The Wall
Carol stared at the items displayed on the walls. “Wow! I’ve never seen a collection like this. Truth is I’ve never even seen a real pair of handcuffs. I had no idea there were so many different types.”
“Not just handcuffs, all kinds of restraints.” Pete pointed to what looked like a pair of padded gloves. “These cover your hands. The padding is stiff, so you can’t use your fingers to grab or hold onto anything. They’re used with extremely dangerous prisoners.”
Carol looked up at Pete, standing next to her. “Okay, here I am. You convinced me I’m in the right place for a firsthand bondage experience. I’ve read all the websites on the Internet, so I guess I’m as prepared as I can be. What happens next?” She paused for a moment, took a deep breath and crossed a mental line. “Should I take my clothes off before we start?”
“Slow down!” Pete held up his hands. “I think we’ll begin with something simple. You know, learn to swim before jumping off the high dive tower into the deep end of the pool.” He reached up and took a pair of metallic handcuffs off the wall. “How about we go through a little roleplay game, where Officer Pete has to arrest Carol for a DUI?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off the pair of cuffs in his hand. They must be real; she’d seen something very like them on those reality TV shows. She looked up at him, trying her best to pretend she was drunk. “Honestly, officer, I only drank six glasses of wine tonight,” she slurred her speech.
Pete laughed. “Well, starting with a confession does simplify the process. Let me show you how these things work first, so you’ll know exactly what’s going on.” Using his thumb, he pushed open one of the cuffs. “You can see why they’re called bracelets. It’s very simple, close the cuff until it won’t slip off your wrist. That clicking sound? It’s what’s called a ratchet; the cuff can close but won’t go backwards. You need a key to open them.”
Carol nodded to show she understood. “Easy to put on, not so easy to take off. I guess that makes sense. Do they have to be a tight fit? Does it hurt?”
“No and no, if used the right way. That’s why metallic handcuffs are better than rope or zip-ties. It is a close fit, but not so tight it cuts off circulation. As long as you can’t wiggle your hands out of them that’s good enough.”
“Okay then, Officer. Maybe I was weaving back there but I’m sure there was a tree in the middle of the intersection...”
“Six glasses, eh? And how many bottles before that? Here we go, just relax and do as I say. Hold still.” Pete walked around until he was behind Carol. “Okay, I’m going to cuff your hands behind your back. It’s purely for your own protection.” He took hold of her left wrist and gently pulled it behind her back. She felt the cool steel touch her skin, followed by the sound of the ratchet closing. “And now, you’re right.” He repeated the procedure, this time fastening the other cuff around her right wrist.
“That’s it. One more detail to check. See if you can slip your hand through the cuff, like when you take off a real bracelet. I don’t think you can, but if it looks like you’re able I’ll have to adjust the fit.”
Carol tried to pull her hands apart. The handcuffs did their job well; she was stuck with her hands bound behind her back. She tried to slip the cuffs off but her hands were too wide. This is the real deal; now I know what it’s like to be taken into custody. The TV shows did get one part right. Pete could easily handle her once she was restrained.
“No luck slipping out of these things.” Carol tried to reach around, to her right. Looking down, the shiny steel cuffs were plainly visible, along with the short connecting chain separating her wrists. “I can see why these are so common. Even if I managed to get away, I don’t think I’d get far running down the street with my hands tied like this.”
“You’d probably fall down. You’d be surprised how hard it is to run without using your arms for balance.” He took hold of the chain between her hands. “I have to double lock the handcuffs so they won’t tighten any further.” Carol felt him do something with each cuff but couldn’t see.
Pete let go, placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “That’s all. Congratulations,” he told her. “You passed your first day in class for Bondage 101. We’ll take a minute or two for you to get used to the change. On rare occasions people have been known to freak out when handcuffed. It’s a panic attack triggered by loss of freedom. Let me know if you feel something like that coming on.”
All the Other Stuff
Carol reached to the left, right, up, and down, trying to figure out how much range of motion she had. Pete watched but said nothing. Finally, she leaned over and tried to slip her bound hands down past her hips. At that point Pete stopped her by grabbing hold of the connecting chain.
