by Felix Dartmouth
Fall 1985 © Felix Dartmouth
Cynthia flushed. Her heart leapt, and she found herself short of breath.
She had just finished getting ready for church. This was the first time that she had gone to church with Jeff, and she had been a little surprised when he had asked her. They had not been going steady very long, but there Jeff stood at her door, dangling a pair of shiny nickel handcuffs from his finger teasingly.
“Jeff, I know that I lost the bet, but now?” she pleaded.
Jeff walked into her apartment. He took her by both shoulders, and gave her a light kiss on the lips.
“Now, you knew the stakes when you made the bet. The Cougars lost, and the bet was that the loser spends the day as a prisoner, and today is your day. My, you sure look nice!” Jeff stood back to admire his girlfriend.
“Thank you,” she stammered, but she was unable to take her eyes off the handcuffs.
She did look nice. Her long brown hair was carefully curled, and her makeup nicely set off her light blue eyes. She had chosen to wear a light orange chiffon blouse with sheer sleeves, and a slim black leather skirt that came to mid calf length with a slit up past her knees. Her hose was seamed, and carefully centered along the back of her shapely calves, and she wore patent high heeled pumps. An extra sexy touch was the velvet black ribbon that she had tied about her slender throat.
Since they were both students, Jeff usually saw Cynthia in jeans, although she did almost always wear a very feminine blouse and heels. The semester had just begun just over two weeks ago, and the two of them had met the first day of classes.
Jeff had swept her off her feet. He was a senior who transferred in from another school to be in the business program. They met in the registration lines. Things between them progressed rather quickly, and they were quite close after only having known each other a short time.
At lunch, a few days before, they were talking about college football, which they both followed closely, and Cynthia remarked that she was certain that the Cougars would defeat the Bears (Jeff’s home school team) by a sound margin. Jeff, sensing he had a fish on the line, carefully reeled her in. “Oh come on, now,” he teased. “The Cougars don’t have a chance!”
“A chance? They’re going to win!” replied Cynthia. “How much do you want to bet?”
“I don’t like to bet money with friends, Cynthia,” said Jeff. “I tell you what. Since we are going to church this Sunday, and we are planning to spend the afternoon together anyway, I’ll bet you my freedom for the day that the Bears will win.”
Cynthia was intrigued. “What do you mean, your freedom?”
“Simple,” said Jeff. “If the Cougars win, I will be your prisoner for the whole day. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll clean your apartment, do errands for you, whatever. You can even hogtie me on the floor for the whole day, if you want.”
Cynthia smiled. “Hogtying you sounds fun. And if your Bears win?”
“I thought you were so sure that they wouldn’t have a chance.”
“But if they do?”
“The same thing. You will be my prisoner for the day.” Cynthia thought for a minute.
“I’m not sure that I want to be trussed up, but it seems a fair bet.”
She held her hand out across the table.
They shook on it.
On Saturday afternoon, Jeff had a study group session, and he was unable to watch the game. It was about four o’clock when he came out of the library, and went back to his apartment. He picked up the phone and dialed Cynthia. They were going to a film that night.
After a bit of small talk, Jeff said, “Good, then I’ll be by at 7:30 to pick you up.”
“See you then,” said Cynthia, almost too quickly.
“Wait a minute,” Jeff said. “Do you know who won the game?”
“See you at 7:30,” stalled Cynthia.
“Hey, now, I do detect a bit of reluctance to come out with the facts, here. Now who won the game?”
“The Bears won, 21 to 17,” said Cynthia reluctantly.
“I knew it!” said Jeff. “Well, it looks like I won the bet. Well, don’t worry, even though you will be my prisoner, I’ll try to see that it’s not all bad for you. Tell me, do you prefer ropes or chains?”
“Ropes or chains!” exclaimed Cynthia. “You’re not going to keep me tied up are you? I’ll clean your apartment, anything!”
“The bet was that you would be my prisoner. And besides, you said that you would keep me hogtied. I thought that a prisoner was supposed to be tied up by definition.”
“OK, smarty, well, I hope that my sentence will be suspended for tonight, at least.”
“Prisoner at the bar, I hereby declare that your sentence is for the night only suspended and that you will be remanded into custody there to be taken into restraint come the morrow’s sun. Tell me, what type of gag do you prefer?” asked Jeff.
“Very funny, Jeff,” laughed Cynthia. “See you soon.”
