Bondage Story: All Tied Up

It was dusk, on the second of January 2002, the day Wanda gave me her key and security code number and said, “This makes us official.” 

“Hi, Tiffany? Thank goodness you’re home.” 

“This isn’t Tiffany. I’m her roommate, Roberta. Can I take a message? She’s very tied up at the moment.”

“...Uh?” 

“Who is this?” 

“This is Barbara Byrd, and no, you can’t take a message. This is an emergency. I must speak with Tiffany now! It’s a matter of life and death!” 

“...I’ll see if she can come to the phone...(It’s Barbara Byrd)...Here she is.” 

While breathlessly preoccupied, Tiffany asked, “Who is this?” 

A sigh of relief prefixed her caller’s somewhat dramatic inflection. “It’s me, Barbara. Listen, I...” 

“Barbara who?” 

“Barbara Byrd, your best friend’s best friend? Remember you said I could call if I ever...” 

“Oh, right, Barbara. How are you?” asked a tenser, almost-to-the-brink-of-nervous damsel, in a fit of self-control.

“Stressed, very stressed. Listen, Tiffany, don’t talk, just listen. This is an emergency.” 

“...Yeah, right. So what else is new?” 

“No, you don’t understand. This is for real! I need your help...desperately!” 

Tiffany smiled, took a deep breath, and sniffed at the emergency. “Tell me all about it, why-don’t-you.” 

Barbara got super serious. “Listen, PLEASE listen. You don’t understand,” she spat, in her usually annoying, condescending way. “This is really serious. A way out guy picked me up at Club Nerd and invited me over to his place to play some video games. Before I knew what was happening, I was all tied up on his bed, and I couldn’t get out.” 

“Barbara, darling,” teased Tiffany, “I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.” 

“No jokes, please. I’ve been tied up like this for more than two hours, maybe more, and I’ve tried and tried to undo myself, but the ropes are too tight. You should SEE me. There must two hundred feet of rope around my arms and legs...and chest, and my wrists are tied together behind my back, and...” 

“Sounds fun,” quipped Tiffany. “How long did you say you’ve been tied?” 

“...Almost two hours, but...” 

Tiffany’s tone reeked with innuendo. “Really. Almost two?” 

“My ankles are tied to the bedpost, and the rope isn’t long enough, so I can’t...” 

“Why don’t you just undo the knots?” Teased Tiffany. 

“You don’t understand. My wrists and elbows are tied together behind my back, and then to my, well, bottom, and I can’t reach the knots. And even if I could, my nails are so long that, well, you know.” 

“Yeah-right. Tell me, Barbara, why did you call me?” 

“You’re the one who told me about Club Nerd, and the kinds of guys who hang out there. In a way, you’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” A few weird moments passed without a word. 

Tiffany broke the embarrassing silence with “If you’re all tied up, like you say you are, how did you manage to call me?”

“I pulled the phone off the table with my teeth.” 

“...I’ll bet that took some doing,” assumed Tiffany, in her oft used, double-meaning way. Another awkward silence befell their curious exchange. “Tell me, Barb, why do you think you’re in trouble?” 

“Because, before he left the room, he gagged me with a face cloth and handkerchief. It took me a half hour to shake it off.”

“He gagged you?” Tiff was being dramatic again. “This does sound serious.” 

“Yes! It took me almost an hour to make this call.” Barbara wasn’t sure, but she thought she could hear someone laughing on the other end of the phone. (It was Roberta, listening in on the extension.) 

“Really? An hour? Wow.” 

“Uh, well, maybe it took a half hour. I don’t remember. I’ve lost track of time. It’s not important. What is important is that I need you over here right away. I’m getting very scared.” 

“Gee, Barb, I was just getting ready to do my nails. I don’t think...” 

Barbara was instantly incredulous. “TIFFANY!” 

“Alright. So where is this alleged abduction being perpetrated?” 

“702 Ritz Place, in Castleton.” 

“...I see... So, you want me to drive like fifteen miles to a neighborhood I’ve never been to, and hope that by the time I get there, the ‘abductor’ will not have returned yet. Is that it?” 

“...U-huh.” 

“Maybe we should call the FBI instead.” 

“Good-God, Tiffany.” 

“I mean, it does sound like a federal offense.” 

“No, you don’t understand!” Barbara was fit to be hung by the ankle cinch. 

Tiffany’s tone turned menacing. “What don’t I understand, Barbara?” 

“You have to come alone, and tell no one.”

“Why?” 

“You don’t understand. I let him do this to me.” 

“...Then it’s not an abduction.” 

“OK, so it’s not.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“Please, Tiffany, just trust me on this.”

Another contemplative pause ensued. “You’re in over your head, aren’t you, and I’m the only kinky friend you have, and...” 

“Right. Please hurry. I’m in the rear bedroom on the first floor. The window’s open.” 

“Bait in a trap.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Tell me something, nerd brain, would you do the same for me if the shoe was on the other foot?” With that, Tiffany hung up the phone. Actually, it was Roberta who hung it up. Tiffany couldn’t. She was totally tied up at the time. 

Barbara strained to listen... “Well, are you coming?” 

She was.

 

The sting in Tiffany’s apathy lingered a bit, then faded. 

“Shit,” agonized Barbara, while the pressure on the crotch rope’s overwhelming insistence continued to invade the situation without mercy or permission. “This is soooooo strange,” said Barbara to herself. “Why the hell is this making me so hot?” 

Upon leaving the room earlier, I’d told her, “See you later. Got a client waiting on the other side of town. You should be able to free yourself in an hour or so. You’re welcome to stay, if you wish. Make yourself to home. I should be back before or around midnight.” 

I’d done her in skimpy-black underwear and red, skyscraper heels, strapped on. The ropes were comfortably tight, and covered almost a third of her luscious-n-leggy, hourglass figure. I sat at the console in the other room, changing camera angles and zooming in for close-ups of the thirty-third minute of Barbara’s first, ‘real’ bondage adventure. “You are a treasure, dear heart.” 

A swelling concern over Tiffany’s apparent indifference chain-reacted into a hypothetical blitz of negative speculation and worry as Barbara, once again, approached the threshold of another unexpected catharsis. 

‘Why is this happening?’ 