“You have long arms, so you might just succeed in what you’re attempting. Or you might pull a muscle from too much strain. I’m not going to let you go that far.” Carol stood up straight, giving up on the attempt.
“What’s to stop me from trying when you’re not looking?” Carol looked up at him with an innocent expression. “I bet I can manage a lot more with my hands in front.”
Pete nodded, in a way that told her he had all the answers. “You’re right, with your hands in front, even with the cuffs still on, you have quite a bit more freedom of movement. There are several cases where a woman was able to slip her hands over her hips, climb into the front seat of the police car and drive off, still wearing the handcuffs. You can imagine how embarrassing that is to a cop.”
It was Carol’s turn to laugh. “Wow, that’s really something. And how would she get away? Driving a patrol car with handcuffs on isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”
“They don’t get very far, but the damage is done. So, there are a few ways to prevent it from happening. That’s one of the reasons there’s all that other stuff hanging on the walls.” Pete reached up and took down a wide leather belt. There was a large metal ring stitched into the leather about half way down. There was an odd-looking belt buckle at one end.
“This goes around your waist, above your hips.” He reached behind her to grab one end of the belt. Pulling it snug, but not too tight, he pushed on a button on top of the buckle. “It locks. Nothing fancy but if you can’t reach it a high security lock isn’t needed.” Her fingers brushed against the belt ring in the center of her lower back. It was obvious what was coming next.
“Let me guess.” Carol turned to one side. “One end of the handcuffs fits through that ring. The belt is an anchor, so there’s no way to work my hands around front. I get it. As long as I have the cuffs on, I can’t slip one end through the belt ring. My hands are limited to the small of my back?”
Pete grinned. “Exactly. It’s sort of a technology race. Someone figures out how to defeat restraints, word gets out, and a company comes up with a way to prevent it. Only I don’t have to open one of the cuffs. Hold still and I’ll demonstrate.”
She couldn’t see what he was doing but she did hear that familiar ratchet sound, which was odd because he hadn’t freed one of her wrists. There was a tug on the belt, and then the puzzle was solved.
By now she was familiar with how cuffs felt on her wrists. What she didn’t expect was the addition of a second pair. Pete moved fast, closing the second cuffs to the same diameter. “There, see how that works.”
This time she had almost no freedom of movement. No matter what direction she tried to reach, the belt brought her up short. “It works quite well,” she said. Carol strained, with all her strength, in an attempt to free herself. “Please, don’t lose the keys,” she begged while glancing up at Pete.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Not to worry, they’re in a safe place. We do have to deal with one more issue though. You might try to run away if I’m not watching you.”
Carol looked around the room. Her theoretical escape route would be to somehow open the door to the room, climb up the stairs from the basement, and then dash out the front door to the street, all with her hands secured behind her back. “You’ll have to go into more detail about how I’m supposed to make my getaway. I doubt I’d make it out of this room.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t say you’d succeed, only that you might try. So far, you can’t fight back. I have to ensure you don’t try to flee as well. That’s one of the rules of a good bondage session: no fight or flight.”
I did ask for it, she thought. “Okay, so what’s going to stop me from attempting some stupid stunt?”
Pete shook his head. “Not stupid, more like desperate.” He took hold of her arm. “Come over here and I’ll show you how we prevent foolish behavior.” He led her to the next wall where more restraints hung from pegs.
Slow Motion
“Essentially these are oversize handcuffs with a longer connecting chain. It should be obvious how they work. One end goes around each ankle, limiting how fast and how far you can walk. On all of them the chain is too short to permit running. You can see they come in several lengths, from almost normal walking stride to what I call slow motion, where you need a lot of patience to get from point A to point B. By the way, the police term is leg irons.”
Carol looked over the various models in Pete’s collection. One caught her attention. “Why is this one so much shorter than the others?” Without thinking she started to point to one particular item. For a moment she’d forgotten her wrists were fastened behind her back.
Pete took the leg irons off the wall. “In the U.S. there’s a national regulation that determines what’s approved for length. If a prisoner has to walk the chain is required to be fourteen inches long. It has to do with excessive force and liability. You can see most of the ones on the wall are about that size, at least the ones made in America.”
“But that one’s only about…what? Looks like half the normal length.” Look at me, now I’m becoming an expert on police restraints, Carol thought.
