All Tied Up · Bound · Part 1 (1/2)
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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."
"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 "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, 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
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."
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 s
All Tied Up · Bound · Part 1 (1/2)
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