© Copyright 2001 - Glenn Nitwood - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; latex; cuffs; clamps; toys; cons; X
The front door closed and the latch slid home with a neat click that echoed in her mind like the locking of a prison cell. Indeed the house was so quiet she could have been in solitary confinement. Samara rested her back against the hard timber. Relaxing for a moment, using the time to let her mind slow, to let the pressures of the world slip away. She became aware, after a time, of a dull rumble from the road outside, intruding into the quiet. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and with an effort drove the noise out of her mind. Grocery bags lay about her feet like demanding supplicants. The phrase 'Slaves with attitude' ran through her mind. Well, they could wait a moment or two more while she collected her thoughts.
She took two, three, a half dozen deep breaths and was ready. Outside the sun blazed down sheets of molten heat, but her house, with its solid brick walls and curtains drawn, was cool. Samara looked at her watch. Five p.m. already! Boy, did the time fly fast. Sunday would come and go in a snap of her fingers and then back to work on Monday. Too soon, always too soon. Unable to ignore the silent demands of her shopping any more, Samara picked up a couple of bags, took them into her kitchen and started the unloading. Inside of ten minutes the job was done. Afterwards she slipped into her bedroom, stripped out of her street clothes and put on her white dressing gown. She felt fresher after that. A rumble in her stomach reminded her she was hungry.
Samara made herself something light to eat. A light meal, always a light dinner on Saturday nights. Most evenings she watched television, did the usual household chores, sometimes there was the chance to enjoy a quiet chat over a glass of wine with a friend who dropped around. Friday night was open house and everyone was welcome. Sunday was something of the same. But not Saturday -Saturday afternoon and evening were hers, a gift to herself. She was home to no one Saturday.
The meal over and the dish washed, she took one swift look around her kitchen and living room. Nice and neat, she liked it that way. Back in the kitchen she removed an object from the freezer. There was nothing overtly special about it, just a used cardboard milk carton, filled with frozen water and two 2 metre lengths of string coming out of the centre of the ice. Only she knew the contents of the ice.
Inside the frozen water, imprisoned was freedom. Samara loved that simile - freedom imprisoned. Her body started to tingle. Images flashed into her mind, but she forced them away. Not yet, not yet - too soon, too soon. The water was freezing her fingers, so she wrapped the block in a towel she had handy.
Once Samara was sure the front door was securely locked, the phone unplugged and the answering machine running she went with her chill friend into her bedroom. The redecoration of her house was the product of her mind, to the style and taste she wanted and showed, in the look and feel of the rooms, her femininity. Here, in the bedroom, her heart had been given free rein. When the sun shone in through the window the room was bright and cheerful, uplifting. Now with the blinds drawn it was cool and sombre. The paintings on the walls and the frilled curtains complemented the wall paper she had put in place with her own hands.
First things first, she thought and sat down on her wrought iron bed. She loved the bed, it's strength - the unyielding solidarity of the metal. She placed the block of ice in the plastic box that was always beside her bed, put there to catch the water when it melted. Next, she tied one of the strings to the right hand side bed post, just above where it connected to the horizontal bar. This was the most important part of the job and had to be done slowly and carefully. The tying of a piece of string was nothing in its self, but it had to be secure, soon she would come to depend on it. The other was there as a safety and this she tied a few centre metres along the horizontal bar, as with the first, it must not be out of reach. Already her hands were shaking in anticipation, the palms sweating. The heat was building in her body. Images forced themselves into her brain, becoming harder and harder to keep out. Not yet, too soon.
The job done, she sat for a moment, breathing deeply to steady herself. Her hands stopped shaking but the fire inside grew. That part of her that needed this knew what was coming. She slid the mirrored wardrobe door open and pulled out her toy box, from the hanger she took two items and tossed them on the bed. A smile spread across her face, she almost giggled like a young schoolgirl. From the box she took a pair of latex socks. A gift from a friend. The feel as they slipped on was sensuous. The first hanger held a pair of latex pants. She removed her dressing gown, throwing it on to a convenient chair. Samara was naked. A woman in all her glory, delighting in the feeling of air on her bare skin.
Sitting on the bed again she wriggled into the pants. Heavens knows she loved the feel of rubber against her body. The constant pressure and the rubber's smell acted on her like a narcotic. The heat inside her was growing. Suddenly memories of playing dress-ups with her mother's clothes flashed before her. She grinned happily. This was better than dress-ups. From her box next came her old friend. It's very maleness sent a tingle through her groin. From a drawer in the bedside table she took a jar of lubricant. The scent of the jell brought back many memories, her mouth watered. With one finger she scooped up an amount of the clear jell and delicately ran it along the rigid silicon penis. Two, three, four applications and she was satisfied. The pants had an entry way in the groin formed of overlapping lips, she deftly spread these with her left hand, then spread her own just as deftly. Slowly, slowly she slid the toy inside.
This was what men had yet to understand. The sweetness of a woman should be tasted slowly, appreciatively. One did not gulp a vintage wine. Her fingers pushed the love'd gift into her. Slowly, slowly pushing it all the way home. She sighed with pleasure at the feeling of fullness. The skin of her chest flushed red. A leather belt went around her waist. Attached at the back another belt ran between her legs, through a loop in the base of the toy and buckled to a leather 'V', that was in turn attached to the belt around her waist by two short lengths of leather, fixed either side of the buckle. Slowly she brought her knees together, scrunched her body up into a ball. Oh god, oh god! It felt so good!
