One Way Street · Part 1

One Way Street · Part 1 (1/4)
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Getting There The scenery outside the airplane window was empty desert, punctuated with the equally desolate mountain ranges. The small twin-engine plane was a four seater, with the pilot in front and Darla in the back. After leaving the civil airport in Ontario, outside Los Angeles, she was able to track their progress eastward until they reached the Mojave Desert. At that point she was lost.

The landscape below them was a featureless expanse of rock, gravel and sagebrush. There were no roads, either paved or dirt, to indicate anyone had ever been down there. Their destination was definitely off the beaten track, though it made sense since Mr. G’s establishment required isolation in order to exist.

‘Where are we?” she asked the pilot.

“Below is the Anza-Borrego desert. Off to the east is the Chocolate Mountains range. That’s restricted military airspace, Navy only, so we have to go around.”

She’d heard of the desert, located somewhere around Palm Springs. The mountain range was a mystery. Why would the Navy own a patch of desert? One thing for sure, Mr. G had picked what had to be one of the most desolate spots in southeastern California for his compound. It was a good choice, not too far from the big city, yet all but inaccessible by road or on foot. No one could possibly show up uninvited.

The plane started to circle. Below were some buildings and a paved airstrip. There was one dirt road, heading off into the empty desert beyond the horizon. Off to one side were rows of solar panels. At least the place had electricity, which was reassuring for Darla.

Once the propellers stopped turning the pilot gestured toward her door, indicating it was safe to get out. On the airstrip she turned toward the open desert. There was a slight breeze making the tops of the widely spaced creosote bushes wave back and forth. The silence captivated her. No traffic, no planes overhead, no sound at all except for the barely noticeable rustle of vegetation.

The pilot walked over to stand next to Darla. “It is a harsh place but it has a certain intrinsic beauty. By the way, don’t leave the compound. Notice it’s creosote and not sagebrush out there? If you head west,” he gestured toward a distant mountain range, where the sun was setting, “there’s no water for over a hundred miles. And if you head east,” he turned around, “that’s the navy base, but all they do is fly practice missions over those mountains. It’s even more desolate that way. Any direction you choose, you’ll run out of water long before you get anywhere.”

The implied message wasn’t lost on her. This place might as well be an island far out in the ocean, surrounded by hungry sharks. She was not going anywhere on her own.

A door in the compound wall opened and a woman in a uniform-like dress approached. “Darla? If you’ll follow me Mr. G is waiting to meet you.”

Then and Now What am I doing here? Darla asked herself one more time. Her dark secret, her love of bondage, had led her to the numerous private clubs and commercial dungeons in Los Angeles. The facilities offered some entertaining scenes, but in the end there was always something lacking. She turned from the commercial, the safe establishments to the darker side, those who delved into the extreme limits catering to an illicit, underground group of pleasure-seekers.

That’s where she found out about Mr. G and his unique site. No one was quite sure where it was located, other than somewhere far out in the desert. It offered anonymity, security and a distinctive, no limits bondage experience. It was life on the edge, carrying substantial risk balanced with unparalleled reward.

“Through this door,” the woman pointed. “Mr. G asks that you wait here for a few minutes. He’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

Darla sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting room. There was a single wooden door at the far end of the room, aside from the outdoor exit. Once she was seated her companion remained standing next to the interior door.

She didn’t miss the significance of the metal band around her escort’s neck. It wasn’t a simple necklace. The woman wore a collar, and by the look of it a permanent one. Physical bondage, the chains, handcuffs, cages, all were tools for controlling and restricting a submissive captive. The collar that woman wore represented a very different type of bondage, one Darla had always avoided. The very concept of someone else inside her head, exercising mental instead of physical control, being reduced to property, the idea frightened her. A cage around her mind, chains binding her very thoughts to another’s will, her ability to act on her own restricted by rules imposed from without, what would happen to her soul if she fell into that trap?

That was the line Darla would not cross. This visit to Mr. G might include a no limits promise, yet it only covered the various ways she might be restrained and confined. She had no problems with obedience and respect for authority; submission was necessary to the process of transferring power to the dominant in charge. Her limit was retaining her own identity and inner independence. That she would not surrender to anyone.

“If you don’t mind, could I ask you about that collar?” Darla figured a little idle talk would help pass the time and satisfy her curiosity.

“I apologize. I’m forbidden to engage in conversation with a guest.”

So much for that idea, maybe Darla could at least find out about this place. “Will I have to wait much longer?”

