There's More to the Chair

Linda Alexander strolled into the den half an hour late, which was not
surprising. She was late for everything, which was why he had wanted to see
her in the first place. She had missed her payments on the loan for the
fourth month in a row, and John wanted a face to face explanation. He knew
how such a meeting would turn out. She would talk him into another
extension. Eventually, he figured she would talk him out of the note
entirely. It wasn't that much money, but still... damn it, it was supposed
to be a short term loan, not a gift.

Linda walked toward him, wearing an outfit that suited her perfectly. A
short black skirt, more suited to a coed than a 30-year-old director of
sales. Sheer black stockings and stiletto heels accented her long
running-sculpted legs, and a powder-blue blouse unbuttoned at the neck, just
so, completed the first half of her victory. She looked lovely, vulnerable,
kittenish... all those things that John had seen in her over the many years
he had known her.

"You're late," he said, making a show of adjusting some papers on his
desk, so he wouldn't have to look at her.

"I know, and I am sorry," she smiled. "I had some trouble flnding a cab."

"That's all right," he answered. "I knew you'd be late." He looked up at
her. "You're always late." She laughed, and sat down in the large Victorian
chair in front of his desk. He always liked it when she sat in that chair.

"I know, it's just terrible, I can never get anywhere on time. It's my
worst vice." No, it isn't, thought John. Your worst vice is what you're
doing now. He cleared his throat, staring at her as she crossed her legs.
Her skirt rode up a little on her thigh. He could see the tug of tension in
her stocking that indicated that she was wearing a garter belt.

"Well," he said. "What about the money?" She lowered her eyes, looking a
little abashed.

"I just don't know what to say," she responded, looking up through her
lashes. "I've had a bad stretch of expenses, what with refurbishing the
apartment."

"Couldn't that wait until after you've paid me back?" he said, trying to
get some asperity into his voice and failing.

"I thought I could manage both, but, well, business hasn't been so good.
I'm really awfully sorry, John," she said, leaning forward, earnestly. John
caught a glimpse of black lace and cleavage. "I should probably be spanked."

"Yes, you probably should," said John. "But no one ever has spanked you,
have they?" She dimpled and leaned back.

"Not in anger, no," she said slyly.

"Linda, this is becoming really irritating. I told you when I loaned you
the money that I don't like loaning money to friends, precisely because of
this situation we find ourselves in. It makes me very uncomfortable to have
to call you in here to remind you of your responsibilities." He blew a knot
of tension out of his lungs, and leaned back. Exasperated, he asked, "Now
what am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know," said Linda, meekly. "What would you like to do?"

"About what?"

Linda paused. "About this money. I mean, I really want to make you happy
about this situation, and I really intend to pay you back. I just need some
more time."

"I've given you time. You owe me for four months, and the fifth payment
is due in two weeks. You're not going to be able to make the whole payment,
the whole five months, in two weeks, are you?"

"No, I don't think so." She paused, running her fingers through her
shoulder length blonde hair, and then shaking it, as if absentmindedly. John
felt a rising in his groin. She is really very good at this, he thought.

"Can you make the usual monthly payment in two weeks?" he asked, knowing
he was beaten.

"Yes," she said. "In fact I could give you a check now, if you like. Oh,
wait, I left my purse in the hallway."

"Get it," he said, trying to salvage some sense of control. Linda seemed
a little startled, but nodded, and got up. John sat back and watched her
walk away. Great walking-away ensemble, he thought. He started to put his
desk in order. They would go to lunch now, and she would make him laugh, and
shake his head, and things would be back the way they always were. She
getting back to being a kid sister type and he the amused, slightly
impatient authority figure. Gidget Defaults, he thought, sourly.

She came back into the room with her purse and sat back down in the
Victorian chair. She pulled her checkbook out and leaned forward to use his
desk. He noticed now that she had buttoned her blouse another notch, so that
he could no longer see her chest.

"This is really an interesting chair," she said, writing out the check.

"Yes, it is. It's a very special antique." The chair was rather short and
bulky, and obviously an old design. It looked a little like a cross between
a lazy boy and a Louis XV dining room chair. The back was thick, as if with
cushioning and the sides of the seat curved away, as if it was once placed
against a column. It was upholstered in crushed red velour, and had a very
short back that ended in a thick, ornate carving right at head level. It was
rather bulky and the arms were broad, unupholstered, polished oak, and not
of a piece, with space between the seat and the top of the arm. The arms
were also ornately carved with pineapples and flower petals along the sides,
and a sort of wainscotting border hanging down. The legs were exposed, and
matched the arms, but the underside of the chair was completely sealted with
fabric. In fact it looked very odd--wide and short and overly decorated with
a very thick, curved back.

"What makes it so special?" she asked, sliding the check across the desk.
John considered his answer carefully.

"Well, it's from the Victorian era and has some special alterations which
are rather reflective of that period of time." Linda leaned back in the
chair, looking at him speculatively.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Well, it's kind of weird. Kinky." Linda raised her eyebrows, smiling
wickedly. "Do you want me to show you?" he asked.

"I'm always interested in kinky furniture," she giggled seductively.

"Oh, knock it off," he said gruffly. "We've known each other too long.
Get up." Linda stood, and John walked over to the back of the chair. Leaning
over, he reached under the back, and set a small switch. "All right now, sit
down." Linda did so tentatively, sitting on the edge of the chair. "No. Get
comfortable, and lean back." Linda looked at him warily, and then leaned
slowly back. After a moment, when nothing had happened, she settled into the
chair and wiggled her shoulders a little.

"I don't see what--AAHHH!" A flap whipped around from the curved back of
the chair, across her torso, and with an audible click, locked itself on the
other side, strapping her to the chair. "That's one of the things that makes
it special." Linda began making some attempts to get the flap off, but it
was broad, about four inches wide, made of very stiff leather and was locked
securely. It held her upper arms to her body, and while it was not crushing
her it was a tight fit.

"The Victorians were rather fond of automata, and were also into the idea
of restrained sex. Of course, the restraint was sometimes just play acting,
and fetishism--are you all right?" he asked.

"Ahh, yes, I'm fine. Would you, umm, unlock this?" He smiled.

"Not just yet. See if you can get out."

"Of course I can get out," Linda said sweetly. "I could just slide down
under it, but that would be rather immodest, don't you think?" She tugged
meaningfully at the hem of her skirt. "I mean it's not really restraining
me, it's just in the way." John nodded, reached over to the side, unlatched
the flap, and began bending it back into position on the back of the chair.

"You're right, of course." He laughed. "But the 'dastardly villain'
should probably leap across to his 'damsel' before she had a chance to slide
down. But that's not the only interesting part of the chair." He pushed the
flap back into the rear of the chair, where it clicked shut. Linda stood up
quickly and stepped away.

"There's more to the chair, eh?" she asked. "How does it work?"

"A very complex system of weights, pulleys, springs, tensions, locks...
Like tape measures that snap back into place. For example, that flap is
curved along the back of the chair, which is exactly the right shape for
locking around someone's upper body. It's held in place by a spring and lock
system, and when the armature is tripped, the spring simply swings it around
the chair, so that it hits a similar lock on the other side. You can see it
here," he said, pointing to the side of the chair. "But as you pointed out,
by itself, the strap couldn't hold anyone. There's more to it." Linda
crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at him coquettishly.

"Why, John Turnbull, I never realized you had such a dark side." John
smiled.

"It's just part of my collection of weird furniture and automata. Like
that hat tree that plays 'God Save the Queen' when you put a hat on it."

"What else does it do?" asked Linda. "I'll show you."

"Oh no, you sit in it this time." John shook his head, as an idea began
to grow in his mind.

"You couldn't get me out. You don't know where the switches are." He
looked her straight in the eyes. "Don't you trust me?"

"I'm not sure I do, Mister Turnbull. I'm not sure I want to turn myself
over to your untender mercies. Who knows what you really have in mind." She
looked down at the chair, and laughed. "Still, it is fascinating, although
it startled me a lot."

"This time you'll know what's coming. Come on, just for a lark." Without
waiting for her answer he leaned over the chair and set two switches.

"All right," she said, wagging a finger at him. "But no funny stuff."

"Wouldn't think of it," he said, leering at her. She looked him over, and
sniffed in mock unconcern.

"See that you don't," she said with a slight smile. She turned her back
to the chair, and settled gingerly into it. She looked up at him
challengingly, and then leaned back firmly. The strap flipped around from
the back of the chair as before, capturing Linda's upper body and arms. But
this time a spring shot across from the front of one arm to the other,
catching there. Then it slid down the arms of the chair, stretching as it
encountered her legs just above the knee, and pulling down on them tightly.

"So you see," said John, "it would be more difficult to slide out now,
wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I can see that, but it's not impossible. The thing on my legs is
awkward but not very tight. See, I can lift my legs some."

"Right, but in this Victorian scenario, the 'villain,' that's me, is not
just standing idly by. There's still more to the chair."

"Do tell."

"Sure. Let me show you."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I think this is enough."

"Ahh, but as the villain of the piece, I insist." He grinned down at her.

"Well modesty be damned then, I'll just slide out, Mr. Turnbull." She
commenced to wiggle down through the flap.

"Yes, but you won't be quick enough, Miss Alexander," he said
deliberately. Reaching down, he grabbed her left forearm, and held it to the
arm of the chair. He pushed one of the flower petals on the side of the arm,
and an inch-wide piece of metal snapped out from under the arm and swung
itself across Linda's wrist. It was notched like a handcuff, and clicked
shut on the arm of the chair. John pushed it closed onto her wrist.

"These cuffs, for example, work in the same way as the flap. They're
curved under the arm, and when they are released they just flip up. They're
not automatic though." Linda stopped wriggling.

"I see," she said calmly. "I suppose it is symmetrical," she commented,
as John walked around to the other side of the chair. "Yes, I thought so,"
she sighed, as John repeated the procedure on her right wrist.

John stepped back, admiring the slightly disheveled Linda Alexander. A
broad red strap encircled her torso and upper arms, pushing up her breasts
slightly. Two black metal cuffs held her wrists to the arms of the chairs
and the spiral of a black spring was stretched across her legs above the
knees, holding her to the chair.

"Well," Linda said, feigning unconcern, "I can see I underestimated the
Victorians. I am rather secured now, but I don't see how you could much
force me to do anything untoward, as long as I'm held like this." She looked
up at John, who was grinning like a cheshire cat. "But let me guess. There's
more to the chair."

"Ahh, my aloof beauty, but of course there's more to the chair."

"How does that spring across my legs work?"

