The drive to the shop is not nearly as scary as the last time I was in a car, coming home from the prison. I don’t feel sick at all and I doubt that my extremely empty stomach could endanger me even I did succumb to the motion. Sarah makes up for my enforced silence by babbling incessantly about nothing much, and giving me a running commentary on our progress through London. I know she’s doing it deliberately to make me feel better, and it’s working. By the time we pull up outside the shop I’m feeling remarkably cheerful.

 

Rob helps me out of the car and the sound of the bustling street filters through the hood. Somehow there’s no embarrassment when you can’t see who might be staring or laughing at you. Jack has to drive off to find somewhere to park and Rob makes a cheery comment about how lucky he is to have a beautiful, bondaged lady on each arm, but I can tell he’s finding it hard to deal with. I cling to his arm as he leads me across the pavement and into warmth and comparative quiet. Presumably we’re in the shop and by the tapping of heels and jingling of chains I can tell Sarah is with us. It is a strange feeling for me, an independent and self-reliant woman to be so completely helpless and dependent on others. It feels so wrong, but yet it seems to appeal to something deep inside me that wants it to feel right.

 

Sarah’s bubbly babbling starts again. The shop is described to me in every detail as she jingles about and leads me with her. Rob seems to fade into the background, but an occasional comment from him tells me he’s still close. Sarah starts to build up a collection of stuff to try on and eventually I’m led off to the fitting rooms to assist. Zips seem to be the theme, lots of them and usually in places Sarah can’t reach, so it’s down to me to feel them out and do them up for her.

 

It seems to me that whenever I reach out to operate a zip for her, it’s always an unexpected part of her body that my hands find first, and far too often to be just coincidence it’s her boobs that I get handful of. And then my hands have to roam across her body to find the relevant zip that runs down her back or across her shoulders. It’s a game that I find myself rather happy to play along with, and the initial giggles start to give way to other, quieter and more serious sounds as the chemistry between us winds itself up. It’s probably a good thing that we’re both wearing chastity belts. It seems like an inevitable progression when I find myself being undressed and some of Sarah’s dress selections get tried on me. Rob and Jack are dispatched to find them in my size and Sarah makes a big thing of constantly asking me what I think of them. Of course I have no idea what to think of her fashion choices and I couldn’t tell her even if I had an opinion, but it’s funny how she keeps asking me.

 

The attention span of the average male isn’t very long when it comes to women’s clothes shopping and Rob and Jack seem to be no different to the norm. They wander off to the café bar next door to the shop and leave Sarah and me to ourselves. I’ve never understood how men pay so much attention to how women look, but yet seem to have no interest in how those looks are achieved. By the end of our shopping session I have no idea how I look. I’m wearing one of Sarah’s choices and it feels rather risqué. I can feel that a lot of breast and cleavage is exposed and the skirt is tight enough to vie with the chain between my thighs as to which restricts my legs more. Combined with my utterly impractical, but pulse raising boots, I’m assuming I make quite a sight. It seems we’re at the checkout as I can hear the rustling of bags and a woman is asking if we want to keep the hangers. Sarah has to pay for my outfit too. I’ve got my handbag and my cards but I can’t see to key in a PIN, I can’t tell my PIN to Sarah and the shop’s iris recognition camera can’t see my eyes. I could do contactless but the amount is too big. And it’s a four figure amount that goes on Sarah’s card. I find it rather comforting that the assistant seems completely at ease with having two insanely restricted customers, other than saying that I’m her first one in a hood. She wishes us well as we start to head out of the shop with me holding tightly onto Sarah’s arm. But suddenly my guide stops, having noticed something else. Boots cut for manacled ankles with zips that come down from the top leaving a gap for chains to poke out through. Of course she just has to have a pair.

 

My heart is racing as we finally escape the shop and its seemingly endless selection of must-have goodies. It feels incredibly precarious to be out on the street like this, both of us in restraints and with no men to watch out for us. I tell myself that if the café is just next door then it can only be a few yards away, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. The pavement is obviously very busy and I hear several comments about us and then a loud wolf whistle.

