Locks · Part 1

Locks · Part 1 (1/2)
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“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nick asked.

I nodded.

If he knew how much I really had in mind, he’d have been even more concerned, but my mind was made up.

We were about to embark on a bondage weekend. Bondage was an addiction, worse at least for me than any drug I could imagine, and like a lot of addictions, feeding it only made it worse. Or better. In any event, more intense.

Nick would never hurt me, certainly not deliberately, and not by any accident of carelessness. He enjoyed our game, cherished my submission, but he was very careful.

Part of that was good. I

didn’t like pain and I was not into any of the corporal punishment stuff at all. But he was just too worried about even discomfort to allow me the extended sessions that I wanted.

That I needed.

His present concern was with my desire to have my corset and heels locked on me for the entire weekend.

I loved the idea of locked-on clothes, especially ones that constantly reminded me of their restrictions even when we were out in public.

Nick had indulged me with a wonderfully-tight corset, and crotch-high boots with heels even I found barely wearable.

Shoulder-high gloves were connected to a collar that was just tall enough to remind me constantly of its presence. They were all equipped with locking hasps, and what I wanted to do was leave the keys to these locks home while we went to a remote cabin getaway for a three day weekend.

“I’m sure.

Leave the keys here,” I confirmed.

Nick shrugged, but nodded.

He placed the color-coded keys to the locks on the clothes I was already wearing on the dresser. Moving carefully in the heels, I pulled on a pair of inexpensive black cotton panties noting with amusement his small frown of disappointment.

Well, he’d understand later. The corset had just enough support for my breasts that I could go without a bra and his frown was replaced by a smirky little grin when I reached for my black blouse.

He liked for me to wear black, claiming that it made my blonde hair shine like it was golden fire.

He also claimed that it made the chains I often wore stand out better.

Who was I to argue? My corset was black, my boots were black, and with the shoulder-length gloves and collar, I looked like something out of a fetish magazine.

A black wrap skirt, pulled tightly to accent my corseted waist, and an almost-sheer black blouse completed my outfit.

I could tell he liked it. The evidence was obvious.

“Are we ready to go?” I asked.

“The truck is packed.

We can leave as soon as you’re ready,” Nick said.

“Baby, I was born ready,” I laughed. His grin got a bit sheepish at leaving me the obvious opening, but I saw a glint in his eyes that promised he intended to have the last laugh. Good.

“Just let me visit the powder room one last time,” I said. “Why don’t you think about how you’ll keep me out of trouble once we get to the cabin?”

“What makes you think I’m going to wait till we get to the cabin?” he replied, grinning with anticipation of his loving revenge.

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” I cooed, putting an extra little flip in my walk as I moved to the bathroom.

Like I had any choice in those heels.

If the boots hadn’t been so stiff at my ankles, and so tight, I’m not sure I’d have been able to walk at all. Once the door was closed behind me, I hid the items I had taken behind some towels.

He’d find out later what was missing.

I was a bit disappointed when he just helped me into our SUV with no special, um, inducements to behave.

But part of our agreement for the weekend was that I couldn’t ask for any restraints to be placed on me. It was all to be his choice, since he knew I would tend to more intense bondage than he felt comfortable applying and he didn’t want any arguments or nagging.

Not that I ever nag, or course. Suggest maybe. But never nag.

It turned out that part of the reason he left me free, or at least encumbered only by my clothes, was that he had planned for us to eat at a nice restaurant to start the weekend.

The look the hostess gave me was priceless, envy and admiration flickering under a veneer of disdain that was so false it was funny.

Maybe it was the obvious ring on the front of my collar.

Or perhaps she heard the faint tinkle of the locks on my boots when I walked. Whatever the reason, I certainly had her attention.

While I was slipping into my seat, I whispered to her, “Stop drooling, hun. And find yourself someone who can make you into what you want to be.”

She blushed before her denial could make it to her lips, then stifled her own comment when the heat in her face made it a waste of time. Ducking her head, she fled back to her station, glancing back over her shoulder to find my grin still following her.