“Yeah, these can’t be used to limit walking. They are only six inches apart, used in transport vans. A prisoner is seated, these go on, and the chain is padlocked to the van floor. Think of it as crowd control.”
Carol stared at Pete’s hand. “That’s scary. It reminds me of those old movie scenes where the villain has the hero chained to the wall in some dark dungeon.”
“We don’t have to worry about legal niceties. Don’t move; this will only take a minute.”
“Wait,” Carol almost shouted. “I was only curious. I didn’t mean…”
Before she finished Pete had the shackles fastened around her ankles. “Be careful. It’s very easy to trip and fall with the short leg irons on. Don’t try to walk unless I’m holding your arm. You don’t want to wind up on the floor with a broken nose.”
Pete had one hand wrapped around her upper left arm. Glancing down Carol slowly widened her stance until the chain was taut. The cuffs around her ankles were close but not too tight. Fortunately, she had picked out some low-heeled pumps to go with the modest length skirt and blouse. The last thing she needed to worry about was tottering on four-inch heels when she could barely stand.
“Let’s go sit down and talk for a while. There’s a couple of chairs in that corner. Take it slow, and try to limit your step to a little less than the chain. Jerking tight against the leg irons can cause bruising and leave you off balance. Try a couple of steps to start. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”
Slowly she moved her right foot forward. She stopped when the cuff began to tug on her leg. Too much, so she backed off and tried again with her left foot, halting before she reached the limit. It felt clumsy, but she now had some idea of what to do. Slow motion, he said, that’s the secret.
Carol was making progress towards the chair, though it was agonizingly slow. “Sorry”, she apologized, raising her eyes from the floor to face Pete. That wasn’t a good idea, since she stumbled and almost fell when the leg irons suddenly grabbed hold of her ankles. Off balance and unable to use her arms she started to go down.
Pete caught her before she actually fell onto the floor. “Don’t apologize when you did nothing wrong. Concentrate on keeping your balance instead of being concerned about me.” There was a certain insistence behind his voice, something she hadn’t heard from him up to now.
The chairs weren’t so far away now. Carol had a newfound appreciation for the term “snail’s pace”, based on firsthand experience. Slow and steady wins this race, do what he tells me, stay focused, one foot in front of the other. I can manage this.
And then they arrived. Turning her head Carol looked back to her starting point. Normally it would take her under two seconds to cover that distance. Now it felt like hours had passed, though she knew it couldn’t have been that long. Ironically, she felt very proud of her accomplishment, and said as much to Pete.
“I made it! I bet with some practice I could cover the same distance in half the time.”
Pete shook his head. “No, you can’t go any faster. That’s the point in chaining your ankles together. It’s a hard, physical limitation that all the practice in the world won’t change. You did do well, much better than I expected.”
Pete took hold of her other arm so he could turn Carol to face him. “That’s not idle praise. You were forced to overcome a significant disability, practically learning to walk again. You picked it up quickly, working within the restrictions instead of fighting against them. You didn’t panic, or lash out in anger. You have every right to take pride in your accomplishment.”
Her intuition, his expression, the tone of his voice all confirmed to Carol he was being honest. Those were not empty words solely for her benefit. For some reason she couldn’t explain, his approval meant the world to her.
Behind Carol was a wooden straight back chair. The lower half was open, to provide room for her hands. “I want you to sit down in this chair. Don’t try to stand up on your own. Here, I’ll help.” Backing up until the back of her knees touched the edge, she dropped down while he held onto her arm.
When she tried to slide back to rest against the chair her skirt rode up her legs. Frowning, she reflexively started to reach down to straighten it, except she couldn’t. Pete saw the problem immediately. “Lean forward and raise up a bit,” he ordered in that certain tone of voice again.
Bending at the waist she managed to lift herself up enough for him to pull down her skirt while tucking it in at the sides. “Is that better?” he asked.
Settling back into the chair again she answered. “Thanks, Pete. I hate when that happens.” Carol began to cross her legs but was quickly brought up short. That’s not going to work, she thought. What did work was going back to basics. Keep your knees together, both feet on the floor; that I can manage. Geez, this feels like my mother lecturing me about my first school dance.