A chunk of her conversation with Tiffany came to mind. ‘Roberta said she was very tied up at the time... Good grief, she must be tied up, too... Wow.’ 

Ever hear the story about the boy who cried wolf? Barbara obviously hadn’t. And if she had, she presumably failed to learn the story’s lesson. She’d much rather tell a whopper, to impress the hell out of her friends, than tell it like it is. After all, with Barbie, ‘like it is’ wasn’t all that interesting, or, so it wasn’t up until now. 

So here she was, in my formidable but capable clutches, experiencing one pleasurable moment of truth after another, while I recorded the precious vision of Barbara Byrd’s broken bondage cherry, in all its uninhibited, unprecedented intensity. Of course, she had no idea I was videotaping her. The cameras were well hidden. 

‘Perfect,’ I thought, with renewed enthusiasm. ‘Utterly and totally perfect.’ 

“Hi, Debbie? This is Barbara.” 

“Barbara who?” 

“Byrd! Barbara Byrd!! Please don’t talk, just listen. I’m in terrible, terrible trouble.” 

“Oh, Barbara. Hi! What’s up?” Debbie was right in the middle of making meat loaf. (The meal, not the rock star.) 

Barb’s pent up fear and frustration suddenly exploded into an all out escape attempt. “Debbie!” she screamed as the stinging grip of unrelenting rope pressure dug its burning insistence into her bound and bothered semi-nakedness. “Debbie, I’m in trouble, big trouble! You have no idea how difficult it was for me to make this call.” 

A few beats of pondered satisfaction injected a grain of misconstrued hope into the appalling irony of my new model’s seemingly ridiculous predicament. 

“Listen, Barb, I really can’t talk right now. I’m in the middle of doing dinner for Gus and putting up with his bullshit. Try me again in hour or two. Meanwhile, why don’t you give the bedpost knots a try with your teeth.” A second later, Debbie hung up and mixed another egg into the chop meat. “Let’s see now, where was I. Oh-yeah, bread crumbs.” 

 

“No, Debbie, you don’t understand...” 

‘She hung up on me. Damn! Wait a second. How did she know about the bedpost knots?’  

A cold sweat quickly bathed Barbara’s tensing skin with its unmistakable wisdom. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ A split second of high voltage fear raced down her back, collecting in a balloon of anxious energy atop the apex of her lower torso. Her astonishment tripled as, once again, Barbara’s primordial fluids reached yet another perpetual meltdown. ‘How is this possible?’ she wondered in contradicting awe. ‘I’m so horny I could just BUST, or something.’ 

Several, very sobering and sensually detonating seconds passed, during which she pondered Debbie’s challenge and did her best to relax every muscle in her overworked, overwhelmed body. It was now abundantly obvious she had been set up. “Son of a bitch!”

While thinking on the possibility of whether or not Tiffany knew what was going on, something I’d said erupted in memory as well. ‘You should be able to free yourself in an hour or so.’

As she lay there, in a motionless stupor of post-spasmodic repose, Barbara earnestly conjured up an escape scenario in her imagination. It didn’t take long to compose a partial solution to the problem. 

I watched her slither over to the foot of the bed, back first, where the tether line was two-knotted to the lower right bedpost. Little by little, she snaked her gorgeous figure, flexed her knees, and bent over backwards until the top of her kinky-blond, shoulder length tresses were less than a foot from the post. The leg rope tension doubled. She knew it would triple if her knees were bent any further. 

‘Why do I get the feeling someone is watching me?’ 

Before too long, she was on her stomach, staring at the knots in front of her nose and pulling on the rope between her legs. ‘Not again?’ 

The visual was classic: a self-imposed hog-tie, complete with painstaking effort, aroused expressions, and real-life, damsel-in-distress overtones. 

Barbara decided to climax again before teething the knots loose. She lowered her cheek to the mattress, closed her eyes, and slowly squirmed back away from the knots, causing the hog-tie to, well, you know. 

‘Tiffany was right- this is wild; very exciting, but very weird.’

I watched her struggle pleasurably against the fix, and thought, ‘Wait till the mailing list gets a load of this one.’ 

I was on the couch in the living room, waiting for Barbara to appear at its hallway entrance, in bondage. Except for the glow of the 27-inch diagonal, perched on the opposite wall of the room, moonlight, pouring subtly in through the sliding-glass, patio doors to my left was the only other light source. The soothing strains of “New York Hold Her Tied” filled the room with its stereophonic hinting, surrounding the occasion like a heat wave in the middle of an uncommon winter. 

The sound of heels hopping erupted at the end of the hall.

“Hello?” bellowed Barbara. “Hey?” Nothing changed for a moment or so. “Is there someone in the living room?” 

The three-piece sectional faced the monitor, and was directly adjacent to the room entrance. Barbara’s instincts told her to move in the direction of the TV’s glowing presence.

“Anybody home?”

She stood there, hugging the wall with her left shoulder, waiting for an answer while writhing carefully to maintain a precarious balance. Her sexual juices again invaded the tension-filled moment, unannounced. A gradual progression of glandular activity quickly overtook the situation with its irresistible consequences. Barbara raised her eyes and lashes and breathed deeply through her nostrils. 

‘Again? What is the matter with me? Why is this happening?’ 

She was 28 at the time, and just beginning to explore the latent images of a very sheltered and sexually suppressed youth. Amazed at how well she could maneuver in bondage, she peered inquisitively into the oncoming, ever widening room ahead. The bedpost tether dragged along behind, making it look like she was the bait on the end of a line controlled by someone in the bedroom. A few knots at its end got caught between the thick shag carpeting and the bottom of its half-opened door, slowing her progress and making the trip more perilous and energy demanding.
‘Nuts! I’m stuck on something.’ 

Her instincts again told her to continue towards the light. She inched forward impatiently, aggressively tugging at the ankle bind tether. Surprisingly, the tension relented, but remained taught, pulling the bedroom door closed with each inch Barbara managed to gain down the dark corridor. A few more moves and she’d be at the corner of the hallway. She stopped for a moment to collect her fear. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’ A mirror on the opposite wall caught her eye. The sight of my new damsel’s exquisite fix inspired another spine tingling jolt of erotically sensual excitement to dominate the several seconds that passed before Barbara decided to press on. 