“I am not permitted to answer your questions. Please don’t ask again.”

The woman was clearly disturbed by Darla’s attempt to talk to her. It did confirm her suspicions about the collar. She’d read about simple dominant/submissive relationships that evolved into one of absolutes rather than consensus. Her escort must be a real life example, a woman who obeyed her man without question.

Even though it was impolite Darla couldn’t help but stare at her companion. There was a certain precision in the way she stood, like a statue. Head up, facing forward, back straight, arms lined up at her side, even her feet were close together but not quite touching. That wasn’t natural for anyone; it had to be something she’d been trained to do.

It’s so…intriguing, she thought, caught up in the realization it wasn’t some theoretical discussion. People actually live like this, on a daily basis. I’d give anything to know how her mind works.

Darla loved the feel of being bound, preferably in cold, unyielding steel. If pressed she’d freely admit much of her kink was sexual, especially the idea she was powerless to defend herself against the man holding her prisoner. Roleplaying the damsel in distress, with the villain about to ravish her helpless body while she struggled in vain to escape, that was an immense turn on.

Fun and games, she told herself, that’s all I’m really looking for. This trip, to visit the enigmatic Mr. G, had no secret motives. Darla’s only purpose was to find new, exciting bondage scenes by venturing into risky situations only the most experienced players might attempt. Mr. G, by all accounts, was the place to go to satisfy her craving for something new and different.

Between Two Doors “You understand,” Mr. G announced, leaning forward for emphasis, “once you begin events will proceed regardless of your further consent. Passing through that door will be the last decision you make on your own. Think of it as a one way street. Once you enter it, there’s no way to turn around or back out.” He nodded toward the steel door set into the concrete block wall. “This is your final opportunity to walk away. On the other side you will have no say regarding what happens.”

Then he pointed toward the plain wooden door they had used when entering the room. “You can still stand up and walk away. The plane will take you back to the city. Nothing more will be said if that’s the path you choose. Of course, this offer will not be extended to you again if you decline to accept the terms. You’ll never know what might have been if you let this opportunity slip away.”

Darla looked back and forth, between the two doors. This was her moment of truth. The sensible, the safe choice, was to run through that exit, as fast as possible, get in the plane and fly back to Los Angeles. The other door represented the path to the great unknown. It opened onto either her dream of heaven or her own personal version of a hellish nightmare. She wrestled with that question, which door to choose?

And now time had run out; she had to pick one or the other. She turned back in her chair to face the man in front of her. She knew very little about Mr. G, except by reputation. Could she trust him, potentially with her life? The answer would lie behind whichever door she selected.

Taking a deep breath she asked, “Sir, may I stand?’ At his nod she stood up, hesitating a moment before walking over to face the steel door. “What must I do next?”

The man leaned back in his chair, arms folded, studying her. He wasn’t surprised at her choice. Based on their emails and phone conversations he was sure she wouldn’t back out. Of course he always gave them the option, but very few actually chose to leave when the moment arrived. She glanced over her shoulder to see if he would answer her question. He gestured toward the door but said nothing. Darla turned back to face her unknown future.

He didn’t answer her question. This was his final test, simple but revealing in the results. She had to learn to wait, for as long as necessary, to be told what to do. If she couldn’t demonstrate patience and obedience then there was no point in going forward. He studied Darla carefully while she stood facing the door. She had to be nervous, undoubtedly worried about what was to come. It didn’t show in the way she stood calmly, arms at her sides, hands open, fingers pointing down, feet slightly apart, purse hanging from one shoulder.

“Very well, we can begin,” he told her. He stood up, strode over to where she waited and took hold of her upper arm in one hand. She didn’t flinch, another good sign. With his free hand he reached down to his belt and pulled out the key ring. Selecting one of the keys he leaned forward, inserted it into the lock and turned it. Before he opened the door he gave her one last set of commands. “You will remain silent, no talking unless I ask you a question. Listen carefully to your instructions. I will not be pleased if I have to repeat myself. You don’t want that.” Twisting the door knob he pushed it open.

The Welcome Mat The room on the other side was a letdown. Darla had built up a totally unrealistic picture of a dank, medieval style dungeon, with torches flickering on the walls, and Igor the hunchbacked assistant eagerly waiting by some particularly gruesome piece of furniture from the Middle Ages. Instead of the Spanish Inquisition what she saw resembled nothing more than a gym locker room. It was a narrow room, with a table and bench against one wall. The opposite wall was lined with gym lockers. Nestled between them at the rear wall was a grey steel desk and office chair.