"Since I'm going to take it off now, I'll explain it." John reached down
and unhooked the spring, leading it up the arm with his other hand, so that
it wouldn't whip about. "The spring is compressed into the left arm. When
the armature is released, a beveled hole opens up on the right arm and the
tension in the spring shoots the spring across the chair. It doesn't always
catch, particularly if it is used a lot. But I just replaced the spring, so
the tension was fairly uniform. Once it catches, weights hidden in the
bottom and the back of the chair pull it down until the resistance--in this
case, your lovely legs--overcomes the tension. To resist it, I unlatch the
spring, and pull on this thread, until it locks back into position. Then I
lead the thread back into the arm, like this, carefully, so that it doesn't
snag, and that resets the weights."

"Ingenious," muttered Linda, darkly. "Is anything else going to snap
closed on me?" John shook his head. "But there's more, isn't there?" John
nodded. "Get on with it then, Mr. Turnbull, and mind your manners." Linda
held her head high, her face aloof.

"All right." He bent down and fiddled with the leg of the chair. A black
leather strap fell out of a narrow slot on the outside of the leg. "Excuse
me," said John, as he grasped Linda's ankle, and buckled the strap closed
around it. He repeated the process on her other ankle, so that both ankles
were strapped to the legs of the chair, pulling Linda's legs apart, as the
chair was rather wide.

"I see," she said, feigning nonchalance. John could tell she was getting
a little nervous, though, as she was pulling at the various contrivances
that were holding her. "The damsel is becoming more and more accessible, but
it still strikes me that this is rather awkward--a difficult position for
both villain and damsel, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, that's true, for some things, though not for all," he said,
smiling. "I also think you are beginning to enjoy yourself more than is
completely necessary for this, ah, demonstration."

"You said you replaced the spring, so my guess is that this chair has
seen more than one performance, correct?"

"That, my dear, is none of your business." Linda nodded.

"And that portrait that hangs in your bedroom--of Bess, from 'The
Highwayman,' bound to a four-poster--that's not just an investment in fine
art, as you told me, is it?" John grinned.

"Worthless, as art. Priceless as an aphrodisiac." Linda looked up at the
ceiling.

"I see." "And you're right--"

"There's more to the chair," they said together.

"That would figure, in light of what I'm just now learning about one of
my oldest friends." She looked over at him, some of the polish gone out of
her presentation. "Do your worst, Mr. Turnbull. If it gets out of hand, I'll
scream."

"Funny you should mention screaming. I don't know who would hear you, as
there's no one in the house but us. But let's say, for the sake of the
demonstration, that we don't want you to scream." He stepped to the back of
the chair and pushed down on top of the ornate carving that served as the
headrest. It slid up out of the back of the chair, but was still attached by
a wide board. From under the wings of the carving, on either side of the
board, several straps dangled, along with a blindfold and a ball gag. Linda
tried to twist around to see what had happened, but her bondage held her
securely. John detached the ball gag, and started to insert it into Linda's
mouth, but she swung her head away. "Now just a minute, Mr. Turnbull, what
are you doing?" Leaning her head away, she looked down at the gag. "Oh no
you don't. That kind of thing can get a little uncomfortable." John stepped
back, slightly surprised.

"You have some experience with them, then?" For one of the few times
since John had known her, Linda looked visibly unnerved. She flushed and
looked away.

"As you said, that's none of your business." She turned back and looked
John squarely in the face. "Now, I mean it, John, that's enough." But there
was little conviction in her voice, and she must have realized it, because
in spite of herself, a small smile crept onto her lips.

"Come, come, Miss Alexander," said John, proffering the ball. "All in the
interest of enlightenment." Linda glared half-heartedly at him, then closed
her mouth and swung her face away from the gag. John reached around and,
holding her head, tried to force the ball between her teeth. Linda kept her
mouth firmly closed. John stepped back, and thought for a moment. He didn't
want to do anything that would really upset her. But, on the other hand...

He started tickling her under the ribs. Linda thrashed prettily in the
chair, and started giggling. Then laughing. Then screaming. "All right all
right all right," she gasped finally. "Just let me catch my breath." After a
few moments, she lifted her chin and opened her mouth. John slipped the ball
gently between her teeth, and carefully adjusted the straps around her head.
Then he pulled the ball tightly into the back of her mouth. Linda grunted as
John buckled the gag in place.

"So you see, speech is now not an option. In fact, the damsel is now
completely out of options. Which I'm sure you already knew, in light of--how
did you put it--what I'm just now learning about one of my oldest friends."
John grinned. "I had no idea you were familiar with these kinds of games."
Linda blushed furiously, and avoided looking at him. "The thing I really
like about this gag, aside from how lovely it looks, particularly on you, my
dear, is that it attaches to this board in the back of the chair." He
buckled a second set of straps on the ball gag to the board so that Linda's
head was now held immobile. John released the flap that held Linda's upper
body to the chair, and swung it back into place against the curved back.
Looking at it now, one would just assume that it was a decorative swath of
fabric. John looked into Linda's eyes, and saw that she was resistant, but
the longer he held her gaze, the more a different emotion altogether became
evident. At last Linda looked away.

"Well, well, Miss Alexander," John said softly. "You've looked more
stunning, but never as delectable." Linda blushed and closed her eyes,
mumbling something into her gag. "I really think you should see how lovely
you look." He went across the room to a standing full length mirror that was
set in a burnished mahogany case. Carefully he carried it over to where
Linda was testing her bonds, although she still had her eyes closed. Setting
the mirror down on her left, he pushed his desk back away from the chair,
then moved the mirror so that Linda could see herself in it. John stepped
behind the mirror. The back was covered in a burlap fabric. The fabric was
attached to a roller, hidden in the top of the mirror, like a window shade.
John raised the shade, revealing the fact that it was a two-way mirror. "See
what I mean?" said John, peeking around the side of the mirror.

Linda opened her eyes and saw in the mirror a lovely blonde, wrists
cuffed to the arms of the chair, a red ball strapped in her mouth, head held
back stiffly, her legs spread and strapped at the ankles. As she looked at
herself, John could see that she appreciated the appeal of what she saw.
Making light of it, she shrugged, as if to say, "Not bad." John watched her
for a moment as she pulled sinuously against her bondage. "I think it needs
some more atmosphere," said John, stepping out from behind the mirror. He
reached forward and undid the top button of her blouse, as it had been when
she first arrived. Linda protested through her gag. "You're right. That was
okay for your entrance, but for this scene..." He undid the next three
buttons, so that only the lowest button remained fastened. "And the skirt, I
think, should more adequately reflect your desperate attempts to preserve
your honor, don't you think?" he asked, looking down at her.

She shrugged, and gestured with her bound hands, as if to indicate "Why
not?" John reached down and carefully hiked her skirt up to her hips,
revealing the straps of a black garter belt and her white panties, which
appeared to be a bit damp. Linda noticed where his gaze was focused, and
although her ankles were strapped apart, managed to close her thighs
somewhat, looking up imperiously at John. "Yes, that's right, continue to
struggle against the inevitable. That's the way proper damsels behaved back
then." Linda made a negative sound through the gag, and shook her head
slightly. "I mean, of course, I'm just speaking in the spirit of the times,
as it were." Linda nodded her head slightly, but kept her thighs closed.
John laughed.

"You realize of course, me beauty..." Linda managed to make a clear sound
around her gag. "Nnn-uhnn. 'airz 'orre 'oo a ssair." "Yes, that's right,
there's more to the chair." Linda giggled. John reached into the inside of
the vertical part of the arm of the chair, and a thin strap slid out of a
narrow slot. Grabbing Linda's stockinged knee, he began pulling her legs
apart. Linda struggled dramatically, really putting her heart into it. All
that running certainly paid off, thought John, as Linda experienced some
success in keeping her legs together. In his attempts to get a better
purchase, John slid his hand way up on her thigh, so that his thumb brushed
against her panties. Linda squealed in protest, and John momentarily felt
the moisture. Eventually, he worked her left knee over to the arm of the
chair. The strap went around her leg, above the knee, and buckled shut,
pulling her leg tightly against the wooden arm. Almost without thinking,
John slid his hand up her leg, caressing her bare thigh. Linda squeaked a
warning as John abruptly realized what he was doing.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "Just for verisimilitude, you understand."
Linda nodded slightly, and made a forgiving sound. The right leg presented
similar difficulties, and therefore required similar solutions, but
eventually both legs were strapped wide apart at the ankles and above the
knees. John and Linda were both flushed, and both of them would have
insisted that it was simply exertion. Linda wouldn't look at John at all,
and John's face was hot. What had started out as a little joke in his mind,
a little playful revenge, now seemed as if it might turn their long-time
friendship into something else, and John wasn't sure what that would mean.
He resolved not to let it become something else, and to instead just enjoy
the ambiance--his revenge, and the ambiance. He had been involved with
bondage his whole life, and the sight before him was very stimulating. I
can't, he thought. I can't become romantically involved with a woman who is
perpetually late.

Linda was arching her back, testing her bondage. Her long blonde hair was
held in place by the black straps of the ballgag, but some had fallen free.
Her blouse had opened even more during the struggle to secure her thighs,
and had slid off one of her shoulders, revealing her black lace bra
completely. Her skirt had worked farther up around her hips, exposing the
flesh between her garter belt and bikini panties. To John she was achingly
endearing, as her disheveled state evidenced her damsel-in-distress struggle.

"There. Now you truly look the part." Linda peered into the mirror, her
face flushed. She stopped struggling. She looked at John plainly, completely
vulnerable, no artifice or guile, obviously wondering where they were
headed. John blushed and looked away. "I have some paperwork to clear up,"
he said hoarsely. "Why don't you just sit tight and admire yourself for a
bit, and then we'll go to lunch." Linda continued to stare at him. John
pulled a chair up to the side of his desk so that he was hidden from Linda
behind the mirror. He made a great deal of noise, pushing papers around on
his desk, and then settled back to watch through the two-way mirror.

At first, she moaned questioningly into her gag, but when there was no
response, she stopped and began admiring herself in the mirror. She arched
her back, thrusting her breasts forward, and twisted her legs in an attempt
to loosen the straps. Then she tried to get her wrists out from under the
cuffs on the arms, but her elbows ran into the back of the chair. After a
minute or two, she stopped struggling entirely, and a very meek expression
came over her face. She closed her eyes, and John saw that her pelvis was
moving slowly back and forth. He rose quietly, and looked over the top of
the mirror to watch her for a few moments. Suddenly, her eyes opened and she
saw that John was watching her. She blushed a deep red, and lowered her
eyes. Then she looked at John again, and with a look of complete surrender
on her face, began the rhythymic movement of her pelvis again. John was now
completely unnverved. He stepped around the mirror.

"For the full effect, of course, you should be blindfolded," he said
hoarsely. Linda murmured soft, pleading protests into her gag, as John
unhooked the ballgag from the back of the chair. He took the blindfold off
of its hook and tenderly blindfolded her. With her head now free, Linda had
much greater freedom of movement. She writhed slowly and tossed her head, up
and down, back and forth until John felt he couldn't stand it. Even when I'm
the one in control, she can manipulate my feelings.

