To Kick a Bucket | chain, beach | bondage stories
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He was in a devilish black mood as he wandered along that beach. There wasn't a particular reason that he could think of. Clear blue sky; dry golden sand - a good half mile of it; the sea quietly sending in legions of small waves to sing and beat out time on that edge where dry sand and wet sand meet - it was high tide. Despite all that, he still felt in a savage mood and his failure to work out why only increased the density of the dark, angry clouds tumbling around above his head.
Anyone who approves the adage that little boys range in age from eight to forty-eight will understand that there wasn't any reason at all why he should break into a run and aim that vicious kick at the upturned bucket. They might well have grinned in delight however when he missed his footing, slid, missed the bucket, landed hard on his backside, half-rolled in an effort to recover but ended supine with his head against the bucket. Did the bucket really make a strange sounding "Oouummmph"?
He sat up and spat a mixture of sand and bad language. Conscious of a pain around the area of his right kidney, he put back a hand to discover something sharp that now protruded from the sand; he dug out a shovel. Rolling over on to his stomach, he surveyed the shiny new galvanised bucket just inches away from the end of his nose. "Beach full of sand... bucket... spade... Very conventional... but not as it should be... What the hell...?"
That sound again. Faint. Muffled.
What? Buckets didn't talk. Too far away from cover to be Candid Camera or one of those new reality TV shows either.
Had it really come from the bucket?
He picked up the shovel and gave the thing a goodly rap on its bottom. Yes... The stupid thing was complaining again... Being naturally of a cautious nature, he backed off several inches before, with both arms extended to full length, he carefully lifted the bucket. This was a British beach, not Vietnam or Afghanistan. Even so... Better safe than sorry.
However, the shock of his discovery still hit him with the force of a grenade explosion.
There it was. A face. A very unhappy face too. A pair of tear-flecked eyes regarded him over a funny little button nose which seemed to be trying to climb out from behind a large white cloth tied fairly loosely as a cleave gag. He couldn't see the mouth at all but the gag was loose enough perhaps to be of small menace but big enough to block any effort at speech or call.
He folded his hands to raise his chin from the sand and said, conversationally, "Good morning."
It was most ungallant of him to expect a reply. Even more so when he continued, "I don't think we have been introduced? I'm not acquainted with too many heads."
The head began to bob about on its sandy seat giving every indication of indignation. Strange wooffly sounds were coming from it also. "Hmm. To judge from the eyes... I would class it as female... and that is reinforced by the style of your hair... albeit full of sand. But it is good fine hair and just as I like to see it - long - very long, I would say, and thick - lots of lovely hair. Locomotion seems to be seriously limited however... mainly to the vertical plane... and its communication channel could be improved if it would cease trying to talk with the mouth full. All in all though... I would say... a female form of Homo Sapiens. A subterranean species ... apparently? A mole woman?"
He started to probe the sand around them. "No sign of quicksand. So, either it is extremely lacking in stature or, like wonderwoman, it has a facility to spin."
With both hands, he smoothed the sand around the head and tidied the long luxurious hair to lay around it. "Altogether a very pretty picture. Tell me head... do you possess a name? And... most particularly... do you come here often?"
Now tears began to flow and he grew repentant. He reached around to find the knot and gently removed the gag. "Thank you," she said. "But are you always such a cad?"
"Now that's a good old-fashioned cuss word. I begin to like you. In fact I think I might take you home with me if I can extract the roots without damage. But... tell me... are you flotsam or jetsam?"
"Actually," she said with growing equanimity, "I'm a large lump of timber that specialises in caving in the heads of impudent mean-spirited baskets who take unfair advantage of helpless girls."
"I see. But tell me ... apart from all that sand... are you wearing anything under there?"
She appeared slightly taken aback and slowly a shade of pinkish colour began to rise out of the sand. "Um... no. He stripped me before he buried me."
"Well, there you are... you see. If you're not wearing anything then, the moment I dig you out I shall be declared off limits. While I have you then I owe it to myself to gather all that is on offer."
"It's not on offer!!" Annoyed. Yet somewhat flustered?
"What exactly is not on offer?"
"I'm not... Ooohh... you're impossible. Look, for heaven's sake get me out before he comes back! Please!"
"Does he go over six-foot seven?"
"He doesn't even reach six foot." Scornful.
