The first thing I knew was the cold. It bit into me, deep and punishing, the kind of cold I should have been immune to. But this wasn’t my magic. This was the cold of a tomb. My eyes snapped open. Above me stretched a ceiling of gleaming ice, pale blue and white, smooth as glass. I was on my back, lying on a frozen surface that leached the warmth right out of me. I tried to move my arms. Nothing happened. A thick, unyielding pressure sealed them tight against my sides. I tried to bend my knees, to twist my hips. Same result. I was wrapped up, trapped in something that wouldn’t give an inch. Panic, sharp and electric, flooded my chest. I took a shaky breath and the smell hit me, that harsh, chemical stink of adhesive, overpowering the clean emptiness of the cave.
I craned my neck, struggling to look down at myself. What I saw didn’t make any fucking sense. My body was gone, replaced by a sculpture of duct tape. Layer upon layer of it wrapped me from the base of my neck all the way down past my hips, coating my thighs, my knees, my calves, my feet. Two shades of blue, a deep rich blue and a lighter sky color, crisscrossed in chaotic, overlapping strips. I was naked underneath. I could feel it, the sticky side of the tape pressed directly against every inch of my skin from my collarbone to my toes. But my chest… God, my chest. The tape was stretched drum-tight over two massive, grotesque mounds that jutted up toward my chin. They were huge. They were ridiculous. They were not mine. These cantaloupe-sized tits strained against the blue binding, the tape digging deep into the swollen cleavage, outlining each one in obscene detail. They felt heavy, achingly full, a constant, foreign weight that pressed the air out of my lungs with every breath. Every tiny movement I made sent them wobbling under the constraint, a jiggling reminder of how completely my body had been changed.
“Hello?” My voice came out thin and brittle. “Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?” Only the echo of my own words answered, bouncing off the smooth ice walls and fading into nothing. Silence rushed back in, thick and suffocating. I was alone. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to grab a memory, any memory. Nothing solid came. Just flashes, flickers at the edge of my mind. A gloved hand. The sound of tape being ripped from a roll. Low laughter, cold and mocking. That was it. My head was a blank. Someone had done this to me. Someone had stripped me, wrapped me up like a package, pumped my tits up to some pornographic fantasy, and left me here to freeze. And I couldn’t remember who or why.
I started to struggle then, a raw and desperate thrashing against the tape. I pulled with my arms until my shoulders burned. I kicked with my legs, or tried to, straining against the mummification until my muscles screamed. The tape didn’t give. Not a fucking millimeter. It just creaked, a sticky sound that seemed to mock me. All I managed to do was work up a sweat, a clammy heat trapped under the plastic layers that turned cold against my skin. And the movement made these giant, absurd tits sway and shift, pressing up harder against my chin, a constant, humiliating presence. I was trapped, and my own body felt like a cruel joke.
After what felt like an eternity, the panic receded into a dull, throbbing dread. I lay still, breathing hard, staring at the ice above me. That was when I became aware of a new pressure, a deep and urgent ache building low in my belly. Oh, no. No, no, no. I had to piss. The fear had triggered it, that basic bodily betrayal. The need grew from a whisper to a demand, a hot and insistent balloon inflating behind my pubic bone. I clenched every muscle I could find, trying to hold it back. A fresh wave of shame crashed over me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t escape. And now I was going to wet myself like a helpless child.
I tried everything. I tried to writhe, to find some position that would relieve the pressure. I tried to think of anything else, of snow, of frozen lakes. But the tape was a constant, squeezing reminder around my hips and pelvis, and the need just kept building, a sharp and screaming focus that drowned out everything else. My breathing went shallow and fast. Sweat trickled down my temple. The cave was so quiet I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. The pressure became a painful, stretching agony. I bit my lip, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. I couldn’t hold it. There was no way.
A low, broken moan escaped me as I finally lost the battle. My body gave out. I felt the hot, sudden flood release, a rush of warmth that poured out of me and spread across my bare skin under the tape. The piss pooled in the small of my back, soaked into the crack of my ass, spread across my thighs. It was trapped there, held tight against me by the unyielding duct tape, a warm and disgusting bath that had nowhere to go. The relief was brief, swallowed immediately by a wave of such crushing humiliation that I wanted to cease to exist. I lay there, broken, feeling the warmth turn cold and clammy against my skin. The smell reached me then, sharp and acrid, mixing with the chemical stink of the tape. I was the Queen of Arendelle, mummified in duct tape, cursed with these huge, heavy tits, and now lying in my own piss, marinading in it. I opened my mouth and screamed. I screamed until my throat was raw, a ragged sound of pure fury and despair that echoed off the ice and died.
Silence answered me. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just me and the cold and the wet. When my voice gave out, I lay there, panting, staring at nothing. Then a cold, calculating part of my brain kicked in. I had to think. There had to be a way out. I started testing my bonds, slowly and deliberately. I flexed my arms, feeling for any give, any seam. I tried to twist my wrists, to find a weak spot where the tape might be stretched thinner over a joint. I bent my elbows as much as the binding allowed, searching. Nothing. The tape was perfect. It was a fucking masterpiece of cruelty, thick and seamless and utterly unyielding. I couldn’t find a single edge to worry, not an inch of slack. The despair that settled in my chest was heavier than my ridiculous tits.
The effort of testing made my chest ache worse. Every time I tensed my arms, those massive mounds shifted and jiggled, the tape cutting into the tender skin. And the piss, the cold and disgusting pool trapped against me, sloshed with every movement. The smell was getting stronger, mixing with the adhesive stink, a constant reminder of my complete degradation. I cursed them then, the faceless captors who had done this. I cursed their hands, their laughter, their cruelty. I cursed my own body, this transformed and grotesque thing that had betrayed me so thoroughly. The rage built in me, hot and sharp, until I couldn’t contain it.
I thrashed. I threw every ounce of strength I had into a violent, furious struggle, straining against the tape with everything I had. I pulled and kicked and writhed, a raw and desperate explosion of motion. The tape creaked but held firm. My tits bounced painfully, the weight of them yanking at my chest, making me nauseous. The piss sloshed and spread, chilling me further. I screamed again, wordless this time, just sound and fury. And then I collapsed, exhausted, every muscle screaming, my skin raw where the tape had bitten in. I lay there, panting, staring at the ice. The rage drained out of me, leaving a hollow, numb emptiness behind. I was here. I was trapped. And nobody was coming.