At last John could take no more. Reaching behind her head, he unbuckled
the blindfold, and then the gag. Linda gasped as the ball slid out, and took
a deep breath.

"Well, this old chair is certainly full of surprises," she said gently,
looking up at him.

"Yeah," said John with a slight tremor. "Listen, let's go get some
lunch." He bent down and started to unbuckle her ankle strap.

"You mean there's no more to the chair?" asked Linda.

"No," said John, shortly. "There's no more to the chair."

"I'm certain there is more to the chair, John," said Linda, softly.

"Look, the villain has the damsel in the chair, but there's no way he can
get at her. She's too far back in the seat." John sighed, and stared at the
floor for what seemed a long time. He was not going to get involved. He was
not...

"John?" He looked up at her, and saw she was smiling that damned
confident smile. "There is more to this chair." John rebuckled the ankle
strap, and stood up.

"Oh, yes, there's more to the chair."

"Oh, goody," giggled Linda. "What's next?"

"Well, you pointed out a major problem. At this point a Victorian villain
might be able to persuade the Victorian damsel to cooperate with his
demands, and they would simply move to the couch."

"Uninteresting," said Linda.

"You sure?" Linda lifted her head high.

"Never, you fiend!!"

"Very well, my dear." He bent over and unlatched one of the wrist cuffs.

"Are you going to let me go?" asked Linda. "Oh, no, just going to change
your position."

He lifted her wrist up to the headrest, and taking one of the straps
dangling there, slipped her wrist into it. The wrist restraints were
inch-wide leather cuffs, attached to the underside of the headboard by a
short length of thin but sturdy silvery chain. The back of Linda's hand
grazed the velour covering of the headboard as John tightened the cuff and
buckled it closed. When he started to repeat the procedure on her right
hand, Linda began to struggle furiously, so that it took several moments to
get her wrist secured to the headrest. Her wrists were now suspended near
her head. Next John undid the straps on her thighs. As he did so, Linda
snapped her legs closed, catching his hand in a fleshy, nylon trap.

"Now I've got you," she purred.

"Tut, tut," said John, withdrawing his hand. "Such cooperation is
unseemly in a Victorian damsel." He moved to the back of the chair, and,
releasing two latches on the side, lowered the back until it was parallel
with the floor, where it locked into place. Linda could see that the arms
had not been connected to the back of the chair at all, but had been simply
snug against it. Lowering the back of the chair made the headboard extend
itself even farther from the chair's back, which had the effect of pulling
Linda's hands higher, over her head. It also caused her fallen blouse to
tighten around her stomach, so that the remaining fastened button popped
off. Linda was now nearly undressed. Her skirt was bunched up around her
waist, her blouse open. Her black garter belt was simply functional, with no
lace or frills. It stood out starkly against the pale, smooth skin of her
belly. Her bra, however, was made up almost entirely of see-through lace,
with a wire running under the cup for support. Linda looked up dreamily at
John, and stretched as far as her bondage would allow.

"This demonstration is becoming markedly realistic, don't you think?" she
asked. All John could do was nod, as he took in the sight of her bound to
the chair. "What's next?" she asked softly. John did not answer. He moved to
the foot of the chair, and reached under it. The whole front part of the
chair came up, like a lazy boy, so that Linda was now Iying down completely.
Her ankles were still strapped to the foot of the chair, with her legs
spread apart, and her wrists had been pulled up over her head. John then
refastened the straps above her knees and stepped back. Linda lifted her
head and peered down her body.

"I can't see very well," she said, "but I must be quite a sight."

"That you are," responded John. "Here, I'll show you." He moved the
mirror closer to the chair and held it tilted so that she could see herself.

"Mmmm, nice." Linda wiggled playfully. "Well, there's nothing I can do to
stop you from finishing the dastardly deed, although I suppose I'll be
obligated to start screaming in a moment." She looked up at John. "You'll
probably have to cut my panties off, but my bra unhooks in the front. If you
want to rip my blouse off, just for versimilitude, I suppose I could wear
one of your shirts afterward."

"No," said John, biting his lip. "That's enough, I think."

"Oh, come on now, John," whispered Linda. "You'll never have another
chance like this. I mean, you've successfully tricked a woman into letting
you tie her up, and then undressing her. Isn't that what the chair is for?"

"I can't," said John. "I've known you for too long. We're friends. It
changes everything."

"So what?" she demanded. "We might become lovers." "Or we might become
just acquaintances. I do like you a lot, you know. You may be my best
friend." Linda sighed.

"I never thought that I'd be tied up, and having to demand my Master to
make love to me. I mean really demanding, not as part of the game. But John,
dear John, you must. You really have to." She rattled the chains of her
wrist cuffs, and swirled her head from side to side. "I'll pay back all the
money I owe you. Please."

"No, don't say that. Forget the money. I'm not a gigolo."

"Then hurry. I'm starting to lose the mood. Come on." She stopped
struggling. "I might be in love with you. We could become lovers, successful
lovers. I like these games and I trust you. And I'll bet you have a lot more
you can show me." She arched her back and started struggling again. "Now cut
my panties off and take me, damn it! Eeek! Help! Help!" John felt like he
might burst with conflicting emotions. He laughed wildly.

"No screaming, my dear!" He leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed
him back, in spite of maintaining her struggle. With one hand, he picked up
the ballgag, and as they broke their kiss, he pushed it into her mouth and
buckled it tight. "All right," he whispered. "We'll give this a try. And God
help you if you are ever late again. This will be a pleasant memory by
comparison." Linda, feigning fear, shook her head wildly, signifying that
she wouldn't dare. Well, that's done it, he thought, as he fumbled through
his desk drawer, looking for his scissors. She'll never be on time, ever. He
cut, and ripped, and unhooked, and they had a wonderful time. And although
he never got his money back, he didn't care, because friends can sometimes
become lovers. Successful lovers.

And she was always late.

"The Outfit"

The civilization had died over 3000 years ago. They were a very exotic and erotic people. The artifacts

that were
discovered were incredible, and Lori couldn't help but be a little curious. No one was allowed to handle

any of the
artifacts until they could be inspected, but she just had to examine something which had been on her mind

all day. She
entered the cargo area and immediately found what she was looking for, since she had placed it there

earlier. It was
late, and nobody saw her take the box back to her quarters.

The box was a mystery to the others, but not to Lori. They spent hours trying to open the box, and used

every device
available to do so, but had no luck. It was made of a strong material that wasn't in the least bit damaged,

even after all
the attempts to break it open. Lori slid a complex looking key out of her pocket and inserted it into a

hidden slot on the
box.

She found the key 2 weeks ago, and kept it as a souvenir -- not even knowing it was a key. As she was

inspecting the
box earlier today, she accidentally discovered a hidden opening. A small plate slid to expose a keyhole

when the
proper pressure was applied to other areas of the box. The chances were incredibly slim that she found the

keyhole, but
it had happened. She knew now that she had found a key 2 weeks ago, and that it belonged to this box,

because its
shape matched that of he keyhole. The key was about 5" long, and slid smoothly into the slot. It clicked,

and Lori turned
the key. The box clicked again, but still wouldn't open. She turned the key further, and after the 3rd

click the key
wouldn't turn any further. She then tried to lift the top of the box, and it opened. It was heavy, and she

had to use both
hands to lift it off. She couldn't believe what she found. Clothing! Why someone went through so much

trouble to lock
up clothing was beyond her. It was made of a silvery black, very shiny material. The clothing was

appropriate for the
people; it was very erotic.

There was a long corset which went from the hips all the way up over the breasts, with a wide corset choker

attached to
it from the back, a pair of shoulder length gloves with heavy boning, and a pair of thigh length boots with

heels around
5 inches high. She had never seen anything quite like this, and spent an hour inspecting every inch of the

clothing. It
looked as if it were made from the inside, because what very few seams there were existed only on the

inside. It was
smooth and slick on the inside as well as the outside, and very heavy. She slid her hand down into one of

the boots, and
it was smooth and slick as far as she could reach -- to the tip of the very short pointed toe. The outfit

looked as if it had
never been worn, since the bottoms of the boots were not even scratched.

Finally, she couldn't control herself and had to try the clothing on. She stripped completely and picked up

the corset. It
was shaped like an hourglass, so small in the middle that she knew she would never be able to get into it.

To make it
more difficult, it needed to be closed from behind. She placed it on herself where it should be, and the

attached choker
around her neck, but couldn't come close to getting the opening around her waist to close shut. The corset

was at least
6 inches too small for her to close, even when she used all her strength trying to pull it shut. She sat

down and slid one
of the boots onto her foot. To her surprise, her bare foot slid easily into the boot. It was a little snug,

and the toes were
extremely tight and pointed. She slid the other boot on and stood up. The heels were quite high for her

size, 6 feet, but
she was able to stand. They were snug, heavily boned inside, and felt very well built. She then slid the

gloves on, and
they went up to her shoulders. The clothing was pretty restrictive, and she couldn't imagine what it would

be like if the
corset were closed. It must have been made for someone with her similar size, except for the waist. The

corset was very
small. She could walk, to her surprise, but the high heels made it difficult. The material squeaked

slightly like leather,
and the stiletto heels clicked when she walked, but they weren't slick on the floor like other high heels.

She stood and
looked at herself in the mirror, shocked. Never had she worn anything like this. It made her look

incredibly erotic, and
the heels were higher than any she had ever worn. They made her legs look incredible, and her feet look

small. She
tried to stand higher on her toes, but the heels lifted only a fraction. These were as high as she could

possibly ever
wear.

As she stood and looked in the mirror, she noticed that there was something remaining in the corner of the

box. It was a
small disk about the size and shape of a dime. She picked it up and held it in her gloved hand, and noticed

a barely
visible button on one side. She squeezed the disk, and upon doing so it clicked and the corset contracted

around her
waist and locked shut. The choker did the same around her neck. The boots tightened around her ankles, and

also
above and below her knees. The toes of the boots tightened as well. The gloves tightened around her wrists,

as well as
above and below her elbows, and became snug around her hands. She almost fell down with the shock.

After she regained her balance, she walked back to the mirror and noticed how small her waist was. The

corset was so
tight that she could hardly breathe, and walking was a whole new experience. The tops of the boots and

gloves were
now very snug against her skin. The corset felt like a second skin, as did the boots and gloves near the

top. She reached
around her tiny waist and tried pulling the corset open, but it was locked shut, and very tight. Lori

frantically pushed the
button again and the clothing released to its original position. The corset made a loud pop, similar to a

balloon
exploding, and nearly flew off with all the tension suddenly being released. She sighed with relief and

held the silver
disk closer to looked it over carefully, noticing it was very flat and very slick. She noticed how slippery

the disk felt in
her gloved hand, and was almost difficult to hold. It was obviously a locking mechanism for the clothes.