When she looked up Pete was watching her closely. He saw it all, she realized, feeling slightly embarrassed. She felt better when he nodded and told her, “Good choice; I like that.”
Carol watched while he went over to a stack of chairs in the corner. He pulled one off the top and headed back towards her. Curious, she leaned over the side of her chair to check if it was the same kind. That’s when she noticed her chair was bolted to the floor.
Pete dropped his chair in front of her. “Stop that.” He didn’t sound angry but she sensed something was wrong. He came close, almost touching her legs. She had to lean her head back to see him.
“This is what’s going to happen next. First, you will sit up straight. Don’t fidget; you are being judged. You will sit there quietly. I will talk; you will listen. Don’t be afraid. There’s a reason for all this. I’m going to explain it now. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
He never raised his voice, yet there was a sense of the steel fist wrapped in the velvet glove as he delivered those short, succinct commands. Maybe it had something to do with the chains locked on her body, imposing his will in a manner Carol could not resist. He had her undivided attention.
The Other Side
“First of all, I’d like to say I appreciate the amount of faith you have in me. This bondage game,” he made a sweeping motion with his arms toward her, “does carry some risk. Those true crime shows are filled with lurid stories about meetings gone wrong. Don’t be anxious, that’s not going to happen. If you start to feel uncomfortable just say the word and we’ll stop. I think, if you are patient and hear me out, you’ll understand why you’re in no danger.”
“I’m not worried…” Carol began.
Pete quickly interrupted. “Sorry, but you have to remain silent, as I ordered. Once you are, umm, let’s say in custody there are certain rules you need to follow. Remember I said sit quietly? Once you are under my control you are obligated to obey me, to the best of your ability. There are no exceptions, unless you are in distress. Since you’re a beginner I’m asking nicely, otherwise I’d be more insistent in enforcing my orders. You must wait for permission to speak. Nod if you wish to continue. If what I ask is too much, we’ll end it here.”
His tone of voice was level, non-threatening, but Carol could hear that hint of firm conviction behind it. Something in the way he spoke drew her in, compelling her to keep going. She nodded in agreement.
“Good! We’ll get into some of the other customary requirements later. Now then, you are not as isolated in your desire to be here as you might think. There are women much like you who are drawn to what might be termed a return to older, gender-specific roles. By that I refer to the old cliché about the macho kind of guy who likes to be in charge, along with his woman who’s content to let him take on the responsibility that comes with being the leader.”
Carol didn’t say anything but his explanation did give her pause to think. Her first reaction was to dismiss his claim as outdated and self-serving. She was a modern, independent woman who didn’t have to rely on men to run her life. Except, if that’s true, what am I doing here? Her fingers brushed against the handcuffs encircling her wrists. Why is it I don’t want him to take these things off?
Pete leaned forward. “Now I’m not the macho stereotype. I have nothing to prove. I like to think I’m a decent guy, but I do have this one little quirk. To sum it up, I’m an unrepentant control freak. Without sounding too conceited, my way is the right way. Not just right, but the only way. You’ve placed yourself in my hands, for your own reasons. I make no apologies for taking advantage of that trust, in whatever manner I see fit.”
Pete held up his hands. “Don’t take that the wrong way. I do have a moral code regarding how you should be treated during a bondage session.”
Carol suddenly realized how precarious her situation was, given the degree of physical control this man now had over her. It could all go very bad in seconds. For some reason she wasn’t scared. Quite the contrary, there was a certain thrill of excitement in the way she submitted to his dominating presence.
“Being right doesn’t mean I have a monopoly on wisdom. I make mistakes, and I learn from them. I listen to what other people say. I may not agree, in fact that’s my usual attitude unless there’s some persuasive argument to the contrary. In the end, I have confidence in what I believe. There’s no room for doubt or uncertainty. My approach to life is to consider the options, add in my due diligence to foresee consequences, and finally to act based on the best information I have at the time. Whatever the results, good or bad, I am content with the knowledge I acted in an honorable way.”
I give him credit for being honest. Pete’ revelations into his personality, and his willingness to open up, captured Carol’s interest. The Internet had plenty of information on bondage in general, along with articles on domination and submission. Though there were numerous views on submission, Carol was frustrated to find far less insight into the mind of a dominant man.
