To see the actresses I
would cast in AMAZING AMANDA: The Motion Picture,
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was having a lot of
fun. The Donjon ensemble
she was wearing was quite literally fantastic, a John Willie
or Robert Bishop creation sprung to life from the page. It was
the stuff of her daydreams, and she was trying her best not to
grin like a blissed-out idiot (but could do nothing to control the
tiny, shivering thrills rippling through her sex). She tightened
her grip on her emotions. This was business, after
all, and she
was a professional.
She was retracing
her steps from the dressing room to the showroom, taking tiny,
mincing steps, the only kind possible in her new costume.
blonde salesgirl who had served as her dresser, walked a pace behind,
ready to catch her if she lost her balance—and losing said balance was
not beyond the realm of possibility. Amanda was up on her
thanks to the "ballet-boots" laced on her pointing feet. She made
her unsteady way to her former chair, carefully... slowly... settled
into the cushioning seat, and smiled at Mercy Dench.
"Just a moment," Mercy said, without looking up. She was busy
with her iPhone,
reading the tiny screen and opening and closing files. She did
pause long enough to point at Amanda's boots, then went back to her
Cynthia required no further instruction. She
knelt and closed the zipper
running down the front of Amanda's hobble-skirt, and snapped the fob
flush-mounted clip. Amanda's skirt had been
restrictive before, but now it was more-or-less skintight.
next released a
back of the skirt's lower hem and pulled the ends
of a ribbon-thin leather strap from hidden pockets on either
side. She belted the
around the insteps of Amanda's boots, and
secured its buckle. A second, much wider strap with a
double-tongued buckle was pulled from another pocket, closed around
ankles, and secured as well. Now, the skirt not only pressed
together from hips to ankles, but, with the strap hitched through her
boot heels, it couldn't ride up when she bent her knees.
The rest of the costume was equally restrictive, and Amanda knew there
was no way she would be getting out of this little ensemble on her own.
Back in the dressing room, Amanda had followed
Cynthia's instructions and stripped to the skin. She tried to engage
the salesgirl in conversation, but while the petite blonde
kept a friendly smile, she responded to all of Amanda's comments and
questions in monosyllables.
Amanda finally stopped trying, and concentrated on her professional
analysis of the costume.
First came a
rather curious body-stocking. It was a one-piece leotard, or
perhaps an exceedingly thin wet suit, lined inside and out with
black spandex. Amanda slid her body into the
garment with only a little difficulty. After Cynthia closed the
zippers at the wrists, ankles, and the back of the neck, only her
hands, feet, and head were
exposed. The suit hugged her body like the proverbial
skin, and when
she twisted her
torso and stretched her arms she could
feel the inner and outer layers moving independently. After a
little squirming and stretching, the fit became absolutely
perfect. The elasticity of the rubber pressed the
inner fabric layer against her body, and there were no creases or
inside or out.
Next came a pair of gloves. They were elbow-length, and similar
material and construction to the
body-stocking; however, the inner layers of
neoprene in the palms were light and spongy, and roughly the size and
shape of large
eggs. The fingers
and thumbs curled around each foamy mass, making the glove/mitts
difficult to don, but Amanda accomplished the task with Cynthia's
help. The design "encouraged" her
hands to form loose fists around the underlying rubber, but limited
motion was still possible. Cynthia slid booties/stockings of the
same rubber/spandex material over Amanda's feet and up to her knees,
and she was
ready for the leather layers of the costume.
First came a pair of mitten-sleeves. They
encased Amanda's hands and
arms from her now permanently closed fists to her armpits, and were
down their entire length. They incorporated stiff, wide cuffs
which closed and buckled around her wrists and upper arms, but the
design allowed her to bend her elbows a full
mitten sections were stiff and
close-fitting, and completed the task of
rendering her hands and fingers
A combination harness, bra, and corset-belt followed. Broad
surrounded her breasts, clutching and lifting like a
support bra. Straps yoked her shoulders and were buckled
between her shoulder blades, and the corset-belt squeezed her waist
from just beneath her
breasts to the top of her hips. Straps and buckles secured the
sleeve's upper arm cuffs to the
harness at her armpits and mid-torso. Her arms
were folded behind her back, and the wrist cuffs were secured to the
harness at the small of her back. Next, a wide flap was closed
and buckled over
forearms, adding an
additional layer of encasement.