Lori wondered
why it was necessary to lock the clothing on to the wearer, but remembered that the people were very

erotic. A push of
the button and the clothes locked tight again. She walked back to the mirror and couldn't help but be

aroused by her
own appearance. It was a very provocative outfit, and the designers definitely had that in mind. In the

very top of the
corset in the middle was a barely visible pocket, and must be intended for the disk. She slid it into the

pocket, and it fit
perfectly. The outfit thrilled her, and Lori knew she had to have it. She walked over to the table and

removed the disk.
The box would have to be returned, but she would keep the outfit. She placed the disk on the table and

walked back to
the box. When she was about 10 feet away from the disk, the clothing unlocked. The corset loudly snapped

open and
made Lori jump. A safety measure, she thought. If the disk were lost, the wearer would be able to remove

the outfit.
Logical, since it was probably made of that indestructible material -- similar to the box, and if the

wearer were to lose
the disk, it would be impossible to remove the clothing. Even the people who made these items couldn't

damage the
material, Lori thought. How interesting. Lori sat down and removed the corset. Then the gloves, which were

fairly snug.
She then pulled the boots off with difficulty. The clothing was intoxicating, and she didn't want to remove

it, but she had
to return the box to the cargo area. She picked up the lid and placed it back on the box, and turned the

key in the
opposite direction. The box clicked 3 times, and the key slid back out. Nobody would know the contents were

missing.

The halls were still empty and she no difficulty carrying the box back to the cargo area. She returned the

box to its
original position and quickly returned to her quarters. It was getting late, and she needed to be getting

some sleep.

The night seemed to last forever, and Lori didn't sleep well. When the morning finally arrived, she packed

her
belongings. The mission was complete, and she was finally heading home. She left her quarters and was met

by Roger,
one of the other archaeologists. "You look nice today! Heading home?", he asked. "Yes. It was exciting, and

I'm glad I
was chosen to go, but I'm glad to be back. How's it going with the stuff we recovered?" "Well, we've been

trying to
analyze the material that everything we have found is made of, but haven't had any luck. It's completely

indestructible.
Even a plasma torch wouldn't do anything. If getting it the same temperature as the sun doesn't work,

nothing will. I just
wish I knew how they made it. All the stuff seems to be made of the same material, too. There's even a tarp

of some
kind that has the same characteristics, but it's flexible. I wonder how they did it? There is absolutely

nothing that can
damage it." "That's interesting. I wouldn't mind having a few things made out of that material!", Lori

replied. She had a
few things now, she thought. "Me, too. Everything would last forever, which explains why it's the only

thing remaining of
the people." "Well, good luck with everything! I need to be going. I'll be keeping an eye on the media for

the results of
the find.", Lori said as she walked to the exit, full of excitement. "Ok. Thanks for everything! Take

care.", he replied as
he continued on his way.

Lori returned to her apartment 4 hours later and unpacked. She was tired from the drive, and from not

getting much
sleep last night, so she relaxed on the bed and fell asleep for a few hours.

There were a few things she needed to get done that day, and she felt much better after the nap. Shopping

needed to
be done, so she got up and made a list. The outfit was on her mind, and a crazy idea entered her head. She

opened the
bottom drawer of her dresser where she had put the outfit earlier and removed it from the drawer. It was

calling to her,
and she couldn't refuse. She removed her clothes and was about ready to put on the outfit when an idea

occurred to
her. A pair of nylons would sure be nice to wear under the boots to help them slide off easier, so she got

a black pair
out of another drawer and pulled them on her legs. The boots slid on easily and felt much less

uncomfortable in the
toes. Lori placed the corset around her waist and neck. The gloves she could do without, Lori thought. She

slid the disk
out of the corset and pushed the button, but nothing happened. She pushed it again, but the clothing didn't

lock shut.
"What's the matter?", she said, and looked at the gloves still lying on the bed. She slid her hands into

the gloves, and
pulled them up to her shoulders, and pushed the button. The clothes locked on. The locking mechanism

obviously
wouldn't work unless the entire outfit was worn. She became more intrigued, and aroused. A pair of jeans

and a
long-sleeved shirt left only the bottom of her boots, her gloved hands and the top of her choker showing.

Her jeans were
way too big, since the corset took at least 6 inches from her waist, so she found her tightest pair and a

belt. They were
still a little baggy, but the belt made them look acceptable. "This is going to be fun!", she said as she

put the disk into
her corset and walked out the door.

The malls and stores were crowded, but she still had fun in her new outfit. The tightness of her corset

caused her to
walk with a sway, and the 5 inch heels compounded her difficulty walking, but she felt wonderful. She

wanted to shop
all day, but her feet were killing her. The corset was very tight and hurt her waist and back as well, so

she decided to go
home. Upon entering her apartment, she set her bags down and went into her bedroom. The disk was safe in

her corset,
and slid out when she reached for it. She pressed the button and the corset exploded open loudly, causing

her to fall
back onto her bed. Her entire mid-section hurt for a few minutes, then passed. She had been wearing the

outfit for over
5 hours. The gloves were snug but slid off after struggling with them for a few minutes. The boots slid off

easily, and she
sighed with relief when her feet were finally free of the tight pointed toes and stiletto heels. She sat

and rubbed her feet
for about 10 minutes, wondering how anyone could possibly stand wearing the boots for any period of time.

They forced
her toes into a short point, and she wanted to slide her feet out of them earlier, but it was impossible

without unlocking
the entire outfit. Although she had walked miles on pavement, the bottoms of the boots weren't even

scratched. The
clothing was obviously made of the same indestructible material. When she stood up, she had to get used to

not being
in the stilettos and the corset -- and the forced sway. After about an hour, she felt normal again.

Every time she left her apartment, Lori wore the outfit. She devised many cover-up outfits to disguise the

outfit, and she
found herself getting out and doing things a lot more often now. Even going out and taking long walks for

hours at a
time. Lori tried to wear the boots alone many times, but she found that her feet would hurt immediately if

the boots
weren't locked. The balls of her feet would hurt a lot, so she bought some gel cushion inserts designed to

relieve high
heel pain which helped considerably. They fit in the toe box of the boots, but not very well since the toes

of these boots
were so short and pointed. When she used the gel inserts, they would squeeze tightly against the balls of

her feet when
the clothing was locked. Walking felt soft. Her toes still hurt all the time though, since nothing could

change the short
and pointed toes of the boots. The gloves could be worn alone with no problems. Amazingly, the gloves and

boots were
warm and kept out all water, but Lori never got too hot while wearing the outfit. She wanted to wear the

outfit always,
but after long periods of time her feet and waist would begin to hurt -- intensely if she ignored it -- so

she was forced to
remove the outfit upon returning home. Many times she tested the strength of the outfit. She tried removing

the gloves
and the boots without unlocking them, but never had any luck no matter how hard she tried. The same was

true for the
corset. No matter how hard she pulled at the corset to open, it wouldn't open. Lori was convinced that

there was nothing
anywhere which could unlock the outfit from her body except for the disk.

Lori returned home one evening after being out most of the day, and the outfit wasn't bothering her too

much, so she
left it on after taking off her cover-up clothes. Never had she gone so long in the outfit; 10 hours had

passed since she
put it on. She later got ready for bed, and was still wearing the outfit, so she crawled into bed, still

wearing it. It had
never crossed her mind to wear it to bed, and the idea excited her for some reason. She turned out the

lights and
immediately fell asleep.

Lori woke up around 3am with severe pain in her chest. She knew she would have to remove the corset, so she

turned
on the light and got out of bed. When she stood up, the pain lessened. She rubbed her waist with her gloved

hands for a
few minutes as the material squeaked like leather. The pain faded and her chest felt much better. As she

began walking
around the apartment, her back cracked a few times, then she felt fine. Upon returning to her room, she

felt very little
pain, so she turned off the light and crawled back into bed and fell asleep.

The next morning she woke and got out of bed. The outfit was still on her body, and she had forgotten that

she was
even wearing it until she rolled out of bed and her stiletto heels met the floor. It thrilled her that she

went so long
without removing the outfit, and she became extremely aroused. She felt the corset with her hand and rubbed

her
chest. It excited her immensely. She placed her hand below the corset and began rubbing herself, and fell

back onto
the bed. The excitement was incredible. She breathed heavily and rubbed herself between her legs, harder

and harder.
Her gloved hand slid smoothly on her nylons, and an orgasm exploded -- lasting 20 minutes as she continued

to rub
herself. She lied on her bed for an hour, recovering, and thinking about what just happened. Nothing like

this ever
turned her on so much, and she was in heaven.

The day passed, and the outfit was still locked onto her body. She was tempted to wear it to bed again, but

thought she
had better remove it since she had been wearing it for over a day and a half. The disk was still in the

corset, and she
slid it out and pressed the button. The corset loudly snapped open, and everything unlocked from her body.

This time,
the pain in her chest was unbearable, and she wrapped her arms around her chest and waist trying to relieve

the pain,
but it wouldn't stop. She squeezed the disk again and the clothing locked shut. The pain slowly faded away.

Lori sat on
her bed, breathing heavily, rubbing her waist, and wondering what she was going to do. She knew that she

couldn't
leave it on. After rubbing her waist and chest for about 20 minutes, she tried again, and pushed the

button. The corset
snapped open and her chest exploded with pain. She screamed and tried to relieve the pain, but it got

worse. The disk
fell out of her hand and onto the floor. She tried to bend down, but the pain was unbearable. She lifted

her foot and
used the high heel on her boot to push the button. She stood on the disk and it clicked. The corset locked

shut, and the
pain slowly faded away once again. Lori picked up the disk and put it into her corset pocket. Her chest was

still a little
sore, so she rubbed it for a while before crawling into bed. She lied there, thinking about the outfit on

her body, and
what she was going to do, and finally fell asleep.

The morning arrived, and Lori crawled out of bed. Nothing woke her up last night, and the corset was still

locked tightly
around her waist. She placed her gloved hands on her waist, and realized that she could almost close her

thumb and
middle finger completely around her waist. It had gotten tighter over night. The distance between her

fingers around
the corset was at least an inch smaller. This began to frighten her, and she knew she had to get the corset

off. Her feet
hurt, so she rubbed them through the boots, and the pain faded. She had to try again, and had an idea. She

walked into
the living room and removed the disk from her corset, placing it on the table. Then she quickly ran towards

her
bedroom as fast as her stilettos would take her, and the corset snapped open loudly as she fell onto her

bed.

She lay there squeezing her chest, rolling around on her bed screaming, as the pain exploded through her.