Pete seemed to fit the definition of that assertive personality. After weeks of emails and video chats he’d presented a good impression, which explained why she was sitting in a chair facing him. She hadn’t anticipated her visit would quickly turn toward a serious subject.
“I’m sure you have quite a bit to say. Be patient.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I do appreciate how difficult it must be to sit there and not utter one word. If it helps, you have impressed me with your cooperation.”
You say it best when you say nothing at all. She didn’t remember the entire song, but those lyrics seemed to be appropriate to the moment. Carol was acutely aware of her vulnerable state. Was that the reason she was being so obedient, or was there more to it?
She studied Pete as he sat across from her. There was a long, silent pause while he returned her scrutiny. I can put an end to this at any time, she reminded herself. Of course, that assumed Pete would fulfill his promise to free her. He might ignore her request, though she didn’t want to go there.
What else will he demand? And more importantly, can I say no? She was afraid to go too far down that path too. It’s true, there really is a certain attraction to being deprived of my freedom. I can feel it. Until he gives me his permission I might as well be gagged.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m having a great time.” Pete held out one hand, palm up. “I don’t see bondage as a one-way street,” he began. Slowly he closed his hand into a fist. “I doubt you can understand what it means to me, to have you place yourself in my hands, hands which close to tighten into an unbreakable grip on you. Look at you, bound hand and foot, so helpless.”
He held out his other hand and closed it. “You can’t even talk. That’s my power over you, not just fantasy but tangible reality. It’s a powerful drug for someone like me.”
Control freak, that was an understatement. If she were thinking clearly then he should qualify as a first-class jerk, and she should get out of there as fast as possible. Except she had a problem with acting on the impulse. She had been told to sit quietly in the chair. Only a short phrase, yet every bit as effective as the chains she wore in keeping her in line.
The Chair
It was a relief when Pete released her from the handcuffs. “Well, I learned my lesson. No more emptying the wine bottle before getting in the car.” Carol started giggling like a little girl. “It’s scary, but kind of cool at the same time. Thanks, Pete. From now on I’ll have a bit of sympathy when I see those handcuffed women on the news.”
He hung the handcuffs, waist belt and leg irons back on the wall. “No need to thank me. I can assure you, holding a submissive woman captive is a reward all by itself. It should be obvious there aren’t many volunteers. You’re the exception.”
Carol was rubbing her wrists, where the cuffs had left a red ring. “I’d hate to be stuck in those things for several hours. I do have to admit, there was something, I’m not sure exactly how to describe it, a feeling that I was so powerless but not afraid. I’d like to try it again one of these days, if you don’t mind.”
Pete smiled. “I’m easily tempted. By the way, there are other forms of restraint that aren’t so uncomfortable. As long as you don’t mind being deprived of your freedom, of course. Care to take a look?”
Carol thought for a moment before deciding to proceed. She had a good first impression of Pete, as someone she could rely on. “Sure! You triggered my curiosity.”
Pete went over to a closet door, opened it, and wheeled out what Carol mistook for a crude wheelchair at first. “This is what’s known as a prisoner restraint chair. It’s used when a suspect has to be restrained but is drunk, high on drugs or generally very uncooperative. Once seated the chair can be wheeled around, usually to an isolation cell until the suspect calms down.”
Carol walked around the chair, to see how it worked. It was basically a metal frame with numerous, wide straps. It had wheels but those were well out of reach of the prisoner. Handles on the back could be used to push it around.
“I get the overall idea. Anyone sitting in that contraption isn’t going anywhere on their own.” She ran a hand across one of the chair arms.
“Still feeling adventurous? Want to try it out?”
Why not? It doesn’t look all that intimidating. It can’t be worse than the handcuffs. Carol nodded in agreement. “Okay, you have a willing volunteer one more time.”
Pete loosened the straps before standing behind the chair so he could hold it steady. “Your chariot awaits, my lady! I promise, it won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Carol tried not to laugh when she sat down. It wasn’t the most comfortable though she was sure the designers likely weren’t too concerned about the quality of the seat cushion. She straightened out her dress and placed her arms on the chair rests. There was a plate on the bottom for her feet.