“That wasn’t nice,” Nick said, but his own grin showed he appreciated my comment and its effect.

“As a penance for your sin, go into the bathroom and take off your panties. You won’t feel nearly sensual enough as long as you’re wearing that boring cotton pair.”

“Oh, you, saying I’m not nice when you’re the one who’s really bad,” I said, but I was moving with my words.

So much for my plans for those panties.

I should have known he’d be way ahead of me on that.

Ha! Maybe at some level I did, which might have contributed to my choice.

In a few minutes I was back, slipping him my panties under the table. He folded them neatly, as though they were a napkin, and placed them on the table near the wall.

“You can’t leave those out like that?” I gasped.

“Can’t?” he said, lifting one eyebrow.

My mouth opened of its own accord, then closed without a word. The blush that had fired the hostess’s cheeks had nothing on the one that I knew I wore. Somehow, letting people know

I wasn’t wearing panties was a whole lot more intense than just not wearing them. Then he upped the ante and I decided I never should have gotten him that “Story of O” movie.

“Pull your skirt up, so that you’re sitting directly on the seat,” he commanded.

I tried to do it discreetly, but the contrast of my fair skin (I never could get a good tan) and black clothes made a flash of fanny inescapable.

Of course, right then is when our waiter appeared.

His grin had the same smirky pride that Nick showed, and I knew he had enjoyed the show. I could tell he understood, too, because after that he never said a word to me.

Which is not to say that he never looked at me.

Nick ordered for us both, not consulting me. Of course, he already knew what I would want, but it was obvious that he was in charge.

This was actually a bit new for us. Before, when we had played our games we had always been private, or maybe in a dark movie theater. This was the first time that he had shown a dominant face to strangers.

It was kind of exciting, in a scary sort of way.

He chose well, of course, and we passed the rest of the meal in light conversation, carefully ignoring the panties on the table. Even when we rose to leave, the panties continued to be ignored.

At least by us. I could see the waiter hovering nearby and I swear I saw his reflection in a dark glass divider as he picked them up and sniffed them while we walked away.

Once we got back to the SUV, Nick opened the rear door instead of my passenger door.

“I told you that I didn’t intend to wait till we got to the cabin,”

he said.

“Oh, so you did,” I said quietly.

Actually, this might mess up the plans that I had made.

“Nicky,” I said, putting a little girl plead into my tone, “would you make me one little promise?”

His eyebrow lifted, all the commitment

I was going to get on a blank check.

“Would you promise me that whatever you do, you won’t undo it until we get to the cabin?

Please?”

“That’s a four hour drive,” he said. “More if the road is muddy, and I heard it rained up there this week.”

“I know,” I said, sending him little puppy-dog eyes of entreaty.

“Very well,” he said, a grin making it clear his agreement was not all that difficult to achieve.

Or maybe he was just enjoying my wheedling.

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, but instead of putting them on me, he tossed them in our goody bag and pulled out a pair of fur-lined leather cuffs that were more suitable for extended wear. I twirled as fast as

I could in my heels, offering my wrists behind me to him.

“You won’t be able to sit in the seat with your wrists behind your fanny,” he observed.

Before he could make an actual order to turn around, I lifted my hands behind my back, reaching as high as I could.

Like I said, I never nag, but sometimes I make suggestions.

“You truly are insatiable,” he sighed. I worried that I had gone too far, but instead of ordering me to turn around, he started fastening the cuffs on my wrists. Reaching into the goody bag, he took out a short chain and hooked my wrists to the ring on the back of my collar, the one that had been hidden by my hair until then.

Two snicks announced the closing of two locks, and my wrists were held about as high as I could comfortably stand.

I was pretty flexible, and we had played with that position before so he knew he could draw them up quite a ways in a double hammerlock.

I sighed myself, shivering a little with the thrill of being bound at last. Nick reached under my skirt and pinched my bare bottom before opening my door.

“Be careful what you ask for,” he said. “You may get it.”

Little did he know.