The disk
was in the other room, and it was impossible to get to it in her state of pain. All she could do was stay

on her bed and
fight the pain. After about 10 minutes, it slowly started to fade, but she was still in a lot of pain. She

continued rubbing
her chest, and after about an hour she could sit up. Even thought she still hurt, she was relieved to

finally be free and
pulled the corset from her body. Lori pulled the gloves and managed to work them off her arms. Then she

slid the boots
off her feet, and they immediately began to hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain earlier, and it

faded in a few
minutes. She rubbed her feet for a while then stood up. Her calves were stiff from being in the stiletto

boots for so long,
so she had to walk on her toes until she could stretch her calves better. Her back cracked every few steps

for about an
hour, and she sighed with relief with each crack. She returned to her room, sat down and peeled off her

nylons. They
were damp from being sealed between her legs and the boots. She fell back on her bed and fell asleep,

relaxed.

The outfit and the people who designed it were on Lori's mind. She decided to make a call to Roger at the

lab to see if
he had any news. In her purse she found the number of the lab, and made the call.

"Hello Roger! It's Lori. How's everything?", she asked. "Hello there! Everything's going well. We're slowly

figuring out a
few things, but most of it is still a mystery. We've been working nonstop trying to analyze that material,

but have pretty
much given up on it. A friend of mine in the nuclear testing area tried a few things with it as well. He

placed one of the
smaller artifacts in a reaction chamber and exposed it to both a fission and a fusion reaction. The

artifact wasn't
damaged at all. It's incredible. Also, the material has some other strange characteristics. The tarp we

found was
unintentionally left covering a fallen leaf from a plant in one of the labs. When we discovered the leaf

under the tarp,
we found that the leaf didn't age. The other fallen leaves were all old and dried up, but this leaf looked

as if it had just
fallen. With further testing, it was discovered that the material prevents aging and growth of new cells.

This stuff is
incredible. And remember that box that we couldn't open? Well, one of the guys found some sort of keyhole

in a well
hidden compartment. We can't find any key, but a small section of the lid to the box slid off when he tried

to pick the
lock. It exposed some strange pictures and writing. The pictures are of a beautiful woman holding a coin.

Quite strange,
really."

Lori swallowed hard. "What does the woman look like? What is she wearing?", she tried to ask calmly. "I'm

not sure
what she's wearing really. Her waist is very small though, and she's wearing really high heels. We're

trying to figure out
the writing and have had pretty good luck with it. We think it's about the coin, and being in total

control. It mentions that
something is completely impossible without the coin, and the word `impossible' is heavily stressed. It

seems pretty
meaningless really. It probably means that you can't have women if you don't have money.", he chuckled.

Lori took a deep breath. She knew what it all meant. "Wow. That is bizarre. I'd like to know what else you

find out.
Maybe I'll call back in a few weeks." "That would be great. We should have more answers by then. It was

great hearing
from you. I'll talk to you in a few weeks then. Bye!", he replied. "Goodbye.", she said as she hung up the

phone.

Lori sat and thought about the conversation she just had. Being locked into the outfit, and at the mercy of

another
person to remove it. At least they designed the outfit such that it couldn't be accidentally locked on for

life. And the
material prevented anything from aging. That explained why there was no odor when she wore the outfit for

long
periods of time, and her nylons never wore out. Her fingernails weren't growing much lately, either. It

must be the
gloves which are responsible, since they were being worn so much. Her waist was beginning to take the shape

of the
corset. Since the corset was getting smaller, it must be automatically maintaining a constant tightness

around her waist
since her waist was getting smaller. She thought of how terrible it would be to be unable to remove the

outfit. The
words 'impossible' stuck in her mind. It meant that the people created the outfit such that is was

completely impossible
to remove without the disk. Lori shuddered at the thought.

Lori didn't want to think about the outfit; it scared her. All she could imagine was how powerful it was.

They were a
strange people, and probably destroyed themselves.

She went 2 weeks without wearing it, but was getting anxious. She almost felt naked without it, and even

felt
uncomfortable without the heels. Her feet had already began taking the shape of the boots -- the short

pointed toe and
the high arch. She had to see the outfit and feel it again. The more she thought about it, the more excited

she became.
Feelings of arousal were stirring within her, and the pleasure it had brought her. She couldn't resist any

longer.

It was in the bottom drawer of her dresser, as gorgeous as the day she first had seen it. She removed the

outfit from the
drawer and set it on her bed. There still wasn't any sign of wear. The locking mechanism was such a

mystery, and she
looked at the opening on the corset trying to see how it locked shut, but had no clue. She rubbed her hand

across the
corset, along the outside, then the inside, and held it against her chest. Her breathing became heavy, and

she
unbuttoned her shirt and jeans. She removed her shirt and slid her jeans off, and held the corset against

her bare chest.
It felt intoxicating, and she sighed loudly. In the top drawer were a pair of new black nylons, and she

quickly grabbed
them and pulled them up her legs. She slid the boots on and up to her thighs, and rubbed her hands down the

shaft of
the boots, stopping at the stiletto heels. She stood up and took a few steps in the boots. At first, she

used to have
difficulty walking in the high heels, but after hours and hours, day after day, and with the help from the

inserts she got
used to it. The corset was next, as she picked it up and put it around her chest. She was getting so

excited that she had
forgotten about the fear and pain it had caused. The gloves slid up her arms up to her shoulders, and her

breathing and
heart rate were racing. She slid her hand down the front of her corset, and slowly rubbed herself between

her legs. Her
breathing increased as she began losing control of herself. She worked the disk out of her corset and

pressed it, and the
outfit instantly locked tightly onto her body. She screamed with excitement when the outfit locked shut and

rubbed
herself faster. She dropped the disk and fell onto her bed, climaxing, rubbing herself faster. The

contractions lasted
about a half hour as she continued rubbing herself, then slowly stopped.

Lori lay there relaxing, fully content. She would wear the outfit again, but would remove it at the end of

each day. The
same mistake wouldn't be made again. The disk was on the floor somewhere, so she began searching for it. It

was near
the dresser, and she picked it up and put it into her corset.

Lori spent the entire day in the outfit, and had a wonderful time. The forced sway of her walk, the sound

the outfit made
as she walked, the sound of her high heels -- just the feel of the outfit excited her. Her waist was so

small -- smaller than
ever before -- and she looked gorgeous. She felt the tight corset with her hands, coming to realize how

strong it really
was, and how it felt to have an indestructible device locked so tightly around her waist. It was getting

tighter. The outfit
would never wear out.

Her feet hurt that evening, as did her chest, so she would definitely take the outfit off. She slid the

disk from her corset
and squeezed it. The corset exploded open, and the gloves and boots loosened. The shock of the corset

exploding open
was something she would never get used to. She rubbed her chest a little, noticing the shape of the corset

that it was
taking, as she sat to remove her boots. Just as she was about to pull them off the phone rang. She stood up

and ran to
the phone, dropping the disk on the way, but the phone stopped after 1 ring. She turned around and bent

down to pick
up the disk in the middle of the floor. As she walked back to her room, she stumbled slightly and the disk

slid between
her gloved fingers. She grabbed for the disk as it fell, and knocked it into her right boot. Her hand went

after the disk,
but she could feel the disk slide down between her nylon'd leg and the boot. It slid smoothly past her

calf, down her
ankle, and hit the surface of the boot where the heel of her foot rested. Then it slid down under her arch

and stopped
under the ball of her foot, between her foot and the gel insert. She carefully lifted her foot and the disk

slid further into
the pointed toe of the boot. The tip of her toe was barely touching the disk, and it was stuck in front of

the gel insert.
Standing only on 1 foot, she lost her balance and used her right foot to regain stability. Her toe pressed

harder against
the disk, and it clicked. The toe tightened and pulled the disk away from her toe and into the front of the

boot, and the
clothing locked onto her body.

"No!", she screamed as she fell to the ground and pulled on the right boot to remove it, but it was locked

tight onto her
foot. She pulled harder, with all her strength, but it didn't budge. Her heart was racing as she continued

pulling,
screaming with fear. Many times in the past she tried removing the boots without the disk, but gave up

because she
knew it couldn't be done. The boots could never be removed without the disk, and Lori knew that. She stood

up and
tried shifting her weight to activate the disk, but couldn't even feel the disk anymore. Next she began

kicking her heel
downward to knock the disk loose, but she still couldn't feel the disk. It was tightly locked into the

pointed toe of the
boot where it would stay. She tried pulling the gloves off, but they were locked on tight as well. She

reached around
her back with both hands and tried to pull the corset open, but she could hardly get her gloved fingers

between the
corset and her skin. After working her fingers under the corset, she pulled as hard as she could. It didn't

move at all. She
tried to peel the gloves from her arms again, but they were locked around her elbows and couldn't be slid

off.

She sat down and shook. She was terrified. There was nothing that could remove the outfit from her body

except for the
disk, and it was locked tightly in the boot where it could never be activated. The distance between the

disk and the
outfit would never exceed a few feet -- not nearly the 10 foot required for the safety to unlock the

outfit. She tried again
to move her toes and feel the disk, but it was no use. It was too tight to feel anything, and the disk was

gone.

Lori sat for over an hour, trying to accept what had just happened. Fear ran through her body, and she was

in a state of
total shock. She ran her gloved hands across her tight corset, then down her boots. Her body shook because

she knew
she was locked into the outfit for life.

Lori didn't get much sleep that evening. Most of the night she was awake, trying to accept what had just

happened. It
was still hard to believe, and to accept -- she could never remove the outfit. She moved her toes and felt

the slick
surface of the gel insert, but no disk. Finally, she fell asleep.

The next few nights went the same way, and she was getting sore. Her back, chest and feet all hurt. The

corset never
felt loose; it was constantly tightening as her waist became smaller. It sounded and felt like pavement

when she
knocked on the corset with her knuckles, and was just as hard since it was so tight.

A few months passed, and Lori was beginning to adjust to the outfit. Her waist was now only 22" around.

Living in 5"
heels was easier, but her feet still hurt a lot, though the gel inserts made it less painful. There was

still no visible wear
on the boots, and the bottoms were still not scratched.

When she took showers, the water ran off the material of the clothing leaving it completely dry at all

times. She cut her
nylons off where they met the top of the boots. The boots were slowly getting smaller as well. The whole

outfit was
designed to maintain a constant tightness, and when the wearer adjusted, the outfit adjusted as well. The

toes were
getting shorter and more pointed, and the whole front of the foot was being forced back towards the heel so

the heels
felt as if they were getting higher. The only things that weren't getting smaller were the gloves, but they

were still quite
snug.

Many months passed, and Lori opened an erotic clothing store. It was necessary to explain why she dressed

the way
she did. She would add a few items to give the impression that her outfit changed.