Broad cuffs attached to the
bottom of the corset-belt were buckled around Amanda's upper thighs,
ludicrous "possibility" of her somehow lifting the entire,
A shiver of delight rippled through Amanda's body as she reveled in the
tight embrace of the harness and sleeves. The leather bands
hugged her rubber and spandex-clad body like a family of ribbon-thin,
amorous pythons. She looked down at her
breasts and twisted her arms, watching the straps glide against the
shining black outer fabric of the body-stocking here, and press into
the underlying neoprene there. She also noted
the very prominent bumps
that were her now fully-erect
nipples, visible evidence of her arousal. Amanda blushed, bit her
lower lip, and glanced at Cynthia.
If the salesgirl noticed Amanda's excitement, she kept her reaction to
herself. She was busy unfolding the next element of the costume,
a leather cape incorporating a stiff
covered Amanda's shoulders and draped to the level of her waist.
zipper down the front, and thin straps sewn into channels
in the lower hem were pulled taut, passed through rings in the
back of the
corset-belt, crossed between her breasts, and buckled to the back of
the collar. This tucked the bottom of the cape under her
elbows and leather-bound arms, causing it to tighten like a sack and
encase her arms and upper body in yet another
layer, over the harness. Amanda knew
cape-binder alone would have been something of a challenge,
especially if applied with her wrists expertly bound, or in
Used over her existing bonds—Amanda suppressed
shiver of delight—it was ludicrous overkill.
The ballet-boots and hobble-skirt completed the costume. The
skirt's waist buckled to the corset-belt, zipped down the front, and
buckled around her knees. The underlying spandex and rubber
body-stocking was now completely hidden.
Amanda knew her hands might as well have
been cast in solid fiberglass, and no amount of
squirming, twisting, stretching, and pulling would extract her arms
harness. None of the buckles were within range of her lips,
teeth, and tongue; even without the
addition of the cape's posture-collar. The rubber/spandex
stockings and ballet-boots
rendered her toes useless; not that she was all that good at
manipulating things with her
toes, anyway. All the straps were tight and nothing shifted any
significant amount when
tried to move; however, she had to admit, she was more-or-less
The last free end of the last strap was tucked into its retaining loop,
Cynthia opened the dressing room door, and the long,
stutter-stepping journey back to her seat in the showroom had begun...
and here she was, the "World's Greatest Escape Artiste", totally
squirming in her seat... and trying very hard not to become
a little peeved
ignored by Mercy Dench.
after about a minute, Mercy
closed the interface on her iPhone, returned the device to her
pocket, and gave Amanda an appraising smile.
Amanda smiled back, successfully suppressing her irritation. "I
tell right now that you can stamp 'Certified
Inescapable by the Not-So-Amazing Amanda' on this costume," she said.
"Oh please," Mercy laughed, "don't give up so easily. What are
Amanda twisted and tugged against the skin-tight encasement.
The only result was a quiet chorus of leather-on-leather creaks.
"I'd say my first impressions
are confirmed," she said. "Every element
of this outfit is exquisite in design, construction, and especially function."
"You truly believe it is inescapable?"
Amanda nodded, as much as her posture-collar would allow. "Of
course, with these mittens..." She did a half-turn in the chair
and twisted her right hand. The taut, leather surface of the cape
stretched a little, but that was it. "...the rest of
the costume could be tied with pretty pink bows and I'd still be unable
to escape." She settled back into the chair.
"Also, the harness, all by itself, defeats every trick I've ever
learned for escaping from straitjacket-type bondage."