“Bye, lover, pick you up at 7:30.”
. . . . . . . . .
“Well, if you must lock those silly things on me, go ahead,” said Cynthia reluctantly, proffering her wrists before her.
“I just trust that you will remove them before the service?”
Jeff took one of her wrists, and clasped the bright metal around her blouse cuffs between the bottom third and fourth buttons. He did not fasten them overly tightly, but assured himself that there was not too much play between her wrists and the handcuffs. She could not escape and she could not even succeed in moving the handcuff clasp over her blouse button. With one of wrists thus clasped, and its mate dangling in the air, he took her into his arms and hugged her warmly.
“Be careful,” she admonished, “you might get makeup on your jacket.”
He held her firmly at arm’s length, looked at her and said, “You’re so beautiful.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Are you going to take these ‘cuffs off me before we go into the Church?”
He kissed her firmly and deeply on the mouth. Cynthia hesitated a bit, then responded to him. Her jaw relaxed. Her breathing became short and quick.
After over a minute, they came up for air, and he said, “Let’s go.”
“I have to fix my lipstick, and you need to get the pink lipstick off your lips.”
She went to the mirror, and redid her lips as the handcuff dangled from her wrist. She seemed slightly annoyed by the dangling metal, but quickly redid herself as Jeff took Kleenex and removed her lipstick from his lips. As soon as Cynthia put the lipstick back into her purse, she began to examine the clasps at her wrist.
The free end was closed, and she asked Jeff, “Are you going to unlock this part, or do I just wear these like this?”
“No need to unlock them,” he said. “They just ratchet through.”
He demonstrated. The clicking sound opened the clasp, and made them available for her wrists. Again, she proffered her wrists in front of her. He took both of them in a firm grip, gave her a light kiss, and then twisted her wrists behind her back, with his arms around her.
“Are you going to lock up my wrists behind me? That’s the way they carry criminals around.”
“Well, you are my prisoner, and this is only the beginning of your restraint today. In fact, just handcuffs are hardly sufficient to transport you to church.”
He clasped her free wrist into the metal shackle. She was now handcuffed. Cynthia stepped away. She tried to look at the metal bands that held her wrists behind her. With her arms locked up behind her back, her lacy slip and bra were visible through the sheer orange material of her blouse. Twisting her wrists in the cuffs brought her neither relief nor freedom. She relaxed her efforts, allowing her wrists to drop, and they fell with a clatter to the small of her back. A wisp of her brown curls fell in her face, and she instinctively reached up to remove it. When her motion was stopped by her opposite arm’s inability to twist further, she gave her lover a dependent, exasperated look.
“Please?” she asked.
Instead of brushing the brown locks aside, Jeff took her in his arms. Her body, convex due to the handcuff’s locking of her wrists behind her molded against his. She raised her lips to his to receive a kiss. Instead of kissing her, however, he brushed the hair from her eyes with his lips. He heard the single link of chain that joined her cuffs rattle behind her. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jeff pulled out a set of leg irons. Before Cynthia even had a chance to comment, he stooped down and swiftly clasped them about her ankles.
“Now I feel like a hobbled harem girl!” said Cynthia. “Jeff, you know, this is kind of sexy.”
“It sure is, just the thing for a Sunday morning before church. It will give us something to look forward to afterwards. Oh, there’s one more thing.”
“What is it now, or dare I ask?” Jeff pulled out a leather strap that ran through a bright red rubber ball.
“What on earth is that for?” exclaimed Cynthia.
Jeff had taken all her generous head of hair in his grip, forming a ponytail, and raised the ball up to her mouth. She opened, and Jeff set the ball on her bottom teeth and twisted down and back. There was a bit of pressure required, but the ball slipped under her white upper teeth and seated itself firmly in the cavity of her mouth. Her eyes immediately widened, and Jeff paused for a moment to enjoy her reaction to this new higher level of bondage before tightening the strap tightly at the soft nape of her neck. As the roller buckle was pulled, the gag bisected her jaws, and the ball was pulled further back into her mouth, and her lips stretched around it, forming a perfect seal.
Jeff took a small lock from his pocket and ran it through the hole closest to the buckle, making it impossible to unbuckle without his key. Cynthia tried to talk, and all that would emit from her mouth was feeble moans. She clearly was not pleased with this latest restriction imposed upon her, but Jeff took her keys from her purse, left it on the table, took her by the arm around the soft georgette fabric of her blouse and lead her out her apartment door, locking it behind him.