Over 3 years had passed since Lori was locked into the outfit, and there was still not a single indication

of wear. It was
part of her life now, and she accepted it. The corset finally stopped contracting when her waist reached

20", but it was
still always tight.

It had been a long day, and Lori didn't get much sleep the past few nights due to working late and getting

up early. She
was getting ready for bed and entering her bedroom when her heel caught the carpet, causing her to fall

hard onto the
floor. Her foot hit hard against the dresser. She stood up and stumbled to her bed, and rubbed her foot. It

felt sore, but
she was able to walk. After she crawled into bed, she moved her toes and felt something strange in her

boot. It was
something loose in the toe. It was the disk! The fall against the dresser must have knocked it loose. Since

the toes of the
boots were getting smaller over the years, the disk must have become loosened and the jolt was enough to

set it free.
Lori lifted her legs out of bed and sat on the edge of her bed. She tapped her heel on the floor as she

raised the front of
the boot, and the disk slid below her toes. She slowly forced her toes against the disk and it clicked. The

corset popped
open loudly, and the clothing unlocked from her body. Lori fell back on her bed as excruciating pain filled

her chest
and feet. After 5 minutes, she passed out.

Lori woke up, 4 hours later, with intense pain in her chest and feet, but not like earlier. She lay there,

rubbing her chest
and felt the opening in the back of the corset. It wasn't a dream! It was unlocked! She sat up and removed

the corset
slowly, as the pain shot through her body. Her waist was so small it scared her, but she was free of the

corset. She slid
the boots off and her feet throbbed. They were a lot smaller, and her toes were pointed towards the middle

of her foot.
The gloves took about 10 minutes to remove, and her hands looked unchanged. Her fingernails hadn't grown.

The disk
fell out of the right boot onto the floor.

After an hour of trying to relieve her pain, she stood up and found herself unable to flatten her foot. The

stilettos
changed her ankles and calves such that she couldn't walk. She found a box of 5" heels from the store and

slid them on
her feet. Size 6 didn't fit; they were too big, so she found the smallest size -- size 5 -- and found them

to fit perfectly.

Lori picked up the disk and held it for a few minutes. Never did she think she would be holding the disk

again, as she
slid it back into the corset and placed the outfit back into the bottom drawer. She knew it would come back

to haunt her
again.

It had been 5 months since she was free of the outfit, but was still unable to walk without 5" heels. She

was quite used
to the heels, so they didn't bother her anymore. At least she could take them off now, and that was enough.

Her waist
was 22", and would stay at that measurement. She thought about the outfit a lot, and was getting very

anxious about it.
One day, she gave in to temptation. Lori opened the bottom drawer and removed the outfit. She had no

control of
herself. She undressed down to a pair of nylons, and held the outfit to her body. For over 3 years she was

locked into
the outfit, and still it excited her. She brought the outfit with her to her bed and sat down. The boots

were first to go on.
They slid up her legs smoothly over the nylons, and were still snug in the toe. The gel inserts were still

in the boots.
Then the gloves. They were always more difficult to wear, but she managed to work them up to her shoulders

where
they belonged. She held the heavy corset in her arms for a while then stood up, placing it around her waist

and neck.
There was still around 4" of space between the openings at her waist. She slid the disk out of her corset

and held it in
her gloved hand, teasing with the button, not sure if she would press it or not, applying a little more

pressure each time.
The disk clicked and the outfit locked tightly on her body. She could feel the boots tighten all over, the

gloves becoming
snug, and the corset squeezing her waist tighter and tighter. Her waist was smaller than ever, and she

could feel it. She
took a few steps, bringing back memories of when she wore the outfit -- how it forced her to walk a certain

way with a
certain sway. It felt wonderful, and she knew she wouldn't be able to ignore the outfit. She held the disk

for a few
minutes, then began to slide it into the pocket in her corset. As soon as she inserted the tip of the disk

in the pocket,
something seemed to grab hold of the disk and quickly pulled it into the pocket, making a sharp snapping

sound. Lori
quickly forced her finger into the pocket, but the disk wasn't there. It was drawn into the corset

somewhere. She
screamed, and pushed on the corset with her gloved hands trying to find the disk, but it wasn't anywhere.

"NO! NO!", she screamed as she tried pulling at the corset. It was locked. This time, the disk was locked

somewhere
intentionally. The outfit was designed to lock on permanently to the wearer when the time was right, and

that time was
now.