I looked up from the monitor and watched her gorgeously accented breasts turn the corner. Nose and eyes soon followed. 

“Hi,” I said, with inviting ease, before flipping a switch on the side of the end table to my left. The room was instantly filled with bright, photographic illumination. “Smile, you’re on candid camera.” The music terminated. 

Barbara glanced at the TV and saw the medium close-up of her stunning figure in tight, alluring bondage. ‘That’s me,’ she thought, in reluctant acceptance of the absurdity. ‘But how?’ 

My tone was quietly firm. “Turn the corner and lean up against the wall.” Her attention shifted to my side of the room. “Did you hear what I said?” 

“What?” she asked, while shifting her gaze back and forth from the screen to me, as if she didn’t believe what was happening was actually happening. The visual impact on her inner senses was mesmerizing. ‘I must be dreaming.’ 

“I said, turn the corner and lean up against the wall.” 

She did just that, while saying, rather meekly, “OK.”

The bedroom door was now almost completely closed, causing the ropes to dig even deeper into Barbara’s fettered ankles. She again shifted her vacillating attention to the monitor.

‘Wow- I’m all tied up... Wow!’ 

With eyes wide, her jaw dropped, while the rest of her bound and tethered mobility teetered on the brink of losing what was left of her composure and balance. She fell back against the wall at about a 75-degree angle. The shot widened slowly, revealing her entire body in expertly tied, inescapable rope bondage.

‘It doesn’t even look like me,’ she noticed. ‘Thank goodness.’ Then she thought, ‘Who’s controlling the camera?’ 

“May I kiss you?” 

“...Huh?” she sighed. It was obvious other attention-getters were occupying Barbie’s many-frantic nerve endings. She turned and gave me a hungry but tenuous look. “...Sure.” 

I stood and walked slowly into the frame. “You look absolutely breathtaking. Do you know that?” 

She shifted her gaze back to the TV. “If you say so.” 

I took her quivering shoulders in hand. A quick rush of uncontrollable energy brought Barbara to strict attention as she pushed off the wall and fell into my arms. The ensuing kiss went from soft and teasing to hard and passionate. A heart-pounding minute or two went by. She did her best to get closer, but I continued to tease and frustrate the attempt until I was sure the full impact of the situation completely saturated her libido. That’s when I abruptly stopped and headed for the control room.

In spite of weakening legs, held up somewhat by the tight grip of rope, and an overriding physical response to her plummeting brain wave activity, Barbara was forced to control her own, hard-pressed equilibrium. 

‘I think... I must be in love... Am I fainting? ...I’m fainting. Oh-boy... So this is fainting.’ 

The sectional was only a few inches away, but when she short-hopped towards it, to reach its cushy-corduroy comfort, all progress was halted by the 4th inch, and punctuated by the metallic click of the bedroom door latch echoing in the hallway. Barbara had truly come to the end of her rope. It quickly occurred to her that she was losing balance. Before a muscle adjustment could be made, she found herself falling, headlong, onto the sofa 

‘This is incredible,’ she thought, then quipped, ‘I must be falling in love.’ “Mugooph!” said Barbara as she hit corduroy and glanced over at the monitor. ‘I stopped fainting.’ Her amazement was, indeed, profound. ‘This is too strange.’ She started to laugh heartily at the sheer absurdity of her fit. ‘Well, I can’t say I didn’t ask for this.’ 

Flashbacks of the fashion show she’d put on for me before I decided to tie her up came to mind. 

90 Minutes Earlier

 

“Well,” showed off Barbara after putting on the heels and undies and strutting back into the living room in such a way as to suggest her self deprecating tone was partially sincere, “do you still think I have a future in modeling?” 

My answer raised her brows a bit. “I’d hire you in a New York minute.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. Turn around.”

As she did she said, “You hire models?”

“Sure do.” 

“For what?”

“How would a $100 an hour hit you?” 

Barbara stopped turning to face my offer. “What would I have to do?” 

“Ever been tied up?” 

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Uh, sorta.”

“Define ‘sorta.’” 

Barbara was suddenly restive with embarrassed recollection. “An ex boyfriend tied me to his bed once.”

“That’s it.” 

She crossed her hands in front of her panties. “Pretty much.”

“Could you escape?” 

“After a while. I had to, or stay like that until he came back from God-knows-where.” 

I smiled. “So you’ve never been inescapably bound.”

She shook her head, ‘No,’ after the look of embarrassment reappeared on her pretty features. 

“Do we have a deal?” 

“What happens after I’m tied up?” 

I stood up from the sectional. “Nothing. All you have to do is try to escape.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Why, you wanna do more?” 

She gave me a funny look. “I don’t mind.” 

“I do.” 

Back to the Future

 

Wanda and I relished with renewed glee Barbara’s melodramatic episode on the three console monitors in the control room. 

“Are you sure you and Tiff are the only two, out-of-the-closet kinks she knows?” asked my video consort, with a smile and a smirk, as she pressed her hungry body against mine and wrapped her snakelike arms around my neck. “Hummm?” 

“Positive,” I said, with an ironic tone spin, and a sardonic grin. “Punch up the best stuff we shot of her in the bedroom on the living room monitor, but keep shooting this. I want lots of facial close-ups while she’s watching it.” 

“You got it,” said Wanda, softly, without coming to attention. She then laid a passionate wet one on me. 

“And don’t let her leave without getting a signed release, a copy of her photo I.D., and the usual head shot with it.” I was all business, but Wanda’s juices were flowing in other, more aggressive directions, causing her to claw and grab, kiss and fondle, and do her best to get my determined attentions focused on her eager, sexual appetites. 

“Now-now,” I warned, “mustn’t let our libidinous, primal urges stand in the way of producing a best seller.” 

Of course, what was really going on had more to do with competitive jealousy between models than the kinky passions of two, bondage video producers. 

She slithered off of me like water off a goose’s back and stood in front of the console, hands on hips. Her long, perfectly manicured, bright-red-polished fingernails danced contemplatively on her upper thighs as she scoped the situation onscreen with the practiced ease of a seasoned pro.