“I’m ready, what’s next?”
Pete went over to his wall and took down those odd mittens he’d pointed out earlier. “We’ll start with your hands. You don’t appreciate how important fingers are until you don’t have any. These are the small size; they should fit.”
Carol held out her hands. Close up the mitts were simple nylon tubes with a thick inner padding. Her hands went in easily enough, but the lining was far too stiff for her to flex her fingers. Pete closed a Velcro strap at the wrist to prevent her slipping out. Her hands were transformed into all but useless stubs.
“That should work. Put your arms back on the armrests.” When she complied, he wrapped the heavier straps across her wrists, over the mitts. When he tightened them, her hands were fixed to the chair.
“This wide one goes across your waist. I regret I must insist you remain seated, for your own safety, naturally.” Judging from the smile on his face her safety was the last thing on his mind. “And a second one higher up, so you don’t lean forward.” Carol could feel the belt resting under her bra.
Crouching down he finished off with the straps around her ankles and legs. After he stood up, she jerked on her wrists and ankles. “I see what you mean. It looks like I’m going to be here for a while. Is there a time limit for being left in one of these chairs?”
Pete shook his head. “No, no fixed limit, though there have been some cases where a session went on for far too long, twelve hours or more without anyone in attendance. Legally that’s considered abuse, so the police have to be careful about using these things.”
Twelve hours? No way I could last that long. Except…it wasn’t up to her. For the first time Carol realized she was actually worse off than simply being handcuffed. She tried shifting her weight back and forth. The chair didn’t budge. “I suppose you’re not too concerned about me making a daring escape?”
Pete noticed her struggle. “Not so much. There’s a brake on the wheels. It has a low center of gravity, so you can’t tip it over either. I’ve read that being unable to move has a calming effect, at least on some people. What do you think?”
Carol relaxed and leaned back in the chair. She closed her eyes, trying to visualize herself from Pete’s perspective. He was right; even though she was trapped there was a soothing effect, as if all her troubles were draining away.
“It’s a strange feeling. It’s like I don’t have a care in the world. There’s nothing I can do, so I don’t have to worry about making a mistake. You’re in charge; I’m your responsibility while I’m sitting here.” She attempted to swivel her head around to see Pete’s reaction. He remained out of sight, behind the chair.
“You’re still there? I can’t see you. Please, don’t leave me alone.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m here. I have a few more items, if you’d like to move up a level, so to speak. How about it, want to push your limits a bit more?”
The way he spoke to her, so confident and reassuring, pushed aside any caution on Carol’s part. “Go ahead. I can call a halt if it gets to be too much?”
Pete patted her shoulder. “Of course, all you have to do is tell me to stop. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
She heard him pull open a drawer. If only he’d turn around the chair so she could watch. She was tempted to ask but held back. Maybe this is intentional. He’s the expert. I shouldn’t interfere.
She caught only a glimpse of the collar before it closed around her neck. It was made of leather, and completely covered her neck. A chin piece in front forced her to hold her head up and back. She felt him do something with whatever held it in place, behind her head.
“This is what’s called a posture collar. The purpose is to prevent you from looking around. Proper posture is important. One of my rules when occupying this chair is that you keep your head up and facing forward.”
If that was really its purpose then it was quite effective. Her head was clamped firmly in place. Any sideways glances were out of the question. When she attempted to tilt forward the collar brought her up short.
“I added a small modification to the chair. There’s an adjustable post in the back, which hooks to the collar. If you wish to remain in the chair you will have to abide by my restrictions.”
Take a Ride
Carol debated whether to continue or call it quits. She’d already gone well past what she anticipated, yet she wasn’t nervous about the direction he was heading. He made it so easy for her to slip into the passive role. Prior to arriving she was afraid she’d make a fool of herself, yet his manner wiped away all her fears. She liked the way he was patient with his explanations. The manner in which he anticipated her questions ahead of time, and provided welcome answers, convinced Carol she could sit back and enjoy his show.
He walked around in front of her and crouched down to eye level. “So you know, I’m always overly cautious with a beginner. Surrendering yourself to the custody of a stranger is no small matter. From what I’ve seen tonight, you are quite remarkable in that respect. You haven’t hesitated, not for a moment, in accepting whatever I decide. That means a lot to those of us who are of the dominant persuasion.”
