All I want for Christmas… is to be tied up · Part 1

All I want for Christmas… is to be tied up · Part 1 (1/2)
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It was Christmas Eve, and Imogen was getting excited about her plans for the Festive period. But she was also extremely nervous about the train of events that she was about to set in motion. Yet these two conflicting emotions only seemed to make the task ahead ever more enticing, as she braced herself for her trip into the unknown.

Imogen had always loved Christmas. When she was very young, the bright lights, the decked out Christmas tree, the carol singers, the anticipation of Santa’s visit, the smell of roasting turkey and the family opening presents in front of the fire, were for Imogen – as they were for most children – a time of magic and delight. As she’d reached her late teenage years, the allure of alcohol fuelled Christmas parties and time spent with her friends had all added to the joy that she experienced throughout December.

But this year things were going to be completely different. For the past two weeks or so, Imogen had been plotting something a bit special; something that made her shiver with delight at the very thought of what was to come. It was unconventional, to say the least, and not everybody’s idea of how to spend the holiday period. In fact, the whole venture that she was determined to go through with would be anathema to most people; completely at odds with their definition of the ideal Yuletide experience. Yet to Imogen, this, the twenty second Christmas of her young life, was, she hoped, going to be the ultimate Festive experience; the one that she would remember and cherish for as long as she lived.

The strategy was, she knew only too well, a leap into the unknown which could go wrong in so many ways. There were numerous potential pitfalls that could prove extremely embarrassing should her reading of the situation turn out to have been in error. And, although she didn’t like to dwell on such things, the path ahead was fraught with many dangers.

But the thought of how wonderful and magical the whole experience could be, if everything went according to plan, outweighed all these other, negative considerations. She had her heart set on this course of action, and any nagging concerns such as safety, or the motives of her co-conspirator, were never going to persuade her to waver from her intended goal.

And to think that it had all started rather innocuously.

It was the 11th December, and Imogen had been asked to retrieve some papers from her manager’s office. Her manager – Tony – was away from work at a conference that day, and entering the office in his absence was usually frowned upon. However, one of the other managers needed some files containing important documentation with a degree of urgency, and as he was in a hurry to get to his meeting, he had entrusted Imogen with the task of recovering the relevant paperwork. He’d given her a bunch of keys and requested that she hunt around for the missing files. There was one key for the office door, plus several others for the various filing cabinets and drawers that could potentially be the hiding place of the sought after records.

Imogen had let herself in and checked the piles of papers lying on the desk, before – by trial and error – working out which key fitted which lock. Beginning with the drawers on Tony’s desk, she tried inserting each key in turn. The first three attempts proved unsuccessful, but the fourth key slid into place perfectly, and an almost inaudible click as she turned the tiny metal object ninety degrees, told her that the compartments would now slide open. The top two trays yielded nothing of any significance, and Imogen pulled the bottom drawer out with very little faith that this one would be any different. And in regard to the elusive paperwork that she was searching for, this did indeed turn out to be the case.

But what she did stumble upon, lying right at the bottom and hidden from prying eyes by a pile of documents and folders, caused a shudder of excitement to rush up her spine the moment she spied it. In fact, from the second that the picture caught her attention, the official reason for her being in the room at all was immediately erased from her mind. With trembling hands, she pulled the magazine out and studied her find. The shiny cover had the words “Bondage Life” printed in large letters at the top, with “The Magazine for and by Bondage People” in smaller type beneath.

But what had first drawn her eyes to this slightly dated looking publication, and the thing that had set her heart fluttering, was the picture that she simply couldn’t stop staring at. For this cover photograph depicted a woman in lingerie and pantyhose, whose arms and legs had been bound tightly and securely with numerous lengths of white rope. A red rubber ball had been crammed into her mouth, attached to which were two leather straps that had been – presumably, as they were out of shot at the rear of her head – buckled together to stop her spitting it out.

Far from looking in any way distressed by her apparently perilous situation, however, the woman seemed to be smiling through her gag at the camera.

Imogen opened the magazine and began flicking through the pages. There were many other images within, all along the same lines; i.e. women in various states of strict and inescapable bondage. Some were almost naked save for the flimsiest of attire, while others were clad in tight fitting spandex, latex or leather. All seemed to be enjoying themselves. Although she only had time to briefly scan the printed text sections, the contents – fictional stories, discussions and readers’ letters – appeared to complement the photos in their enthusiasm for the bound female form.

