author unknown

Illustration by Kagan

Originally Published in Hogtie Vol. 4, No. 2

Transcribed and Edited by guardian46w

Thanks to EKrayon for the scans of the text and illustration.

Story Codes: F/m, bondage, n/c, captured, straps, armbinder, gag

I was surprised.  I had expected her to give up a long time before, to ask me to release her.  But every few minutes she would look up and give me a tired smile.  "Just a little more time," she would say and she would resume her slow and methodical straining against the restraint.

But let me explain a little.

I am a little different than others of my like.  For one thing, my relationships with men tend to be infrequent, but they are what would be considered "normal" PG rated.  I have been told that I am very pretty, and I enjoy hearing it from men.

My only drawback is my legs, bent from polio.  I don't need crutches or braces or anything like that.  I can walk and even get up to a moderate trot with little difficulty.  But even if I do tend to waddle, I can have as many nights on the town (and elsewhere) as I wish.

But that is just for spice, for variety.  The rest of the time I look for other girls who will be receptive to the relentless caress of rope, chain and leather.  And I have always been able to tell who would be.

Jura (I had commented on her unusual name when we met and she told me that it was Lithuanian) was one.  It was not obvious in the way she looked or acted, it was something else.  But I could tell; my intuition told me.

But just because I knew a female was a latent bindee, looking for a binder like myself, that did not necessarily mean she knew.  There were, more often than not, protests of varying violence, but I have yet to be wrong.

However, when I began to plan for Jura's enlightenment, I knew I would have to try a different method.  She was a giantess, nearly six feet tall, a head taller than me, with blonde hair framing an oval face and slanted blue eyes.  And she was not thin; her shoulders were broadly masculine to support her almost pendulous breasts.  Her stomach was flat and hard, and her hips lacked those cones of fat that most women, myself included, tend to have.  She was powerfully built and it was little wonder that she was on the university's women's rugby team; she was one of the ones that go after the ball on each play, in the scrum, I believe it's called.

So, I knew I'd get creamed if I tried to use force.

"I really don't see how they can hold people like that," she had said.

Although I have a way with words, I don't have any one set of lines.  In fact, I don't even recall what I said, how I had steered the conversation to restraints.  We were at my place drinking soda.  Her dislike of alcohol had ruined one of my preliminary plans of action.

"I mean," she continued, "handcuffs and anything that locks I understand.  But not anything else.  I mean, in the movies it looks like they just throw a rope at someone and have them wind themselves up.  It should hardly hold them at all.  And I saw a strait jacket once, big deal.  All that stuff, it should only be a matter of time until they get themselves out."

"I read once about a lady who was kept in a strait jacket for two years," I pointed out.  "And Houdini was the first known person to ever escape from a strait jacket, and that was nearly two hundred years after they had been invented."

"They were all probably so far gone they didn't know what they were doing," she said, the look on her face showing her opinion of the weakness of others.

"I have something that I think might hold you," I said, my mouth going dry with anticipation.  "Would you like to see it?"

"Sure."

I could barely keep myself from quivering as I got a single sleeve arm binder, one of the few things I had that I knew would fit her.  I knew I was taking a chance on her changing her mind when she saw the unusual nature of the restraint but rope did not feel right for her.

"One of my ex-boyfriends was an amateur magician, escape artist," I lied as I showed it to her.

"It doesn't look like much," she said, but I could tell she couldn't make heads or tails of it.  "Could he get out of it?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, hoping her naivete would continue for just a little while longer.  "Maybe that's why he left it here."  I mentally held my breath.

"Would you like to try it?"

"Sure," she shrugged.  "It should only take a couple of minutes."  By the way she held herself I could tell she considered it a small challenge to her strength.

I convinced her she might overheat so she stripped down to her bra and panties.  First, I cinched a thick leather belt around her waist; a separate buckle dangled from it and I positioned this buckle so it was centered just below her navel.  I had her put her arms behind her back, palms together, and I slid the binder on.  She was deceptively flexible; the laces and the straps at her wrists, elbows and just under her armpits pulled her elbows together.  A high leather collar buckled at the back of her neck was next, and two straps from the top center of the binder I brought up under her arms to fasten to two buckles that hung from the collar just above the breastbone.  Lastly, I pulled the strap that hung from the bottom of the binder up between her legs and buckled it to the strap encircling her waist.

I told her I was done and she could begin anytime.

Initially, her struggles were magnificently violent.  She thrashed and pulled at the leather imprisoning her arms to the limits of her strength.  It was a beautiful ballet, her legs straining as she threw her torso back and forth and twisted.  She threw herself to the floor and squirmed, her face crimson from her efforts.

An hour passed.  Too tired to stand, she sat on her crossed ankles.  The muscles in her neck and shoulders bunched and corded.  Her mouth was carved into a grim line as she slowly writhed, and she angrily growled at (what she considered) the small thing that was besting her.  Sweat dripped from the point of her nose and chin, dribbling down her chest.  Then she would stop, take a deep breath and begin again.

I knew it was time.  I picked up the items I had gotten while she was fighting and sat down beside and slightly behind her.

"How're you doing?"

"Okay," she gasped.  "I don't know how, but I think you've got me."

"That's nice," I said as I pushed her sideways, knocking her off balance.  Quickly, while she laughed at what she thought was a joke, I wrapped some leather cuffs around her ankles and hogtied them to the ring on the point of the binder.  I pulled her head and shoulders up onto my lap.

"Lynelle, just what do you think you're doing?"  she asked with mock grandeur.

"Just making sure you don't run off."

"Very funny," she panted.  "All right, you've proved your point.  I could struggle for the next hundred years and not get away.  I give up.  Let me go."

"But I'm not done yet," I whispered as I pressed her mouth to mine.

For several seconds she was too surprised to do anything.  She started to buck and I raised my head.  She was scared and she opened her mouth to scream.  I then popped the ball gag in and fastened it.  She stiffened.

"Maybe you've guessed by now, but that sleeve was not left here by a Houdini-to-be boyfriend of mine," I said as I stroked her sweat drenched face.  She lost her paralysis and tried to jerk her head away but I wound my fingers into her hair to stop that.  "Actually, you enjoy this.  You just don't realize it yet."

I ran my hand across her shoulder, loosening her bra.  Then I cupped her newly liberated mammary mounds.  I stroked her stomach which quivered with her frightened breathing.  Her calves and thighs tensed and fought to the limits of their confinement under my hand.  Then I worked my hand back up, from her bare feet to her face.

"But you will soon readily accept this."

She looked away from me as she struggled, straining to escape my touch.

"In time, you will ask this of me.  Every possible moment you will want to spend like this."

The gag let out only small whines.  Her exhausted muscles spasmodically heaved as she frantically tried to order them to greater efforts toward freedom.

"It's just a matter of time," I breathed as I lovingly held her closer.  "A matter of time."