Waiting for the key to fall

The single drop of water landed in the metal bowl, sending out a shrill sound that bounced off the walls and made her shiver. Her eyes lifted to the string that hung from the beam barely a metre before her. On the end, hovering above the bowl, were the fast melting remains of an ice cube and inside it the key.

How long had she been like this? Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? It was impossible to tell. The drips were far from regular and her mind played tricks on her constantly.

Her prison was the basement. She knelt on the cold concrete floor, her knees hurting from however longer she’d been compelled to remain there. The walls were bare brick, the ceiling unpainted plasterboard. A draft brushed across her naked chest, chilling her and teasing her with the promise it would slow the ice cube’s melting. Harsh light from a pair of unshielded bulbs filled the space, offering no opportunity for rest.


She shifted her weight a little. Around her body were ropes that were tight enough to hold her firmly, not so tight they cut off her circulation. One length wound its way across her chest and upper arms, squeezing her breasts until they ached. Another held her arms up in the small of her back. Two more held her ankles to her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs a little for comfort as the final one ran tight from her chest, dug deep between her legs and found a hold somewhere in the beams above her head.

The rope dug a little deeper into her sex, it’s rough touch teasing her with its unique blend of intense scratching and playful stimulation. She gasped, only a muffled sound managing to escape the thick sponge ball forced so expertly into her mouth and held there by the tape wrapped round her head.


It wouldn’t be long now. The end the key was showing, glistening silver. Her eyes fixed on it, unsure whether to will it to fall or pray it would remain frozen that little bit longer. When it fell she would be released. So too would he. That scared her more.


They were coming faster now, she was sure of it. Turning her body she tried to look at the stairs behind her, afraid he was already there. Her bonds stopped her, the rope cutting too much into her.

A wave of emotion washed over her, drowning out everything but her fear. Uncontrollably she started to weep, tears rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto her breasts. Already her sense of self was heightened and the gentle tapping on her tender body only served to feed back into her. The crying became more intense, her shuddering tormenting her more as the ropes moved and shifted on her skin. It was impossible to escape. Impossible to say “no”. Impossible to do anything but be the object that he used.

Drip. Drip.

Two splashes of water so close together brought her back into the room. Fear turned to terror and she started to shake uncontrollably. The key was almost free, hanging onto the ice cube by nothing more than good will. Time seemed to slow as she focused on it so completely, waiting for the inevitable moment when it would land and bring him down the stairs.

Then it started to form: a bubble of water that slid gently down the jagged edge of the small silver key. It reached the end unmolested and sat there, slowly growing as a second, third and fourth bubble joined it. When the fifth arrived it had grown to such a size that it could no longer hang on and started its long fall towards the puddle of ice-cold water in the bowl.

The key fell.

It slipped out from the ice cube’s grasp in a slow, smooth motion. She watched it fall through the air, a tiny sliver of silver metal that had decided her fate. It had decided that now, after all that waiting, she would be delivered to him, just as he had promised. And it signalled that decision with a loud clatter as it landed in the bowl.

Her eyes closed and she froze, waiting for the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs. She hoped he hadn’t heard it, hoped that somehow what would come would be delayed a little longer. Maybe he’d forget about her and the promise he’d made. Not that she was sure what good that would do her.


The door opened and she heard his bare feet padding on the steps. She started shaking again, crying. Through the gag she pleaded with him, begged him not to do this. Begged him not to make good on his promise.

He ignored her, brushing past her like she was just some piece of furniture in his way. He was naked, just as he had been when he’d tied her this way. Just as he’d been when he’d made her the promise.

The key was cold and wet, but he didn’t seem to mind. He fished it out of the bowl, inspecting the cold water that had collected inside. Without even looking at her he threw it in her direction. As soon as the cold touched her she screamed and cried once more.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” he snapped at her.

Fear stole her tears. She stayed as still as her cold, taut, tired body could manage.

He held the key up for her to look at, half a smile cracked across his face as he turned it in his fingers.

“I told you what you’d get when this dropped.”

Her eyes went down to his crotch, his hairless crotch. A grotesque pastiche of his penis was hanging down between his bare testicles, too small to be normal. On top of the black matt rubber was a small brass padlock, which he lifted and gently inserted the key. It made a snapping sound and then fell away, dropping into the bowl where he’d discarded it at his feet. A moment later the black shape landed beside it, like a snake shedding a thick, opaque outer skin. Like a snake the newly exposed skin started to harden and take its new form.

“I ain’t had sex in a month,” he told her. “I kept this all nicely locked up and ready for this.”

It touched her face. He’d stepped so close to her that it was brushing against her cheek. She tried to move her head, only found herself incapable. All she could do was kneel and feel his hot, sweaty cock press against her skin.

As the rope fell from the ceiling the pressure came off her tortured pussy. It wouldn’t last for long, she knew that much. In a few moments it would feel a new torture, the torture only a man who’d kept himself in chastity for weeks on end could inflict. Just as he had promised.

Just as she had wanted.

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About Razz

I'm a creative dominant type with a love of BDSM and fetishism. This blog is an outlet, so don't take anything you see or read too seriously.

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