Mercy nodded. "Our designers have a full understanding of the
usual techniques. What about aesthetics?"
"It's... beautiful," Amanda answered. "The texture is very
subtle, and I love the
pebbling. I have a pair of boots like this. I especially love the way all the
and stress points are reinforced. You can tell nothing is an
There's no bunching or creasing, and the strain is uniform,
throughout." She nodded towards the many leather-restrained
manikins lining the showroom walls. "All of your ensembles are
compliments to your designers."
Mercy's smile became rather smug. "I'll be sure and pass that
"One question," Amanda continued. "Why the bodysuit?"
"Is that what it's called?"
"Our version is somewhat thinner and more carefully cut to measure than
similar commercial products, but the concept is the same," Mercy
answered. "The suit is for your protection, to prevent the straps
from marking your skin."
Amanda squirmed in the tight, body-hugging encasement. "I
appreciate it. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me
out of all this, we can discuss the ad campaign."
"Ah, the campaign!" Mercy retrieved her iPhone and opened a
calendar file. "Hmm... I think we'll continue with product
evaluation, for the immediate future. The selection of the
photographer for the ad campaign has only just begun." She
closed the file and repocketed the iPhone. "Is the compensation
figure mentioned in my letter acceptable?"
Amanda flexed her arms, then lifted her booted feet from the
carpet, twisted her encased legs, and let her feet drop.
"Compensation? Yes, now, would you—"
"Oh, and Petra likes to get to know all her Special Apparel employees,
you'll be her guest for the immediate future."
Amanda blinked in surprise. "Uh, I'm afraid that won't be
possible. Our evening flight, remember? Gloria
and I are returning to Montana, and—"
"You'll find our guest facilities to be quite a
challenge," Mercy continued, "comfortable, even luxurious, of
course, but a challenge. Professionally
like our costumes."
Amanda's eyes narrowed. She was trying to keep things on a
business level, but Mercy was playing with her. "Look, Ms. Dench,
with all due respect, I
haven't even signed a contract, and where is Glo—Oww-Hey-N'nmm!"
While Amanda was preoccupied, Cynthia had been joined by a second
salesgirl, a brunette with a pixie-cut. The newcomer had
grabbed a handful of Amanda's hair and was bracing her head against her
sweater-clad body. When Amanda opened her mouth to protest,
Cynthia crammed a
large foam ball in her mouth! Then, working in concert, the pair
applied several strips of wide, elastic medical tape over Amanda's
lips. A beanie or "Gwen" hood of subtle black leather
followed, and was laced at the back of her head. A leather
headstall went on over the hood. It had a broad
panel which stretched across Amanda's stuffed, taped, and
mouth, and cupped her chin. The buckles of the cape's
released, and the turtleneck collar of the Darlex body-stocking was
stretched the full length of her neck. The final
grommets at the neck of the beanie hood
were laced closed, and the posture-collar was buckled tight.
Amanda complained and struggled through the entire process, but could
prevent nothing. When the salesgirls stepped away, she was quite effectively gagged,
and her head was now as completely encased as the rest
of her body. Only the features of her upper face—forehead, eyes,
nose, and the top of her bulging cheeks—were exposed.
Her long, black hair trailed down her back in a tight ponytail, through
reinforced opening at the hood's crown.
Fire in her eyes, Amanda continued to squirm, twist, struggle, and mewl
through her gag as a third salesgirl approached with a silver
tray. On it were a dozen or more small padlocks, all in the shape
of a rook or castle chess piece. She watched as, one-by-one,
hasps were threaded through tiny holes in the buckles of her
costume and snapped shut. The double-tongued buckles
ankles and the front of the cape's collar received special, double-hasp
locks, and even the buckle of the ribbon-thin strap binding her boots
together at the
insteps received an especially tiny castle padlock. The
locks matched the
chrome finish of the rest of the costume's metal hardware, and thanks
to clever flanges in each lock's base, when they were snapped into
slots in the lower
edge of their respective buckles,
they didn't dangle or rattle as Amanda
continued to twist and squirm.
