BDSM Lifestyle?
- Thread starter DwayneDibley
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Fulltime
Yes, I am kept in bondage--usually handcuffs and shackles (or leather medical restraints at night) at all times. I am also kept in fetishwear and some form of sensory dep the majority of the time. This is something my husband and I agreed to when we became engaged.
Yes, I am kept in bondage--usually handcuffs and shackles (or leather medical restraints at night) at all times. I am also kept in fetishwear and some form of sensory dep the majority of the time. This is something my husband and I agreed to when we became engaged.
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Etoile
Mod, 2003-2015
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- Dec 20, 2000
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I see. And what about right now? Are you in bondage as you type this? Do you hold a job that allows you to continue this (there are such jobs) or do you not have to work outside the home?SubMrs said:
I predict you will be a very interesting person to have a conversation with here at Lit.
DwayneDibley
Suck my Thermos!!
- Joined
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@SubMrs - so what made you decide to live like this? Do you like been totally submissive and dependent on your husband, or do you like the feeling of been shackled permanently?
Do you have a life outisde of this, i.e. friends not in the lifestyle, do you go shopping and stuff in 'normal' clothes? And speaking theoretically, could you say to your husband one day 'I've had enough, take these shackles off and give me some normal clothes?' Sorry for all the questions!
I can see why your husband would like this, the idea of my GF been permanently shackled and stuff is kind of a turn on, but I like her having her own mind and been able to make decisions for herself (which she does rather too well!
). I think we'd save all that for certain occasions, it also gives me the chance to get my own back on my sometimes rather bossy girlfriend! 
Do you have a life outisde of this, i.e. friends not in the lifestyle, do you go shopping and stuff in 'normal' clothes? And speaking theoretically, could you say to your husband one day 'I've had enough, take these shackles off and give me some normal clothes?' Sorry for all the questions!
I can see why your husband would like this, the idea of my GF been permanently shackled and stuff is kind of a turn on, but I like her having her own mind and been able to make decisions for herself (which she does rather too well!
). I think we'd save all that for certain occasions, it also gives me the chance to get my own back on my sometimes rather bossy girlfriend! My Life
I awake in bed flat on my back, immobile. I see nothing. I am thoroughly blindfolded. My eyelids are taped shut under gauze pads and my fleece lined leather blindfold. I hear nothing. My ear canals are filled with state-of-the-art earplugs that muffle all sound. I am silenced. My mouth is filled by a large leather ball gag and my jaw is clamped shut around the gag by straps that encircle my head in all directions and are locked in place. A rigid neck corset prevents me from moving my head either up and down or side to side. I cannot lift it from the mattress. My neck muscles are almost completely atrophied by now and I cannot support my own head unaided.
Five sets of wide leather medical restraints hold each of my legs in place. They encircle my ankles, my calves and my thighs both just above my knees and near my crotch. The straps are tightly cinched and allow no movement at all. Similar restraints bind my arms at my sides--one set at my wrists, one circling each forearm, one just below my elbows and a final set around my biceps. They render my arms and my hands useless. Similar restraints bind my hips, waist and upper torso to the bed making it impossible for me to turn or roll even to the slightest extent. I have worn these restraints virtually every night for the last 31 years. In this state, I am, for all intents, a blind, deaf and mute quadriplegic, denied all use of my body and its senses. All that I can do freely is think.
Beneath my bonds I am clothed more extensively than most modern women are at work or out on a date. I wear a full body compression garment that extends from the base of my throat to my ankles and my wrists. Over it I wear a long rigid corset that throttles my waist to 3/4 of its original size and prevents me from any movement of my spine. The corset's shoulder straps draw back my shoulders and hold them immobile even when I am not strapped to my bed as I am at present. Over the bottom of my corset and extending almost to my knees is a well-boned and extremely tight zip up panty girdle and attached to the garters of that girdle are the firmest compression stockings money can buy. Over these, even though I am in bed, I wear a pair of custom made thigh-high leather boots with five inch stiletto heels. My hands and arms are clad in long silk lined leather gloves.
