By Brian Sands

Illustration by unknown artist

Originally published in BONDAGE LIFE No.4, March 1979

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: M/f, bondage, consensual, experiment, roped, gagged.

Jennifer decided to drive to the beach house a week ahead of her friends so that she could work in solitude polishing up the mystery novel she had almost completed.  The breath of fresh salty air was such a change from the stuffiness of the office that she parked for a while at the curve in the road overlooking the sparkling bay.  In the cluster of holiday houses below there was no movement.  She scarcely noticed the large black sedan which passed her and when she turned back to her car, she did not see it draw up behind one of the more distant houses half obscured by bushes.

It was already late afternoon and the sun set as her car descended the last hill before entering the deserted resort.  She glimpsed a light shining dully from one house away to her left but gave it no attention.  It was a week day, Monday and the off-season.  There were perhaps other people taking advantage of the solitude as she was.  Maybe she would introduce herself in the morning.

Instead of changing immediately after dumping her suitcase on the bed, Jennifer merely threw it open and walked back into the living room.  There she poured herself a drink, flung her jacket over the arm of one of the rather old-fashioned straight-backed wooden chairs, and settled down in a more comfortable armchair, manuscript in lap, pencil in hand.  She still wore her smart day clothes; sheer brown seamed stockings and suspender belt, matching high-heeled shoes, sheer black panty and bra, clinging black velvet knee-length skirt, blue silk shirt and a gaily-colored brown and pink silk scarf knotted loosely around her neck so that part of it fell wispy across her shoulders.  Jennifer enjoyed dressing well, to please herself.  She liked the hiss of silk against silk, silk against nylon, skin against satin.

So did her heroine in the novel, who in one of the climactic scenes wore a loose-fitting shirt-dress with long sleeves, billowing skirt and wide black belt.  The color of the dress was blue of course, one of Jennifer’s favorite colors.  But there was a plot problem Jennifer was wrestling with now.  The heroine in the second-to-last chapter had discovered the dastardly plan to poison the old lady after swindling her out of her fortune, but in her attempt to escape through a ground-floor window from the old lonely house on the cliffs she had been captured by the evil husband-and-wife team.  She now lay on the floor of the attic securely gagged and bound, unable to warn the old woman, unable to free herself of her bonds.

How did the girl feel?  What were her thoughts as she struggled against the irremovable ropes which held her and languished under the thrust of the gag?  Somehow Jennifer did not think she was getting it right.  Impatiently she scoured over three of the lines on the page, interrupted then in the flow of her thoughts by a light knock at the front door.  When she opened it the light from her living room revealed a pleasant-faced woman, probably in her mid-thirties.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” said the woman, “I was taking an evening stroll and when I saw your light I thought I should be a little neighborly.  We seem to be the only people staying here this week.”

“Sure,” said Jennifer, a little wearily, “Come in and have a cup of coffee.  I was working, but I seem to have come to an impasse at the moment.  I could do with a beak.

Jennifer made coffee and as they drank she explained in answer to the woman’s question that she was a writer for a romance and mystery publishing house, “I’ve nearly finished my second book, but tonight the end doesn’t seem to be working out right.  You see, I’ve got my heroine in the classic predicament for a thriller, all trussed-up in the attic, but I can’t seem to ‘get into’ her feelings.  I’ve never been tied up.  I can imagine what it’s like but it’s not the same.”  And she showed the woman the page she had been working on, adding, “I don’t’ suppose you have done any writing yourself?”

“No,” answered the woman slowly, “but I have a suggestion.  Why don’t you have someone tie you up for a while, then you’ll know what it’s like first hand.”

“Oh, I’ve thought of that,” said Jennifer, “but the only close friend I could trust is away on vacation herself for a couple of weeks.  We often collaborated on story ideas together.”

“Well, there’s no difficulty really is there?” replied the woman, “I’d be glad to help, that is if you trust me.  I can’t very well be a thief or a kidnapper,” she added laughingly.

“No,” agreed Jennifer, “I’m hardly kidnap material with my bank balance.”  She paused.  It was an innocent enough invitation.

“Fine,” said the woman, “I don’t suppose you have any rope around here?”