 

“In your dreams Sunshine. This one’s spoken for,” shouts Sarah, apparently at the whistler. Who’s spoken for, me or her? And more to the point, spoken for by whom exactly?

 

“There’s a door in front of you,” she says to me. “Can you open it? I can’t reach with you clinging to my arm so tightly.”

 

I ‘mmm’ back at her and feel around for the door. There’s no handle but it pushes open and the street noise is replaced with café atmos. I hear Rob call to us and Sarah leads me forward until I am guided onto a chair.

 

“How was the shopping?” asks Jack, apparently with his mouth full.

 

“You’ll find out when you go next door to collect the bags,” replies Sarah smugly.

 

“You look… amazing Jem,” says Rob.

 

The smell of food assaults my nostrils. They’re eating! Don’t mind me you bastards, it’s only about twenty hours since I ate anything. So only about another forty to go then. I try to make the most indignant ‘mmm’ that I can, but they just take it as agreement at the way I look. I don’t even know how I look!

 

“All day breakfast. You can’t beat it,” says Jack through exaggerated eating noises.

 

“Yeah, and this Gammon is great. You should try some Jem. Oh, you can’t. Shame,” says Rob smugly.

 

And I realise what’s going on here. It’s take the piss out of Jem in her hood. Bastards. How much contempt and anger can you get into a pathetic ‘mmm’ through your nose? Not enough obviously. But I can tell what they’re doing. They’re making fun of me, making it all seem trivial and amusing. But I can feel Rob holding my hand tightly and a manacled ankle is playing footsie with me as Sarah tells me how tasty her husband’s chips are. Jack leaves to go to the loo and when he returns he creeps up behind me, places his hands over my already covered eyes and says “Guess who?” It’s hard to be down hearted when you have such amazing friends around you, no matter how hungry you are.

 

 

oOo

 

 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time we get home, and Jack and Sarah decline Rob’s invitation to stay for a takeaway as they have a dinner guest of their own scheduled. They don’t come into the house and make their au-revoirs on the driveway as they need to get away promptly. Rob leads me into the house and I wait just inside the front door for him to remove the gag strap so I can tell him exactly what I thought of being tormented all afternoon. But he doesn’t remove the gag. Without speaking he leads me briskly up the stairs to the bedroom and has my mysterious new top off almost before I know what’s happening. This is a new side to Rob that I’ve not experienced before and I don’t really know what to make of it, but I’m far from objecting as I am half ordered and half pushed onto the bed and my new skirt is pulled roughly off me.

 

Not that I could object very well because I’m still gagged. I’m not totally helpless, I could flail my arms and legs around and try to fight him off, but why would I want to? This must be what it’s like to be one of those women who get off on being tied up. This is how Sarah must feel. I’ve been horny all afternoon and the more they made fun of me, the more they abused me, the more I liked it. I could never have imagined that I, a strong and independent woman could feel like this, but I do. Thank you Rob. Thank you for tormenting me. Thank you for not taking my gag off. Thank you for whatever it is you’re about to do to me. I am yours. Do with me what you will for I can’t stop you. How fucking sexy is this? How fucking sexy am I? Even with all my best bits covered up and locked away I can still drive a man into a frenzy. What exactly have I been wearing all afternoon? Who cares? Take me Big Boy. Yeah!

 

Except of course he can’t take me, at least not in the usual sense. Under my belt my labia are swelling and the dampness which has been there all afternoon feels like it’s becoming a flood. I don’t know how this is going to go. He must be going to use my arse. Oh god yes, use me. Stretch my virgin bottom open and use me Rob. The thing that has disgusted me all my life is now the thing I want more than anything else. Will I cum? I have no idea.

 

I’m lying on my back and Rob straddles my tummy. The belt digs in under his weight and it hurts, but it just winds me up more. He lifts my hands to my breasts and commands me to press them together tightly around his cock. If I let go then he’ll spank me! What?! Did I hear that right, spank me? He begins to fuck my cleavage and I join in, hauling my breasts up and down in rhythm to his thrusts. I start to pinch my nipples as I go, gently at first but then harder and harder. I’m so turned on. I want the pain. Anything to ramp up the fires within me. I can cum, I know I can, belt or no fucking belt, I can do it.

