One Way Street · Part 3 (3/4)
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ck’s starting to ache, and my feet and legs are sore from standing still for so long. So I ask him, hey, I’m done, can you unfasten this thing?”
“What next?”
“Well, he just sits there, staring at me. I’m not going anywhere, but I’m getting impatient. What’s the safeword, he asks. You have to wait unless you use the word.”
Darla would have nodded in agreement if she could move her head. “Yeah, those are the rules. Dominants can be sticklers about that kind of thing.”
“I know, but we never agreed on a safeword. I point that out. He nods, agrees it was an oversight, but it wasn’t his problem. I have to wait until he’s ready to let me go.”
Darla almost laughed. “That’s how they think. He wasn’t the one stuck in the stocks; therefore it’s not his problem. Once they get on that power trip it’s hard to bring them back to earth.”
“Tell me about it. He made me wait another five minutes. Funny thing, I didn’t really mind.”
Darla tried to shift around, to no avail. Her cage started spinning back and forth. “Speaking of stocks, I think I’d trade places right about now. This couldn’t be much worse if a boa constrictor was squeezing me instead. I hope Mr. G isn’t going to leave us here all day.”
“Don’t think about time,” Anita warned. “That’s the kind of psychology they use on us, to make minutes seem like hours. It helps to keep talking so we don’t dwell on being alone and isolated.
“Yeah, boredom is the enemy of fun when it comes to bondage. There’s nothing worse than being nicely wrapped up, barely able to move, and then five minutes later you get bored and want out.” Darla had to admit she’d yet to become bored since arriving at Mr. G’s place.
“I got a glimpse of your room, or should I call it a cell? You’re lucky; you don’t have to wear one of those collars attached to the wall.” If they had to carry on a conversation, Darla thought it best to pick a safe topic.
“It isn’t exactly the Presidential Suite.” Anita shot back. “I think I spend more time staring at the rear wall than anything else. Rules, you know? I hear anyone in the corridor, I have to go to my spot.”
“Tell me about it. Rules are made never to be broken. Dominants are so sensitive about that. One slip and they take it as a personal offense.” Darla wasn’t complaining. Structure was important, as much or more than the discipline to keep within bounds.
“I suppose that’s why we’re here. For me, it starts with the physical. Being trapped in this thing, it’s hard to forget who’s in charge. But what I really enjoy is the satisfaction that comes from getting it right. You know? It’s the pride in knowing I keep to all those rules, even if I could get away with breaking one. Does that mean I’m brainwashed?” Anita asked in a casual way, as if it were a joke.
“No way, it’s just how we are.” Darla rejected the idea that Mr. G or anyone else had managed to get in her head. She watched her reflection in the mirrored wall, as she slowly swayed back and forth inside her cage. Anita did have a point though. Her little prison was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute, yet she couldn’t bring herself to complain about it.
“I’ve seen that collar and wall setup. What’s it like, wearing it? It looks heavy. And being chained to the wall, that scares me. I like bondage, being helpless and vulnerable, but being immobilized, where I can’t even crawl away…” Anita stopped to regain her composure.
“The idea freaks me out. I know, it’s not really any different than being locked in the cell. But it doesn’t affect me the same way. Cages, yeah I get that, and truth is I kinda like being in one, even this thing we’re standing in now. I don’t know, maybe there’s no logical reason for it, but if I were left alone, chained to the wall all night long, I think I’d freak out.”
Darla could understand her fears. The first time she saw that collar the same thoughts went through her mind. Oddly, once it was in place, around her neck, those qualms all but vanished. “Yeah, it does weigh you down, especially the leash. It did bother me, at first, but once I was alone and knew there wasn’t anything I could do about it, well, I suppose I just accepted it. I even managed to get some sleep that night. I do have to confess that collar was all I thought about until I finally fell asleep.”
If Darla had to be objective, the gibbet was far worse than the collar and cell. At the moment she couldn’t even move. There was one crucial difference between the two. She was positive Mr. G did not intend to leave the pair of them dangling from the ceiling all day and night.
At that moment Mr. G did walk in, carrying a folding chair. He halted in front of Darla and Anita, unfolded the chair and sat down. Crossing his arms he leaned back to study the pair of women. “I’d like some quiet, no talking. For the aesthetics of art to be fully appreciated there must be no distractions.”
Now I’m a work of art? She knew about shibari, the fancy Japanese style rope work and how many referred to it as art. She’d never gone into that type of bondage since Darla had an aversion to rope in general. Confined in a suspended cage didn’t seem to rise to the same level of creativity.
Peering through the slits in the mask covering her face she studied Mr. G, looking for clues as to his thinking. She always felt an obligation to ensure the dominant man who placed her in bondage enjoyed the experience as much as she did. The little clues, the way his eyes flashed if she tried to struggle long after any possibility of escape was impossible, they were important in ways she could share the fun.
