1. Meeting Tim
I met Tim when he walked into the dormitory room that we shared for the next two years. Freshmen at the University, we were there to check in and go through orientation. Tim came from out of state – from Minnesota where he lived on a farm some miles north of St. Paul. Average height, plain brown hair, a rather nondescript face, he had a fairly good build – probably from working on the family farm. He was a Republican, conservative, Lutheran, and had hardly ever been away from his family. Timmothy Larson was his full name, but nobody ever called him anything except Tim.
Tim was likeable, quiet, and, as it turned out, a good student. He quickly established and then followed a regular daily routine, studied hard, attended all of his classes, and received good grades. In other words, he turned out to be the ideal roommate. We got along well together, and Tim more or less took me on as project, helping me establish my routine, study regularly (something I had not been doing), and he introduced me to classical music which I grew to like.
Since I lived only a couple of hours away from the University, I frequently went home on weekends, but Tim had to stay, going home only at Christmas and in the spring. Our first year together was uneventful except for the noteworthy fact that my grades were the best I had ever achieved. Coincidently, both of us majored in Business Administration. Tim had two older brothers who had claimed the farm, so it was necessary for him to find something else. He decided that farming needed a better business head, and that he could help his family by going in that direction.
At the end of the first year, Tim and I agreed to room together again the next year.
2. Second Year
After summer vacation, both Tim and I returned to the dormitory at the University, and to our old room. We immediately fell into our routines as if there had been no hiatus. My parents were beside themselves with my improved grades, and my father had offered to keep paying my tuition and costs as long as I acted like a real student.
Tim was his usual self – quiet, conservative. Once in a while we discussed this and that – even politics. Tim was convinced that Ronald Reagan had been the best President the United States ever had, and that liberals were just a lesser breed of Communist – Godless Communist in his eyes. Tim went to church regularly, dressed in his jacket and tie, carrying his Bible. He often coaxed me to go along, but I declined. I don’t have anything against religion – it’s just not my cup of tea, so to speak.
During the second semester of our sophomore year, Tim met Psyche (pronounced sigh-key). He mentioned her a few times before I actually met her – said she was in a class with him and that she was in academic trouble. He had agreed to tutor her, and they met frequently to study. Tim was convinced that she was making progress, and that she was worth the time and effort.
Near the end of that semester, I finally met Psyche. It was something of a start to say the least – she was a diminutive person, just over five feet tall, frail looking, and dressed from top to bottom in the Goth style. She had all black clothes, black lipstick, black nails, heavy boots, hair died black with bright tinges of red here and there. She had dark make up under her eyes that gave her a gaunt look, but she had a pleasant smile and what struck me as a rather pronounced sense of humor which was out of step with her otherwise dark continence. As long as I didn’t look at her too much, I found her fun to be around.
But she was hardly the girl I would have teamed up with Tim. She
was irreverent, sometimes swore, and occasionally smoked. As I said,
this was not the girl I would have pictured with Tim. But he seemed
happy being around her, and sometimes told me that he found Phyche – well,
very nice – even wonderful. She was opening up new worlds for him,
he said once. That was about all I could get out of Tim except that
I noticed he was gone more than usual, had altered his routine, and was
apparently spending time with Psyche, and more than just tutoring her.
I stayed out of it – it was his business.
At the end of our second year, we again agreed to room together for
our junior year. Then I went home for the summer.
3. The Third Year
During the summer, I got a phone call from Tim. He said he had
found a very nice house that we could rent, rather than going back to the
dormitory. It would actually cost me less than dorm fees and that
over and above food and expenses. The place had a large front room,
two bathrooms, three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, nice yard, and an “entertainment
room.” Would I agree? I agreed. Why not?
When I arrived at the University, the house Tim had rented was everything
he had described and more. It had a spacious yard, well groomed,
and inside it was comfortably appointed with queen sized beds in all three
bedrooms, and very modern appliances in the kitchen. I didn’t understand
then how Tim had managed to get the house so cheaply, but for some reason
I didn’t ask.