While I watched, with semi-critical delight, Wanda took a brisk first step toward the board, reached out with her right hand, and executed the technical adjustment needed to initiate the next setup, ensuring a tighter, improvisational style. She then pressed a few button, focused camera two, cut into the current crop, and stood there like a department store window manikin for about fifteen seconds before punching up camera one. Then she turned and hugged me hungrily. 

“You’re too much, JR. Now tie me up,” she teased, her voice flagrant with girlish, bratty overtone. 

“First, finish the shots.” My inflection was somewhat labored. 

Wanda Manners was the classiest bondage model around, with the most beautiful figure I had ever seen, and thinnest waistline I’d ever bound. Leggy and hot, her attitude always complimented her outrageous, 39-19-36 figure. If she weren’t a nymphomaniac, I’d have given serious thought to marrying her. 

While devouring my left ear with her full, sensuous lips, she purred, “Please tie me up,” then whispered, “You haven’t done me since lunch.” 

“Sit down on the roll-around and cross your wrists behind the backrest,” I said softly, but firmly. “We’ve got major noogies to minister.” 

Wanda’s mock disappointment sniffled back at me. “Oh, no,” she whined. “Do me naked on the bed.” 

An obvious reminder was in order. “What about Barbie’s cherry?”

“What about it?” she swooned and pouted. 

“She’s been trussed up like that for quite a while.” 

“Soooo. What about me?” 

I grabbed my co-producer by the shoulders and pushed her luscious torso out in front of me, keeping a firm, arm’s-length grip on Wanda’s needs. 

“I said, sit down and cross your wrists together behind the backrest.” 

Her face wore an expression of pure, unwavering mischief. “I love it when you talk dirty. What will you do if I don’t?” 

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Barbara watched the replay of her earlier ordeal in the bedroom and did her best to sit up on the edge of the sectional. She’d long since given up on getting free. 

‘I love the way he kissed me. Not at all what I expected.’ 

After tightly binding Wanda’s wrists together behind the chair, and to the bottom of the backrest stem, I crossed and bound her ankles together and to the adjust-a-bar underneath. She wore a sexy-red, knitted mini-dress, and a thick, black-leather belt, with a too-big, brass buckle. The dress was skin-tight and sleeved to the wrists. A low cut displayed her billowing breasts provocatively. 

I knelt and commenced with the binding of her lower thighs. “Next time,” I warned, “control yourself, or you get the chair again.” 

“She’s got a great figure, hasn’t she?” insinuated Wanda, then dared, “What’s going to happen now? Would you give up this party for little miss cherry?” (It was Wanda’s condo and equipment.)

I hate when she gets territorial, so I did the ropes especially tight. “One more unnecessary word out of you, and in goes the ball gag; the too-big red one you tried on last night.”

Wanda became somewhat uneasy at the prospect, hornier, too. “Why are you being so mean to me?” she acted, wittily, in her sexiest, Betty Boop impression. 

“I’m serious. One more stupid comment, and the ball goes in.”

I did her elbows together and stacked several, very tight circles of thick, nylon rope around her exquisite upper body, forcing things to pop out spectacularly in prominent repose. She breathed heavily, tugging and tearing at the ropes in an aggressive display of semi-genuine distress. 

‘He wouldn’t dump me for her. He’d be crazy to.’ she thought, before kicking off the black, patent-leather skies and vigorously writhing in her fix, as if to say, ‘Look at me, Johnny, and try to leave the room before making love to me.’ 

Wanda really knows how to get to me. I lashed the pumps back on with a stretched strip of half-inch-wide, tire inner tubing. “I ought to leave you like this for the next two hours and go play with the cherry.” 

Wanda went ballistic. “You wouldn’t!” Her struggling intensified.

My self-control rose to the occasion. “Try me.” 

The phone signaled. “Yeah?” It was Clive. “Oh? ... Sure, anytime... I will. Bet on it.” We hung up as I turned to Wanda and said, “We’re having company for dinner, so behave yourself, or you’ll sit at table just the way you are.” 

I also know how to push Wanda’s buttons. 

She decided to put me to the test. “Is that lump in your pants for me or the TV dinner in the living room?” 

I figured she wanted the gag, so I punched up a full frame shot of her fix, taken from one of the eye level cameras in the control room. It soon appeared on Barbara’s living room monitor, bringing a new blush of sensual energy to bear on her already overtaxed composure. The spell-shattering sound of a slamming door brought her attention to a higher level of readiness. 

I sauntered into the living room and sat next to her speculating expectations. She was still pensively perched on the edge of the sectional, eyeballing the shot of Wanda’s control room fix. While we watched, she shot me an every-so-often, amazed glance. 

My tone waxed playful. “Aren’t you glad you accepted my invitation at Club Nerd?” 

She took a deep breath and looked down at her bondage. “It’s so intense. Am I turning you on?”

I smiled. “Only if I’m turning you on.” A gentle kiss on the lips accented the moment. “Am I?” 

And Wanda thought as she viewed the living room goings-on on the control room monitors, ‘Get back here, you bastard.’ 

Barbara was suddenly and uncomfortably more vulnerable. 

“...Yes.” 

“Is the bondage turning you on?” 

“...Yes. Why?” 

“I don’t know. Are you in any pain?” 

She lowered her eyes and head and confessed. “Yes.”

“Where?” 

“The ropes sting when I struggle.” 

“But they’re very soft, and not that severely tied.” I motioned towards the TV. “Not like hers. Maybe, if you didn’t fight them so violently... Or is that what’s turning you on.”

She struggled a bit, decided not to answer, then glanced over at the TV and asked, “Who’s the Playboy Bunny?” 

I stood quickly and walked into the hallway. “Don’t you recognize her?” 

She squinted at the set and scanned her memory. “No,” assured Barbara while I undid the tether knot from under the bedroom door. “Should I?” 

I lasso-looped the rope into my right hand with my left while strolling back in to the living room. “Are you sure you don’t recognize her?” 

She watched me throw the collected line onto the floor in front of her bound ankles. 

“You look great in heels.” After turning off the lights I announced, “Be right back,” and left her to her thoughts and such. 

She writhed purposefully, in concert with the unmistakable, muscular murmurings of yet another erotic eruption-in-the-making. ‘Why can’t I control it? Why do I want to control it? This is scary.’ She continued to struggle pleasurably in her ropes, hoping to understand her newfound fantasy phenom. 