Knowing it was useless, Amanda fought the costume with all her
strength, testing the tight
leather in earnest. She closed her eyes and concentrated on
flexing her arms, straining to slip an elbow under the harness, to
somehow gain some slack. She rolled
her shoulders and arched her back, searching for some sort of
purchase or angle she could exploit to regain her freedom—but it was a
hopeless, futile effort—and finally, after
what felt like an eternity, but was probably only something like two
minutes—she surrendered to her
bondage, and settled back into the
chair. Minutes before, her predicament had been arousing
fun. Now, the frissons of
delight had been replaced by a gnawing fear.
The salesgirls had all taken a step back to watch the show.
Amanda met their gaze, one-by-one, and saw triumph, excitement, and a
hint of pity in their young eyes. Panting through flaring
nostrils; her breasts heaving against the harness and cape; overheated
in her tight, restrictive costume; Amanda focused on Mercy Dench, and glared.
Mercy met her gaze with a rather irritating, self-satisfied
smile. "There, now we can continue our... 'negotiations'," she
pulled out her iPhone and pressed an
icon. "Now... regarding that contract you mentioned... for
this, La Roque Internationale
considers a verbal agreement to be quite adequate. We can
formalize things in writing at a later date. And as for Ms.
Santoval..." She lifted her eyes to the center of the
showroom. The curtains were opening and the lights over the
catwalk and stage had doubled their luminance. "Perfect timing."
Gloria Santoval emerged onto the catwalk, taking the same mincing steps
Amanda had found necessary, and for exactly the
same reason. She was dressed in a leather costume identical to
headstall, cape, corset-belt, hobble-skirt, and ballet-boots.
Gloria's eyes were wide and staring, and even at this distance,
with half of her face obscured by tight leather, Amanda could see
best friend and assistant was angry and
When Gloria reached the center of the stage, Darcy, the salesgirl who
"helped" her dress, put a controlling hand on her shoulder.
Amanda noticed that the salesgirl's dark hair was mussed
face shining. Also, the right shoulder seam of her sweater was
her stockings were laddered.
Mercy noticed Darcy's condition as well. "I take it Ms. Santoval
is a fighter?"
Darcy took a step back before answering. "Yes, Ms.
Dench. I had to summon the standby team."
Mercy's amused gaze was on Gloria, and the helpless Latina was staring
costumes of the Donjon line
are available with a range of... shall we say, comfort levels." Mercy
continued. "You, Ms. Pressfield, are wearing the 'C', or captif version, designed to be
inescapable, but nothing more. Ms.
Santoval, on the other hand, is wearing the full 'S' version.
That's 'S' for sadique, of
is no Darlex undergarment, and the interior surface of the leather
has been finished with a purposefully rough
texture. Also, her corset-belt
has a crotch-strap, with
attached anal and vaginal penetrators."
Amanda's eyes popped wide in horror, and she forced a mewling scream
through her gag.
Mercy ignored Amanda's outburst. "Finally, there are carefully
positioned pads lining the breast area of the cape
and the rump area of the skirt. I suppose they're best
described as hundreds of tiny steel tacks embedded in gel-foam.
The protruding points are mildly irritating when the wearer is standing
still... as Ms. Santoval very prudently is, right now... and punishing if the body's weight is
allowed to press against them." She turned and smiled at
Amanda. "They discourage sitting and rolling on the floor, of
course, and they're also useful in other ways." Mercy focused
of Darcy. "You may express your displeasure with your fellow
employee," she said.
The salesgirl walked a slow circle around Gloria, then reached out and
gave her left
buttock a smart slap!
Gloria's eyes crossed and she screamed
through her gag. "That's
for ruining my stockings," Darcy announced. She slapped
right buttock, eliciting another scream.