Again, as we had the first two years, we fell into our routine, attending
classes – only a short walk from the house – and studying. Both Tim
and I had managed to hold onto high marks and good grades, and Tim said
that Psyche had done well too and that she was out of academic probation
and now stood a good chance of actually graduating and on time. Tim
said that he had met Psyche’s father, and that he had thanked Tim for helping
his daughter.
Again, during the first semester, I noticed that Tim spent more and
more time with Psyche. He seemed very happy, and more relaxed than
during the first two years. Still he studied hard and worked hard,
but I could tell that he was enjoying being around someone very different
from his family and friends back home.
Psyche was clearly having an effect on him. Little did I know
how much!
In Winter came the King Holiday which fell on a Monday and classes
were cancelled. I got up at the usual time, fixed my breakfast, and
sat at the kitchen table eating and reading the morning newspaper when
Tim walked into the room. I did a double take when I saw him.
Except for a tight black thong (which barely held all of his manhood) he
was naked. He fixed a bowl of cereal, and sat at the table opposite
me as usual. I decided not to say anything but wait for Tim
to start a conversation but as he ate I noticed red marks around his wrists.
Overwhelmed by too much curiosity, I broke the silence, reached out and
took his hand, and asked, “What happened – what are these marks on your
wrists?”
“Oh,” he said clearly blushing a little. “Those are from something
that Psyche and I do – something she does to me.”
“What does she do?” I decided I was too curious not to ask.
“She ties me up.”
“Excuse me.”
“She ties me up. She likes it when I’m tied up and she does it
to me all the time.”
“Do you like being tied up?”
“John, I love it! It’s the most wonderful feeling. I can’t
explain it, but there is nothing like it. You can’t imagine how exciting,
thrilling it is to be helpless, bound, someone’s prisoner. It is
the greatest thing I have ever experienced.”
“You really like it?” This was the most excited I had ever seen
Tim. He was bubbling, gushing about his experience. And he
was talking more than he usually did – Tim was always quiet, answering
with only a few words.
“I love it,” he said cheerfully. “I know, some may think it odd,
kinky, but until you have had someone you care about do it to you, you
don’t know and can’t understand how truly breathtaking it is to be helpless,
tightly restrained, tied up. Oh, like I said, it’s kinky. I
hope you aren’t turned off by it and upset with me, but I have found real
liberation and pleasure in our activities. Psyche has opened up a
whole new world for me.”
“Does she tie you up a lot?” I asked.
“All the time. She’s good at it too – I have never been able
to escape once she has me bound and gagged.”
“Gagged?”
“Oh yes, Psyche says that to really surrender you have to be bound
AND gagged. Of course, I’m not really silenced – I can moan and grunt,
but no words. I can squirm and wiggle, but when she has me tied up,
I’m her prisoner. I really like it.”
“Wow,” I managed. “Well, I guess if you like it, it’s okay with
me. But what’s with the thong?”
“Well, today’s a holiday, but stores are open. Psyche is taking
me shopping. And she ordered me to wear just this thong that she
got for me.”
“I’m not sure that many stores will welcome you dressed in just that
– it’s sort of minimal isn’t it?”
“I think she’ll bring something for me to put on over it.”
Then Tim stood and took his dish to the sink. That’s when I saw
the tattoo – on his left shoulder in back. About four inches long and an
inch high, surrounded by a red and black border, were the words “Psyche’s
Slave.”
“What’s with the tattoo?” I asked.
“Oh,” said Tim turning, “I’m her slave now. We have a contract.
I’ve given her my body to do with whatever she wants.”
“Anything? Are you sure about this? Is this a good idea?”
“I’m so sure I have no qualms at all. We signed the agreement,
had it witnessed and notarized. My body is hers. She can tie
me up, keep me tied up as long as she wants, do whatever she wants with
me. I belong to her.”
