Surprise bondage story | chains, master, slave, gag

I put down my toolbox while I fished in my pocket for the Photo-ID card and then pressed the bell push. One of the joys - and the horrors - of this job is that you can never tell what will follow. The door may not be opened at all because they have forgotten the appointment and everyone is out. Of course, they might have died although that is at least one experience, so far, not to happen to me.

Sometimes it is opened by a little grey-haired old lady who will trust the most evil looking of rogues and who immediately invites you in to tea. At the other end of the scale is the bottle-blonde bimbo who can't remember why she requested service and, in between, you run the whole gamut of mankind.

On this occasion - well... I could never have guessed the result given a hundred chances. A voice, a most intriguing voice, asked who was there and then requested that I hold the ID up against the peephole. "You're much later than expected."

"Yes. I'm sorry, ma'am but I had a lot of trouble at my last call."

Next came a request for the name of the homeowner I was seeking. Apparently satisfied my interlocutress set about removing a chain and then opened the door.

She was small, probably five-feet at the most, and could easily have walked under my outstretched arm. She had a small face with well-defined features; two bright steady eyes were separated by an enchanting little nose and the whole was framed with a veritable cascade of red-gold hair that carried the gaze right down to below her waist. The eye was drawn thence all the way down to remarkably slim ankles and a pair of beautifully formed tiny feet.

Heart stopping though she was it was not the vision that made me swallow hard. She was wearing very little apart from chains and I realised that she was directly responsible for the jingling noise I had interpreted as a door-chain. Those slim wrists were encircled by dainty stainless-steel cuffs that were joined by about fourteen inches of fine stainless-steel chain. Another similar combination was locked on those exquisite ankles and, as the chain dragged after her along the floor, I marvelled at the skill with which she managed it. Clearly she had experience in chain-gang life and a quick call to the constabulary was not justified!

She had yet another stainless circlet around her neck although most of that was hidden under the massy red-gold locks that flowed over her shoulders and seemed to get into the picture at every possible opportunity. A neat bright-steel ring hung from the front of this and, as she turned from time to time, I thought I could see attachment points on either side of her neck.

As my gaze went into free-fall, I spied yet another stainless-steel ring, about three inches wide, that was doing its best to boast about her diminutive waist; it too sported attachment points. Soon I spotted that none of these rings had locks; they were held closed by machine screws with tamper-proof heads - a special tool would be needed to remove them. Did she - could she - in truth exist always in steel restraints?

Her clothing was equally startling. Not so much in what she was wearing as in what, in a manner of speaking, she was not wearing. Whether or not it was meant to titillate I don't know but I do know that titillate it most certainly did. Especially the long floating veil that swept behind her from some sort of head-band or hair-band over her brow. It certainly covered her crowning glory but it fell far short of concealing it.

She allowed my examination for a few moments and then burst into a merry laugh: "I can't make up my mind whether you disapprove of our life-style or envy it," she said.

"Well. You must admit it is unusual. Would you not have been surprised if I'd failed to notice?"

"Believe me... few men fail."

"You mean you wear this all the time?"

"Most of the time although not that many get to see me like this."

"I presume you don't go out like that? Shopping?"

"Good Lord, no. I'd likely get arrested. The price my husband pays for this is that he has to do all the shopping."

"Doesn't he worry about leaving you alone in the place? Like that? What about when... er... people like me are called in?"

She grinned wickedly. "Nothing to worry about." She lifted the floaty material of the floor length full skirt and, out of a reddening face, my gaze confirmed what heretofore had only been suggested through the gauzy material - the most solid-looking chastity belt I had ever encountered. "On top of that," she added softly: "I know a thing or two about looking after myself."

I let out a slow breath: "Some guys," I said: "Some guys get all the luck."

She spread that smile again - and it seemed even more mysterious - and pointed at the corner of the kitchen: "That's the machine. It will help to get your mind off the obvious. I take it you won't turn down a cuppa?"

"From such a lady... I wouldn't turn down a cup of belladonna."

"How nice," she said, dimpling. "A service man who is a gallant."

The problem proved to be the timer and the only reasonable cure for that was a replacement. While I dismantled the machine she busied herself, all the while jingling her chains, with the preparation of tea which came to an abrupt stop with the sound of a doorbell. She glanced at the wall clock and gave a small exclamation; I could hear her progress down the hall and this time she did not interrogate the caller. I reckoned from the timing that she looked first through the peephole and then opened the door.

There followed some conversation in voices so low that I could not hear and then heavier footfalls announced the approach of a man. "Good evening."

I turned to see a well-built and well-dressed man. "Good evening," I returned. "Sorry I'm so late but I'll not be in your way much longer."

"There's nothing to worry about," he said civilly. "We all hit problems. I see that Cathy was preparing tea - and she also is late."

"That's probably my fault. My curiosity kept her talking."

"Good for you. I like people who speak their mind. You have a family?"

"No. 'fraid not. I live with just this toolkit."

"Oh, dear. Then you must make up for this late night by staying to dinner. You'll find that Cathy's cooking is worth being even later."