The image on the monitor abruptly changed to a tight shot of Wanda’s sex-starved facial contortions, turning on and into the wildly heated and bothersome proportions of her moment of truth.

‘Pretty woman,’ appraised Barbara, uneasily. ‘And I’m supposed to know her?... That’s not Carol, is it?’ 

Of course, the photo she had of ‘Carol’ was posed with a smile, not the look of a hot and bothered whomever. 

‘Carol Parker? Nah, couldn’t be her.’ 

“Kiss me,” demanded Wanda. “Sit in my lap and make love to my face.” 

I sat, eclipsing the frame with the back of my head. “Close your eyes, put your head back as far as it will go, and show me that incredible, swan-like neck of yours.” 

Wanda swooned and closed her eyes, and did exactly as she was told, for a change. I moved my hand caressingly down her milk-white skin, and firmly gripped her right nipple with thumb and index finger. Her mouth opened wide with unquenched desire, and was immediately stuffed with ball gag. 

“You always did look great in red.” 

Barbara watched the moment with extreme trepidation. ‘I wonder what that feels like? Where would one buy one of those?’

When I entered the living room, with another red ball gag dangling from my right hand, Barbara’s nervousness doubled. She tried to ignore it, staring intently at the TV and saying, “That’s not a tape?” 

“Yes and no. Her name is Wanda; Carol, to you; Carol Parker, the pen pal you’ve been emailing for the past several months.” 

My new damsel blushed profusely for several, very kinky seconds.

And Wanda thought, ‘What?’ 

“I used her picture and changed her name, but I’m the one who sent you all those bondage pictures and asked all those personal questions under the screen name ‘QuietSubTied’ all these months. The moment was suddenly thick with respect. “That’s how you got here.” 

While the headline penetrated deep into virgin territory, Barbara’s shock quickly numbed her intellectual capacity into a redlining, inert state of introverted disbelief. She clenched her fists and flailed her fingers in a gesture of sensual uneasiness. Meanwhile, down below, crotch rope activity shifted into high gear. 

‘Son of a bitch; son of a BITCH! Why the HELL am I getting so damned horny?” 

I sat down beside her and plainly said, “Open wide.” 

 

“...Huh?” 

“Your mouth- open it, wide as you can.” 

She sighed nervously, closed her eyes, rolled her head back, and obeyed. I gently guided the ball into place and threaded the silver buckle. “Head down.” She didn’t hesitate. I tightened things to the max, secured the excess, and asked, “There- How’s that?” 

She turned and stared at me with those huge, baby blue eyes; her soft, kinky-blond hair framing her placid features; her lids half closed. I was up in a flash. “Relax your jaw.”

Instinctively, Barbara turned her outraged attention to the monitor to watch me enter the frame again to roll Wanda out of it. She braced herself. 

‘This is not happening. Who are these people?’ 

When I pushed Miss state-of-the-art into the room, they both got crazy, vying for attention, each in their own feminine way. I took Barbara’s ankle tether in hand and secured its end to Wanda’s wrists. 

The front doorbell chimed. 

I smiled sardonically. “That must be our dinner guest. Don’t bother. I’ll get it. I hope you’re hungry. We’re having meat loaf for dinner tonight.” I opened the front door and guided a reluctant, fully caped wench into the surreal atmosphere. She was totally surprised to see me. Her surprise soon turned to astonishment. “Thanks, Clive. Keep in touch,” I snickered to my fellow enthusiast/partner in crime, who now no longer owed me one, thanks to the new damsel’s arrival. “Hello, bitch.”

The cape zipper went up to her nose, concealing all but the fiery insolence in her large-green, captivating eyes. We stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds. I wanted things to really sink in. 

“Barbara, Wanda, meet Shannon,” I socialized before unzipping and removing the ankle-length, crushed velvet, red cape. A spin of flamboyant flair and extreme satisfaction accompanied the dramatic unveiling. 

There she stood, almost completely naked. (Shannon hates heels.) Eighth-inch thick line bound her arms tightly together behind her back at the wrists and elbows, palms facing. Several stacks surrounded her unbelievable upper body, causing her tight, full breasts to swell proudly into the occasion. A G-string, of sorts, fashioned with a dozen or so passes of brutally tight, eighth-inch line, completed her kinky ensemble.

The moment bristled an aura not unlike those usually generated at the end of a very well played game of chess. But our game had barely begun, and my playmates knew it- even Barbara. 

‘This must be the deep end of the pool,’ she realized. 

A press release seemed in order. “Shannon’s a weight lifter, but she’s trying to kick the habit. We’ll be inside for a while.” A head move in the direction of the boob tube, which our new dinner guest did not see, suggested a candid camera scenario.

“MMUH!” screamed Shannon, from behind her face cloth and Ace. “Muh, uh mmm, MUHUHUH!” 

“I love you, too,” I jested, then challenged, “Try to escape,” to my other two captives, with a hidden wink at Barbara’s stupefied countenance. 

Shannon made two, tight fists. I grabbed her upper chest ropes and pulled her into the hallway. “So, dangerous lady, are you ready for some serious, payback noogies?” 

She glared at me bitterly, all the way to the bedroom, doing her best to keep from falling off the strapped-on, 6-inch heels Clive supplied for the occasion. 

And Wanda thought, ‘He’d better have a damned good reason for all of this,’ as she tore into her fix and watched Barbara deal with hers. 

And Shannon pondered, ‘How the hell did he manage this one?’ 

The answer was simple: she’d made the sorry mistake of getting impulsively and intimately involved with a network of highly motivated, skillfully devious bondage men, without first checking out our modus operandi, or counting the possible costs involved.

“How long has it been, bitch, seven years? Twelve?” 

Meanwhile, Barbara was reaching the end of another, seemingly endless string of multiples, and thinking, ‘We’re all tied up, and everyone acts like there’s nothing illegal about it.’ 

When Shannon entered the bedroom, the first thing she noticed was the thick, brown, weight lifters belt, with the quadruple-tongued, brass buckle dandling from the half-inch thick, black-mahogany framework at the foot of the bed. It was threaded through a pair of quarter-inch slits; out through one and into the other. 

