A Scarcity of Dress | bondage stories

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It was a truly wonderful day. There was just sufficient breeze to offset the sun which was blazing down from a pale-blue and cloudless sky. I was driving my pickup and wishing like hell that I could remove the cab roof - it was sweltering hot in there even though I was wearing only a pair of shorts. Not a stitch else.

There is a trite quotation - 'All dressed up and nowhere to go' but my wail for the day was that I had no reason to dress up, nowhere to go and nobody to go there with me. In fact I'd been alone during the whole four weeks since Sally walked out. True, I had not been altogether sorry to see her go because we had been clashing a bit for several weeks but...

I was approaching a track that I knew well; I'd taken it often with Sally and with Betty before her. It led off through woods and eventually to a point where you could climb down to an isolated beach; a great place for a picnic with sunbathing and swimming in God's original costume. I was in a mushy sentimental sorry-for-me mood as I turned off.

Ten minutes into the trees, say about half-way through and where it was at its most shaded from the sun, I came across someone walking the track ahead of me. My first thought was that it was unusual - this was a heck of a long way from anywhere to be on foot.

Even in poor lighting, there are some things which are glaringly obvious and, long before I drew close, I knew that I was coming up on a woman. She seemed to be some kind of cripple; she sort-of shuffled along with dragging steps and hunched her shoulders and I wondered if perhaps she had been in an accident and was hurt. Closer still and she appeared to be making frantic efforts to get off the track but was unable to cope with the deep ruts and the dense growth which bordered it.

Then she went down. Somehow... from the way she fell... by the manner in which she rolled... there came a distinct impression that she was... tied... Tied up?

Kidnap? Rape? Abduction? All flitted through my mind as I hurtled from the cab and ran to her side.

"That was quite a tumble. Are you OK?"

"Err ... er, yes thanks. You scared me. I thought he had found me. Do you have something I could wear?"

Then I looked down at her. First impressions are often the best. She was completely naked and I felt that she should always be that way. She really was beautifully constructed but the ropes that pinioned her were not doing much to improve on the original. Her hands were lashed together - somewhat cruelly and certainly crudely - and the rope was bound around her waist. A short piece of very tacky rope - better called string - was hobbling her ankles about six inches apart. When I lifted her up, I saw also that a strip of cloth of some sort was tied behind her pulling her elbows together. "What the hell...?"

"Please," she interrupted, "I don't like being nude in front of strangers."

I started to remove the ropes. "We have a bit of a problem there," I said. "I'm not wearing anything apart from these shorts - not even shoes, as you can see. There might be something in the... there you are... I'll just go and have a looksee."

But the pickup was not in friendly mood - don't you dare ask towards whom - and all it yielded was a long tubular canvas bag that, in its youth, had held the bits and pieces of a two-man tent. As I returned to her, she was sitting with her knees up to her front rubbing the sore red rings around her wrists. "Apart from a couple of spanners," I began, "this would seem to be the only thing available?"

Understandably, I thought, she looked somewhat sceptical. "I'm not taking the mickey... the cupboard really is bare. If it hadn't been such a glorious day... "; I left the rest unsaid.

"Well," reluctantly, "I suppose it's better than nothing."

"I can understand your feelings. You'll be exchanging one kind of bondage for another but... erm... ".

And then a small but growing grin spread delightfully across her face. "I'm in it up to my neck anyway," she punned. "So what the hell."

She kept her arms crossed with hands over her breasts and stretched out her legs toward me. I fitted the bag over them and drew it up until her feet bottomed. Then, going behind her, I lifted her to a standing position and then pulled the bag up the whole way. It was a shame to hide that delicious little... yes... but a lady should always be the boss even if she is inescapably bound, totally silenced and... perhaps... in a bag? The bag was long enough to reach right up over her head but I stopped it short at the neck. It was a pretty good fit but not by any means tight enough to emulate a straightjacket.

Bits and pieces of tents tend to fall out of bags and so this one was fitted with a line of cringles along the top edge and through these a length of plaited nylon cord was threaded and retained with a knot in each end. I pulled the ends gently, closing it over her shoulders- enough to guarantee her modesty - and then tied the two ends into a bow. With pure malice beforethought - totally frustrated however - I pulled the front of the bag toward me and dropped the ends in: "Your ripcord."