"And that's for my
sweater." She stepped to the front and delivered a series of
slaps to Gloria's breasts. "And that's..." Slap! "...for..." Slap! "...kneeing me..." Slap! " ...in the..." Slap! "...groin!"
Gloria squirmed and stutter-stepped, trying to evade Darcy's blows,
but her ballet-boots gave her a severe
disadvantage. Her tormentor made sure she remained
center stage, under the bright spotlights. Gloria
mewled through her gag and tears streamed
from her tightly clinched eyes.
Amanda's eyes were wet, as well; and angry.
She struggled in her bonds and sent a steady stream of gagged invective
Mercy's lips curled with amusement, but her eyes were cold as
ice. "That's enough, Darcy," she purred. "You've made your
point... to both of your
continued her admittedly hopeless tirade for several more seconds, then
ceased her struggles and blinked back her tears. All the while,
Mercy watched, with the same joyless, predatory smile.
"All right, then," Mercy said, finally. "Very soon, if you
haven't already, you'll be asking yourself a series of questions.
The first will be something like: 'How could I be so stupid?'
Well... if it's any
consolation, the Special Apparel section of La Roque
Internationale has considerable experience in this sort of
thing. You're far from the first unsuspecting 'innocent' to be
'recruited' into our program. We do our research,
especially with prominent candidates, such as yourself, and we've
learned how to select and
appropriate trap." Mercy shifted her gaze to Darcy. "Remove
Ms. Santoval's butt-pads," she ordered, "then get her off her feet and
Amanda couldn't see exactly what Darcy was doing, but after fumbling
with a series of buckles and zippers in the back of Gloria's
hobble-skirt, she produced two thin, oval-shaped, black pads, and
tossed them behind her back and toward the catwalk curtains. The
back of the skirt was re-secured, she eased Gloria to the floor
and onto her side, then secured the costume's instep and ankle straps.
"Your second question," Mercy continued, "is probably some variation on
the familiar refrain: 'How do they
think they can get away with this?'
Well..." She pressed an icon on her iPhone.
The dressing room doors opened and two female
figures emerged. They were wearing Amanda and Gloria's clothing,
and by their height, weight, complexion, hair, and features, they
might as well have been Amanda
"With sufficient research and resources," Mercy explained, "it's quite
simple to make someone disappear. My minions have already
sanitized your hotel room, and you were nice enough to pack before departing for this
appointment. So... Ms. Pressfield..." The faux-Amanda
smiled and nodded. "...and Ms. Santoval..." The faux-Gloria
nodded, as well. "...will return to their hotel, check-out at the
reception desk, then accept delivery of a rented SUV. Ms.
Santoval has already called the airline on 'her' cell phone and
converted 'their' tickets to open vouchers, to be used during The
Amanda's next tour. She explained to the clerk how they've
to drive back to
Montana, to enjoy the scenery. They'll buy gas, food, and
accommodations with Amanda's
credit card, of course, and somewhere between here and the Rockies...
the trail will stop, and the SUV and its occupants will...
vanish. When the
authorities eventually become
involved, it will very quickly become a
'cold case'. No matter how diligent the investigation, the
disappearances of Amanda Pressfield and her perky assistant will remain
a complete mystery, with absolutely nothing
linking them to La Roque
Mercy smiled at the waiting decoys. They bowed, again, and left
by way of the elevator. "There," Mercy continued, "now that Ms.
Pressfield and Ms. Santoval are on their way, we might as well get Ms.
Pressfield and Ms. Santoval on their
way, as well."