Imogen stared at the pages open mouthed, but her surprise at what she encountered was in no way due to disgust or distaste at what she saw; far from it, in fact. No, the primary feelings and sensations that she experienced as she browsed this unexpected find were fascination, curiosity and –she was amazed to discover – sheer delight.

She had always found the idea of being tied up appealing, although until now this attraction had been suppressed and lay dormant within her… well most of the time, anyway. Now, however, as the turn of the glossy pages revealed ever more enticing images, she found herself becoming aroused. There was no getting away from the fact; she wanted – indeed craved – to be like the women in the photos; to experience firsthand what it was like to have someone bind and gag her, then leave her to struggle in her helplessness. In short, she wanted to become one of the “Bondage People” that the cover alluded to.

Tearing her eyes away from the magazine for a few seconds, Imogen rummaged further into the depths of the desk drawer, to see if there was anything else of a similar nature concealed within. She was not to be disappointed. For right at the bottom, her hand came into contact with a plastic DVD case. Pulling this out, Imogen could see from the cover that the contents on this disc were in very similar vein to that of the magazine; the pictures and the words clearly indicating that, if she were to insert this disc into a DVD player, she would be treated to a visual display of various sexily clad young females wriggling and writhing against their strictly administered restraints.

“Have you found those files yet?”

The voice caught Imogen by complete surprise, and caused her to physically jump up from the seat and drop the DVD onto the desk. Simultaneously, the magazine, which had been lying on her lap, fell to the floor. Imogen audibly gasped as she saw her colleague Helen framed in the doorway.

“How long have you been standing there? You gave me quite a fright.”

Helen ignored the question and walked further into the office. Imogen was relieved that it wasn’t one of the managers that had discovered her looking at Tony’s stash of bondage porn, but even so, the fact that someone – anyone – had caught her red-handed was bad enough. Especially as her co-worker had clearly noticed the DVD on the desk and was now making a beeline towards it. As she drew closer, Helen also noticed the magazine lying on the floor. Bending down, she picked it up and glanced briefly at the cover. But instead of the shocked reaction that Imogen was anticipating, she watched as Helen casually threw the publication back onto the desk.

“So, I see you’ve discovered Tony’s little obsession. I’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy if he knew you’d been prying into his personal belongings.”

Imogen was astonished by Helen’s apparent knowledge of her manager’s secret.

“You knew about all this?”

She motioned towards the magazine and book, now lying side by side on the desk. Helen smiled.

“Of course. Ask any of his ex-girlfriends and they’ll tell you stories of how he loved to tie them up good and tight. I thought everyone knew that.”

Once again, Imogen felt a shiver course through her entire body. But as before, this was no indication of fear or repulsion, but instead revealed the burgeoning of an idea that she had been hatching immediately prior to Helen’s appearance.

Imogen had always had a crush on Tony, her line manager, although she’d always been too shy to actually allow this to manifest itself openly. At six years older than her, he always seemed out of reach, especially as there constantly seemed to be a steady stream of women at his beck and call. But she’d heard recently that he was currently unattached, and so had been desperately looking for a way to manoeuvre her way into his affections. And the sight of the bondage literature had given her an idea.

The seeds of the concept that Imogen had been tentatively mulling over in her brain whilst she perused the magazine, had been along the lines of “What if I tie myself up, enclose myself in Christmas wrapping paper, and present myself on Tony’s doorstep on Christmas Eve?” The more she thought about this, the more she liked the idea. Because if he was turned on by women in bondage, then how would he be able to resist a willingly bound package turning up out of the blue? How could he fail to take her in and keep her tied up over the holiday period? It might not have been the most logical of thought processes, and it was most definitely riddled with a whole host of ifs, buts and maybes. But at that moment, this was of no concern to a woman who had just stumbled upon a potentially life-changing discovery.

There were many obvious obstacles to overcome before her plans could be brought to fruition, of course. But she was sure that these could be ironed out before the big day arrived. The one major problem that she had been envisioning, however, was how to tie herself up satisfactorily, then envelop herself in the wrapping paper and transport herself to Tony’s house. The only answer that seemed to spring to mind was that she would need an assistant or confidant to help out with the finer details.

Helen had never been her favourite person. They were work colleagues, but Imogen would never have described her as a friend. In fact, Imogen had to admit that she didn’t really like the woman that much, and she was certain that the feeling was mutual. And this sense of unease between the two had been heightened recently when Imogen had achieved promotion ahead of Helen. Although nothing was ever articulated to this effect, Imogen sensed that Helen had been pretty pissed off by her rival getting the position ahead of her. So now, Helen was not exactly the person she would have wanted to walk in on her at a time like this.