“Wow,” I said again. “Well, if that’s what you want. I hope sometime
when you’re all tied up you don’t regret this and change your mind. Might
be too late.”
“I trust her,” he said. “I know I’ll like whatever she does to
me.”
At that point, the doorbell rang, and Tim went to answer. Shortly
he and Psyche walked into the kitchen.
“He knows about us,” Tim said.
“Good,” Psyche laughed. “About time.”
“So you’re going shopping?” I asked.
“Yes – Tim needs some things and I’ll take him to a store where we
can get them.” She turned to him and handed him a black nylon sweat
suit. “Put this on and we’ll be on our way.”
Off they went, and I guess they finished their shopping as Tim returned
home that evening, ready to study and head to classes the next day.
We did not discuss Psyche or being tied up any more at that time.
4. First Encounter
It was a few weeks after that – I had gone home for the weekend, and
returned Sunday night just after nine. I unlocked the front door,
and walked into the main room, turned on the lights, and was startled to
say the least. In the middle of the room, sitting on a straight-back
wooden chair sat Tim. He was nude, securely tied to the chair and
gagged. When I say he was securely tied, I do not exaggerate.
Rope held him in just about every way I could think of, and at his ankles
and wrists there was duct tape over the rope adding reinforcements.
More tape covered his face from his nose down to his chin and tape went
from under his chin up over his head – fortunately there was a cap of some
sort on his head so that the tape didn’t involve his hair. He struggled
a bit with the ropes, but it was clear that he would stay that way until
someone released him.
“Hi,” I managed. “Are you okay?”
He nodded that he was okay.
“Did Psyche tie you up here?”
He nodded yes.
“Will she come back and untie you?
He nodded no.
“Should I untie you?”
He nodded yes.
I started with the tape on his face, finally finding ends and unwrapping
the coils that surrounded his lower head. When the last piece came
off, he spit out a wad of cloth that filled his mouth. “Thanks” he
said. “I think you’ll need a knife to really free me – Psyche left
one on the counter in the kitchen for you.”
“Thoughtful of her,” I said. I went to the kitchen, found the
knife, returned, and cut Tim loose. He stood with some trouble, moved
his arms and legs, and stretched out.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Since about Noon,” he said. “Psyche had to go to some event
with her family, so she brought me here and tied me up and left me for
you to find. She really did a good job didn’t she?”
“No question about that,” I agreed. “But what if I hadn’t returned
until tomorrow?”
“I would have stayed tied up until tomorrow. I’ve been tied up
that long before – and longer.”
“Really?”
Tim smiled and looked at me and said, “It’s great – how you feel when
you’re immobilized. You’re free to think about whatever you want
– let your mind wander.”
We talked for quite a while, Tim telling me how he felt when in bondage,
and me asking questions. I was curious, I must admit. But I
doubted I would like sitting tied to a chair for eight hours or more.
That seemed a bit much.
“By the way,” I said pointing to Tim’s crotch, “shouldn’t you remove
that rope too?” Psyche had put his penis and testicles into something
of a rope harness which separated the testicles and surrounded his penis.
It looked tight and uncomfortable.
“No,” he said. “She told me to leave that until she sees me tomorrow.
And I better do it – she’ll check to be sure it’s there and she’ll punish
me if I remove it.”
“Oh,” I said. “Whatever you say.”
With that we went to our rooms and to bed for the night. I was
tired. I had an early class in the morning.
5. More encounters
Two weeks later, I went home again for the weekend. I wondered
what I might find when I returned, and wasn’t disappointed. I walked
into the house around eight-thirty, and found everything dark and quiet.
I called out to Tim, and thought I heard something in the distance, but
wasn’t sure. I moved toward the kitchen, but nothing there.
Next I went to my bathroom, which was empty. Slowly I pushed open
the door to Tim’s room, and there he was, lying on his bed – spread-eagle,
tied and gagged.