 

What’s he going to do, go all the way with my breasts or transfer to my arse for the finale? I don’t know. I have no control. For the first time in my life I have no control. And that in itself pushes me higher. I drive my fingernails into my breasts and nipples. It’s agony and it’s fucking marvellous. Fuck me Rob. Fuck me harder. Make me squirt under this belt.

 

It’s so loud inside the hood. It’s like being at an underwater heavy metal concert. I’m breathing so hard the air is almost whistling through the little riveted holes and the hood is creaking and groaning like a sailing ship in a hurricane. But through the cacophony I hear Rob let out an animalistic roar and I feel the warm splattering on my chest. How wonderfully disgusting is that? Cover me Man, cover me in your stuff.

 

And so Rob achieves his climax and I am of course left hanging, driven high into the atmosphere but unable to make orbit I tumble back to Earth with my head spinning. But my disappointment is tempered by the satisfaction of having achieved what I set out do this morning. I am still a sexual being and a rather fucking good one at that. They can cover me up, lock me away, take away my senses, but I can still drive a man wild. I am Jemima Fucking Melstrom and next time I’m going to cum too.

 

 

oOo

 

 

“Do I need to apologise?” asks Rob as we stand in the shower together.

 

“Apologise? What for?” I reply. It’s the first thing I’ve said since it dawned on me that I could remove the gag strap myself and didn’t actually need him to do it for me.

 

“For the café. For treating you like that. For what I just did in the bedroom. For all those red marks on your boobs.”

 

“So apologise for cheering me up and making me feel like a woman again? For making me so excited I dug my nails into my boobs and scratched them?”

 

“So it worked then? It was Jack’s idea.”

 

“It absolutely worked. Hand holding and sympathy are important, but sometimes taking the piss and having fun is what’s really needed. There is one thing you can apologise for though.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“For cumming all over my chest. Disgusting. Apologise and then promise to do it again.”

 

“I apologise and promise.”

 

“Did you cum on the hood too?”

 

“Err, yes. A bit.”

 

“Well good. Show ‘em what we think of it. Show ‘em they’re not stopping us enjoying ourselves.”

 

“Show them? Oh god, the camera… You don’t think anyone…”

 

“Who fucking cares. If they want to be peeping perverts then who’s got the problem, us or them?”

 

“I suppose…”

 

“Of course if you used my arse Rob then they wouldn’t get to see much would they.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re not into that.”

 

“I would have been into it today.”

 

“You’re just saying that. And thank you, but it’s only six months Jem. I can wait.”

 

“You’re too fucking noble Rob. Just sodomise me when you want to and have done with it. I’ll be fine. Who knows, I’ll probably like it. Until today I wouldn’t have guessed that I’d like having my tits fucked while I’m in a hood and gag. And I definitely wouldn’t have guessed that anyone would threaten to spank me if I didn’t obey them. Would you really have done that? Spank me?”

 

“Err, well. I was just… No, of course not.”

 

“I could feel it you know. While you were cumming on me, I was imagining your hand landing on my arse cheeks.”

 

“Oh, well I’m sorry about that too.”

 

“No. Don’t be sorry. It was a good feeling. In fact you have my permission to spank me if ever I disobey you in the bedroom.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. In fact I think you should promise.”

 

“Promise? Promise to spank you?”

 

“Well you can’t wave a tantalizing little thought like that around without being prepared to back it up. Go on, promise.”

 

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

 

“To do it properly? So it hurts?”

 

“Err, if you insist.”

 

“I do.”

 

“What’s happening to you Jem?”

 

“I don’t know. But I’m buggered if I’m going without any fun for the next six months. If we can’t do it the usual way then we’ll have to improvise. If you can find it all sexy, and Sarah can find it all sexy, then I bloody sure I can too.”

 

“I don’t find all of it sexy you know.”

 

“Yeah, well. Step up to the challenge Big Boy. Make me cum. That’s your job for the next six months, find a way to make me cum. I’m up for whatever it takes and today was a good start.”

 

“You’re a hell of a woman Jem.”

 

“I am aren’t I.”