Jennifer rose from her armchair and searched through the cupboards, “There are a few pieces of thin sash cord here.  Will they do?”  she held the lengths up for inspection.

“That’ll do fine,” said the woman.  “By the way, call me Meg.  How do you have your heroine tied in the book?”

“Oh, hands and feet, and some rope around her body to hold her arms,” replied Jennifer.

“Good,” said Meg.  “Well for a start, how about if you lie down here on this soft rug and I’ll tie your hands and feet?”

Jennifer obeyed the older woman and as she lay on her face she pretended to be unconscious like the heroine in the story, chloroformed, her arms and hands completely limp, relaxed.  Meg drew her wrists together behind her and twisted the thin sash cord several times around in a tight doubled-knot.  She then wound the remaining ends of the cord between the girl’s wrists neatly cinching the snug bindings.  Jennifer could move her fingers and wrists only slightly for these circlets of cord allowed very little play.  Next her ankles were fastened together neatly and cinched in the same way.  The woman stood back and looked down at her prisoner.  Jennifer lifted her head awkwardly and looked up at her, tossing her long auburn hair out of her eyes.

“How does it feel?” asked Meg.  “Circulation okay?”

“It feels… funny.  And a little scary.  I’ve never been tied up before.  The ropes are so tight.  But they’re not stopping circulation, yet.”

“Well, in real life being tied up is not meant to be fun,” said Meg lightly.  “Now, how was your heroine gagged?”

“Oh, she had a long scarf tied between her teeth, I think,” answered Jennifer.

“And do you have a long scarf?” asked Meg.

“Yes, in my bag.  I haven’t unpacked it yet.”

Meg crossed the floor to the bedroom and returned a few moments later carrying a pink chiffon scarf five feet by two feet and a large plain rayon white scarf.  “These will do nicely my dear, they’ll keep you good and quiet.”  She rolled Jennifer onto her back and sat her up, propped against the heavy sofa.  The girl watched while Meg spread out the chiffon scarf on a table, shook out the white rayon scarf and bunched it into a wad and rolled it up in the center of the chiffon length.  In answer to the girl’s questioning look, Meg said, “This is a little trick I saw on TV a couple of nights ago.  It works really well.  I’ll make it pretty tight for realism but it should not hurt too much.  Open wide.”

And Jennifer opened her mouth and tilted her head back a little as the woman reached the scarf and wad over her face.  Neatly the chiffon-wrapped roll was wedged not just between her teeth but inside her mouth so that it pressed on her tongue.  The ends of the long scarf were drawn around to the back of her neck and a single knot tied.  Carefully, Meg tightened the scarf so that it pressed into the soft corners of Jennifer’s mouth and her cheeks before she doubled the knot.  That done, she wound one end around and between the helpless girl’s teeth, followed by the other end in the opposite direction.  These ends were tied in a tight double knot at the back of her neck like the first.  Meg walked back into the bedroom and fetched a large square silk scarf which she folded into a rectangle then over several times the same direction till the bandage was about three inches wide.  This was now bound tightly over the prisoner’s cheeks, lips and jaw.

Extra muffling,” commented Meg, with a giggle.

Jennifer found that with the packing between her teeth and filling her mouth she was scarcely able to move her jaw.  She started to say something to Meg and with a shock realized how effectively silenced she had become.  Her helplessness caused panic to rise in her throat but she fought it down.  “I’ve let myself in for this,” she thought, “there’s nothing for it but to see it out.”  And it was a matter of pride too.  Jennifer did not want the woman to see that she was growing frightened.  So, she lifted her had and shook it from side to side, experimenting to see whether the gag could be loosened in any way.

“I think you're pretty secure now,” said Meg.  “However, to get the reconstruction of your story right we have to rope your arms to your body too, don’t we?”  Meg referred to Jennifer’s manuscript.  “Yes, that’s right,” she said as if to herself.  Indeed, Jennifer was now a thoroughly mute witness to the proceedings.  “There’s no more rope here so I’d better look for some back at my house.  While I’m out, you can get yourself into the story.  See whether you can loosen anything.  Of course, when I come back, I’ll tighten it all again.”  And she went out, carefully closing the door so that she did not lock herself out of the house.