And yet she did need someone to help her out, if her fantasy was to become reality. And it seemed also that Helen did already have some knowledge of Tony’s perversions. So why not ask her to help? If she didn’t procure Helen’s services, then who else could she ask? She would find it extremely difficult to approach any of her friends and explain exactly what she wanted, without them thinking she’d lost her mind and try to talk her out of it. So she might as well utilise the one person who both knew of Tony’s obsession, and also knew that she knew.

Taking a deep breath, Imogen blurted out her projected course of action for Christmas Eve; not daring to make eye contact with Helen as she spoke, lest she became self-conscious and tongue-tied. Her words came out in bursts; fast and so incoherent that she feared the listener wouldn’t understand her garbled and not yet fully formed plans for this theoretical undertaking. Finally, having let her desires out of the bag about how she wanted to be Tony’s bound, gagged and packaged Christmas surprise, she reached the most important part of her monologue. Would Helen be prepared to help out by binding her, parcelling her up, and then transporting her restrained and helpless form over to Tony’s house?

For a few seconds there was total silence in the room, and Imogen found herself blushing profusely. She’d just given away her innermost secret desires to a woman she really didn’t have much time for, and assumed now that Helen would laugh in her face, then use this information to make her the laughing stock of the entire workforce. For a second or two she contemplated retracting her statement; making light of her utterances and pretending that she was only joking. As the silence became unbearable, Imogen stole a quick glance across the room, expecting either a look of utter disbelief or a mocking smirk to be imprinted on Helen’s face. But she encountered neither of these. Instead Helen was smiling in what seemed at the time a far friendlier manner than Imogen could ever remember before.

“Are you serious?”

Imogen still had half a mind to call the whole thing off, but instead plucked up the courage to whisper a self-conscious “yes” under her breath. She was, however, completely taken aback by Helen’s matter-of-fact reaction.

“I had no idea that you felt like that about Tony, or that you had any interest in bondage. But if you’re as into this as you say you are, then you’ll be the ideal Christmas present for him. So in answer to your question Imogen, yes I will help you out, if that’s what you really want.”

For several seconds Imogen was lost for words, before she gathered her thoughts sufficiently and began to speak again; something about getting hold of ropes and wrapping paper seeping almost involuntarily from her lips. But Helen stopped her.

“I’ll tell you what Imogen, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll sort out the bonds and all the other logistics for you.”

As if in a dream, Imogen agreed to Helen’s offer. She was about to speak again, when the sound of voices in the corridor outside informed the conspiring pair that they had company. Quickly grabbing the magazine and DVD, Imogen threw them into the drawer, just as the face of the manager who had given her the keys appeared around the frame of the door.

“Have you found those papers yet, Imogen?”

Flustered, Imogen made some noises that she hoped conveyed a negative response to his enquiry, and promptly returned to the task in hand.

“Well hurry up then, I haven’t got all day. My meeting’s in five minutes.”

In a panic, Imogen fumbled with the keys to the filing cabinets. Within seconds, however, the face had disappeared from the doorway. Helen, too, casually walked towards the exit, but just as she reached the door, she stopped. Turning around, she looked back at Imogen, who was frantically sifting through reams and reams of documents.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ensure that everything is set up and runs like clockwork. I’ll make sure that you really have a Christmas to remember this year.”

For the rest of that day, Imogen seemed to walk around in a trancelike state. She half expected the entire office to be making fun of her by the end of the day, but fortunately this failed to materialise. Had the incident in Tony’s office really taken place, or had she dreamt it? And if the conversation really had occurred, were she and Helen actually talking about the same thing, or had they got their wires crossed somewhere along the line? Had Imogen’s suddenly blossoming fantasies made her believe that Helen was going to help her get into a bondage situation from which she couldn’t escape, then deliver her into Tony’s clutches on Christmas Eve, when in fact Helen had actually been talking about something of a far more mundane nature, which her eager and over-active mind had interpreted in the wrong way?

Imogen went over their conversation in her mind again and again, trying to figure out how her words could have been misconstrued. But every time she came up with the same conclusion. There could be no ambiguity as far as she could tell; she had asked for Helen to help her get tied up, and Helen had readily agreed.

And later that day, she received concrete confirmation that this was the case, when Helen had come up to her desk and enquired – in hushed tones, so that no one else could overhear – whether she was definitely intent on going through with this “bondage escapade” as she’d phrased it.

“I just want to check that you haven’t developed cold feet about the whole thing since this morning.”