Aesthetics, that was the word he used. Any woman knew instinctively men responded to the visual; perhaps that was Mr. G’s secret motivation behind his presence. The gibbet revealed more than it concealed, and neither of them had the benefit of clothing. If he wanted to look it didn’t concern her. Maybe I’m a latent exhibitionist. If it were true Darla wasn’t bothered by any false modesty. Most of her bondage scenes included nudity. Men seemed to relish the prospect of strategically placing the restraints to accentuate her female attributes. Somehow her hands were always bound behind her back, never in front.
Mr. G stood up and went to the wall behind Darla and Anita. A moment later the gibbets were lowered to the floor, though still held upright. He reappeared in front of Darla, leaning down to look into her eyes. “I hope I’m meeting all your expectations? We do value customer service here.”
Darla didn’t answer. He hadn’t lifted his ban on speaking.
He stepped back, looking her up and down. “Very good! You remembered to stay quiet. I like that. Both of you, I want you to know I am impressed by your dedication to obedience. I do hope you’ll continue, mostly for your own sake. See, if there’s one thing I will not tolerate in a submissive, it’s a bad attitude.”
The lower section of her face mask swung open. Was Mr. G going to release them? Darla was more than ready to say goodbye to the gibbet, and good riddance. “How about a drink of water?” He held up a cup with a straw.
Darla didn’t realize how thirsty she was until the first sip of cold water ran down her throat. She was getting hungry too. “Open wide, I have a little something for you.”
Always do as you are told, that was Darla’s firm conviction while under a man’s control. She didn’t hesitate, which proved to be a mistake. Something rubbery, the size of a bar of soap, slid into her mouth when he closed the lower part of her mask.
It was large and had a bad taste. It pressed down on her tongue. It wasn’t quite a true gag; she could feel the gaps around her lips. The problem was it was held firmly in place and resisted any effort to push it out.
A moment later she heard similar sounds from Anita’s cage, the opening and closing of the lower mask. They started to rise toward the ceiling again. Ignoring the order to silence Darla tried to protest, but all that came out was unintelligible mumbling.
“I’m sure both of you noticed that brank on Jimbo’s head? I don’t want you to feel left out, so I thought you’d like to try one on too. I have to leave you for a while, duty calls. When I get back you’ll be returned to your cells. Until then, please continue your conversation. I apologize for interrupting you.” He turned and walked out of the room.
Just how were they supposed to carry on with a conversation? “Can you understand me?” Darla asked. That’s not what came out from behind the gibbet’s cover over her face. There was a reply of sorts from Anita, also garbled beyond recognition. She sighed, so much for some company to ease the wait.
Mr. G eventually did return, after what felt like several hours. One at a time he took them back to their cells. Darla once again wore the collar but she was so tired she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. Another day spent in bondage, and another night in confinement. For all the trials she faced, the trip was still proving to be worth it.
In the Audience Darla sat on the floor, her back to the wall. Above her the chain, the leash as she now called it, dangled from the plate set into the wall. Eyes closed, she ran her fingers back and forth across the front of the ring that encircled her neck. Why can’t I get this thing out of my brain? Go ahead, admit it, I feel like, like… a sex object, a man’s pet to be taken out for some fun and games, and then put back in my pen.
What bothered her was the lack of outrage at being treated like property. The extended stay at Mr. G’s place was changing her, in ways she didn’t understand. She slipped two fingers under the collar and gave it a sharp tug. Nothing happened. It wasn’t just her body chained to the wall; in a way her inner self, her soul, was just as much a prisoner. Why does it feel so right?
Lost in the moment Darla didn’t notice Mr. G standing in front of the bars. It wasn’t until he spoke up that she realized he was nearby. “Stand in front of me, close to the cell door.”
Her eyes flew open. In a flash she was in position. “I apologize, sir. I didn’t hear you…”
“No need,” he interrupted. “You were ordered to relax. Don’t make excuses for doing as you were told.”
He lowered a canvas bag to the floor. “You must listen carefully. This is what you need to know. You are going to participate in a session, but you are not the primary participant. Instead you will be assisting a guest, a dominant of considerable reputation. If you fail to cooperate I will consider it a personal insult. At no time will you be at risk, either of physical injury or, um, unwelcome personal attention.”
It was evident to Darla what he meant by the euphemistic “unwelcome attention”, and the point he made about a personal insult. It would be a miserable rest of the week if she acted up.
“Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.” Since she had no idea what came next it was all she could manage for a response.
“Good, I’m pleased we understand each other.” He reached into the canvas bag and withdrew two pairs of handcuffs. “Raise your arms, high, and far apart. Grab onto the bars with your hands.”
She didn’t require an explanation for what he intended. In moments her wrists were cuffed in place, with her hands fixed over her head.