There was one other door, and that caught her eye. It was yet another of the steel doors, but this one also had a locking bar resting across the front. When engaged she could see how it slid into brackets in the frame. Whoever was behind that door wasn’t going anywhere while it was closed.

He led Darla into the center of the locker room. A hand pressed down on her shoulder, silently ordering her to stay where she was. Behind her he closed the door they had just used. She heard the click of the lock, blocking any last chance for her to change her mind and flee. He came back to her, taking her arm again. They walked along the row of lockers until he stopped at a particular one. Selecting another key from his ring he opened the locker. From the thickness of the door she could see it wasn’t flimsy sheet metal but solid steel. Even the hinges were reinforced. It was built more like a safe than a simple gym locker.

Darla knew what was coming next. This was one of the conditions she had been warned about. She didn’t like it but understood why it was necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time either; she was no novice when it came to bondage. Psychological disadvantage was an inherent part of the experience, and this was a classic way to place her in that mindset.

“Remove your clothes, including underwear, and spread them on the table for inspection. Jewelry will be placed in your purse. When you finish you will face the open locker and wait for further directions.”

Slowly she began to unbutton her blouse. Seeing his eyes narrow she sped up, quickly removing her top and placing it on the table. She could sense this was a man used to commanding women; he would not be patient if she tried to stall. The skirt followed. She stepped out of her shoes before reaching down to pick them up. Finally she removed her bra and panties. He stood in front of her, an impatient look on his face.

The earrings, she had forgotten them! As fast as possible she pulled them off and dropped them in her purse. Quickly she turned to face the open locker, her back to the table. She heard him walking around the table, at one point opening and closing her purse clasp. She waited while he took his time. The concrete floor felt cold on her bare feet.

“Hang your clothes neatly in the locker. Shoes go in the bottom, and your purse is to be placed on the shelf at the top. When you finish stand in the circle marked on the floor, over there between the doors, facing the wall,” he ordered in a crisp tone, gesturing toward a yellow circle painted on the bare concrete floor. Darla had already made one mistake, and from his tone it was obvious he was disappointed at her poor start. This time it had to be done right. She picked up her bundle from the table and took it to the open locker. After a check to make sure it was carefully arranged according to his instructions she hurried across the floor to her designated place.

Mr. G sat on the edge of the desk, staring at her back. He had noted the momentary hesitation before she complied. That wasn’t unusual. Time and experience would fix those kinds of problems. Otherwise she had obeyed to his satisfaction, except for the earrings. She still had to learn the importance of details; he would ensure that particular mistake would not occur again. He turned to the locker, inspecting it carefully. Satisfied she had followed instructions he shut the heavy door. A click of the key and it was secured. Darla would find it very difficult to retrieve her possessions without his assistance.

“Do not turn around,” he ordered. “Place your hands on the wall, at shoulder height.” He didn’t bother to see if she complied. Instead he opened a drawer in the desk and took out the first item he had prepared for her. Looking up he saw her palms flat against the wall, as he expected. He walked up behind her. He knew she could hear his boots on the concrete.

“We’ll start with something simple.” Darla felt the chain go around her waist. “You may recognize these, a prison transport waist chain.” He pulled the chain tight at her left side. The snap of the padlock closing informed her it wasn’t coming off. She felt the handcuffs dangling against her lower back.

Mr. G took hold of the cuffs and gave them a short, sharp tug. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Feel that? It was my hand, holding them on the outside. In a moment your wrists will be on the inside of those steel bracelets. You can pull on them too, but unlike me your hands will remain in place. Think of it as the difference between us.”

Darla heard him push open one of the cuffs. He took hold of her left hand and slowly pulled it down and behind her back. The metal felt cool when it touched her skin. Very slowly he closed the bracelet around her wrist, counting down each click of the ratchet.

“Listen to that sound. As it closes a tiny bit of your freedom is taken away.” His voice was so low she could barely hear his words. Darla closed her eyes, lost in the moment as he used his power over her to take command.

When he finished he ran his fingers around the bracelet imprisoning her wrist. “You still have one hand free. There is no balance, no symmetry in unfinished work.” His quiet whisper affected her more than the loudest shout. Please, keep going, she silently pleaded.

Her right arm went behind her back. Like the left a cold metal circle touched her right wrist. Once again the clicks of the ratchet as it closed reached her ears. “That’s the sound of your submission to my authority.” The ratchet sound suddenly stopped. “Now we have that balance between you and me. I’ve taken away your hands; next I’ll take away your…” He stopped.