Imogen confirmed that she hadn’t. She also noticed her heartbeat increasing significantly at this moment. A sure sign, she told herself, that this was most definitely what she craved.

Imogen’s life carried on as normal over the next two weeks… outwardly at least. Inside, however, she was like a cork in a champagne bottle waiting to be unleashed. On a regular basis, Helen had given her updates on the progress of her preparations, usually by text or email, but once or twice in person.

“I’ve bought some nice soft white rope that will bind you up all nice and tightly” was one message she received.

“I’ve got some lovely festive wrapping material to make you look truly irresistible” was another.

Apart from these brief and to the point communications, the two of them avoided all contact, although there were times when Imogen would look up from her work to see Helen staring across at her and smiling to herself. Once or twice there seemed to be a slightly sinister edge to this smile, and at times like this Imogen was prone to wonder whether Helen’s offer of help might not be all that it seemed. Was she walking into some sort of trap? Was Helen really going to help her out; the same Helen who seemed to have borne a grudge about her own failure to gain promotion, for which Imogen had become the scapegoat? She managed to quickly erase these thoughts from her mind, as the prospect of being Tony’s prisoner over the Christmas period was just too glittering a prize to let such groundless speculation creep into her thinking.

There was, however, one other major chore to take care of before the big day; one which she was dreading having to face. This was telling her parents, who lived more than two hundred miles away and very rarely saw their only daughter except at Christmas and other bank holidays, that she wouldn’t be spending the last few days of the year with them on this occasion. By way of an excuse, she made up a story about having to work in the period between Christmas and New Year, and that friends had invited her to come over to their houses for both Christmas Day and Boxing Day. Her mother had sounded disappointed on the phone when she broke the news, but said that she understood.

Imogen hated lying, but the thought of giving up this gilt-edged opportunity to sample the thrill of captivity had made doing so easier. She would, she had promised, try to get home for a weekend sometime in January instead.

And so Christmas Eve finally arrived. The tension had been building up inside Imogen for days now, and the butterflies in her stomach seemed to never take a break. She had, during the days since her pact with Helen had been forged, spent much time deliberating on what to wear for her big adventure. After changing her mind on seemingly dozens of occasions, she’d finally settled on her outfit. Her choice was in keeping with the time of year, she felt; a red skimpy ‘Santa’ dress, trimmed in artificial white fur, low cut and so short that it barely reached her thighs, which she’d bought the previous year for a party. Her legs would be sheathed in silky smooth red tights, to match the dress.

Imogen looked at the clock in her apartment for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon. It was nearly 5:45 pm. Helen’s final text message, sent this morning, had promised that she would be coming around at 6 o’clock. Stripping off her jeans and t-shirt, Imogen carefully pulled the tights up her slender legs and smoothed out any wrinkles, before slipping the dress on and zipping it up at the back. For a few minutes she admired herself in the full length bedroom mirror; her shoulder length black hair contrasting with the whiteness of the collar. Surely, when Tony saw her attired like this he wouldn’t be able to resist her, would he? Especially if she was all tied up and helpless?

Although she was expecting it, the ringing of the doorbell made her jump. Imogen spent a few seconds composing herself, then took a deep breath and made her shoeless way to the door. Putting her eye to the peephole, she saw the figure of Helen standing beyond in the hallway, a large holdall bag in her left hand. For some reason, she briefly entertained the notion of not opening the door and pretending that she wasn’t in. Why this strange sensation should come over her when she was so looking forward to the coming events, she had no real idea. Quickly, however, she pulled herself together and cast aside these last minute nerves. With hands trembling, she fumbled with the door latch and let Helen into her apartment.

“Wow, you look gorgeous Imogen. Just imagine what Tony will think when he opens his present and finds you dressed like that. He’ll never be able to resist you. It looks like you’re in for a really fun Christmas.”

Imogen felt her face redden at Helen’s compliments, although she couldn’t help but entertain the suspicion that her words weren’t particularly sincerely spoken. But if this slightly fazed Imogen for a few seconds, she was left with little time to reflect on such things now, as Helen seemed keen to get on with the matter in hand. Opening the bag, she retrieved a neatly coiled bundle of white rope. Undoing the securing knot, she let the ends fall to the floor, which allowed Imogen to gauge the length – approximately ten feet, she estimated. Finding the bight, Helen walked the few steps to where Imogen stood.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Self-consciously, Imogen did as she was requested – or was it an order? – and waited.

All I want for Christmas… is to be tied up · Part 1 (1/2)
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