Alone, the panic began to return.  Jenifer felt hot and stifled and her breasts heaved with effort to breathe through the silk imprisoning her mouth.  Shaking her head had no effect on loosening the bandage, it seemed to cling smoothly and taut around the planes of her face.  Neither did bending her chin in towards her throat help in any way to slip the gag, as she had seen it done in the movies.  And pushing with her tongue was to no avail.  Eventually she learned to breathe through her nose and the strain in her chest was lessened.  Breathing became easier.

It was clear that she could do nothing about the gag.  Could she loosen the bindings at her wrists?  Fighting back the panic again, which would make her wrench and twist against the cords, thus making the knots tighter and even more immovable, Jennifer searched slowly and methodically with her fingers.  They fluttered uselessly in empty air.  The knots had been tied cunningly close in between her wrists and above the cinching, well out of reach of questing fingers.  Neither were there loose ends; all the cord’s length had been used.  The cords had been fastened so finally tight that she was quite unable to twist her wrists about to gain any kind of purchase on the elusive knots.  In was not use, and after nearly ten minutes of futile effort the girl sank back with a sigh against the large sofa.  Her ankles were just as firmly tied, as a few movements of her legs revealed, so there was no means of freeing her legs and walking to the kitchen for a knife or something with which to cut the bonds. All the same, maybe she could wriggle across there and find something sharp on which to saw the bonds.  Though she was bound hand and foot Jennifer still had considerable freedom of movement.

She had managed to work her way awkwardly halfway across the living room floor towards the kitchen, propped up on her arms and shifting moving her legs in caterpillar-like movements, when she heard footsteps outside.  It was Meg returning.  When the older woman entered the room carrying several coils of clothesline cord over her arm, she saw immediately what Jennifer had been trying to do.  What she saw was a very attractive smartly dressed young woman with tousled golden-russet hair, face strained and flushed, eyes large and a little feverish from the tightness of the gag, black clinging skirt riding along her thighs.  The disappointment in Jennifer’s eyes was all too apparent and Meg laughed.  “It looks like I got back just in time.  You were going somewhere?  Well, these…” and she held up the ropes in her hands, “will dash your hopes for you, my proud beauty.”  Meg was getting into the part, too.

“At least this is something of a game,” Jennifer thought, wryly, “but it’s a little rough on me.”

Meg consulted Jennifer’s manuscript.  “You don’t’ say in detail how your heroine Robyn has her arms tied, so I’ll improvise.”  With that, she knelt down behind Jennifer and set to work tying the girl’s arms back together above the elbows.  Jennifer was very fit and supple and it was possible without a great deal of effort to fasten her elbows firmly together.  This was done, using all of one length of cord.  Meg next wound a second length around Jennifer’s body just below her breasts three times, knotted it securely and passed the ends in a crisscross between her breasts and made two more winding around the girl’s shoulders and chest above them.  The prisoner’s arms were now almost immoveable, except for her forearms which still had a little room for maneuvering.  It was an easy matter to deprive the girl of even this small freedom.  Meg cut a shorter length of cord, fastened a couple of twitches around Jennifer’s forearms just above where her wrists were bound, and passed the ends of the cord around her waist.  This was two windings and the knot secured in the small of the girl’s back.  The final touch was to tie Jennifer’s legs more tightly together with several lengths of cord turned around them just above her knees and cinched.  Jennifer’s body was now a single helpless unit.

Meg carefully inspected Jennifer’s bonds and the gag, testing for any looseness, then she straightened up and said, “I’d better get back to finish my own unpacking.  You're breathing safely enough through your gag for me to leave you for a while, and this way you can really feel what you’ve made your heroine go through.”  As she moved to leave, Jennifer started convulsively in her bindings, lost balance and toppled awkwardly onto her side.  Meg turned at the door and smiled.  “I don’t think you'll be moving about much, the way you're are now.  Do a bit of languishing.  I’ll be back.”  It was improbable that she heard even a snatch of the thin throaty squeal of anguish which was all the sound Jennifer could make.