Wheel of Misfortune

What a difference an hour makes. At 11 PM, Julie Turner had been
clinking cocktail glasses at a pleasant soiree in the Bel Air home of a
studio executive. At midnight, she was kneeling bare-ass naked, on a
step-like whipping block, bound to it - and absorbing the stinging blows of
a jockey bat.
"Oh, please! Enough of that," she gasped, as the short, thick riding whip
with its scalloped leather surface blistered her behind. "I don't think
you've had enough, Julie," Roy Minter replied. "I don't think you've had
nearly enough." The girl pleaded that she had suffered more than sufficient
punishment, especially in light of the fact that she hadn't done anything
wrong. Again she felt the sting of the flexible bat; it made her upper body
press downward on the top step of the padded block, flattening her bare
breasts. Once more, she yanked hard on the ropes that held her leather
wristbands to brass rings on each side of the wooden contraption, but found
herself unable to pull free.
This darkened room - hidden behind a garage - was so strange, so isolated,
and the treatment she was receiving so new to her, that it seemed as if the
brightly lit living room of the mansion back there in Bel Air was a world
away, a lifetime before. The partygoers had been polite and the host
charming, but the foolish 23-year-old actress had grown bored. And that's why
she'd taken Roy Minter up on his suggestion to leave the staid, "A" soiree and
head out to the ocean and the amusement of his notorious beach house.
Minter was a notorious son-of-a-bitch. In his 40s now, he had been a
promising matinee idol. More famous for his fast lifestyle than his devotion
to acting, his reputation for arriving on a sound stage hours late and badly
hung over had cost him some choice roles. Nevertheless, he remained popular
with the film colony crowd and managed to secure enough second banana roles
to keep him in bourbon and broads.
"There," Roy said, smiling as he stepped around in front of the girl
where she could see him. "Now you've had enough-of this." He was tapping
the jockey bat into the palm of one hand. "Of course, it's only a warm-up
for the real thing." "Real thing?" Julie asked through tears that had
formed in her eyes. Roy laughed. "The bull whip," he replied. "You can't
be serious," the girl said, briefly forgetting her bonds and starting to
rise from her submissive, kneeling posture. The ropes at her wrists, waist
and ankles pulled her quickly back.
She was able to lift her head enough to get a good look at her tormentor.
Roy Minter was a fine figure of a man; two decades of debauchery didn't show
in either face or form. His tall, muscular lean body boasted the results of
regular hours in his home gym; the passing years had only served to chisel
his rugged, neatly mustached face into an even greater handsomeness.
Standing in the tight black leather pants and full-sleeved black silk shirt
he favored, the middle-aged actor made a striking picture. The shirt, its
buttonless V neckline halfway down Roy's masculine chest revealed plated
muscles and dark curls of manly hair. The pants emphasized both the
flatness of his stomach and the imposing size of his genitals. Yes, Roy
Minter was a fine figure of a man, all right.
Staring at him, the naked girl felt the juices collecting in the depths of
her pussy. She had always been aroused by Roy, first on the screen before she
ventured from her midwestem home to Hollywood, then upon meeting him at the
studio and in the endless round of parties the performers enjoyed. There was
something vaguely sinister about him, something that thrilled her.
Julie had once read, in a serious cinema journal, that the thing that made
the top male stars so appealing was the sense of danger they projected. That
had struck a chord in the young, would-be actress. The writer had claimed
that women, watching in theaters around the country, were turned on by that
almost indefinable fear they experienced as they, imagined themselves
romantically involved with these cads, these strong, willful movie stars. The
fans were women who couldn't experience such things in real life. Not only
did they lack the opportunity, they didn't have the courage it would have
taken to throw themselves into the arms of such a man had the opportunity
arrived. In the safety of the velvet-upholstered movie house seat, they could
fantasize exciting liaisons with dangerous men.
Fantasy hadn't been enough for Julie. Being beautiful and talented, having
won her local beauty contests and the lead roles in her high school and
college plays, she had set out for Hollywood, in search of men like Roy
Minter as much as movie fame. Tonight, for the first time, she had
consented to give herself up entirely to his power. Alone with him, in this
dank room that, along with the garage, made up the ground floor of his
two-story beach house, she was at the bastard's mercy.
Roy had gone to a rack, where various implements of torture hung in a
careful arrangement, and traded the jockey bat in on a bull whip. Returning
to stand before the girl's face, he had let its business end uncoil and drop
to the bare, concrete floor. He stood there, imposing and fearful, feet
widely planted, powerful fingers around the thickened handle of a whip that
seemed to rise from the floor like a black viper.
"This wasn't made for human flesh," he said coldly. There was no longer a
trace of grin on his lips, nor did a bit of residual friendliness remain in
the tone of his voice. "I got this when I was on location years ago in west
Texas. At a cattleman's supply house. It's for beating recalcitrant bulls,
to get them out of a favorite grazing pasture." "Well then, d-don't use it
on me," the trembling girl managed to say. "I'm going to," Roy replied
icily. "To soften you up. And then I'm going to strap you to that" - he was
pointing to something on the wall behind him - "and beat the shit out of you
with something that hurts even more. Then - only then - will I have my way
with you. And I shall, you'll see. You'll beg for my cock. You'll beg
for it."
As he stepped around behind her, Julie gazed more carefully at the thing
on the wall before her. It was a wheel, a huge wooden wheel bigger than any
you would find on a stagecoach or covered wagon. It must have been more
than six feet in diameter, because it left very little space above and below
it on a wall that looked the standard eight feet in height. The hub, of
gleaming brass meticulously set into and riveted to wood, was flush with the
thick spokes and the outer rim - which also had an inlay of shiny brass.
Heavy straps were placed for the wrists, arms, ankles, thighs, chest and
waist of an outstretched victim.
Before she could offer a comment, Julie received the sharpest pain she'd
ever felt in her life. Her leather wrist and ankle bands were tight enough
to cause pain already, and her hunched position on the whipping block made
her back ache. Even so, the lash of the bull whip on her bare rump was so
powerful that it made the other hurts disappear. "Ohhhhhhh," she groaned.
"Oh, Roy. Please don't hit me again that hard. Ohhhhhhh." "I'm going to
whip you even harder," she heard him sneer; then she felt the lash once
more. This time the plaited leather bit into the flesh of her back. The
girl gasped, then steeled herself for more. Terror vied with pain within
her body as she felt the bull whip strike again and again. Minter whaled
away at her shoulders, upper back, buttocks and thighs, bringing tears that
had previously formed streaming down a lovely face.
It was agony, the worst suffering Julie Turner had felt in her life, and
when the lashing finally stopped, the inflammation of her flesh seemed to
increase her suffering all by itself. By then, she had slumped to the
padded surface of the whipping block, pressing her large, round breasts into
the shape of crumpets. When the man finally let up, it was to disconnect her
straps from the ropes that bound them to the rings on the block, then yank
her brutally to her feet. "You're not as complaiant as I wish you to be,"
Minter said, "but you will become so shortly. After you've been treated to
more lashing - on the wheel." As if with a reflex action of her whole body,
Julie tried to pull out of his grasp. The powerful actor spun her around,
then made use of her forward motion and pushed her toward the wheel. The
girl stumbled, then fell against it.
Laughing, her tormentor caught up with her and, dropping his whip on the
cold, hard floor, used both hands to turn her back to the wheel and boost her
onto pegs that protruded from the rim. She struggled, but it was no use.
Not only was the man much bigger and more powerful than she, but fear had
weakened her muscles, made them numb and useless. She found herself
standing on pegs that forced her legs wide apart. Her arms were
outstretched and drawn way up, connected by her wrist straps to hooks high
in the outer rim of the wheel. She could only watch Minter as he worked
swiftly to pin her in place. Thick leather straps now bound her firmly at
wrists, arms, chest, waist, thighs and ankles. Her back was pressed flat
against the smooth, even surface of the hub, spokes and rim of the giant
wheel.
Though in terror, she was growing increasingly excited. Somehow, after
the brutality of the whipping, she began to feel that she could withstand
any pain. And that meant she could give herself up to any pleasure the
torture might also provide. Yes, a strange and rare thrill filtered through
Julie Turner's marvelous young body. Naked, at the mercy of a powerful man
she had dreamed about since first seeing him on the movie screen when she
was an adolescent girl, she was wildly aroused by his maniacal masculinity.
Trapped, what could she do but relax and enjoy any sensations that might go
beyond pain, that might feel pleasurable or exhilarating?
"Taste my whip one more time," Roy leered, as he retrieved the instrument
from the floor. "The bull whip meant for an animal. My texas bull whip."
He began to flog her with the long, thick, pliable whip. Evidently, through
a great deal of practice, the man had become incredibly artful in its use.
With just the cracker at the end, he deftly tormented first one breast and
then the other. He delivered a single final blow - with the very tip of the
whip - to first one nipple and then the mate. When he had completed his work
on her breasts, he lashed the other parts of her body: Shoulders and arms,
stomach both above and below the waist strap, thighs and calves all came under
the leather. Finally, he tattooed her pussy, bringing shrieks of pain
cascading from between the girl's lips. He finished with a particularly hard
lash, horizontally delivered, across the crack of her pussy.
Setting the whip down again, he went to the wheel and released a catch on
one side. Then he began to turn it. A dizzying sensation nearly overcame
the girl. The room seemed to be spinning. She found herself staring at
everything upside-down. The whipping block hung from the ceiling; the whips
and paddles in their rack were stuck in place as if by magic. Blood rushed
to her head and her heavy breasts fell toward her face. She saw Roy Minter
dangling like a bat from the ceiling of a cave.
"You look wonderful in that position, my dear," he joked, as he grabbed
the bull whip. "I like talking to your twat as much as to your pretty face.
Would you like to suck my dick, darling? You're perfectly placed for it, you
know." "No!" Julie insisted. "I'm not doing that for you, you beast." He
just laughed. "You're going to," he promised; then she saw him -
upside-down - draw back the whip. "OH!" She cried in pain as the business
end of the bull whip smacked her tits. Minter went through the same process
as before, lashing from bottom to top this time, as he covered the same
already sore areas of skin. He whipped her breasts, finishing with deft
touches to the nipples, then went up and down her arms from shoulder to
hand. "Stop! Please stop!" Julie pleaded, but it was to no avail. It
seemed as if the sadistic mother-fucker was in a mad frenzy, though the
conscious artistry of his whip work belied that. Roy knew what he was
doing.
He lashed her flesh with the greatest ingenuity. Stinging her belly, then
her thighs, calves and feet, he returned to her midsection. The girl knew
what was coming and cringed against the anticipated pain. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
It was a cry of maximum agony. The whip was battering her cunt. "I'll whip
your damned pussy till you give me what I crave," she heard him say, and
then he went right on lashing between her legs. A bizarre feeling overcome
the girl; her body seemed to burst through pain and emerge in another
world. Eyes closed, she saw brilliant white light, and felt as if she were
drawing right out of her body. She could hear and feel the lashes of the whip
but, as they landed, they seemed merely to tingle rather than to hurt.
Increasingly, a warm and wonderful feeling engulfed her. It was as if the
pleasure in her pussy had spread to her whole body. Maybe it was hanging
upside down, the sensation of the blood filling her face, or maybe it was
the accumulated pain. All the girl knew was that this was a totally novel
sensation; she wanted it to go on and on and on. "Mmmmmmmmmmm," she heard
herself saying. "Marvelous. Marvelous. Marvelous."
The feeling did go on and on, but after a long while it came to a gradual
stop - and she opened her eyes. She found herself staring at the hard cock of
the man she had adored for so long: Roy Minter had dropped his whip, unzipped
the fly in his black leather pants and brought out a stiff hard-on. "I'm
going to lash your face now," he said in a soothing voice, "with my dick."
So saying, he bent at his knees and lay the bloated head of the organ on her
chin, then brought it around and across her lips. He massaged her face with
the tip of his cock, running it over her eyes, nose and forehead, then bring
it back to her mouth.
"Would you like to taste it?" he asked. "You've had a taste of one bull
whip. Now have a taste of another." Julie was in a dream world. Still
upside-down, she could see the underneath of her master's cock and balls.
The sight was a strange one, as if she were looking at some object she'd
never seen or heard of before. The weight of his rod lay on her upper lip.
Gently, the man was slapping her lips with the tip of his dick, "whipping"
her with it, as it were. Passion swamped her. Pain and pleasure melded into
a single entity. The smell of her own sweat mingled with the masculine
scent of Roy's genitals. Some wonderful experience seemed to await her,
something that would miraculously complete the pain/pleasure of the inverted
whipping.
Her lips parted. "That's a girl," she heard Roy say. "Oh, yeah. That's
the way to do it." Her lips had parted and her face had lurched forward.
The man had thrust his loins at her, and now the rod was well within her
mouth. She began to suck, pursing her lips around his bone; then she was
moving her face forward and back - opposite to each steady thrust of his
loins. In and out of her sucking mouth the hard dick traveled. Julie was in
ecstasy; she felt the passion explode in the very core of her womanhood.
Roy must have been enjoying much the same thing in his manly organ, because
she felt his cock expand to its fullest within the confines of her mouth.
Suddenly, as she went over the top with her own climax, his hot seed
exploded into her mouth. It was a fantastic experience for the girl. Every
muscle in her body ached, and yet she experienced an all-encompassing
pleasure. The world was turned upside-down to her, and yet it seemed as if
what she was seeing was somehow normal, as if seeing it in reverse would be
wrong. She sucked down every drop of her tgrmentor's semen and, when he let
his softening organ slip from her mouth, she felt completed.
Seconds later, Roy had replaced his dick in his pants. He spun the wheel
180 degrees, undid her bonds and helped her down. He led her to her
clothing and watched her dress. "Did I live up to my reputation?" he asked
with a grin. "What reputation is that?" she asked. "Why, as Hollywood's
greatest lover," he replied. "Oh, you lived up to your reputation, all
right, Roy," she said. "But not that one. You live up to your rep as
Hollywood's greatest son-of-a-bitch. And I love you for it."