‘The fourth set,’ noticed Shannon after counting up from the mattress the number of parallel openings in the bed frame. ‘Five.’ 

“Go kneel on the bed, your back to the belt, legs spread wide, arms behind the board.” I said while unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. They were off in a flash.

Shannon stared at me, wide-eyed, and turned to reveal how the wrist cinches were married to the crotch lines. “Muh!” Her expression turned ugly. 

“Yeah, so?” I smiled and positioned my restrained hardness to within an inch of her dangling pinkies, wrapping my arms around her tensing upper body. “Want me to undo the cinch?” 

The feel of lips caressing her neck lowered Shannon’s chin and stiffened her spine. “Mmuh!’ (‘No!’) 

My grip tightened. She pulled on the crotch lines. The feel of clenched fists pressed firmly against my black, nylon briefs.

I whispered in her left ear, “So, you owe Clive two hours. Since when?” Another peck on the neck seemed called-for. I undid the wrist cinch from the crotch lines. 

Wanda scrutinized the scene and thought, ‘Why am I the only one without something between her legs?’

She and Barbara viewed Shannon’s move to the bed, where she assumed the ordered position. 

I secured the belt just above the navel. It was four inches wide, and three-sixteenths of an inch thick. 

“Still like to lift weights, I see.” 

She watched in a state of subdued fury as I tightened things up, locked the tongues, and fed the end of the belt under and through the other end of the buckle. 

“Those crotch lines must smart a bit. Too bad you can’t pull on them now.” 

“Mmuhuh,” she moaned, trying to make me a liar. “Mmuhuhuh!” 

I leaned back against the headboard, my right hand resting on the lump in my briefs. “Yeah, right, just what I was thinking.” 

She stared back at me without expression and brought her knees together. My hardness was getting harder by the second. Shannon’s nipples had already reached critical mass. A minute or so of silent eye contact evoked memories of how it used to be between us. She lowered her head to break the spell and lose the exchange of determined indignation. 

“Right,” said I before leaping from the bed and heading for the door. “Mustn’t leave the gals in the living room all by their lonesome.” I stopped short of the hall and turned. “Do you remember the crush I had on you- the one you almost totally ignored?” 

The furious look on her face said it all. ‘You made all this happen, didn’t you, you lousy, stinking son of a bitch.’ 

Ah, if ‘as-if-to-says’ could speak.

“I did say that someday I would severely discipline that snobbish apathy of yours. Do you remember my telling you that? I guess today is ‘someday.’” I had a lot more to say to her, but who was counting memories. I was now counting minutes. “Let’s see,” I reminded, with eyes locked on the old clock on the wall, “at mark, we’ll have exactly one hour and fifty minutes to play. Make that one-forty-five. We’ll allow five or so to get you back in time for whatever Clive has in mind for the evening... Mark.” 

I took a few steps closer to Shannon’s seething containment and decided to invest another minute on small talk, removing my socks and T-shirt as I spoke. My captives watched me grab a few lengths of quarter inch nylon off the floor and step behind Shannon’s kneeling humiliation. “Do you know how beautiful you look when you are angry and bound? Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? Clive owes me more than two hours. Think about that when I send you back. How much more? More than you’d be willing to put up with, I’m sure. (Actually, Clive and I were dead even at the time.) Welcome back to my world, Shannon.” 

I used the rope to bind each ankle to its respective upper thigh, and pinched things off with several tight knots. 

“Wanda designed this four poster herself. It has some very interesting features. How do you like the irony of the belt configuration? Her idea.” I walked to the door, then opened and hook-n-eyed it to the floor molding along its adjacent wall. Slowly, I strolled into the hall, stopping midway to the living room, so everyone could hear. “Hey, you two: come in here, now; both of you.” My chuckle must have raised a hackle or two. 

Shannon sighed at the command, figuring it would take her playmates some time to negotiate the trip. ‘Maybe, by the time we get started with this little t’do, my time will be up. Good thing I owe Clive only two hours.’ 

Barbara decided to see what would happen if she ignored my command. On the other hand, Wanda did her best to get things rolling, without too much success. I watched the slow motion effort with arms crossed in front of me, while putting together the rest of the evening’s agenda in my head and delighting in the overdue justice of it all. 

The tether line soon reached maximum tension, thanks to Barb’s efforts to keep her roommate from making any progress toward the situation in the bedroom. 

‘What the hell is she up to!’ bitched Wanda. 

It didn’t take me long to detect my new damsel’s if-you-want-me-come-and-get-me tease. ‘I think I’m gonna like this blond,’ I thought, on my way back to the living room... “Wanda, Wanda, is this any kind of example to set for company?” 

She shot me a wicked glance that said, ‘I hope you’re enjoying yourself, prick.’ Then she started struggling feverishly into the heat of the moment, hoping to get my juices flowing in her outraged, but very turned on direction. 

Barbara stood up as quickly as the ropes would allow, hopped to my side, whereupon she leaned up against me and writhed seductively. Her moans and body language suggested the last of her inhibitions had long since evaporated into the spirit and fun of the game. 

Shannon did her best to piece together our conversation, listening critically to the muffled echoes bouncing off the hallway walls. Her lower parts had all but given up on controlling the fiery passions ignited by the sheer intensity of the minute. “Mmmmmuhuh!” 

I sat Barbara on Wanda’s lap and rolled her into the hallway. “Is anyone into appreciating the sheer genius of this moment?” 

While busily recalling something she’d written to ‘Carol’ about wanting to experience her first, intense, bondage session with her, Barbara said, “Ung muh Mmuhuh,” and thought, ‘Wow.’ 

“My sentiments exactly,” I injected. “By the way, every word of every letter I wrote you is true. They were taken, or paraphrased, right out of Wanda’s diary.” 

My love objects looked at each other, and Wanda thought, ‘Low down, double-crossing... I love it.’ 

When Shannon saw us at the bedroom door, she grimaced with torn disgust. ‘Damn! I’m never gonna owe time to anyone again for as long as I live.’ It wasn’t the first time she’d made herself that promise. ‘Never!’ It probably wouldn’t be the last. 

“Well-now, how should we do this? I’m open to suggestions. Who wants to go first?” 