Darla opened her eyes and stared at the wall in front of her. Now that she was helpless another voice inside her head began to speak. “Don’t do this, fight, resist, run away. Above all never surrender to him.” Even as she listened the voice faded away, taking with it any lingering desire to defy the man standing behind her. It was a voice from her indoctrination into what society demanded from her. Too little, and far too late, that was Darla’s reaction.

She came back to the present. What was he going to take next, why had he not continued?

“No,” he finished his thought. “You don’t need to know, not yet.” His powerful hands gripped her upper arms, holding her against the wall. “All you need to know,” he continued, “is that from now on your life is in my hands. You’re well along on that one way street now. Whatever happens, you can’t stop me. In here I reign supreme. There are no laws to protect you, and no one will come to your rescue.”

Mr. G took a step back, staying behind her so Darla couldn’t see him. He waited to see if she would panic. On very rare occasions he had to resort to physical measures to subdue a woman who changed her mind after it was too late, but not in this case. Satisfied she would remain calm he went back to the desk. Item two was a special order, modified from the original to make it more restrictive.

Approaching her he put his left hand on her shoulder. With his boot he tapped her left ankle. “Widen your stance,” he told her. Immediately she shifted her feet further apart. “Not that much,” he corrected. She slowly moved her feet closer together. “Stop! That will do.”

He knelt down. Opening the left cuff he slipped it around her ankle and snapped shut the locking bar. He checked the fit, snug but not too tight. Satisfied they were suitable he closed the right side cuff around her other ankle. These were Darby style leg irons, a very old design but ideal for long term wear. They weren’t adjustable but did have a wide cuff, to reduce bruising. The special modification was a shortened chain, only half normal length, and replacement of the simple spring screw locks with a high security tumbler lock. Unlike the originals they were not so easy to open up without the key.

He stood up, again backing up to examine his work. The shackles were in place above her ankles. She could walk but not very far or very fast. “Spread your legs, to the limit of the chain.” Darla shifted her feet until the chain pulled taut. “That’s right. I want you to remember this. Whenever you are wearing ankle restraints always stand with your feet apart, as far as possible.”

She would be easy to control now. The restraints he selected could be worn for hours, which would be important considering what he had planned. “I want you to turn around and face me. Don’t hurry, take it slow to get used to your limits.”

She turned around, the chain between her ankles clinking on the concrete floor. He watched while she widened her stance after stopping. Darla looked up at him. He could see uncertainty in her face, hoping for his approval. “You learn quickly. I admire an intelligent woman.” He almost laughed at how relieved she looked after hearing a bit of praise.

“To point out the obvious, the keys to your cuffs will remain in my possession at all times. Don’t bother asking to be released. I’ll decide when they come off. In case you forgot, there are no safewords in here.” Darla fully expected him to restrain her. That was the reason for her being here. Along with the discipline and confinement there had to be chains, shackles, locks, cages, and most important for her no possible way to regain her freedom.

He stepped back, gauging her reaction. Darla met his gaze, eye to eye. She was powerless; she knew it but wasn’t afraid. Suddenly he lunged forward, pushing her hard against the wall with his hands on her shoulders. He grabbed her hair from the back, pulling her head up. “You are accustomed to the touch of steel on your body? It doesn’t worry you that you can’t free yourself? Consider your situation. You are vulnerable, stripped, locked in chains, all alone, and there’s no one looking for you. You are completely within the power of a stranger you don’t even know.” With his other hand he roughly grasped her breast while pinning her against the wall with his weight.

He heard her sharp intake of breath. She closed her eyes but didn’t struggle. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. Her eyes flew open. His face was inches away from her. “I can take you, here, right now, or any time I like. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Without thinking she pulled on the waist chain, struggling with the handcuffs, trying to reach out to push him away. Her attempt was pointless. Still holding onto her hair from behind, he painfully pulled her head back so he could look her in the eye. He pressed his body against her, while still caressing her breast. As much as she wanted to fight back her body betrayed her by reacting in the opposite way.

“Do I have your undivided attention now?” he asked in a cool, dispassionate tone. Their eyes locked; she couldn’t turn away. At that moment the warm wave of total surrender swept over her. She had to submit to him, to please him in any way possible. Her resistance melted away. Now she pressed against his hand, wanti

One Way Street · Part 1 (1/4)
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