“You’re doing well. Next, spread your legs.” He took two oversize pairs of cuffs from the bag. Darla recognized them, essentially leg irons with only two links of chain between them. “A little more; stop, that will do.” He knelt down and secured her ankles to the bars.
After picking up the bag he backed up to examine his work. She was spread-eagled against the bars. The chain from the collar dangled between her breasts and fell to one side. “Yes, that’s perfect. You did well, Darla.”
As praise went it wasn’t much, yet it gave her a warm feeling to earn his approval. It made up for the rather uncomfortable position she was in, facing the bars. “Go ahead. I know you like to test your limits.” Mr. G smiled, as if he was reading her mind.
Am I that transparent? She jerked on the handcuffs, followed by pulling on her ankle bonds. I’m not going anywhere. She turned back to face Mr. G.
“From now you must remain silent. If questioned you will answer but do not elaborate; it will not be a conversation. I cannot stress how important it is you stand there silently. However, if this begins to bother you,” he reached through the bars to take hold of her collar, “then you may speak up. I appreciate the weight might be…unsettling… the first time the collar is used. Otherwise, mum’s the word. Watch and learn; you are about to see a world class expert at work.”
The Expert Behind Mr. G a small woman entered the room. At first glance she seemed to be out of place. If this was Mr. G’s expert she didn’t fit the dominatrix stereotype. Instead of the leather costume and high heel boots she wore a simple dress with low, rather uninspired heels, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. First impressions were important in the domination game, at least to Darla. This woman looked as though she was right off a farm in rural Kansas. She was better suited to the lead in Wizard of Oz rather than taking charge in a dungeon. All she lacked were ruby slippers and a little dog.
Mr. G stood to one side. The woman came up to the bars, stopped and looked Darla up and down. “Yes, this should be sufficient. My thanks for your assistance, Mr. G.”
“Anything for you, Sally. Mi casa es su casa.” Darla was surprised to hear the degree of respect and deference he show the stranger. Who was this woman?
She came closer, practically touching the bars. She was shorter than Darla, barely coming up to her shoulders. “Hello…” the woman turned to Mr. G.
“Darla.”
“Hello Darla, my name is Sally. We’ll be working together this evening. I’m sure Mr. G has emphasized the importance that you do not speak, no matter what happens. That’s all I ask.” She backed away, to face Mr. G.
“I believe we can start. Our guest of honor is outside. Might I ask if you could bring him in? I’m afraid he’s a bit much for me.” Sally followed Mr. G to the hallway.
This so-called expert, Sally, was a contradiction of everything Darla knew about domination and submission. Her look was all wrong, and her voice, it was soft, smooth, disarming. There was no bite, no firm tone that came with unbounded confidence. Who would even pay her any attention, much less feel the compulsion to obey? She had no credibility, yet Mr. G characterized her as a “world class” expert.
While Mr. G went out to the corridor Sally unfolded a chair close by Darla. Mr. G returned, wheeling in what at first glance appeared to be a wheelchair. When it came closer Darla recognized it as one of those restraint chairs used in jails for violent prisoners high on drugs. The current occupant had a bag over his head, concealing his features and acting as an impromptu blindfold.
Darla didn’t need to see his face. It was Jimbo. She recognized him from the incident in the hallway earlier. The male chastity belt, and that massive iron ball fastened between his ankles, was a dead giveaway. The ball rested on the footstool, between his bare feet. At least he doesn’t have to drag that thing around.
Jimbo was securely strapped in: wrists, waist and ankles. Darla wasn’t sure but it looked like the posture collar around his neck was attached to the back of the chair. She had a bad feeling about what was coming next.
Mr. G nodded and left. Darla heard the door to the outer hallway slam shut. Sally moved her chair around so it was behind Jimbo’s chair, off to one side. He was so close to Darla that his toes rested against some of the vertical bars. After Sally sat down she pinched her fingers together and drew them across her mouth. Darla got the silent message, zip it. Not that she needed a reminder; Mr. G had been quite clear in his instructions.
“What’s happening? Where am I?” That came from Jimbo. No gag, this time he wasn’t wearing that brank.
Sally leaned close, to whisper in his ear. “Hello, James. You remember Sally, don’t you?”
“Sally, is that you? You didn’t abandon me?” There was a sad, plaintive tone to Jimbo’s words.
“Of course Sally is here. Sally still wants to help you. Sally cares about you, James; Sally won’t abandon you.” There was something very strange about the way she spoke to Jimbo. She referred to herself in third person, and she had a way of stressing certain words.
“There was another accident, wasn’t there? Be honest with Sally; otherwise she can’t work with you.” In some ways Sally reminded Darla of a therapist, trying to get a reluctant patient to open up.