The next couple of hours passed without incident, at least, until we needed to stop for gas.

I could see the gauge, and when I thought we were getting to that point, I started chattering on about silly little things that were hardly worth the breath to express, let alone the conversation time of two adults.

The stars were so, like, awesome, and like, so cool, and…

I didn’t think he was even aware I was doing the valley girl thing on him until we pulled into the station.

“Do you have to go to the rest room?” he asked.

I was about to deny it, but I really did have to go, and my secret would come out sooner or later.

So I nodded, hoping that he would remember his promise.

He did, so my secret stayed secret. Instead of releasing my arms, he just got the rest room key from the attendant and opened the door for me. As I walked into the small room, a one-holer, I wondered if he had been ahead of me all along. With no panties, I didn’t quite need my hands to get the job done. A hip flip that almost dumped me off of my heels got my skirt up over the seat, and I took care of business with real relief.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t wipe, and was a bit worried about that.

“Nicky!” I called out.

“Yes?”

“I need your help,” I said.

“Tough,” he said lightly.

“But, Nicky, it’s not, um, well

I’m still, um, wet.”

“I’ve been smelling that ever since we left the restaurant,” he said.

“Not that sort of wet!” I yelled, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

He was laughing, too, as he pushed open the door and quickly stepped in. A moment of help – he had actually done this before and more besides – and I was ready to go. He even helped me back up on my heels. I certainly didn’t need to wash my hands, so we walked back out to the truck, ignoring the glance from the attendant who was trying to decide just what he was seeing under all the hair tumbling down my back. Black leather cuffs on black gloves against a black blouse didn’t show enough to prove a problem, though I wondered if his fantasies got a quick charge.

As soon as we were back in the SUV I started chattering again, interrupting what he had to say with irrelevancies that made it seem like I was not listening to him.

He hates that. After a while, he got my suggestion. Good thing I never nag.

Without a word, he pulled off the interstate into a deserted parking lot and walked around to the goody bag.

“Where’s the ball gag?” he asked, pawing through the stuff in the bag.

“Oh, Nicky, you don’t need to gag me. I’ll be quiet,” I said.

“Just tell me to be quiet and I won’t say another word for the whole trip. I’ll just listen to whatever you want to say, and maybe nod or something.

Or like, maybe I’ll encourage you, or… “

He interrupted my chatter.

“I asked you a question.”

I just shrugged.

Or at least, tried to. It didn’t work very well with my arms pulled so far back already, but he got the message. Actually, I knew very well where it was, but I wasn’t ready to tell him that, yet.

He started looking through the bag again and came out with the one gag I had left in there. It was hardly my favorite gag. I actually liked the ball gag better. This one was a ring gag, a steel circle wrapped in leather, with straps to go around my head and hold it in place. We had gotten the deluxe model, with snap-in attachments, and after he had locked the basic ring in my mouth (Nicky does like to lock things in place, even if my arms are already restrained), he snapped a thick cylinder of plastic into the opening, forcing my tongue down and completing the blockage.

There wasn’t any way to actually lock the cylinder (all right, call it a dildo, that’s what it looked like) into place, but there was no way I could dislodge the tight snaps. All part of the plan, a plan that was beginning to look a bit more intimidating than I had expected.

Now that he was taking things to a higher level, Nick got out two more pairs of leather cuffs, fastening one set around my ankles and another around my knees.

Two more locks snicked shut, restraining my legs with only the inch or so of slack provided by the width of the padlock.

The rest of the trip passed in silence.

Not angry silence, of course. But very quiet none the less.

It had indeed rained in the mountains as we approached the cabin, in fact it was still raining.

The dirt track that had justified the four-wheel-drive SUV in the first place was still passable, though slick in places.

I wouldn’t have been saying anything then, even if I could, so that

Nick could concentrate on his driving. But we arrived at the little clearing where the cabin stood more or less when we had expected, perhaps an extra hour enroute is all, not including the stop at the restaurant. Of course, my arms had been lifted in a stringent hammerlo

Locks · Part 1 (1/2)
Next