Mastering herself, Samara picked up the jacket. This was an old style neoprene rubber divers jacket, with a zip front and a flap that fitted between the legs. It reminded her not a little of a straight jacket. Running the rubber through her fingers, the feel of it, the smell fanned the flames. She was so hot, she was ready to fire. And that was what irritated her the most. She came so quickly, too quickly. She needed to be taken in hand, controlled, forced to slow down. Baby powder in the sleeves made the jacket easy to slip on, covering the last of her sweet nakedness. She engaged the zip, ran it up a centimeter or two, then grabbed the flap, pulling it firmly between her legs. Enjoying the extra pressure, she locked it in place.
Rummaging in the box once more Samara took out other toys. The gag had a wide leather strip in front that covered the mouth and a protruding plug that sat deep in her mouth, almost touching the back of her throat. Samara inserted the gag, loving the feel of it. The fullness in her mouth matching the fullness between her legs. The buckle sat at the back of her head and a little to one side and, running the leather strap through it, she pulled the gag deeper into her mouth. The chinstrap came next, followed by one going over the top of her head to be secured to a buckle at the back. This was attached to two small pieces of leather at her forehead that went down either side of her nose, forming a 'V,' that was secured to the main gag strap.
The blindfold she slipped over her head, but did not cover her eyes just yet. Two metal items went onto the beside table. Their time would come. At the sound of the metal her breasts swelled, the nipples hardened. That metallic chink, combined with the fullness inside her, made Samara felt as if she was going to explode. She breathed deeply, but the sound of air flowing through her nose made it worse. A moan slipped through her gagged mouth. She grabbed the bed to steady herself. Not yet, not yet, please, not yet! She wasn't ready.
Only with an effort of will did she force down the passions, clamped them, imprisoned them in her belly. With hands that were already sweaty she slipped on the latex gloves, working the fingers deep.
Next came two lengths of chain and four padlocks. She locked one chain onto the post at the foot of the bed on the right side, and one on the left. The key went on to the table. Laying back, Samara stretched out her body, arms and legs, spreading herself out like an eagle. Her hands grabbed the posts at either end of the bed-head. This gave her the distance, though she could have guessed it. The significance of the moment was not lost on her. She was about to lose her freedom. She was now the mistress, demanding, controlling. Soon she would be the submissive. Controlled, played with, a toy. The perfect situation. Torturer and tortured. The willing victim of her own hand. She smiled behind the gag at that, then sat up. Time to start.
The last two items came out of the box. High quality police handcuffs. One she snapped on to the bed head post on the left side. The other she lay on the pillow beside her. Now taking up one padlock, she wrapped a length of chain around her right leg. There was something special, something so sensuous about the sound of chain moving, the links clinking together. She loved to hear it when she struggled. The padlock went home with a neat snap. One down, one to go. Her left leg was quickly secured in place. Reaching back she grabbed the bed head and pulled the two chains tight.
There remained those two metal objects on the bedside table. Samara picked them up and held them in her hands lovingly, tenderly. She felt her nipples tighten in expectation. Nipple clamps they were and were a delight and an agony. Embedded in the jaws were short, but very sharp needles. The first was applied to her left breast. She turned the adjusting wheel to the maximum pain she could take, then the right nipple was similarly mistreated. She breathed heavily through her nose. Only the force of her will kept her from orgasming, exploding into a thousand million Samaras.
Now for the second pair of handcuffs, siting by her pillow, waiting patiently. She locked one cuff onto her right wrist. The spare cuff was left dangling free for a moment. Laying back on the bed, she stretched out her left hand and with the right, locked it into the handcuff attached to the bedpost. Now she was truly a prisoner. Until the ice melted she could not get free. Her free hand found the blindfold and slipped it into place. Now the dreams and fantasies could come unhindered. She had only to lock her free right hand in place and she would be trapped.
The pain in her breasts was just bearable. Which was the problem. Reaching inside the rubber jacket, fumbling a little with her latex gloved fingers, she gave the adjustment wheel on each clamp a full twist. At each turn a cry of pain struggled to escape her bound jaws. Quickly, before she lost her courage, Samara pulled the jackets zip all the way to her throat. She struggled to get hold of the free cuff. Quickly girl! Before the courage evaporated. The cuff slipped into her fingers at last. Samara reached over to lock it around the iron pole. But halfway there, her hand turned back, as if of it's own volition, to remove the agonising pain from her tormented nipples. She fought with her hand, fought with it as though she were fighting with a recalcitrant slave to get it into bondage. At last she heard the delicious snick, snick, snick as the cuff locked around the post.
Immediately she struggled, tried to pull her hands free of the binding steel cuffs. This was a mistake. The pain was much too much. Samara battled against the cold steel bonds that kept her spread-eagled on the bed. Vulnerable, helpless. Added by her struggling the pain changed in nature. Slowly it changed, or perhaps she changed, to a delightful agony. Now, chained to the bed as she was Samara could let free all mental restraints. Fantasies flooded her mind, mixed with the restrictions she felt - the rubber compressing her body, the chains holding her in place, the gag silencing her. With all mental barriers swept away bolts of erotic fire swept from her groin and her breasts through her body, racked her with delicious torment.
An outsider would have seen her struggles as those of a victim in the lowest pit of agony, not a woman reaching the greatest heights of exhilaration. Samara exploded, her groans and whimpers of delight stifled by the leather gag. Again and again the explosions. More and more. Still she stuggled, jerked, fought against the leather and steel bonds, till the delight was an agony in itself. But they did not stop, the lightening bolts of pure rapture.
At last she lay still. Her breathing easily through the gag. She felt the sweat on her body. Though the sun was going down, the rubber and latex would ensure she did not get cold. She lay quietly, enjoying the restrictions, knowing that until the ice freed the key she could not get lose. Samara slipped into that place only the bound one knows, delighting in the knowledge that freedom lay four or five hours in the future.