"Then we've nothing to worry about. I'll simply put him in there instead of you. So... we can continue this pleasant little conversation? Erm... where had we gotten to? - I beg your pardon - I'll re-phrase that... to where had we got?"
"When I'm not at rest buried on a beach then I give lessons in the English language and, oh boy, do you need some."
"Now, if you're going to be unpleasant... " With that, he lifted the bucket and transferred it back to its original position.
"Heey..." The voice had a strange tinny echoing character which he thought must be something to do with talking into a bucket. "Don't do this to me... Pleeease. Take it off."
And then after a short pause. "I'm sorry. Please let me out."
As daylight returned, she found that he was still lying flat on the sand only inches from her face. "You see," he began; "you're not in any position to be other than genteel, sophisticated, grateful... gazing up with adoration into my smiling eyes and showing that confidence which you know is possible only to one who never does a wrong doing."
"Yes," she countered, softly. "But... I never yet met anyone I knew to be such a... paragon of bullshit. Apart from that, in my present situation, I can only gaze straight ahead and you appear to be much on the same level as myself?"
He nodded. "There would appear to be some justice in the remark. But you have yet to relate the circumstances which brought you to this lowly station?"
"I annoyed my... uhmmm... boyfriend."
"Am I to deduce that he no longer holds that position in your esteem?"
"That sums it up pretty well although... I must admit he was pretty pissed off with me."
"What did you do? Although, whatever... He was very wrong to leave you alone like this."
"I refused to give him a blow job, as he called it." Again that pink tide started to rise.
"But that is your prerogative."
"No, but... well, he tried to force me."
"I bit him."
"Ah! Now that would definitely put a dent in his ego."
"Is that where you men keep it?"
"I was hoping that your mind would be as pure... but never mind. I'll dig you out for a price; in fact two prices. You promise that you will never bite me - not there anyway and that you start the proceedings right here and now with a repentant kiss."
"What have I to repent?"
"Oh, nothing at all. Just that I like to have capital in the bank. They call it insurance... I think."
"I'm damn cold and I'm starting cramps. So I suppose it's not such a high price... have you shaved today?"
"If you are that short-sighted then I'll come closer." And he moved up until he made contact.
Digging out a live woman can be a tricky process assuming that the object is to recover her in one piece. He started with the bucket working at a safe distance; the sand of course kept falling back in and he was obliged to keep discouragement at bay by reinforcing that tender caress. It was freely given and soon he began to see signs of white flesh immediately below her chin. It was tempting indeed but... Instead, he moved operations to the rear of the head.
He discarded the bucket, straddled her, worked his hands under her armpits and took the strain. "Wriggle," he commanded.
Ever the opportunist, he contrived to hold her close against himself as he rolled backward with her. He took a short while to recover his breath - no more than a decent interval - and then began to sort the tangle of arms and...
Oh my God...
"Jesus. Was this moron really that afraid you might escape?"
He looked, first with astonishment and then with gathering anger, at her handcuffed wrists and the belly chain to which they were secured. His eyes went further down - of course - only to discover that her ankles were tied together with a length of very small chain that was then taken around her thighs and padlocked thus forcing her into a permanent kneeling position.
He offerred up a silent prayer that this boyfriend (now definitely ex-boyfriend he decided) would put in an appearance then he took a deep breath and said, "Look, I have keys which should take care of these but they're at home. First of all, we'd better get this grit off you." He lifted her and carried her to the sea, waded up to his knees ignoring the fact that he was dressed and lowered her gently into the water. Watching her face he made sure that she enjoyed the sensation as much as he did as he sloshed water over her and swirled it around. He wondered if he could persuade the locks to open with sand in the mechanisms but kept the thought to himself.
As he carried her back up the long, lonely beach, his mind began to wander over possibilities. Delightful possibilities. The thought of something warm and soft... THIS wasn't so warm at the moment but it was certainly of a delightful softness... beside him in the for-so-long-cold-and-empty big bed. But he mustn't take things for granted... Must'nt make any silly moves....
Although she lay quietly in his arms, she was not yet his. He missed his footing and collapsed twisting sideways to avoid injury to his burden. She just lay on the sand and waited for him to make the next move; she was still helpless in her steel bondage but her mouth slowly lost the battle for grim accusation. As the smile slowly grew in warmth and humour, she slowly said, "I think it might be safer... for us both... if you kept your mind on what we are doing... a ce moment?"