. . . . . . . . .
Cynthia sat quietly in the car on the way back from Church. Her wrists were locked in hard steel in front of her, and run through the seatbelt, and the leg irons had been reaffixed to her ankles. The service was quite enjoyable. The music was beautiful, and the sermon inspiring. The rector had greeted them warmly as they left. She was trying to deal with the almost overpowering desire she felt for Jeff’s touch throughout the service.
He had driven her, chained up and ball-gagged to the Church, and when they had arrived slightly early, he had removed her gag and kissed her deeply. She wanted him to take her right then, but said nothing, knowing that this would have been impossible.
Back in the car after Church, he kissed her again, and smiled. “Are you going to put me back in the handcuffs and the gag?” she asked. She was almost hoping for the ball-gag to keep her from saying something that he might find too desirous or silly.
“Handcuffs only, and this time in front of you. And leg irons, of course.”
After her seatbelt was fastened, the handcuffs were removed from his jacket pocket and clasped about her wrists, and the leg irons, stored beneath the car seat were taken out and locked about her ankles. He kissed her again, and placed his hand on her breast.
“Do you want to go to lunch, or would you like to go back to my apartment?”
“Take me back to your apartment,” was her reply.
Jeff’s apartment was perfectly neat. Cynthia thought this unusual for a man. Several of the pieces of furniture were antiques. Cynthia was left standing in the living room in her chains as Jeff went into his bedroom to get her something “more appropriate”. In several moments, he emerged with a complex set of black leather straps, and a ball-gag wrapped in Saran Wrap. Throwing these on the couch, he unlocked her handcuffs from one wrist, but not the other. He put his arms around her, and she returned his warm hug.
“Jeff,” she said. “I want to feel you inside me.”
“You will,” he assured her. “But it may be a while.”
He kissed her and pressed himself against her. Her desire was all the more inflamed. Jeff began to unbutton her blouse down her back, and then on her wrists, and removed it. He left her to stand as he went to hang it up in the closet. He then removed her bra. Her skirt was next, and he was pleased to see that she wore no panties, and she wore a garter belt with her stocking rather than pantyhose.
“My compliments, beautiful lady,” he said, taking her into his arms and kissing her once more.
With the handcuffs still locked about her one wrist, he turned her about and began to strap the leather shoulder harness around her shoulders and buckled it, making sure that her shoulders were properly drawn back. Then, he twisted her wrists behind her, and carefully strapped them together. This strap was run through the D-ring at the nape of her neck, forming an anchor by which her wrists could be drawn up to the small of her back.
The ball-gag was strapped about her throat, but as yet was not inserted into her mouth.
“Where did you get this harness?” she asked.
“In New York City, when I visited there last summer,” he said.
“I’ve been wanting to try it out ever since.”
Cynthia stood back and tested it, trying to take it off her shoulders. Her bare breasts stood out at attention as she manipulated the black leather straps that were strapped about her shoulders, holding her arms suspended. As if it would help in some way, she bend forward, and wrestled with her bindings, and her brown curls fell over her head into her face as she stood.
The handcuffs dangling ineffective and redundant from her pinioned wrist flashed in the lamplight and rattled. As it became obvious that her harness could not be simply pulled off by her, she resorted to brute force, straining by pulling downward with her wrists, but these had been drawn up so far behind her back that it was difficult at best for her to get any leverage, and besides, these leather straps were so thick that they would have held a horse.
Certainly a young girl could make no headway.
Defeated, she looked up at Jeff, who, holding a pair of leg irons, was watching her with high interest. Cynthia was short of breath from her exertions against her constraints, and was becoming ever more frustrated by the desire that welling up inside her.
“You are going to hobble me as well, I presume?” she asked, and proffered her ankle for his attentions.
This done, he took her in his arms, gave her a deep kiss. He stroked her nipples gently.
“Jeff, please take me to bed,” she moaned in his ear.
He responded by kissing her again. He looked at his watch, then looked up at her.
“It’s almost 2:00, time for the football game,” he said as he unstrapped the gag from around her throat, and made it ready for insertion.
“Let’s make another bet. Tell me, do you favor the Oilers or the Saints?”
“I’ll take the Oilers,” she said.
“Well,” Jeff said, “It looks like this is not the only afternoon you will spend like this.”
She opened her mouth for her gag, knowing it would be a long afternoon.