The Interactive Bondage Museum · Part 1

The Interactive Bondage Museum · Part 1 (1/4)
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“So are you going to do it or what?” Sierra asked.

We were sitting at a booth in a shitty restaurant somewhere in Kansas. I had never been so bored driving through a place. We should have gone some other way to Colorado rather than through this long, flat state. Martin had gone to the bathroom after we ordered food, leaving us two girls alone.

“Do what?”

“Make a move.”

“A move?” I said.

“Don’t play stupid. Are you going to make a move on Martin? Because if you’re not going to, I will.”

After five nights on our cross-country travels – five sterile, endless, awkward nights – I was frustrated and dry, and this trip wasn't turning out like I imagined it would at all. The first mistake had been inviting Sierra. That wasn't my mistake. That was Martin's mistake. Or maybe he did it on purpose. I hadn't figured out yet if he was a complete idiot or a closeted horndog trying to get in on a threesome. If it was the latter, he hadn't made a move yet either. And besides, I wasn't a lesbian. Maybe he figured that out and figured it was all or nothing.

Sierra. She was barely my friend. Closer to an acquaintance really. We were all three in the same law class last semester and somehow got in the routine of going to the bar together afterward for a couple drinks. It was one of those weekly classes that ran into the evening. Sometimes, a couple other law students would join us, but a lot of the time, it was just Sierra, Martin and me. Sierra maintained an image of wildness, with her obvious nipple piercings, jet-black hair, and punk-ish clothes. She had one of those pear-shaped bodies: wide hips and little breasts. Boys loved her despite her tiny tits. I was nearly the opposite of Sierra. I'm a pretty basic girl – or I was when this story happened. Long, dirty blonde hair, no tattoos, and the only piercings I had were in the lobes of my ears. I'm athletic, toned where Sierra was soft, and I’m taller than her by over a foot.

When I suggested to Martin that we go on a road trip to the west coast, it was only supposed to be us. Me and him. I had the idea that we'd end up dating by the end of the trip. He apparently didn't get the message! Or he didn't want me. Or he thought it would be awkward with Sierra around. Anyway, nothing was happening. And now that we were halfway across the country, it was too late to back out. So five nights in a row, we ended up in shitty hotel rooms with Martin sleeping on the floor and Sierra sleeping in the bed beside me.

I was a little surprised when Sierra came right out and confronted me about the whole thing. I thought she would be more subtle about it. She had run out of patience.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Sierra sat back in the booth and crossed her arms. “You don’t know? Do you want him or not? If you want him, the answer is 'yes'. If you don’t, then I’m going to take him. So pick one or the other.”

“How do you know if he even wants you?”

“I don’t. But I can find out, can’t I?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Sure, I was attracted to him. He was solid and lean, about my height, with dark hair and an easy smile. And he was exceptionally smart, which turned me on. He was probably the most intelligent guy in our class. But the past few boyfriends hadn’t gone too well. I was feeling ambivalent about taking on a new one, for a variety of reasons. Sex was a problem, for one thing. It wasn’t enough of a motivation. I knew Sierra was different. Sex was an end in itself for her, and she couldn’t get enough of it. For me, it seemed like something was missing, and I couldn’t quite figure out the point of getting into another sexual involvement that was only going to end up in disappointment.

I saw Martin coming back from the bathroom. Sierra leaned over and said, “If you don’t do anything today, I’m going to. Tomorrow.”

Martin sat back down, oblivious. Sierra smiled at him generously. I smiled too, but I don’t think I hid my general confusion very well. Why shouldn’t I go for it? He was pretty fucking hot, after all. I looked him over, with his awkward smile, his tousled black hair, and his dark brown eyes shining. I wondered what he was thinking.

But I didn’t go for it. We made it through Kansas, stopped at a hotel close to the Denver airport with plans to make it into the mountains the next day. I didn’t make a move. But neither did Martin, and why should I have to do this all by myself?