 

 

oOo

 

 

I can feel the caffeine getting to work and kickstarting my body. Perhaps it was lack of coffee rather than enforced bondage that laid me so low yesterday morning. No such trouble today. I had my cup, well bottle actually, of warm coffee only about ten minutes ago and it seems to be hitting its mark, despite the unusual route it took to get into me. After yesterday’s bedroom antics it was clear that I needed to drink something but I couldn’t face taking that tube through my nose again. And so I got Rob to push it up my bottom. I was actually rather hoping it might inspire him to push something rather more substantial up there but he remained frustratingly chivalrous to the last. Having a litre of water injected into my rectum felt very weird and made my insides gurgle rather loudly, but it passed and when I sat on the toilet twenty minutes later there was nothing to get rid of. It seemed I had soaked it all up somehow and it was all infinitely better than the previous assault on my nose. To be honest it wasn’t even unpleasant really, and so it seemed obvious to try it for my morning coffee. My stomach feels like it’s about to chew its way out of me to go and find its own food, but the caffeine is doing its stuff.

 

Rob’s gone out, apparently to do some errands. Quite what errands he has to do I don’t know. I suspect he just doesn’t want to tell me what he’s up to and what’s wrong with that? I have to remember that all this is not easy for him either, and he’s doing great. I decide to go up to up to my music room and practise some more Stevie Wonder style piano playing. I’ll have to remember to smile inside the hood.

 

I think it must be a few hours before Rob returns. He seems to be rather full of himself as he presents me with a mystery gift. Something that’s apparently going to make my life easier. At first I’m not sure what to make of a blind person’s stick. It seems like some sort of admission that this is how things are going to be, but I soon find out how useful it is. It lets me find my way about the house without having to slide along the walls. It even has a roller ball at its end through which I can feel the surface in my hands. Soft carpet, tiles, wood, even the stairs become less scary. And since I can hold it one hand, Rob says I can use the other one to bring him a beer. Which I manage to do. Well I suppose it could be a bottle of ketchup I got for him but he doesn’t complain if it is.

 

He sits me down and tells me to spread my knees as wide as I can. I wonder if something sexy is about to happen, although it seems a strange prelude to… that thing I want. I obediently push my knees apart until the thigh bands pull tight. The gap between them is probably only six inches or so, but apparently it’s enough, and something is pushed into it. I’m instructed to grip it with my knees. The thing feels like it might be quite tall and narrow. It touches the floor and Rob lifts my left hand to hold the top of it. My hand grips something that feels familiar. It’s a cello. But it’s only about four inches wide. A bow is placed in my other hand and Rob tells me to play. And I play and it sounds just like a cello should, or at least how I imagine a cello should sound through an all confining hood.

 

It is of course an electric cello. Instead of a bulky sound chamber it is just a stalk with electric pick-ups and an amplifier. My wonderful man has gone out and found me a cello I can play with my thighs chained together. If he asks me to marry him right now I’ll say ‘yes’ a hundred times and keep saying it until he finds a minister.

 

The stick and cello are the first things we get to make the best of the limitations imposed on my life. They chip away at the miserable helplessness and boredom, and feel like little victories over Susannah Black and her cohorts. Our next acquisition feels like an even bigger little victory. I don’t know if I’ll get into trouble for it because it does seem to be rather taking advantage of my assessor’s generosity in the time I am allowed out of the hood, but Rob’s read the rule book and it doesn’t say we can’t do it.

 

‘Mable’, as I’ve christened her, is an electric moped. She’s simplicity itself to drive, just a twist grip throttle and a single brake lever. No gears, no clutch, but she does have a forward facing seat that I can sit on wearing a skirt and with my thighs chained together. She can reach thirty five miles per hour and nips around in rush-hour traffic like a pedal bike. And she shortens my commute to work to about half an hour, almost doubling my un-hooded time at home on work days. It’s not easy to be a great fellatrix with a tight, rigid collar round your neck, but at least I’ve got time to practise now, much to Rob’s delight. He says Mable is the best three thousand quid he ever spent, and who am I to disagree with that?




Continued in The Accidental Feminist, Part Eleven