her blindfold and her gag. Then at least she could be aware of our plight and we could work out some sort of strategy together.

As my arms were not roped to my body I still had some freedom of movement for my hands. I shuffled and squirmed until I was sitting up next to Emma with my back to her and I began to feel for her head while I made what I hoped would be comforting noises to her through my gag and gas mask. I felt her head continue to twist violently from side to side in her frenzied fear for a moment until I was able to feel the back of her head encased within her rubber hood. Quickly I pressed my hands firmly to her head on each side and made a single loud hoot at her which I hope sounded sufficiently authoritative to grab her attention. It worked and, somehow and from somewhere deep within her subconscious, she found the will to trust me and she lay quiet and still, her breath rasping heavily and metallically robotic sounding through the round air filters of her mask.

I felt carefully for the webbing straps that kept her gas mask fixed firmly in a tight seal over her face and slowly pushed them up to the top of her head until they went over the top and I felt her mask fall away from her face. I heard her give a grateful 'mmph!' of relief through her gag and felt her move her head so her face was free at last from its now hateful grip.

I took care that my hands followed the movement of her head and then I felt for the strap of her blindfold encircling her head. I pushed that up and over her head and she gave me another encouraging 'mmph!' to tell me it was off her.

I felt her turn her head towards me and, very carefully so not to poke my fingers into her eyes, nostrils or ears, I felt lightly across the contours of her face, which through my latex gloves I could feel were slick with her sweat, until I could feel under the layer of rubber that covered her mouth and pull it away and fold it under her chin to expose her gag. I found one end of the thick sticky tape that sealed her lips tightly shut and slowly and carefully pulled it off her. When I had finished I heard her give a great gasp of relief and take several deep breaths before she was at last able to speak to me again. Now she could not have been more calm in such a crisis.

"Nod if you can get out of your cuffs. Shake your head if you can't," she instructed, being careful to phrase her question in a way that I could give a clear and unambiguous answer to. I shook my head in a negative.

"Nod if the self-release mechanism on the cuffs is working. Shake your head if it isn't," she continued. I shook my head again.

"Nod if you know where the key is. Shake your head if you don't." I felt sick in my stomach as I shook my head for the third time.

"Don't worry about that now," she said gently. "Just keep still while I get your mask, blindfold and gag off you then we can work out what to do."

Because her arms were bound tightly to her body along their whole length so that she had almost no room for manoeuvre for her hands, it took her a lot longer to free my face from its close confinement within my gas mask. Rivers of sweat ran down it when it finally felt open air around it again.

"What the hell's going on here?" she interrogated me accusingly for a moment. "The cuffs aren't working so you can't get out of them and you've no idea where the safety key is."

"The release mechanism worked fine when I gave it a test before I put them on so fuck knows why it won't work now," I defended myself. "As for the key, I don't remember ever seeing one. I meant to ask you if you'd seen it but I forgot to."

"Well I never saw a key and didn't even know it had one before you told me about it. I just assumed you had it."

"Do you suppose we've been sent a set off cuffs without a key?" I suggested.

"I can believe just about anything right now," she shook her head with a long suffering expression on her face. "Holy gasmasks, how are we going to get ourselves out of this, Batman?"

I was heartened to see her usual cheerful humour beginning to bubble up to the surface again. "I had thought earlier of trying to find a sharp knife to cut through your ropes. We'd have to sit or lie back to back while I hold the knife and you saw through the ropes around your hands."

"While the clock keeps ticking before the bomb goes off," she giggled. "I'll probably end up slitting my wrists, you know. You'll never get away with trying to make them think it was suicide either."

She suggested trying to hop to the kitchen on our firmly bound legs but I said that crawling there would be safer in case we lost our balance and ended up knocking ourselves or injuring ourselves enough to make escape even more difficult. So with her leading and me following her whilst enjoying the sight of her feet in her white Keds pushing her forward we crawled like a pair of big shiny black slugs to the kitchen.

The wooden block that contained the kitchen knives was on one of the marble work surfaces near the oven. Emma got herself into a sitting position on the kitchen floor close to the position of the block, pushed herself up until she was standing with her legs leaning against the cupboards, raised herself up onto the balls of her feet so that the pure white canvas of her Keds rucked and creased across her toes, and shuffled her bottom up onto the work surface. The skin tight rubber covering of her suit over her buttocks squeaked and dragged resistantly against the hard smooth surface as she pushed herself further back onto the work top. Finally she was able to lift up her long shiny black legs wrapped in tight ropes, bring her feet up behind the knife block and, with a neat push of her white plimsolls, send the block and its contents flashing and clattering to the floor.

I picked up the knife with the longest blade and held it point upward as firmly as I could in both my hands, which was difficult because the central shank of the cuffs kept my hands slightly apart, but I was determined not to let that obstacle obstruct our bid for freedom. Emma got down carefully from the work top and shuffled on her bottom, now giving a rubbery squeak on the wooden floor, into position behind me with her back to me. Ever so carefully, she began to saw at the ropes around her wrists using the small amount of movement she could wrest from her fast-bound arms, supplemented by little bouncing push up movements from her buttocks and thighs. She was careful not to try and push the ropes too hard against the blade and risk dragging the knife out of my grasp. It took a long time and towards the end my wrists ached like fury but I clung on determinedly.