That night, Sierra tried to touch me. I was half-awake when her I felt fingers on my nipple. At first, I eased into it. I thought Martin was going for it. I would let him and figure out the rest in the morning. I was horny enough. Then I opened my eyes. Martin was still on the floor sleeping beside the bed. It was Sierra. Her breath was hot against my ear, and she whispered, "Hi." I was so shocked, I almost jumped out of bed. I yelled, "What are you doing?" Martin woke up and asked what was going on. I said it was a bad dream, and everyone went back to sleep. But I didn't fall asleep for hours, wondering if Sierra was going to try again. She didn't. She lay with her back turned to me for the rest of the night.

The next morning was awkward. We had wanted to check out Aspen for the day, even though it was out of season for skiing. Martin drove, and he was clueless about what had happened. Sierra sat in the front passenger seat, diddling with her phone and pretending she hadn't diddled my nipple the night before. I sat in the back, and I didn't know what to think. No one was talking. It felt like the fun of our trip had petered out before it ever got started. Our little piece of shit car was having trouble. We had to get in the slow lane when we were going up the steep grades, because we could only get up to 40mph or so. Martin was getting pretty frustrated.

"Hey," Sierra said after we were pretty far into the mountains, "you guys want to go to a museum?"

"Like a history museum?" Martin said.

"Not exactly," she said, smiling slyly as she poked at her phone. Seemed like she was up to something. "How about it, Ada?"

"Yeah, whatever," I said.

"Martin?"

"I thought we were going to Aspen."

"We'll have time. Come on, it looks cool."

"Yeah, OK."

"OK, take the next exit."

She led us down a long, winding road, then onto another tiny road, then onto yet anther dirt road, and it seemed like we were going in circles after a while, just winding around the same group of peaks over and over.

"You sure this is right?"

"It's right, Ada."

"Maybe your phone GPS is screwed up."

"It's not," Sierra said. "I checked on this place before we left for the trip."

"How is a museum out in the middle of fucking nowhere? What kind of museum is this anyway?"

She just smiled back. I hated her. That was the smile she used to get guys. I'd seen her do it. She was good at it. Fuck her.

Finally, after an hour of getting nowhere, a building came into view, perched on the side of a mountain and surrounded by thick pines. It didn't look like a museum. It looked more like the vacation home of a rich, eccentric, crazy person, like one of those experimental homes from the sixties. Everything was squared off into large, concrete walls, some of them perched on stilts over the mountain side. And weirdly, there were no windows.

"What is this place?" Martin said.

"I told you," Sierra said. "It's a museum."

"It doesn't look like a museum. What kind of museum is it?"

"You'll see. Trust me. It'll be fun." She got out of the car and went for the door. I swear she was sashaying that big ass of hers a little more than usual as she walked.

Martin turned back to me and raised an eyebrow.

"We're the only car here," I said.

"Yeah, weird, huh?"

"It is."

"We're here. Might as well check it out. Besides, I gotta use the bathroom."

Martin got out of the car too, and I followed. As we approached the entrance, I saw the little sign out front, with plain, modern black lettering: “Interactive Bondage Museum”. Sierra had already gone inside.

"What the fuck?" I said. Bondage? Like tying people up? Weird people stuff?

But that was only part of me thinking that. There was another part, the part that had looked up some pretty unusual pornography. I thought back to a time that I had let Sierra borrow my laptop. Maybe she had seen what I had been looking at.

"I wonder what the 'interactive' part means," Martin said.

"Are we really doing this?"

"I guess so." Then he went in too. And I followed.

The entrance room was surprisingly normal, just like any other museum lobby except a bit small. There was a long, black counter with pamphlets from other attractions and museums in the area. Behind the counter was an older woman with silver streaks in her black hair, tied up in a bun behind her head. She was trim, probably used to be pretty hot. I thought I even saw Martin look at her that way for a second as we entered, thinking about hitting that. Maybe I was imagining it, but it made me a little jealous of this woman. She didn’t show any skin or anything, just wore a long black dress, elegant, out of place in a museum lobby. Maybe better for an art museum. Then again, I wasn’t sure exactly what this place was. “Interactive Bondage Museum” sounded a little scary.