I had trouble believing my ears but, apart from his insistence, I was not at all loath to stay around the delectable Cathy. And there was precious little to make me hurry home to watch the rubbish that masquerades as television. If I'd any inkling of the evening ahead of me I might ... yes, I just might ... have hurried ... I wonder?

The dinner was all that he had promised; it was served by the lovely Cathy and she waited table with her chains jingling softly and flashing in the candlelight. It was served too with a simply wonderful wine and, unwisely, I indulged. Not that anything bad happened to me but I regret that I don't remember the evening too clearly.

With the meal finished, Cathy began to clear and I offered assistance. Neither of them would hear of it and she disappeared with a laden trolley. He crossed the room with a glass in his hand: "Do you know what to do with brandy?"

"Indeed, I do. Not that I get much chance to do it but ... I do know ... " and I smelled it carefully " ... not to drink it."

"Stout fellah. Get to like you more by the minute;" and he left the room.

When he returned I saw that the day was not yet at the end of its surprises. He led Cathy by a long chain that was attached to the front of that collar. The centre of her handcuff chain was now locked to the attachment point in the centre of her waistband. Her mouth was open wide and formed a red ring around a red ball of a colour that matched well with her hair but at first I wondered why she did not spit it out. Close up I could see that it was strapped in place by a transparent plastic tie but this was largely invisible because the veil, that previously floated behind her, was now hanging down in front. It's vague impediment to light lent a peculiar mystery to that lovely face.

He held out the end of her leash to me: "Look after Cathy for a few moments, please. A few things I must do." She sank down gracefully to kneel beside me on the floor and he stooped behind her. It didn't sink in at once but he had locked a short chain between her leg-irons and the back of her belt. She could not rise. She was unable to raise her hands more than a few inches and she was denied speech. This glorious creature had been rendered completely helpless and was now left in my sole charge!

I don't know how long I sat there just gazing at the back of that ruby-red head; she kept it bowed with her eyes on the floor. I leaned forward, placed two fingers under her chin and raised her face. She looked at me with calm eyes and seemed to be just waiting. "Are you OK with this?" I asked.

She nodded, bouncing my hand with that little chin.

"Why have you been chained up?"

She shook her head slowly from side to side and made little lifting motions which clearly indicated her inability to answer.

"Sorry," I continued, "but I... no! I just don't understand why you have been gagged nor why you are not allowed to move?"

Her lips were stretched tightly around that ball and drool was beginning to appear at one corner yet... I could have sworn she was grinning. Again she shook her head and, as I removed my hand, she let it droop once again to fix her eyes on the carpet. I pulled out the clean handkerchief from my inside coat pocket and wiped her mouth. No doubt at all, she mimed 'thank you' and then dropped her gaze once more. Yet, in that instance, the eyes blazed out in a merry twinkle and I got the message - she was enjoying herself.

Perplexed? Yeah, you can say that again. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. A pet dog - that I can cope with. Put the dog on a lead, for whatever purpose - that I can take in my stride. But to have a woman - not just any woman but a warm, real but unreal, example of near-perfection - sitting obediently at my feet and on the end of a lead and who has been rendered completely helpless ... and who is next to naked except for an exotic veil ... quite definitely I could NOT cope with that. Perhaps if she had given some sign of discontent I might have... and then again I was next best thing to a total stranger... the wine and the brandy were playing hell with my senses and I felt as though I was spiralling through Space... or somewhere... what was I supposed to do with her?

And I thought to myself that if I had her at home ... in my flat ... oh Christ ... what the hell would I do with her? Remove the chains? Add more chains? Remove the gag perhaps or use that roll of duct tape I had in my toolbox? I was beginning to bring up all sorts of scenarios... which I knew well to be a load of crap... but I couldn't help myself. This little fairy-like thing had enchanted me. I wished to God that lucky bastard would come back. I wished even more he had never left me alone with her.

I was beginning to get light-headed. Laugh if you must but... talk about getting chucked in the deep end... without a paddle... no that's not right... oh thank god the man's back!

"Ah-ha. A scene of domestic bliss, I perceive. Obviously my slave has not been giving you any trouble."

"SLAVE! She said she was your wife?"

"Yes. She always says that ... saves a lot of explanations in the long run but in fact she is just that... a slave. Does whatever I say. A very good housekeeper, cook and head bottle-washer. Didn't you notice a certain lack of embarrassment when she confronted you in that garb?"

"If anything... I was the one embarrassed."

"But think, man. If she was my wife would I let her run around like that? Would I have left her with you? Would I have left her alone all chained knowing that you were due to arrive ... BEFORE I got home?"

"I really don't know. I'm a bit confused. No, to hell with it ... I'm a lot more than confused." I swear the girl began to lift her head but abruptly dropped it again.

"Well. Now we've got that out of the way, there's something you can do for me. I have to go to Italy for probably ten days. Maybe less ... maybe more. Obviously I can't take her along and equally nobody runs kennels for parking slave-girls. She seems comfortable with you so ... could you baby-sit her for me? No, call that slave-sit if you like. All expenses paid of course and, while you care for her, she is entirely yours."

"It sounds all right," I began dubiously, "but if I turned up with… her on a lead my landlady would promptly cancel my tenancy AND call the Police."

