I pull at the ropes around my wrists, the hemp biting into my skin as I wrench my arms in opposite directions searching for any slack in the knots. There’s nothing to find. I knew there wouldn’t be. The club doesn’t half-ass these things. My tits press against the wooden floor, the rope circling my chest tight and unforgiving, and I can feel the flesh bulging above and below where the hemp digs in.
I knew what I was signing up for. Endurance. That’s what they called it. Let them bind me, leave me alone, don’t quit. Simple enough on paper. The prize is membership, access to a world I’ve been curious about for years, and all I have to do is last until they decide I’ve earned it. No timer. No warning. Just me and the ropes and whatever I have inside me.
I roll onto my side and the latex squeaks against the wood, the sound sharp in the quiet cabin. The movement shifts the rope around my tits slightly, and I can see the red marks already forming on my skin where the hemp has been pressing. My nipples push hard against the shiny pink material, visible through the thin latex.
I plant my bound feet against the floor and push, sliding myself a few inches across the wood. The latex makes a shrill sound as it drags. I could quit. The word sits in my throat, ready to be spoken. The camera in the corner is watching, the mic beside it picking up every sound I make. All I have to do is say the word and someone will come through that door.
I’m not going to say it.
I push again, my bound ankles straining against the rope as I try to move toward the couch. It’s still too far away, and I can feel the effort starting to build in my muscles. I grunt and try a different approach, pulling my knees up beneath me and struggling to balance with my hands tied behind my back. The latex creaks as I shift my weight, my tits hanging heavy beneath me with the rope still digging into the flesh. I manage to get my knees under me for a moment but I can’t hold the position, and I tip forward and land hard on my shoulder with a thud.
“Fuck.”
The word comes out before I can stop it. I’m breathing harder now, my chest rising and falling against the tight rope. I roll onto my back, my bound hands pressing into my spine, and I can see the marks circling my chest, red lines against my skin where the hemp has been biting. I asked for this. I walked in here and let them put the suit on me, let them tie the ropes, let them leave me on this floor. Nobody forced me.
I try the ankle rope next, kicking my legs apart to test the strength of the hemp. It holds firm. I try to twist my feet, to find any slack in the loops, but there’s nothing to grab onto. I kick harder, the latex stretching around my calves as I strain against the binding. The couch is still out of reach and I’m not getting any closer.
I close my eyes for a moment and focus on my breathing. The wind pushes against the cabin walls from outside, a low sound that seeps through the wood. My fingers curl and flex behind my back, restless. I think about the club, about what waits on the other side of this if I can just hold out. I think about walking away and wondering for the rest of my life if I could have done it.
I open my eyes and try to sit up, rocking forward using my core. It takes me three attempts before I manage to get my torso upright, my bound legs stretching out in front of me. The latex squeaks as I adjust my position, and I can see the camera in the corner with its small black eye pointed directly at me. Someone is watching right now, waiting to see if I break. I look at the lens for a moment, aware of the eyes on me, then I look away and focus on the room.
I try to stand but I can’t get any leverage with my hands tied behind me. I fall back down, my tits bouncing against the rope as I land, and a groan escapes me. I try again, pushing with my legs, but I only manage to roll onto my side. The floor is hard beneath me and my muscles are starting to ache, but I’m not done yet.
I catch my reflection in the window glass. Pink latex stretched tight over my body, rope circling my chest and biting into my skin, brown hair still in place around my face. I stare at the woman in the glass for a moment, taking in the marks on my skin and the strain showing in my expression. The latex catches the dim light from outside, smooth and shiny. I look like I’ve been through something. I look like I’m still going through it.
I try the wrist rope again, pulling hard enough that my shoulders scream in protest. The hemp has left visible lines around my wrists now, matching the ones on my chest and ankles. I twist and pull, searching for the knot, but it’s buried somewhere I can’t reach no matter how I contort my fingers. The club knew what they were doing when they tied me.
I roll onto my stomach and push myself toward the bed this time, the latex shrieking against the floor as I move inch by inch. I’m breathing hard now, each exhale a small grunt of effort. I get halfway there before I have to stop, my lungs burning and my arms trembling from the strain. I could quit. I could say the word and this would all be over. I could go home and take off this suit and forget I ever tried.
I’m not going to quit.
I start moving again. I push myself another few inches, the bed frame closer now. I reach with my feet, my bound ankles straining as I stretch my legs. The latex pulls tight across my thighs and calves. I can almost touch the frame with my toes.
I can’t reach it.
A low groan comes from my throat and I drop my head against the floor. My fingers curl into fists behind my back, the marks from the rope visible on my wrists and ankles and chest. My breathing is heavy and uneven, my body starting to tire from the constant effort. But tired isn’t done. Tired isn’t quitting.
I try one more time. I pull at the wrist rope with everything I have left, the hemp digging into the red lines already on my skin. My shoulders burn and my tits press hard against the floor. I hold the pull for a long moment, straining against the binding, refusing to give it less than everything.
Nothing gives.
I let my body sag against the wood. My eyes close and I focus on the sound of the wind moaning outside the cabin. My chest rises and falls with each breath, the rope still tight around it, and I can feel the marks the hemp has left on my skin. My muscles ache and my breathing is ragged in the quiet room. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know how much longer I have. But I’m still here.
I’m not going anywhere.