Leather cuffs held his wrists and ankles. These were fixed with
chains to the corners of the bed. The gag was a large leather affair
which held a large piece of leather over his mouth and apparently had a
plug that filled his mouth. The straps went around his head and buckled
in front. Other straps went up around his nose, between his eyes,
and around his head, and under his jaw, holding his mouth firmly clamped
shut. He also had a leather blindfold.
“I suppose I am supposed to release you from this too?” I asked.
He nodded, yes.
It took a while to find how to disengage the fasteners that held the
cuffs, but I managed. I let Tim remove the gag which he had to do
in front of a mirror.
“She tied me up here early this morning,” he said, staggering a bit
when he walked as his legs were stuff.
“So you’ve been here for twelve hours?”
“About that,” he said. “And before you ask, it was wonderful.
I floated – free, and I loved every second of it. I’m almost sorry
you didn’t wait until tomorrow to return.”
“I’ve another question,” I said. “Isn’t this equipment a little
expensive?”
“It’s very expensive,” he answered. “But money is no problem.”
“It isn’t?”
“No,” he offered. “Psyche has all the money she wants.
Her family is loaded. Her father is the CEO of a large corporation.
Haven’t you figured out that she pays most of the rent for this place?”
“No, I hadn’t figured that out.”
“Well, she does. She likes me, and you too. So enjoy.
She can afford it – or rather, her father can – and since I’ve been tutoring
her, he likes me too and even gives us an allowance – both of us – so we
buy our bondage toys and other things.”
“Does her father approve of her clothes and make up and all of that?”
“Well, no, but he’s gotten used to it. As long as she get good
grades, he says he can tolerate just about anything.”
“Does he know that you are her slave?”
“Probably not. But Psyche tells me that he sees a dominatrix
regularly, so I think if he found out, he wouldn’t have much to say.”
I didn’t find Tim tied up again for quite a while. Meantime, one day
when Psyche was there she approached me and said that she had a cousin
named Dorry. Dorry, she explained, was short for Pandora. Seems
like her father and her uncle had a thing for mythology and had given their
children the names of such characters. Anyway, Dory was in town and would
I like to double date that night with her and Tim. I agreed.
Dory turned out to be Psyche’s twin. At least, she could have
been. The two looked like mirror images of each other. And
they had the same wild sense of humor that I enjoyed. We went out
to a club where most of the customers were in Goth clothes – and where
I stood out just a bit as did Tim. We had a good time, enjoyed the
evening, and went back to the house for a more quiet place to chat.
After a while Tim and Psyche left, leaving me with Dory. Eventually
she brought up the subject – I knew she would sooner or later. She
asked rather directly if I was into bondage. I said I was sorry,
but I wasn’t.
“Too bad,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “But it just doesn’t appeal
to me.”
We talked quite a while longer – I learned a lot about Dory, and then
I drove her to the apartment where she was staying, we kissed, and that
ended it.
I didn’t see Dory again that year.
6. Seniors
Tim and I again lived in the house during our senior year. I
was looking forward to graduating, and I knew Tim also was anxious to get
out of the University. He remained thick with Psyche and they seemed
to be a truly tight couple quite in love apparently.
Psyche mentioned Dory once in a while, but we didn’t see each other again.
I wondered also if I would ever come home and find Tim tied up again,
but it didn’t seem to happen, and the year passed fairly quickly and uneventfully
– that is – until spring.
I had been away at home and as usual, returned late Sunday night.
In the living room, I found Tim. I guessed it was Tim, anyway.
The figure was covered entirely with black heavy leather. Apparently
a leather straitjacket, legs bound in some kind of leather wrap, a hood
covering his head, on his knees, a strap running from his ankles to his
back that kept him from standing. I couldn’t imagine how long he
had been trussed up that way, and apparently under the hood there was a
gag as he wasn’t able to say anything.