His words brought on a warm feeling within Carol. Sexual attraction was definitely a part of it, but there was more. She felt he was opening up to her, a rarity for men. “Right now, I feel so peaceful, even though I’m trapped, your prisoner, powerless to resist you. You have a rare talent, Pete. By rights I should be terrified, yet it’s just the opposite.”
Pete reached out and placed a hand on her knee. “That’s good to know, Carol. I’ll take that to be your consent for me to continue. The chair is a handy foundation to build on the bondage experience.”
The hand was an intimate gesture, an escalation into the overtly sexual, yet Carol chose not to object. Her inhibitions were breaking down at an increasing rate. She had no idea what he planned next.
The Lullaby
“Are you comfortable, or at least not too uncomfortable? There’s something I’d like to show you, if you’re willing to be patient with me.” All this time Pete was behind her, out of sight though she could feel his presence.
Carol shifted around in the chair, as much as she was able. “I’m okay,” she replied. “Go ahead, you have a captive audience.” In a very literal sense, she thought. Being tied down left her in an exceptionally vulnerable position, one he could easily use to take advantage of her. If his hands did start to roam, she could always protest. In theory, she realized, but in fact she wasn’t sure how she’d react. If he starts, I can’t stop him. That thought only led to more confusion.
Pete released the brake on the chair and wheeled her through the doorway into the section of the basement fitted out as a den. He parked her in front of a wood-paneled section of the wall and engaged the brake. With the posture collar in place her view was sharply limited to what was in front of her. With a bit of a shock, she suddenly pictured herself as a quadriplegic, paralyzed from the neck down, unable to move, entirely dependent on the man standing behind her. It was only a momentary flash, yet it had an impact. Believing in Pete wasn’t an option any longer.
The lights dimmed but didn’t go out. “What’s going on?” Was this supposed to be romantic?
She heard a chair drop to the floor behind her chair. He was deliberately hiding from her, but why? “Whatever gruesome movie scene you’re thinking of, put it out of your mind. I promise, that’s not what’s going on.”
His deep voice, quiet yet confident, and persuasive, helped Carol relax. “There’s a bit of enchantment in this chair, that’s what I want you to see. If you sit back, open your imagination, and listen to a little story then maybe, if we’re lucky, the magic will visit us tonight.”
“The coming attractions are intriguing. Okay, I’m hooked, what’s my part?” Whatever he wanted, it would have to be simple, since she wasn’t in a position to contribute much.
“This is how it will be,” he began. He has it all planned out, she told herself. Good, I like that.
His voice was a whisper in her ear, barely audible. “Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and focus on my words. Tune out everything else. Use your imagination, your mind’s eye, to build the picture I describe. Don’t speak, don’t make a sound, for that will break the spell.”
It was so easy to follow his instructions, the way he carefully detailed every step. Let him do the work, she thought.
“Forget about the here and now. Imagine a log cabin, high up in the mountains. It’s the middle of winter, deep snow all around, but you’re warm inside. Outside it’s bitterly cold. You can hear the wind howling, the tapping of the snow swirling in the blizzard, striking against the windows. The sound alone makes you shiver.
“But you aren’t cold. You’re bundled up head to toe, snug in your huge fur coat. The flames dance in the fireplace, weaving in and out of the wooden logs resting on the grate. There’s a faint scent of pine in the air, coming from the ready supply of wood stacked to one side. The sturdy walls of the cabin will not let in the storm this evening, or any other.
“The coat is drawn tightly around your bare body, like an oversized blanket. When you move the sensuous pleasure of the deep, soft pile of the fur against your skin is indescribable; no words can do it justice. It is tight, confining, though you have no desire to escape from its embrace.”
The power of his resonant, masculine, storytelling voice transported Carol from the restraint chair and the basement to the mountain cabin. At that moment all she wanted was for him to continue.
“You lean back into your man’s chest. His arms encircle you, pulling you close against him. In your heart you know this is his way of telling you he will never let you go. It is the point in time when everything comes together to transform into that perfect moment. All is right with the world; your dream has come true.”