"For fuck's sake why the hell did you tie me up so tightly?" she said in frustration as she took a short, panting break from her sawing labours. "Did you not think that if you did the knots up so tight you might not be able to unpick them with rubber gloves on if you needed to?"

"At least we're learning valuable lessons for the next time," I tried looking on the bright side.

"Ye gods, he thinks there's going to be a next time. Is there no hope for this deluded fool," she chuckled ironically. "Come on Baldrick, back to the sawing."

It took ages before I detected the satisfying feeling of the final resistant strand of tautly stretched rope finally parting and she gave a little cheer of triumph. Then she said,

"OK Sunshine, the good news is that my hands are untied. The bad news is that because you tied my arms so tightly against my body I can't move them or my hands. So you're going to have to keep hold of that knife for a bit longer while I cut through the rope around my arms."

My wrists were throbbing like hot coals by the time she finally cut through the rope that trussed her arms to her sides and back and was able to unravel herself free of it. She took the knife from my trembling grasp and sliced through the ropes around her legs and ankles. She took great gasps of relief as she flexed and stretched herself in her restored freedom and lost no time in taking off her white plimsolls and peeling herself out of her rubber suit until she stood naked with rivers of sweat snaking all over her perspiration soaked skin. Then she cut through the ropes binding my legs and ankles, took off my white Keds and pulled off my rubber hood, gloves and feet so I could perspire a little more and feel a little more relief from the furnace conditions inside my suit.

She gave me a drink of water, which was the best drink I had ever tasted in my life, and then she sat me down on the floor of the shower and gave us both a cold shower. It was lovely to watch her unpin her hair from her tight bun and shake it free in a cloud of water drops and see her naked body covered in a million sparkling jewels of clear fresh cool water and feel the cooling relief of the water as it bounced in myriad droplets off my suit and ran in streams down the shiny black PVC curves of my body. Until she could get the cuffs off me, this was the best she could do to keep me cool unless she cut the suit from me, which at this stage I was reluctant to do because of the cost of it.

She dried us both with a towel and, still naked, went in search of the override key for the cuffs while I remained sitting in the cool atmosphere of the shower cubicle. She came back after a few minutes and shook her head.

"It's no good, I can't find any key," she informed me. "Are you certain you never saw one at any time?"

"Certain," I replied emphatically. "We must have been sent a set of cuffs without one."

"I found a piece of paper in the box with the help line number of the supplier. I could try phoning them," she suggested.

"Surely there wouldn't be anyone to speak to at this time of night," I said dubiously.

"It doesn't say it's a 24 hour helpline," she agreed, "but on the other hand it doesn't say it isn't either. It's worth trying. At the very least we should be able to leave a message."

She picked up the phone, switched on the speaker mode so I could hear any conversation or message and dialled the number. After a couple of rings we were amazed to hear a man with the flat vowel twang of a Birmingham accent answer the call.

"Forbidden Fruit, can I help?"

"Oh, excuse me," Emma exclaimed, "I didn't expect anyone to still be there. You're very dedicated to still be at work at this time of night."

"Actually you've come through to my office at home," he explained. "The missus is on nights this week so I'm on duty with the kids. I was just catching up on a bit of paperwork."

"I'm sure your children are very good," said Emma, getting into chatty mode in response to his open and friendly manner.

"They're little horrors, actually, but I love 'em to bits. I've got Dylan who's seven and Liza with a zee who's just turned four," he added with obvious pride.

"I guess that Dylan is named after Bob Dylan and Liza must be named after Liza Minelli." Emma was already thoroughly enjoying this conversation.

"Dylan Thomas, actually," he pointed out. "He's a bit of a hero of mine, and Bob Dylan's a big fan of his too, of course. And the missus worships Liza Minelli. For our tenth anniversary last year I took her to see her at the Palladium. She was dancing on air for days afterwards."

"She's lucky to have you for a husband," said Emma approvingly. "It's nice that you can baby sit so she can be out when she needs to be. What does she do?"

By this time I was starting to get just a little bit impatient.

"She's the duty Desk Sergeant down at the local cop shop." he informed her. "She doesn't take any nonsense from anyone either. Lord help anyone who gets pulled in when she's on duty."

"Isn't a bit awkward for you both, with her being a policewoman and you running a sex shop?" Emma asked in surprise.

"There's no law against running a sex shop," he pointed out. "I pay my fair share of taxes and rates and VAT and it's all with proper paperwork and accounts and everything. And she certainly doesn't complain about the free samples either."

"She may be the Dragon of the Desk but I bet she's a cute cuddly pussycat when she comes home to you," Emma giggled.

"Yeah, a great big one with stripes," he laughed.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Unable to constrain myself any more I said to her with as much sotto voce as I could muster,

"When you've quite finished would you mind explaining our little problem and ask him what he intends to do about it."

Apologetically she explained the situation of the non-opening handcuffs and the missing key. He thought for a moment before replying,

"I suspect the reason why the cuffs didn't open is that the timing mechanism is powered by a little rechargeable battery which needs charging up before use otherwise the timer runs out of power and the cuffs will only open with the key. It's the main potential drawback with this particular model but if you follow the instructions it isn't normally a problem."