The Strictest Bondage

It was a dark and stormy night and a few of us had taken refuge at the
Bondage Masters' Club, the very exclusive private club you've probably heard
of and wished you could afford to join. All of the dungeons downstairs were
booked up right then which led some of us to gather around the fireplace in
the lounge. We talked about one thing or the other and pretty soon the
conversations got around to a commonly asked question at the Club: What is
the strictest, heaviest bondage you've ever seen?
Bill Colins sipped his brandy and related a time when he was in college
and had his girlfriend over to his parent's house. They were gone to Europe
and he had run of the place. Having all the time in the world, he decided
to try the most elaborate bondage he could imagine. He took his girlfriend,
a lovely young lass of nineteen summers and delightful curves, so we were
led to believe, to the garage. This being a three car garage, there was a
wooden post in the middle of one side, about eight inches on a side and
painted so it was smooth. It was not hard, he said, to persuade Nancy to
remove her clothes; she having already had a couple of cocktails and being
in an amorous mood. When she was completely naked he backed her against the
post and had her wrists tied behind it before the sweet young thing realized
what was happening.
Actually, I suspect she was as willing a "victim", as all of my
girlfriends had been back in the college days. Then, he continued, he
dragged out a carton of cotton clothesline packages, twenty-four in all, and
proceeded to open them. The rope began to flow on to the girl who giggled
delightedly and seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary about being bound
naked to a garage post. Rope was soon wrapped around her legs, binding them
to each other, then around the legs and the post, locking them firmly to the
wood. More rope found its way around her waist, tucking in her tummy most
delightfully. At first he wrapped with the breasts sticking out between the
coils of rope. But as more and more rope went on, he found that those
breasts were about the only skin showing and that seemed to spoil the
effect. So he wrapped rope around them and the post, squashing them into
pancakes. Or at least that's what it seemed like, he confided.
It took a long time, especially being careful to wrap and knot each rope
so that it couldn't fall down, but he eventually had the poor girl wrapped
from head to toe. The rope began at the tops of her feet and continued up
without interruption or skin showing until it reached the bottom of her
chin. A great deal of rope had been wrapped around her neck so that the
shoulders were covered. But that rope had been only mildly tight so that
there was no problem with her breathing. Carefully wrapped rope filled her
mouth as it passed between her lips and around the post. More rope wrapped
her head and the post from her nose to mid-forehead. There was enough rope
over the eyes that she was effectively blindfolded. Then he stood back.
Only her feet and a little bit of her face here and there showed, the rest
was solid clothesline. Even from the back no skin showed, the arms and
hands and even fingers had been covered with rope. Bill then reaffirmed why
he was a member of our exclusive club. He took some thin twine and, while
down on hands and knees, bound her big toes together. Beautiful touch, that,
heh?
Finally the bondage was complete. Bill surveyed his handiwork and
approved. Never in all the existence of woman and rope had one female been
so completely bound and helpless. He ordered her to struggle, to exert all
her strength to free herself from that cotton prison. The toes wiggled a
bit and maybe there was the slightest tremor in the hair on top of her
head, but that was all. It was beautiful, he assured us.
We all agreed that such bondage was good and certainly extremely strict,
if somewhat lacking in originality. After all, anyone can come up with the
idea of simply wrapping the girl with three day's output of a rope factory.
Truly imaginative bondage had to have something a bit more, some spark of
ingenuity.
Mark came forward then with his version. The girl, he said, was the wife
of a friend, her name being Nora. This friend was very much into leather
and bondage and enjoyed applying both to his wife. The night in question
Mark was invited over to witness the standard procedure used to secure Nora
for her night's rest. They had a special bedroom they used as a playroom, so
the guy could purchase or build all the equipment he wanted. Mark settled
himself in a corner to watch. Nora began by shedding every stitch of
clothing. Having never seen Nora in the buff before, Mark said that he was
quite delighted to find that the normally drab and shapeless clothing worn
by that slender twenty-five year old female hid a very shapely body with
proud, perky breasts.
Immediately her hands were bound behind her back with the palms facing
each other. Then the elbows were bound together with rope both above and
below them. Nora sat on the edge of a leather covered and padded table
while her legs were bound at the ankles, and above and below the knees. Then
those legs were inserted into a leather sheath that came all the way up to
her waist. The sheath was like a single glove used for bondage of a girl's
arms but designed to fit the legs. There were laces up the front and her
husband worked them upwards until they were tight all the way from her
ankles to her tummy. Wide leather straps were added around her legs at the
ankles and the usual above and below the knees. Nora then stood up as her
arms were fitted into a leather single glove and it was laced up. There
were two straps that passed over her shoulders to secure the glove on and
prevent it from slipping down. Then came a sort of straightjacket, made of
black leather and having no arm holes whatsoever. The leather jacket went
on and laced up. A wide strap sown into it at the tummy had a roller buckle
and was pulled down very tight. Another wide leather strap at the top was
buckled around her neck. Two other wide straps were attached and buckled
around her torso above and below the breasts.
Nora smiled at Mark who could guess what was coming next. With most of
her covered by leather restrictions, only her head was bare. First came a
ball gag, not too large a one, just enough too fill her mouth. That strapped
behind her head. Then a padded blindfold over her eyes. The discipline
hood was also black leather and also laced on after being molded onto her
face. There was a wide leather strap around the bottom which buckled around
the neck, right over the neckpiece of the straightjacket. The only bit of
skin now showing was Nora's nose, the last sad piece of a once proud girl.
But, of course, you knew the table would come into this, Mark assured us.
We nodded. Nora was picked up and laid down on the table, tummy side down
stretched out. More leather straps appeared and went around the narrow table
and the already helpless girl, securing her to the table. Her ankles were
pushed down until the toes pointed. Straps held her legs, hips and torso.
If those straps had been her only bondage, Mark doubted she would have
escaped. A final strap over her neck pulled her head down to the padding and
held it there. The face was turned towards Mark and he could see her nose
flare as she breathed. It was a wonderful piece of bondage, Mark stated.
The captive girl could not move a muscle. She was being pressed in by rope
and leather on every inch of her body, a constant and very vivid reminder of
her helplessness. Mark could see the outline of ropes around her legs
through the leather encasing them, so tight was the sheath.
Mark paused to take a drink when someone asked him if Nora really could
sleep every night so bound in leather. Mark Pursed his lips and admitted
that no, she didn't. Nora had later admitted to Mark that she didn't spend
every night like that. Only the weekday nights, she said. On the weekends
her husband put her into really strict bondage! We chuckled and admitted
that such leather bondage was pretty good. We had all seen similar bondage
from the leather-lovers in the Club and knew that it could be very
stimulating and exciting. For both the binder and bindee.
Then came Ronald's turn. He sighed and said that he, being newer to the
bondage field, had less experience with such matters but that he had one time
seen some bondage that was both strict and unusual. He had a mistress on the
side, something his wife did not know about, and he visited this young lady
once a week or so, paying in exchange a portion of her rent and an
allowance. It worked out well as he liked her and she was totally open
minded about his bondage tastes. Well, one evening he was due to visit
Charlene. Unlocking her door with his key, he entered to find a dark
apartment with no sign of life. Exploring a bit he found her bedroom door
was closed. He opened it. Inside it was dark but he heard a familiar
sound, the muffled moan of a female in distress as filtered through a gag.
He flipped on the lights.
Charlene was indeed in distress. For long moments Ronald could do nothing
but stare. His mistress was suspended in mid-air in the center of the bedroom.
Moreover, she was completely naked save for a ball gag and leather bands
around her wrists and ankles. Someone had screwed heavy metal rings into the
floor on opposite sides of the room and another set into the ceiling next to
the wall. Charlene had been stretched out between those rings in a giant "X",
arms and legs spread wide. Leather bands encircled her wrists and ankles but
rope continued from the bands to the rings. She was so far above the floor
that her belly button was level with Ronald's nose. The naked, wide open body
in such unique bondage had an immediate effect upon Ronald. Assuming that
Charlene had requested someone to put her in this bondage as a surprise for
him, he threw off his clothes, tearing some of them in the process, and threw
himself upon her body.
Of course, he discovered that a girl suspended several feet off the floor
could not easily be impaled. Her pussy, it was true, was in good position for
the attention of his tongue or fingers, but his tool was not normally capable
of reaching such heights. Necessity being the mother of something, Ronald
grabbed a chair and stood upon it that he might reach the promised land.
Later, after a quick but satisfying orgasm for both of them, he untied her
legs and allowed her to stand upon the chair while he released her arms. It
was when he unbuckled the gag that he found out that Charlene had not been so
displayed for him but rather that another of her "customers" had bound her
like that as cruel joke. Or because he was mad at her. Anyway, this other
guy figured that a sexy, beautiful girl like Charlene had more boyfriends than
just him and one of them would find her in a day or two. Fortunately Charlene
had spent only one day in her suspended spreadeagle and had not suffered any
permanent injury.
That, we agreed, was indeed strict bondage and quite inescapable, which
is, of course, the first and most important definition of strict bondage.
Then it was my turn. Once, I related after pausing dramatically to sip my
wine, I had the pleasure to be challenged by a delightfully curry young miss
who insisted that I couldn't dream up a bondage position that would both
prevent her escape and tax her ability to endure. Since Susan had a
healthy, full figure to go along with her innocent and sweet looks, I
accepted the challenge. Being aware of her tendency to prefer nudity to
clothes when bound up didn't hurt either.
On the evening of the challenge, she showed up at my house wearing a
wonderfully tight dress with ridiculously high heels she could hardly walk in,
plus a smug grin that said other males had answered her challenge and failed.
The playroom was equipped with a number of rings in the ceiling, walls and
floor. It was also soundproofed and the window had drapes so thick as to
prevent any light from escaping. And females never escaped from that room,
either. Susan looked approvingly at the ropes I had laid out and nodded at
the rings. She stipulated that there was to be ropes only, no chains or
handcuffs, etc. There were to be no ropes around the neck (a precaution I
normally observe anyway), and that I would not allow my hands to wander to
places of her body of interest to a man but not necessary to the process of
binding her. Should I take such liberties I would be slapped silly when she
untied herself, I was assured. I agreed to the provisions and we began.
First off she removed her clothes without my asking. Her body was indeed
as beautiful as I had imagined from the curves of her clothing. She
bicycled a great deal and displayed a wonderful muscle tone without being
overdeveloped. Being in good shape, she assured me, was a big aid in her
overcoming the bondage placed upon her by over-confident males.
I began by placing her wrists together, palms facing inward, and binding
them. I took my time, placing each winding of the cotton clothesline
carefully so that the ropes were even and fairly snug. Then I wrapped the
rope between her arms and over the wrist ropes to cinch them down. I tied
three very tight knots then cinched down a couple more turns. Then I tied
three more knots and cinched down again. The final three knots left about two
feet of rope hanging free. She noted the rope hanging down and smirked at
such sloppiness. I then bound her elbows after pulling them together. That
bondage was also cinched down with multiple knots. Then the rope dangling
from her wrists went up to the elbow bondage where it was wrapped tightly
and knotted half a dozen times. She had been following the bonds as they
went on and was not smirking now. She knew that the final knots being up at
her elbows would make them impossible to reach.
I wrapped loops around her hips and wrists, pinning her arms to her
bottom. I cinched that rope down between her arms and body then ran rope
from her wrists down between heir legs and up to the rope in front. It
passed over that rope and back through to her wrists. Those crotch ropes
were pulled tight and knotted several times. Then the end of the rope was
passed up to the elbow bondage and the final knots placed there. In a
similar manner I bound her legs at the ankles and again above the knees.
As I fetched the gag I noticed that Susan's nipples were standing out,
rigid as if she were highly excited. I had seen that reaction too many
times before, when binding women to not know what it meant. I selected a
ball for a gag that was just large enough to fit into Susan's mouth. It
was, of course, tightly strapped in the back. Then I added a discipline
hood, the kind that is made of soft leather and laced up the back so they
can be made very tight, like a second skin. Only her nose showed through the
hood. I explained as I laced it very tightly that the hood was to assure
she would not be able to use her mouth or teeth to aid in her escape
attempt. Also, I sweetly told her, the hood helps because it prevents her
from seeing her bondage.
Now I was almost ready. I helped her down to the floor and tied a heavier
rope around her ankle ropes. That rope went up to the ring in the center of
the ceiling. Soon Susan was suspended completely off the floor and upside
down. Her leather-encased head was twisting this way and that as if in
indecision and her fingers fluttered nervously. That was a very helpless
girl, and yet I was not finished with her. For a girl who had demolished
other male egos one must take every precaution. On the top of the discipline
hood there was a small loop of leather. Susan had probably not noticed it
there. And she might not have noticed that directly under the ring in the
ceiling was another ring in the floor. Humming merrily to myself, I tied a
short piece of rope to the hood's loop and to the floor ring, pulling it snug
so that her head ceased its turnings. Now Susan was stretched out between the
floor and ceiling, in strict bondage and upside down.
I informed her that it was now her turn in this contest, speaking loudly
so she could be able to hear me inside that leather hood. And I informed
her that I would return to free her in two hours, the agreed upon time
limit. I returned in two hours to find a sweating, exhausted and very
defeated girl. No sooner had the ropes been removed from her arms then she
embraced my legs and vowed eternal submission to the male who could make her
so helpless.
Everyone agreed that the upside down bondage was very good. But some
thought the garage post might have been a little better, while some held out
for encasing the girl in leather and strapping her down to the table. Only
Ronald insisted that an X suspension was better but his logic was based on
the fact that only that position of them all allowed for access and the
performance of the sex act. The argument and more examples continued on into
the night, as is usual at the Bondage Masters' Club. By the way, which did
you think was the strictest bondage?