The thing that really got my attention was the locks. Every binding,
every strap, every cinch was held with a small padlock. There was
no way I could release Tim without the keys which were not in evidence.
“Are you okay?” I shouted.
He grunted.
“Should I release you?”
He grunted and nodded.
“Do you know where the keys are?”
He grunted, and then I said, “Let’s set one grunt to mean yes and two
grunts to mean no, ok?
One grunt.
Do you know where the keys are?
One grunt.
“Are they here in this room?”
Two grunts.
“Are they in the kitchen?”
Two grunts.
“Are they in one of the bathrooms?”
Two grunts.
“Are they in your bedroom?”
One grunt.
I went to Tim’s room which was, as usual, tidy, neat, clean.
I looked around, but did not see a bunch of keys anywhere.
I went back and asked Tim, “Are the keys in a drawer?”
Two grunts.
“Are they hidden?”
One grunt.
“Are they in plain sight?”
One grunt.
“Are they on your desk?”
One grunt.
I went back and looked. His desk was almost clean – two books,
a small holder with pens and pencils, a notebook, and Tim’s hacky-sack.
I looked at the books, picked them up and thumbed through them, but they
were just books. I went back to Tim and asked, “Are they in the books
somehow?”
Two grunts
“The only other thing there is the hacky sack.”
One loud grunt.
I went back and picked up the hacky sack. It was heavy – too
heavy. I took it to the kitchen and with a knife I cut the leather
bindings that held the parts of the little ball together, and out fell
the keys. I gathered them up and went back to Tim and discovered
that I had to try each key in each lock until I found the one that worked.
Off came the hood first, and then the lock on the leather gag.
“Thanks,” he said when he could talk. “I’ve been here a long
time.”
I kept working with the locks and after about half an hour, had Tim
completely free except for one lock. He had on his genitals a clear
plastic sort of tube – device that was held in place with yet one more
lock.
“There’s no more keys,” I said. “How about that thing,” pointing
to the thing.
“My chastity,” said Tim. “There’s no key for it – it stays on
all the time now. Getting it off will be my graduation gift from
Psyche. It’s a CB-3000 chastity device,” he said. I can’t get
an erection with it on, and it won’t come off without the key to remove
the lock. I’ve tried.”
With that, Tim went to the bathroom, and then to bed as it was getting
late.
That was the last time I found Tim in bondage. At graduation,
all three of us went through the ceremony – me, Tim, and Psyche.
Dory was a guest along with my parents and Tim’s parents and Psyche’s folks.
I talked to Dory briefly, and she said quietly, “call me any time if you
change your mind.” I knew what she meant, but had to go off with
my folks, so that ended it.
7. The Denouement
Right after college I got a job with a company located in a suburb
of the city with the University. I settled into a small apartment,
missed the big spacious house Tim and I had shared, and I wondered how
Tim and Psyche were doing.
At Christmas I received a card. It was a picture with the heading
“Seasons Greetings.” Naked, laying on a table, hogtied and gagged,
was Tim. Psyche sat in a chair next to him reading a large book which
appeared to be Christmas Stories. On the back Psyche wrote, “I hope
you are enjoying your new life. We are.”
I continued to work for the following year, and the next Christmas
another card arrived. The picture was titled “Hanging around for
the Holidays.” Tim was again tightly and elaborately bound and gagged,
naked, hanging upside down by his ankles while Psyche sat in a chair dressed
in a black dress and a red and white Santa hat. On the back they
wrote, “It gets better and better.”
I looked at the picture. I thought about Tim and Psyche a lot.
A few days after Christmas I picked up the phone, looked in my little notebook,
and dialed the number.
“Hello.”
“Dory?”
“Yes.”
“This is John. Is your offer still good?”
“I’m still at the same place,” she said. “I knew you would call
sooner or later. Come over Friday after work. Be prepared to
stay the weekend.”
“I don’t know if I want to stay the whole weekend,” I said.
“You might not have any choice.”
23.10.05