There was a hypnotic rhythm that carried Pete’s words deep into her mind. He was still speaking yet the conscious part of her brain seemed to have shut down. She heard the words without understanding them. Somehow, it wasn’t important to think, only to feel the emotions he drew out. Carol was drifting off…
Revelation
Carol awoke with a start. Something was wrong; she couldn’t move. She began struggling, confused and terrified.
“Stop that, right now!” Pete’s hands were on her shoulders, his face close, peering into her eyes. His stern tone had the desired effect, jolting her back to reality. As quickly as it started the panic attack passed.
“That’s better. You fell asleep. Judging by the contented look on your face you were deep in a lovely dream. I didn’t want to spoil it, so I watched over you until you woke up. It’s been about two hours.”
Carol blinked, slowly coming back to the present. She was in Pete’s basement, in the process of discovering the more mysterious side effects of bondage. Two hours in the restraint chair, that was far more than she expected. And it’s not over yet, she realized. I’m still stuck in this thing.
“Could you…” she trailed off. No, releasing me should be up to him. “Could you scratch my nose? It’s driving me crazy.” Carol had a newfound appreciation of what it meant to surrender control. His way is the right way, that she remembered. There was a good reason she couldn’t remove the restraints on her own. No halfway measures, she reminded herself. I asked for this; it would be wrong to not respect my part of our agreement.
There was a long pause before he did rub her nose. He knows what I was going to say. The look of disappointment on Pete’s face all but broke her heart. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a key.
“Pete? Please wait, hear me out.” He stopped and took a step back, his head tilted to one side in curiosity.
“The story, about the cabin, the way you shaped a wonderful dream, that was way beyond anything I expected. You invested a lot of effort in me; I don’t want to ruin it for you.” Carol twisted back and forth in a vain attempt to free herself. “See? I’m here until you decide to let me go. I’m fine where I am, so don’t rush into anything out of concern for me.”
Pete released the brake on the restraint chair so he could spin her around. He sat down and crossed his arms. “I think of bondage as ninety percent mental. Physical control, sure, that’s the easy part…assuming you have a willing victim.” He gave her an evil leer that made her laugh.
“The complex part is what happens next. There’s the usual stuff you read about online, almost always involving sex. It’s a variation on the romance novel bodice-rippers, overcoming feigned resistance, indulging in some kind of rape fantasy that comes with being helpless, unable to resist the overpowering pseudo-villain.” Pete shrugged. “Fine if you like that stuff, but it does become repetitive.”
Carol found herself agreeing with him. “I have to admit I do find certain aspects of your description appealing, but you’re right. After about the tenth story they all blur together.” She did feel a little embarrassed talking about her fantasies, yet here she was, in his basement, acting them out.
Pete leaned forward, once more placing a hand on her knee. “If I claim I have transcended the base instinct of lust then you’d have every right to doubt anything else I said. There is a time and place for being intimate, but tonight is not it.
“I’ve revealed my secret purpose in pursuing bondage. More than anything else I want to get inside your head, shape your every thought toward my own ends. Physical bondage removes the distractions. Mental bondage, the handcuffs I place on your hopes and dreams, that’s what drives me. The cabin in the mountains was a glimpse into what it can be.
“Don’t be concerned that you’re somehow spoiling the evening. Far from it. Sure, I know what you were about to ask me.” He held out his other hand. In it was the key. “This is all that’s needed to release you from the chair. Not much to look at, but what it represents matters far more than appearance.” He dropped it back into his shirt pocket.
“A question unasked, an answer unspoken. If you hadn’t stopped mid-sentence, do you believe I was willing to let you go? Would you have been disappointed if I did as you requested?”
Carol stared at Pete, bewildered by the fact she couldn’t find ready replies to his disturbing questions. She was at a loss for words. The long, silent pause dragged on. He sat opposite her, not in any way threatening, yet she could feel…something…passing between them.
“Bondage,” he began, “is all about control. Exerting power over another; and surrendering freedom, the loss of power, to another. To reach the full experience, the total loss, can be a difficult threshold to cross. That’s where you are now. Do you feel it?”
This was it, she thought. She looked him in the eye. “Please let me go,” she said, without any emotion behind it.
Pete smiled. He was certain he had judged her correctly.
“No.”