Now that she was alone again and rendered more thoroughly helpless, Jennifer thought back tears which threatened to plunge her over the brink into hysteria.  No matter how hard she tried she could not move her arms.  The gag seemed to muffle her more with each passing minute and she had to force herself to breathe steadily through her nose.  Then the dam burst.  She twisted and fought frantically to escape., rolling from side to side, tossing her head, her cheeks wet with tears; whimpering with faint muffled sounds only she could hear, for they were so soft that no one in any other part of the small house, let alone on the paths outside, would hear them.  Gagged as she was, it was impossible to keep struggling in this way, and exhaustion came quickly.  She blacked out.  When she came to, she felt a little calmer but her body was trembling from the constrictions at her elbows and wrists.  She had been tied so tightly that fortunately in her struggles she had caused herself little harm.  There was some rawness in her wrists, that was all

Slowly she began to think from the point of view of this being the experiment it was.  The heroine Robyn in her novel Dark Towers had lain bound and gagged in the attic for several hours, before being packed in a wicker basket and spirited away from the Mansion before the old lady should become suspicious and search the room for her.  She had then been kept tied to a large heavy chair in an old cottage on the moors until rescued by the hero.  Without the advent of the hero she would not have gotten free.  “Is this going to happen to me?” thought Jennifer.  “Is Meg going to read the rest of the chapter when she comes back and then reenact it with me?  If she decides to, I can’t do anything about it.”  Jennifer listened apprehensively, and it was with a stir of excitement tat she heard Meg’s footsteps coming up the path.  Strange, why was she looking forward to this possibility, Jennifer wondered?

The first thing Meg did when she entered the room was to inspect Jennifer’s bonds and the gag.  Appearing satisfied, she settled herself comfortably in the armchair and picked up the manuscript.  Ignoring the younger girl’s struggles and stifled sounds, she began reading.  After a couple of minutes Jennifer settled back dejectedly against the sofa at which she had once more been propped.  With head lowered she waited in subjection for Meg’s next move, half dreading, half excited as to what it might be.

Meg began to enjoy the story and became thoroughly absorbed in it.  For almost an hour she browsed through the earlier chapters, picking up the main plot elements.  When she reached the chapter detailing the capture and imprisonment of the heroine, she put the manuscript down a moment and looked at the trussed girl huddled a few feet away.  “You really are a good writer.  I’ll bet you could put down really well on paper the way you're feeling now.”

While Jennifer heaved and wriggled uncomfortably in bonds which were starting to torture her already aching limbs, Meg began reading aloud parts of the story.  It was written in the first person:

“That was their plan.  I must get help.  Quickly, I ran to the old library, switched on the small desk lamp and by its light began to wrestle with the window which looked out onto the garden.  It seemed hours before the frame gave.  Far too slowly and with a squeal which I imagined must be heard throughout the house, it opened until there was room enough to climb though.  I alighted in the soft soil and grass, a place overgrown with weeds and with the pungent scent of dead things in the still of the night.  The large single gate beckoned and gratefully I stumbled towards it.  Then, as I pulled frantically at the latch a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness so suddenly that I was totally unready for what happened next.  A hand holding a thick soft cloth clamped over my face, covering my mouth and nose and preventing any outcry even if there had been anyone to hear.  It tasted sickly and foolishly I took a deep strangled breath.  Too late, everything began to recede until there was darkness and a falling… I came to slowly, and it was some time before I remembered what had happened.  I was lying on something soft, smelling of must, an old mattress?  Then I remembered, the old lady and my attempt to run for help, the tastes of the chloroform.  I had been recaptured.  With an effort I tried to sit up, but there was no response from my limbs.  I was bound.  Tight cord held my wrists together behind my back and also secured my ankles together.  There was a tightness around my upper arms and chest where more rope had been wound.  And I was gagged.  A long piece of material, which I found out later was my own satin scarf, had been wound several times between my teeth and knotted tightly at the back of my neck.  I chocked and struggled against if for a while until I learned to breathe through my nose and ease the pressure on my aching lungs.  In the process I found that I could make very little noise, certainly none which could be heard outside the room…"

And so, Meg continued.  Jennifer listened enthralled, and with her eyes closed visualized herself in that situations, something which was not hard to do considering she was herself thoroughly silenced and helpless.  It was growing late and Meg had almost finished the book.  Surely her ordeal would be over soon thought Jennifer.