“She was so pretty. All I wanted was to touch her. That’s all, just one moment to brush a finger against that perfect skin…”
“Haven’t you been taught not to do that, James? You can’t be trusted. Remember what happened to all those other women? You only wanted to touch them, but there were accidents.”
“Why can’t I remember?” Jimbo cried out. “It’s all a blank. I didn’t want to hurt them.”
“Now James, you’re not being honest again. We all know what you did to them. It was ghastly, beyond anything a sane man could stomach. You have to admit, to yourself, that you are a bad person. Not just bad, a monster that has to be kept away from decent people.”
Darla began to wonder if this Jimbo was a modern day Jack the Ripper. If so, why hadn’t he been turned over to the police, instead of being held at Mr. G’s compound? It was frustrating being fed tiny pieces of the story, though looking at it objectively it wasn’t any of her business.
“This is why so many people hate you, James. You act like it wasn’t your fault, yet we all can plainly see you are an evil man. You like to hurt women, don’t you? What do you think we should do with someone like you?”
She had yet to say one positive thing about Jimbo. Darla was sure no real professional would act that way. Sally was the therapist from Hell, bent on destroying her patient instead of healing.
“Bad people should be punished.” Jimbo’s voice was a pathetic whimper. “They should be corrected, to be taught how to behave properly, to fit in.”
“That’s right, James. You want to fit in, to return to normal, don’t you? No one else wants to support you. They don’t believe in you, but Sally cares. You can rise above all you problems, James. Sally will show you the way.”
Darla noticed the way Sally kept stressing she was there to help, but everything else pointed to the opposite. Yet James, Jimbo, seemed to be buying into everything she told him.
Without any warning Sally yanked the bag off Jimbo’s head.
Lesson Learned The moment he saw Darla Jimbo shrieked and closed his eyes tight. “Take her away! Please, Sally, the pain will come. Help me!”
Darla’s first reaction was uncertainty, whether to be insulted or flattered at Jimbo’s reaction to getting an eyeful of her body. In any other situation men did not scream in terror and try to run away when she was revealed in all her glory. On the other hand, being rejected by a potential serial killer couldn’t be all that bad.
She was right about the posture collar. Jimbo’s neck and head was wedged into a tight clamp affixed to the back of the restraint chair. He couldn’t look away no matter how much he struggled. Either he kept his eyes shut or he had no choice but to stare at her.
Sally was still seated behind Jimbo, out of sight. “Don’t shut your eyes, James. Sally can’t help you unless you cooperate. Look at her, James. That’s what she wants. She asked to be put on display, just for you. Sally can show you how to avoid the pain. But first you have to overcome your fear.”
What was going on? Darla certainly had not requested she be spread-eagled against the bars just to entertain Jimbo. Sally was filling his head with lies while pretending to be his friend. This wasn’t some kind of fetish or bondage scene; Sally was doing her best to inflict real mental damage.
When Jimbo opened his eyes Darla saw the raw hunger, the desire, a look by a man any woman could recognize immediately. There was little she could do to discourage it either. In vain she jerked at the handcuffs that bound her to the cell bars. Her struggles only fed his craving.
Sally was behind him again, still whispering in his ear. “You can overcome this, James. Sally will show you the way. Don’t look at those smooth legs, the curves of her hips, the perfect skin, the ample breasts. Darla is a person who you should respect. Sally can see she’s trying to tempt you, James. Don’t give in, be strong. Sally knows you will not be led astray by her charms.”
He was squirming in the restraint chair, fighting the straps holding him down. “All I want is to touch her, that’s all. That’s okay, isn’t it Sally? Please, just one time…”
Darla cringed at the image of Jimbo’s hands on her. She did feel sorry for what he was going through, yet aside from sympathy in all other respects he was singularly unappealing. She had a certain type, and it only included men who showed confidence in their abilities.
“If you’re good, James, then tonight Sally will bring Darla to your room. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Imagine her chained to the bars, like she is now, but inside your cell. Sally can see to it your belt is removed too. Doesn’t that excite you, James? You could touch her all night long. She wants it, James, can’t you tell?”
The idea of spending the night with him made her skin crawl. This was getting out of hand. Determined to put a stop to it Darla interrupted Sally. “I…”
Sally’s head jerked up. Her anger was obvious to Darla, who broke off her protest immediately. Mr. G had been quite clear that Sally was in charge. Much as she needed to put a halt to Sally’s promises, Darla's own compulsion to defer to authority, especially when bound, prevented her from continuing.
At that point Jimbo began screaming in pain while thrashing back and forth in the chair. His chastity belt had activated again, punishing him for a perfectly natural reaction. Sally spun his chair round so she could lean in to face him.
“You tried to trick Sally. There will be no Darla for you tonight, or any other night. Sally was your only friend and you betrayed her trust. This will never end, James. The pain will go on and on, every time you see or even think about a woman. You deserve it, for what yo