Barbara jumped to her feet again, but lost her balance and fell onto the bed, only to roll off and onto the floor in a heap of embarrassed frustration. 

Seven Minutes Later

Barbara stood, motionless, atop a three-inch-thick phone book, her bound body facing and lashed to the lower right bedpost with several tight circles of industrial strength duct tape. She could see Shannon, and feel her struggles, vicariously experiencing the post and pre-climactic shock waves of each, uncontrollable explosion of over-the-top satisfaction and frustration. So, too, could Shannon feel Barbara’s excitement rise and fall as the session wore on. 

“Mark- one hour, twenty minutes and counting.” I reminded toward Shannon. “Would you like to know how I managed to arrange all this?” Our eyes locked on. “Didn’t think so.”

Wanda was in the control room, changing into black-lace undies. She’d already zeroed-in the cameras, and was doing the tiny buckle on the ankle strap of a black, patent leather maxi-sky.

I sat, Indian style, in the middle of the bed, facing Shannon, an electric gizmo, resembling a TV remote, in my right hand. “See this thing? In the hands of a master, it can do all sorts of kinky tricks. Wanna see it do something dangerously erotic?” 

Shannon’s self-control had all but left town. She tried to muster a defiant look, but only succeeded in heightening the sensual aura of our long-overdue reunion. 

I pressed a button on the gizmo. The mattress slowly sank into the bed frame, to a depth of about an inch. I then lifted my hand from the button and smiled. “It’s that time again.” 

Shannon felt the pressure of the leg ropes increase to a semi-comfortable level, and put two and two together. ‘Shit.’ Her expression went from unexpected surprise to soberly concerned consternation. ‘The bastard’s going to torture us into submission.’ 

“That’s why the bed’s so high off the floor.” I pressed another button and the mattress returned to its original position, then looked deeply into Shannon’s now passive eyes, and spelled things out. “Have you guessed yet that this room is equipped with hidden television cameras? If, after we tell you, you don’t start struggling and moaning in a state of the art, credible fashion, I’m going to hit the down button until you’re not quite standing on your knees. Then I’m going to let Wanda have her way with all of us until she gets her fill, or your time is up, whichever comes first... Got all that?” 

Shannon nodded a resigning ‘yes,’ and waited for her cue, without moving a muscle. ‘Clive is toast.’ 

“Atta’ girl. Save yourself for the video.” I then dropped the gizmo on the bed. “By the way, Wanda loves to tie me up, too, and I owe her time into next week.” 

She was at the door, listening. “Hi, horny. I mean, honey. Are we ready to roll tape?” (We’d been shooting video since I untied her.) 

I turned to Shannon and smiled. “One-fifteen and counting... Mark...Now start dancing, bitch.” I jumped off the bed and knelt at Barbara’s feet. “As for you, sweet damsel,” I said, just before pulling the phone book out from under her, “get ready for a possible, out-of-body experience.” 

Her eyes went to half mast; her mind waxed blanker, fingers danced prettily, and our new star let go to every natural instinct in her sensual vocabulary, making the continuing drama of Barbara Byrd’s, bondage video debut nothing short of climactically spectacular. 

I took Wanda by the wrist and pulled her strictly out of the room as she commented, “She looks like a caterpillar in heat.” When we got to the control room she put her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, “You owe me for reading my diary.”

My expression was blank. “I know.” 

We kissed passionately and watched Shannon tear into her latest acting assignment. As for Barbie, well, let’s just say she was feeling no pain. 

In stringent, inescapable bondage, Shannon’s countenance is nothing short of textbook. Long, athletic legs, and femininely muscular upper body propel her strikingly through each superhuman extrication attempt, creating a classic medley of erogenous stirring and high energy, down and dirty sensuality. Fingers flail, fist and fan out sexily, in yearning concert with each pull and tug of contained and restrained extremity. And when the motivation is perfect, as was the case in point, the sight of Shannon LoVoi writhing fitfully in ecstatic frustration and passionate awe can do things to a seasoned binder few living creatures can provoke or inspire, and she knows it.

‘These guys play rough... I like that.’ 

We shot 25 or 30 minutes of triple-A video and retired to the bed for some seriously overdue consummation. Wanda was all over me, pinning my wrists to the mattress, placing the weight of her lower body on my ankles with the arches of her feet, and playing wrestler. 

“Gotchy’a,” she mused. “One, two...” 

Before she could count me out, I got free and down to the business at hand. “What would you do if I weren’t the disciplined bastard I am?” I was on top now. 

She gave me one of those loaded love smiles and ground her lower body into mine. “What’s your point?” It was obvious Wanda was itching for another fix, so I turned her over and tied her wrists together behind her back. She was still in heels and undies, and as reluctant as a spoiled brat on her first day of school, which, of course, inspired me to work all sorts of creative subtleties into the ropes. Barbara and Shannon watched gleefully from their fixed positions, recovering patiently from their video performances. 

“Be with you guys in a bit,” I assured while doing Wanda’s elbows together and hauling her into the control room, where I lassoed her waistline and secured a crotch line to her crossed and bound wrists. “On your toes.” 

An overhead rope waited to tether her at the elbow bind. The tension on the wet spot was immediately appreciated. I gave her a look on the way out and said as I slammed the door, “Enjoy the show.” 

Wanda’s heels were a good three inches off the floor, giving her all the leeway she needed to accomplish a higher state of controlled arousal. She turned her attention to the monitors and got on with it. The room was, of course, soundproofed, making any attempt at getting my attention fruitless. Or, so it seemed. I’d purposely left the intercom on, giving my other video consorts a candid earful of Wanda’s inspiring feedback, and me an audio indicator as to when my beautiful brat had had enough. 

I was back on the bed, with gizmo in hand. “You will excuse me for indulging my curiosity.” 

Shannon was exhausted. When she felt the mattress lower, her spine stiffened, eyes closed, and all sorts of regret overflowed from within her vacillating conscience. The belt tightened considerably while her knees slowly moved back and left the bed. They stayed like that while I freed Barbara. 

“I’m going to give you my card. Wanda’s number is on it, too. I’m usually here when not at home. If you get the machine, always leave a message, in case we’re screening calls. I look forward to working with you again.” 

She was on the floor, enjoying the feel of loosening rope and listening very attentively. 