She had been sitting helpless now for more than two hours.  Meg pretended not to notice the thin squeals which were the only sounds Jennifer could make through the expertly tied gag, and when the manuscript had been read she laid it down decisively on the low table and knelt beside her prisoner.  Without a word in answer to the girl’s questioning look, Meg took from Jennifer’s shoulders the wispy pink silk scarf she wore and tightly bound ti over her eyes.  And the helpless girl was left one more, but this time not for long.  Within a few minutes there was the sound of a car’s tires softly coming to rest outside the shack, and Jennifer heard Meg’s re-entry.  Quickly she was picked up in Meg’s arms, carried outside and bundled onto the back seat of the car.  Next followed about ten minutes of driving.  Jennifer rocked slightly from one side to the other with every corner the vehicle took.  There was a kind of excitement in the feeling.  It was not too difficult to pretend that she was really being kidnapped and she strained deliciously at her bonds although they hurt more than ever.

Finally, the car drew to a halt and Jennifer was lifted out and carried somewhere; into another house, for she heard the opening and closing of a door and she was set down in a wooden chair.  The bounds were removed from her wrists and arms and from around her body, but her legs remained tied as they were and the gag and blindfold were untouched.  Her arms and hands tingled painfully with the return of circulation and she was too weak to prevent her wrists and forearms being retied to the armrests of the chair.  Ropes were passed around her body and waist fastening her upright against the straight tall back of the chair, and her ankles were tied to one of the chair legs, so that her body was completely immoveable.  The blindfold was then untied, a welcome relief, and she was left alone once again.

The room was different.  It was not her own so she supposed it was Meg’s.  Jennifer expected the older woman to reappear any moment but she did not come.  However, Jennifer this time did not panic.  She realized that Meg was indeed reconstructing the story so she could expect to be released soon by Meg playing the part of the hero.  In the meantime, Jennifer struggled and tested the bonds which held her to the chair until she had to stop, exhausted already by the hours she had lain trussed in her own room.

When Meg returned, Jennifer was feeling strangely relaxed, warm and very feminine.  Meg’s face softened and she knelt beside the helpless girl.  Jennifer’s cheeks were wet with hears.  Meg took her bound face into her hands gently and caressing her temples and hair said, “Let’s call it a night over this play-acting, Sweetheart.  I haven’t meant to hurt you or frighten you.  You wanted the reality of all this didn’t you?”  Jennifer nodded ruefully.  “And you know, once you're tied up for real by a thief or kidnapper the way you’ve described so well in your book, well there’s not getting out to it.  You were my prisoner and it wouldn’t have been real if I went soft and let you go so easily.”  Jennifer nodded.

Meg untied her from the chair, retied her arms behind her and carried her back out to the car.  Jennifer breathed in gratefully through her nose the fresh salt air.  She was still neatly gagged.  She sat upright in the front seat of the car, strapped-in with the seat belt, and Meg drove around a scenic track which she explained to her silent companion was the tour she had taken her on earlier when she lay blindfolded on the back seat.  The two women’s beach houses were in fact in adjoining blocks.  Back at her cottage, Jennifer was set down on the soft rug and untied completely, though Meg left the gag till last.  Then she gave Jennifer a soothing massage with baby oil to take the stiffness out of her limbs.  Over coffee the two women discussed the merits of Jennifer’s story.  “Was it worthwhile?” asked Meg, “I mean, being tied-up the way you were?”

The younger girl nodded.  “I wanted desperately to be free in that first hour or so, but it didn’t seem to be so important after that.  I’m glad you're trustworthy.  I don’t usually make mistakes with people and of course it’s not everyone I would allow to tie me up.  There are some really spiteful women in the business of magazine editing who would love to have me at their mercy the way I was with your.  Now that I know what it really feels like to be tied-up I’ll make some alterations to that part of the story.  It’s really pretty rough isn’t it?”

“Could you stand more of it?” asked Meg.

“Yes.”