"Thank you," she said. "That has certainly solved one problem... but... um... we seem to have created another."

"And that is...?"

"Well, we ought to have moved... I'm assuming of course that you will give me a lift? Then, before you did your lady-vanishes act, shouldn't we have moved to the vehicle?"

Yes. She could have been naive, she could have been ribbing me or perhaps her enclosure gave her a false sense of confidence. I'm good at thinking ahead and, since then, I've learned that she is no slouch in that department either.

"Well," I countered. "You could do it sack-race style; you could go to ground and roll; you could shuffle like some kind of jelly-baby or... " I looked her straight in the eye: "I could give you that lift you requested." I bent and hauled her over my shoulder. "Hey. This isn't the lift I meant." "Of course, I can't answer for you - you'll have to tell me - but to me it feels like a jolly good lift. How say you my bag of sweeties?" We had arrived at the passenger door of my pick-up and I put her back on her feet.

"Sir," spake she in a hoity-toity afffected voice. "Methinks you assume too much." And then, in a normal and indignant voice: "A hell of a lot too much!"

"You wish I should take you back?"

"I wish you to behave yourself."

"Lady. I am behaving myself. Are you going to get in or stand here and argue all afternoon?"

"And just how am I supposed to get in there?"

"Ah. Good question. In fact... very good question. What you need is another lift." Again I bent, lifted in the more genteel manner and inserted her into the seat. I leaned in over her and fixed the belt but was careful not to pull on it too tightly. "Hmmm?"

"To be honest," she said, "once you start to move I feel that I shall fall over. Perhaps a bit tighter?"

I climbed in behind the wheel and looked over my packaged passenger. She started to colour and I said: "You must be the nicest baggage I ever carried. But what now? You haven't told me how you got into this mess."

"I gave my boyfriend an inch and he took my bikini. I don't know where he went but I skipped before he came back. I realised it was a mistake but, by then, I was lost."

"Your choice of verbs was good. What's the next move though? And we'd better move before it gets too hot in here. I am at your service."

"And thank you good sir. I need clothes and I'm hungry."

"Clothes is a bit of a stumper but you can share my lunch."

"I thought you said that this bag was the only thing in the truck?"

"My good woman. You are a delightful shape but it would never fit into my lunch tin. Here in the woods... or shall we repair to the beach?"

"The beach would be great... if there's nobody there !"

"'Twould be very unusual," I said and started the engine. It was a great afternoon. I got to carry her down to the beach - and back up again of course. Once settled, I untied the bag, lowered the top edge and extracted her arms before reknotting the cord above her bosom. Lower down would have been nice but I made do and fed her a half-share of my food and gave her most of the drink. She declined my offer of a swim even though I pointed out that she could pretend to be a mermaid. I thought it unwise to suggest sunbathing.

We waited there until nearly dark so that she would not be spotted as we drove along the main road. Before I started the climb I retied her into the bag and this time I took the liberty of pulling the cord fairly close around her slim neck. She must have noticed but her tongue remained silent on the subject. Several times I regretted that I had lacked the courage to pull it right up over her head but, as compensation, she looked remarkably cute with her little head popping out of the top in that manner.

I suggested that, if only I had a gravelly voice, I could use the time-honoured quote: 'Once aboard the lugger and the girl is mine' but she didn't hear me. She was fidgetting around inside her baggy prison and the look on her face ... I looked the other way.

I took her first chez moi because there I could drive straight into the garage. I carried her into my den and then dug out a pair of slacks and the biggest jersey I owned . It was tempting to tease her but in the end I just untied the neck string and left her to fight it out by herself while I made some coffee.

After the coffee the next step, of course, should have been to take her home but that is where I reaped my reward. First off I made some dinner. Then we both had a searing need for more coffee. We talked of many things and touched on the assets, the uses - and the joys - of various kinds of bags. I'm thinking of setting up a business making large strong tubular canvas bags but, for the time being, I don't seem to have too much time to spare.

All that was some time back since when she has permanently enchanted me with her skill of dressing so that she is technically covered and yet, for my eyes only, more naked than at her creation. At this moment she is in the kitchen preparing dinner. Her wonderful body is veiled in that revealing way and she is in chains. My chains. Most wonderful of all... she is singing.

The keys to her freedom are in my pocket but there can be little doubt... I am the one enslaved.



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