“Welcome to the museum. I’m Marie,” said the woman behind the desk.

“Hi, Marie,” Sierra said with a big smile on her face as she walked right up to the counter. “So is there a map or whatever?”

Marie gestured to a pamphlet on her right. “There is information in this pamphlet, but we encourage all our patrons to enjoy the museum blind, so to speak. We’ve designed the experience with that in mind, so you needn’t feel that you will miss anything without it.”

I hung back, but Martin went forward just behind Sierra. I felt my jealousy creeping up. He was supposed to stay close to me. What a jerk. “So what is this place?” he asked.

Marie raised an eyebrow and looked him over, up and down, from his feet back up to his eyes. “How did you find out about this place?”

“I found it!” Sierra spoke up.

“And you three are… friends?”

“Yes,” I said. “We’re friends.” I didn’t know if I wanted to count Sierra in that group any more.

“Are you comfortable with each other?”

“Of course,” Sierra said and snuggled into Martin’s side. His face went red.

“I see,” Marie said. “This place, to answer your question, was designed with certain people in mind. You may or may not be those people. You can choose to participate in any way you like, or you can choose to only look. Either way, I’m sure your visit will be memorable. You will find instructions for the more complicated pieces as you walk through the museum. Let me suggest that, if you haven’t already, you choose one person to be in charge. One person to make the decisions. One person to top. The only other information I should offer is that this is a safe place. It is physically safe, and it is also discreet. You can enter the door,” she gestured towards the simple red door to the left of the counter, “as anyone you choose, whether that be your selves or some other you choose to be. No one but you three need know. You will pass through six rooms in all. I suggest you pace yourselves.”

“Uh…,” was all Martin managed to say in answer.

“So who’s in charge?” Sierra asked as she clung to Martin’s arm and looked up at him.

“I’m in charge,” I said. I thought that I said it because I was scared of someone ordering me around, making me do something I didn’t want to. But it turned out there were other reasons. “I’ll be in charge.”

Sierra looked back at me in evident disappointment.

“Yeah, OK,” Martin said.

“You?” Sierra said.

“Yes. Me.”

“You don’t want to, Martin?”

“No,” he said. “Ada can do it. I mean, we’re not going to do anything anyway, right?”

Sierra rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

Marie noted something in a log book in front of her and closed it. “I see you’ve paid ahead of time. When you’re ready, go ahead. And have a good time.”

“Uh,” Sierra paused a moment. “Is there anyone else in there?”

“We have no other guests today. And if we do, they will wait here in the lobby until you’ve passed through all the rooms.”

Sierra grinned madly and pulled Martin towards the door. “Let’s do this!”

Martin, bewildered and red-faced, looked back at me. I wasn’t sure what his expression said. I followed them through the door.

When I stepped through, Sierra and Martin were already standing in front of a waist-high, wooden pedestal in a small room with white walls and nothing else. There was a door facing the one we just came through. On the pedestal was a small key and two hinged metal loops, each open. Sierra picked up the key and held it in front of her face.

“That’s mine,” I said.

“Yours? How is it yours?”

“I’m in charge, remember?”

“You don’t even know what it’s for.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out. Now give it to me.”

I thought I saw Martin smirk for a moment. What was going through his head? Sierra reluctantly handed the key to me. I pinched it between my fingers, feeling the cold metal. It was simple and small and a little like a key to a bike lock. Any lock it opened would be a simple one.

“So what are these?” Martin picked up one of the hinged pieces of metal.

“Collars, obviously.” Sierra took the collar from his hands. “And this one’s smaller. So this one – “ she picked up the other and handed it to him ”- is for you.”

“How did they know who was coming in?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know.” Sierra slipped the collar around her neck and hinged it closed. A small bulge on the front end showed the lock, where a slotted piece of metal went into the other side. She clicked it shut, and the seam was nearly invisible. The only disruption in the collar’s smooth beauty was in the small keyhole on the underside of the lock. “Wow.” She pulled the collar up and down her neck, and it did not move much. “Pretty tight fit.”