A side door opened, and two more salesgirls entered the
showroom, guiding powered wheelchairs. Ignoring Amanda and
but totally pointless struggles, the now small crowd of salesgirls lifted
prisoners, settled them into the chairs' form-fitting cushions, and
secured them in place. Wide, self-tensioning nylon belts were
stretched across their ankles, knees, waists, and above and below their
breasts; then snapped into flush-mounted brackets. The
spring-loaded mechanisms whirred and locked, and the captives were in
the chairs to
Amanda and Gloria locked eyes and shared a brief interlude of mutual
commiseration. Amanda stared into her friend's beautiful, brown,
doe eyes. She was sick with
guilt at getting Gloria into their current situation... whatever it
turned out to be. Then the chairs spun
around, and the parade of prisoners and salesgirls
Briefly, Mercy remained behind. "All right, ladies," she
"again, you all did very well.
You may move." The leather-restrained "manikins" lining the
showroom walls came to life, and began to twist and squirm in their
costumes. "Those of you on temporary assignment are relieved,"
Mercy continued, "as
of the end of this shift." Several well-muffled, mewling "cheers"
were forced through several gags. "Permanent manikins have all
earned ten points towards reassignment." More gagged cheers
sounded. "And you've all earned
an afternoon of pleasure."
Mercy tapped an icon on her iPhone, then pocketed the device and left,
following after the others.
The lights in the showroom dimmed, and the manikin-captives continued
struggle, and moan through their gags. The creak of
stretched and flexing leather and the tinkling clatter of dangling
padlocks had been joined by the warbling hum of the powerful vibrators
the sex of each of the captives.
corridor led to a freight elevator, which was taken to an
underground garage. The same limo that had brought Amanda and
Gloria from their hotel to the store was waiting, as was the same
blonde, uniformed driver. She smiled, touched her cap to Mercy,
and opened the limo's trunk. A black nylon duffel was removed,
then she folded back a flap of the trunk's carpet lining and lifted a
hatch-cover. The secret compartment revealed was a padded hollow,
in the shape of a sideways "Z".
Amanda watched as the salesgirls released Gloria
from her chair and lifted her into the trunk. She fought like a
leather-encased, totally helpless wildcat. It was futile. Her squirming,
mewling form was tucked into the hollow and more
self-tensioning nylon straps were secured. The
compartment lid closed with a solid thunk,
cutting off Gloria's gagged-complaints as if someone had thrown an
off-switch. The carpet was restored, the
duffel returned to its former position, and the trunk lid closed.
"Don't worry, Ms. Pressfield," Mercy said. "I assure you the
compartment is not only well-padded and soundproof, but adequately
heated and ventilated. Ms. Santoval is in for a somewhat
uncomfortable ride, but will reach our destination none the worse for
Amanda's wheelchair was moved to the limo's side, and she was installed
in its spacious rear seat. Lap, shoulder, and ankle belts
were secured, then Mercy settled into an adjoining seat. The
doors thudded closed, and the driver took her position in the front.
Amanda squirmed and forced a gagged-complaint through her
"My, my," Mercy chuckled, "you certainly aren't one for the easy
surrender, are you?" She reached over and gave Amanda's
leather-covered thigh a gentle pat. "Not to worry, Petra enjoys a good fight." She
triggered the limo's intercom. "The Tower," she said, and
released the button.
The limo's engine purred to life. A heavy steel door opened, and
the limo rolled forward into the
store's loading dock area. Another door opened, and the limo
eased out onto the metropolitan streets.
Its passenger windows heavily tinted, the limo was one of any number of
similar vehicles transporting anonymous wealthy and/or important
passengers about the city. A few curious souls tried to peer into
the back, as the limo passed, but they couldn't even tell if the black
occupants, much less see the
occupants, much less witness the
desperate, helpless captivity of one of its occupants.
Amanda squirmed in her bonds and watched the city pass... with all of
potential rescuers... with her safely hidden behind the limo's smoky,
glass. She turned her head and found Mercy busy with her
iPhone, again, exercising what was apparently an advanced browsing
obsession. Amanda turned back to the street, just in time to
police car roll past.
Her thoughts turned to Gloria, bound in a leather costume similar but
much less comfortable than her own, crammed into that dark, close,
padded space, a few feet behind Amanda's much more pleasant
accommodations. We are so
screwed! she thought.