"Yes, not unreasonable for either of you. But it's easily settled. You stay here for the duration. Yes?" He bent and began to remove the gag.

I was staggered ... and it had nothing whatever to do with the booze because, minutes before, every drop had suddenly evaporated from my digestive tract. I looked down at the girl but she remained there as though turned to stone. "Wh... when would it start?"

"I'm booked on a plane from London Airport at 7.50 tomorrow morning. It would have to start tonight... from now... immediately. I'm in a right fix if you say no."

"But man. I have a job. I'm called out at all times and never know exactly when I'm likely to get back. Heh; you're kidding me... right?"

"I assure you I'm absolutely in earnest. You can safely leave Cathy here when you go out. She's used to it and knows her routine. Your different timing will make a break for her. What do you say Cathy?"

"I accept whatever you decide, Master."

"Don't con me girl. I've seen you looking at this guy. You know men and you don't feel threatened by him. Will you enjoy belonging to him for a short period?"

"If that is your wish, Master. Your command."

"I asked you a question. Will you be happy under his control? Answer me."

"With your permission, Master. Yes, please. I would like that very much." And she dropped that lovely head once again.

"And you? Will you guard her for me?"

"Er yes. OK. I just hope I can control myself."

"Control? You don't get it do you. Until I return she's your property. You treat her in any way you wish. Use her in any way you wish. She will obey you in everything and will see to your smallest need."

This was really too much and I no longer knew what to say. "Here," he went on, "Come with me." He led off just leaving the girl there on her knees. "Let me show you around the apartment. You've already seen the kitchen, dining room and lounge. This is my study; if you need money the petty cash is in here."

We went up stairs. "This is my bedroom, that's the bathroom and this will be your room. Just make yourself at home and treat it like it was yours."

"Where does the girl, Cathy, where does she sleep?"

"In your room of course. In the lounge. In the kitchen. On the floor, in your bed... where it pleases you to say. You will be the Master here. Do this for me and it's all yours. And, incidentally, I have to travel fairly frequently for the next couple of years. There'll be repeat performances if you will take it on?"

I was truly speechless.

"Oh, here." He thrust a small collection of keys into my hand. Then crossing the room he opened the door of a built-in wardrobe and that blew my mind completely. The left-hand side contained more of the sort of "clothing" that Cathy was sporting. The right-hand side had a wild collection of bondage gear. "Don't be afraid," he remonstrated. "She adores it. And take it from me... she's pretty wild about you too." "Now. I've got an early start so I'm off to bed. I'll leave you to lock up - Cathy knows the ropes... pun not intended. See you some time about ten days." And he left me standing there feeling as though I had got into the path of a railway train.

That briefly is how I started living in this beautiful house. I've been here now I suppose about two years - or is it more? Time certainly has little meaning since I gave up my job. Cathy? Yes. She still lives here too. No. There's nothing that's either strange or immoral at all in that. After all, it IS her house. And she IS my wife - or perhaps that ought to be that I am her husband.

I said, did I not, that had I foreseen to result of accepting that dinner invitation...? That last 'husband' or Master or man-of-the-house was in reality an employee whom Cathy used to live out her serf-fantasy. They had enjoyed a mutually satisfactory relationship for two or three years until he had been promoted to a position that required frequent travel overseas and had also acquired a girl-friendship that was rapidly becoming serious.

Cathy had observed my visit to a nearby house and had promptly instigated enquiries and then set out to stalk me. I have never enquired whether the dishwasher had expired naturally or had received a little help? But her scheme paid off; there is absolutely no way in which I could - or ever would - be able to resist her. It didn't take her long to trap me into betraying my own fantasies and she set about feeding them with a subtle cunning that it has taken me many months to unravel. She changed her chains, varied her (non)apparel and played unlimited variations on that whimsical veil until, in an astonishingly short time, we arrived at this situation in which she lives helpless in chains while I am the captor. The one thing we had - have - in common, and which makes our relationship so perfect, it that we are both the most willing of slaves.

The final denouement came the day that she appeared in a cover-all multi-layered veil that defied me to find her. When finally inside I fitted her wrists with leather suspension cuffs, attached her to the hoist and lifted her to her toes. I fitted the longest spreader between her ankles and rising, still within the veil, I put the large ball-gag into that gorgeous mouth.

When I had surveyed my package sufficiently I made my declaration and proposal of marriage. I finished with the earnest warning that, should her answer be no, then she would remain like that for ever and ever amen. For perhaps a full minute she remained absolutely still and then suddenly broke into furious struggle. Alarmed that something had gone wrong I hastened to remove the gag. She gave a little squeal and then complained: "That's not fair."

With sententious dignity I reminded her that all is fair in love and war to which she countered: "But if I say yes... then you will let me down!"

Idiot that I am it took a full five minutes for me to work it out!

But let's face it - Cathy enjoys being forcibly restrained, held and "abused" while I thoroughly revel in the part of the hard-hearted and demanding Master who, with disgraceful regularity, lets down the barrier - especially does he fall from grace when he takes his slave, helplessly bound and gagged, into the cosy comfort of his large bed.