Martin eyed his larger collar skeptically.

“Your turn,” Sierra grinned.

“I’ll do it,” I said and walked over to Martin.

“I don’t know about this,” he said.

“Well… we’re here. Let’s just get it over with.” I took the collar from his hands and slipped it around his neck. It was not just larger but a little thicker than Sierra’s, and instead of tapering from the lock end into a roundness, this collar was squared off, with right-angled edges, rectangular around its width. I clicked the collar into place. It also fit fairly tightly around his neck but not so much that he couldn’t easily breathe. I stepped back and took a look. Martin’s face was bright red. He brought a hand up to touch it.

“OK, unlock mine,” Sierra said.

I turned to her. “Why?”

“I don’t know if I like this thing.”

“Is it too tight?”

“No, it’s just – I don’t know. Give me the key.”

“You brought us to this place. Are you backing out now?”

“No, but do we really need the collars? Come on. Give me the key.”

“I’m not giving you the key. The collar stays on.”

“Are you fucking serious? Ada, come on.”

I stood up straight and faced her straight on. She looked like a petulant child. Martin was staying out of it.

She sighed loudly. “Fine.”

“So let’s go,” I said. I gestured to the next door. Martin went first. Then Sierra. I patted the key in my back pocket and wondered what lock or locks they were going to fit into. I didn’t know, but one thing was for sure: this was my key. Not Sierra’s. Not Martin’s. Mine. This was a fact that settled my nerves and drove me forward. More than that, the thought excited me. Not the key itself but its distance from Sierra and Martin. That distance would be as wide as I so chose.

I followed Martin through the door.

We entered what was apparently a large wardrobe. Two racks ran down the side walls, and between the racks and the doors were various boxes and cubby holes filled with a variety of items. There was a lot of shiny black, some red. The smells of leather and latex filled the place, somewhat like the sex shop I had visited with one of my boyfriends once but stronger. A few full-sized mannequins and torsos were scattered through the room, each with a very sexualized outfit. One section of the room was entirely filled with different types of corsets, in black leather, cloth and ribbons, frilly lace, large and small, in all colors and sizes. Sierra’s attention went straight to the corsets.

“Oh, wow,” she said and went to examine them.

Martin seemed to not know where to stand and so stood just by the door, waiting for something to happen. I wandered in the opposite direction from the corsets, looking through the cases and boxes by the door. I picked up items here and there. I could not figure out how some of them were meant to be worn. Some just seemed to be an assortment of straps and hooks, and others looked like they should be attachments to some other outfit, with uncoupled buckles and metal clasps.

The pieces hung from the rack were more obvious though not any less extreme. There was a full-body latex suit that probably would have hugged me like a second skin if I tried it on. It had a circle around the chest that would have shown off my cleavage quiet well. There were matching bras and panty sets, some crotchless or with holes where the nipples should have been. Zippers over crotches. Belts and buckles everywhere. I ran my fingers across them all, getting excited despite myself. I felt a strange stirring within. I looked up towards the ceiling, suddenly paranoid that they were pumping in sex pheromones from vents.

Sierra’s voice disrupted my reverie. “Martin, come help me.” She had fastened the buttons down a black satin corset in the front, over her t-shirt, and she was having trouble trying to tighten the laces in the back.

“What?” Martin seemed hesitant to move, still staying by the door as if clinging to a boat mast in a storm.

“I said, ‘Come here!’ I want to try this one.”

He walked over to her, and she turned her back to him.

“Lace me up.”

He took the loose laces in his hands and pulled awkwardly. He let go, and the laces went back into position, still as loose. He pulled again, trying to hold the laces with one hand.

“Oof. What are you doing back there?”

“What you told me to do.”