“I xeroxed your driver’s license to a standard release form. It’s on the dinette table. Sign it before you leave, and I’ll drop a check in the mail tomorrow for the session. If not, no hard feelings, and the tape never makes it into anyone else’s hands.”

When the gag came out she asked, “Can I have a copy?” 

“Sure. Your clothes and stuff are on the couch. You already know where the bathroom is.” 

When Barbara was completely free, she gave me a funny look and brought her lips to mine. I didn’t reciprocate, but gave her a peck on the forehead. 

“I’ll sign the form,” she whispered, and then left the room.

I closed the door behind her and undid Shannon from the belt. We still had plenty of time on the clock. She fell to the bed and regained her composure, while listening haphazardly to my final broadside.

“Remember how you just dropped me in the middle of it all; how you teased me with come-on, and left me to ponder the reasons? What were the reasons, Shannon? Was I too smart for you; too ignorant of, and/or unaffected by your stupid little games and tirades; too much of an intellectual threat to your pathetic little clique of space case underlings? Or was it that I was too much in love with you, and you couldn’t handle it, let alone let go to it? Tell me, am I hitting any nails on the head?” 

The climaxing exclamations of Wanda’s latest multiple, pouring through the intercom speaker, added a strange sort of personal punctuation to my scene-playing wrap-up. Shannon stared up at me sadly, as if the notion of what I’d confessed had never entered her mind. Now that it had, it was plain the enlightenment did much to loosen her focus from the self-centered frequency her brain waves normally hung out on. 

She watched me approach the gear chest to the left of the bed and remove a one hundred foot length of half-inch nylon. I threw it on the mattress and undid the gag. 

“Bring your head over to the lower left bedpost, and lay on your stomach.” 

The rules demanded she do so without hesitation, which she did.

“What are you going to do with me?” 

“Nothing. I only do it with Wanda now.” 

“Yes!” remarked my control room damsel as I undid Shannon’s legs and swiftly and tightly tied her up like a salami... A second, half-inch-thick line was tied off to the upper left bedpost and threaded under all the circles around Shannon’s patiently waiting body. It went through the leg and crotch ropes and up under the arm circles, and on to the lower, right bedpost. I then raised the mattress to the top of its design specs, pulled out all the slack, and knotted things off. None of the suspension line was threaded under the original ropes Clive had so tightly secured to Shannon’s naked acquiescence, except, of course, for the crotch ropes. 

“Forty-five minutes and counting,” said I on my way out the door.

Barbara waited in the hallway, dressed and ready to roll. “Hi.”

“Hi.” We walked to the front door. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure.” 

“If I don’t sign the release, will that mean you owe me?” 

I gave her a daring look. “If that’s the way you want it.”

A wild spark of erotic energy passed between us. “It’s what I want,” she confessed as she lowered her bag to the floor and put her arms around my neck, whispering in my ear, “My number’s on the dining room table. Call when you want to pay me a visit.” She broke the embrace, grabbed the doorknob, scooped up her bag, and, without looking back, flew out the door, while saying, “But I still want a copy of the tape.” 

I wondered, as I enjoyed her trot down the walk, how she was going to get home. The impulse to ask passed quickly, but the matter of the tape copy inspired a few scenarios as to how I would escape owing Barbara what I now did. 

When I got back to the control room, Wanda didn’t say a thing. She just watched me reset all the cameras and roll tape on Shannon’s fix, but didn’t see me turn off the intercom switch. I quickly undid the crotch rope configuration and freed her from the ceiling tether.

“Inside.” 

She walked ahead, her fingers snaking and twitching sexily en route. 

“On the other side of the bed.” 

Her ankles were soon tied, each to its own upper thigh, before we got into some serious foreplay... 

“She’s getting in the way,” noticed Wanda, dryly. 

So I placed the gizmo in her right hand, whereupon, without having to look, she pressed a button, and down went the mattress, while Shannon’s suspension ropes tightened, especially the ones between her legs, eventually suspending her a good three feet off the bed. 

“There, now that she’s out of the way,” said Wanda, “make my day.” She tossed the remote onto the off-white, shagged floor, kissed me passionately, and said, “I love you.” 

“How much?” 

“This much.” Her bound body language said it all. 

25 Minutes Later

The phone rang. The machine picked it up... 

“Hi, it’s me, Barbara. If you’re still there, please pick up. I’m in a terrible fix. I met your friend, Clive, on my way to, to, on my way home, and he invited me over to his place for a snack, and now I’m all tied up on his bed... Is anyone there? Please pick up. I think he’s on his way over to your place... Hello?” 

Shannon started to laugh uncontrollably. 

Wanda and I were much too busy with our belated consummation to give the call a second thought, though we did work the absurd situation into the obviousness of the fantasy moment. 

“Wanda? Shannon,” asked Barbara, in an obvious state of aroused concern, “who’s tied up now? Are we all tied up? Please pick up. Anybody? Clive? ANYBODY!!!” 

Meanwhile, out at Wanda’s front door, Tiffany scoped the address number and thought, ‘How should I play this? Dumb?’ She pressed the doorbell button and crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Dumb- definitely- that always works, and if no one answers, I’ll do the bedroom window.’ 

“You must be Tiffany,” assumed Clive, from behind our latest damsel’s surprise. 

She swung around girlishly and looked up at the new, handsome hunk in her outrageous life. “And who might you be?”

“A friend of John’s. He and Barbara are over at my place. I volunteered to wait for you in my car. Shall we?” 

Tiffany’s juices were instantly electric with kinky indecision. “Uh, mind if I ring the bell a few more times to make sure?”

“Knock yourself out,” said Clive as he walked back to his red Porsche. “We have all night.” 

The second he turned his back on her, Tiffany made a hard right and bolted towards the rear corner of the condo, figuring that, if Barbara was not in the bedroom, she’d take Clive up on his offer. 

By the time she reached the window, I had already closed it and drawn the curtains, after having assumed the doorbell ring was hers. 

“Should have done that a half hour ago,” exhorted Wanda as I undid her legs and removed her panties and strapless bra.

“Yeah, I must be slipping,” said I while checking the time and putting a few ideas together for when we took Shannon back to Clive’s place. 

The End