My hands itched. I couldn’t stand watching this. “Jesus, I’ll do it.” I pushed Martin aside. I shifted the corset a little around Sierra’s waist, centering the lacing down her spine, and pulled it down slightly to hug the top of her wide hips. The front side came up to just beneath her small breasts, coming to two arcs just underneath. The material was thick and lined with some kind of boning keeping the form. She had picked the right one for her short, round-assed body. It would fit her perfectly. And the flare of her black skirt emphasized her hips even more. I pulled laces tight from the top, working my way down, bringing the eyelets a little closer with each pull.

The loose ends came to the middle of the corset, a little above the small of her waist, from below and above. I pulled the lacings from below next, and the cloth pulled her hips tightly and fitted against her small waist. There was still about two inches of space left between the eyelets, and I pulled the cloth of her t-shirt tightly down so as not to get in the way of the lacings. It was bunching up a bit.

“How’s that?”

“Nice.” She started to move away so that she could see herself in the mirror on one side of the room.

“Wait,” I grabbed her waist and pulled her back. “We’re not done.”

“It’s pretty tight.”

“We can do better.”

I started from the top again, pulling the laces tight between each set of eyelets. Her torso was squeezed tighter, and with every cinch, she let out a slightly louder, “Mmph.” I pulled the laces from the bottom, molding Sierra’s already curvy shape into more of an hourglass. When I was done, there was no space between the edges of the corset. I put my knee up against her back and pulled the remaining laces tightly in the middle.

“Ada!”

“What?” I said as I quickly tied off the laces in a shoelace knot.

“I can barely breathe.”

I held my hands on the thinnest part of the corset, just above the curve of her hips, and felt her lungs expanding and compressing with some trouble. “You’re breathing.”

“Fuck. Are we done?”

“Yes, we’re done.”

She went to the mirror and had a look at herself. She ran her hands across the corset, obviously pleased with what it had done to her body. “What do you think, Martin?”

“Looks good.”

She gave him a disappointed look. “Good?”

I came to stand behind her and looked at us both. I was taller than her by about a foot, lean where she was curvy. The corset exaggerated the differences between us. I liked seeing us together. It was odd. I was still angry with her, but I also wanted something else now. I wanted to see what was in the next room.

“Let’s keep going,” I said.

“We’re not going to try anything else on?” Sierra asked.

“I’m not. Martin?”

“No, I’m good,” he said.

“Are you going to keep this on?”

Sierra hadn’t stopped looking at herself in the mirror. “Do you think I should?”

I put my hand on her shoulder, touched my thumb to the back of her neck and leaned in closer. “I think you should.”

She smiled. “OK.”

I gave her a little push towards the door and let go. I opened the door and went in.

“Holy shit,” I said as I walked through.

We entered a wide room with white walls. At chest height and along the floor were metal loops set into the wall at regular intervals. Hung on these loops were about twenty metal devices: mostly handcuffs but also other things that were not familiar to me. They increased in complexity from left to right. The first few looked ancient and rusty. Towards the end, they were shiny, clean, and modern. My mind quickly started working to try to figure out each device and how it would be used.

“Wow, cool,” Sierra said and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. They looked like the kind a normal policeman might have, the kind you see in movies.

“So I guess this is history or something,” Martin said. He poked at some of the older devices along the left side. He pulled one off its hook and examined it. It looked more like a vise than a pair of cuffs, with two openings where you would put your hands in and then a bar to push down to secure the wrists.

“Check it out.” Sierra walked to Martin and slapped a cuff around his wrist before he knew what she was doing.

“Hey.”

“Hey, what?” She took his other wrist and cuffed it too.

“Stop it,” I said.

“What do you mean, ‘Stop it’? It’s interactive, remember?”

I grabbed the very last item on the wall, on the ‘modern’ side. It was a solid metal device, hinged on one end and about as long as from my elbow to the end of my hand. There was a large hole where the hinge was and two smaller holes on the other end, where a pin was inserted with an open padlock hanging off the end. I put the pad

The Interactive Bondage Museum · Part 1 (1/4)
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