Of necessity, I wear an adult diaper. I will be bound in this fashion for eight hours and I can rarely withhold the contents of my bladder that long. Wetting myself once embarrassed me deeply. Now I don't give it a second thought. In the pre-dawn hours I inevitably wake from urinary urgency, wet myself and, at times, return to sleep. At other times I will remain awake feeling the warm liquid spread through my diaper, trying to flex my fingers--the only part of my body I am able to move--within my stiff leather gloves. I try to do isometric exercises, straining first one limb and then another against my bonds. I have no hope of escaping so thoroughly and tightly am I restrained nor would I if I could. I have agreed to my confinement. I accept my lot willingly, if not enthusiastically. It is a fate I have chosen for myself--part of a bargain that saved my life but cast me into a lifestyle few would understand.
My thoughts follow a pattern on the mornings I can't return to sleep. I replay my childhood and my adolescent descent into self destructive addictions. I recall in minute detail the short weeks of my courtship and introduction into an alternative society of which I had no prior knowledge. I re-weigh the choices I have made. I imagine myself free of my bonds. I imagine myself in "normal" conversations free of the gag that is my constant companion and in routine daily activities that have been denied me for the past three decades. I fantasize walking unshackled and speaking whenever I choose. I wonder what it would be like to again see my own naked body, something I have not done since I was 28 years old.
I have been the subject of half a dozen academic articles on the topic of long term restraint of patients. I even co-authored one of those. For more than 31 years I have spent the majority of every day blindfolded. All four of my limbs have been bound in some fashion for every minute of those 31 years. I have been gagged or muzzled unceasingly for that same span. Except for brief periods when I am being moved from one location to another, I am unfailingly tethered to some immovable object. I have even been to court and had a judge reluctantly but unconditionally strip me of every single right including the right to leave my house, to possess even the smallest sum of money and to decide what I may eat and drink. And I have been a willing, if often unenthusiastic, participant in my enslavement.
The story of my life is a tale of transformation from an unloved and unlovely addict--an abuser of everything and everyone--into the object of a wonderful man's lust, love and obsession--of a Faustian bargain that saved my life but changed me and my notion of living more fundamentally than most people could imagine.
I was born in small town Oklahoma, the daughter of a hard working, hard drinking, chain smoking waitress and a pro baseball player who passed through one summer and never saw my mother again. My mother provided for my physical needs--barely--but not much else. By the time I was 8 years old she would routinely leave me home alone all night. My introduction to addictive behaviors was early and enthusiastic. At age 12 and with my mother's consent I started smoking cigarettes. Within six months I was up to a pack a day--two packs by age 15. I started stealing my mother's liquor about the same time I started smoking and quickly became as much of an alcoholic as she. I first tried pot when I was 15 and soon progressed to cocaine, PCP and crack.
I was kicked out of school for smoking so many times that I found myself in an alternative high school where the kids were allowed to smoke in school. I met many a teenage thug and soon had connections for every mind altering substance I could afford. I managed to graduate because I was naturally bright not because I invested any effort whatsoever in my education.
Somehow I earned enough scholarship money to attend college. Four years and five arrests for possession later, I received a BSN from the University of Missouri. In nursing school I discovered the magical world of prescription drugs and I knew I had found my true calling. Once I entered the workforce as a nurse I gained easy access to prescription medications and immediately started abusing those with reckless abandon. First and foremost though my drug of choice was always food. When I graduated from college I weighed 200 pounds. By my 25th birthday I topped 250.
I went through treatment for my addictions twice but to no avail. I was desperately unhappy. I recognized that I was an alcoholic, a drug addict, a chronic overeater and a heavy smoker but I didn't know where to turn for help. I convinced myself that my story was unique and that no one could understand my situation. My addictions consumed every penny I could get my hands on. By my 28th birthday in 1987 I had had two cars repossessed which was just as well since I also had two DUIs and served 30 days in jail. I was on the brink of losing my nursing license as the result of an investigation into missing medications at the hospital where I worked. I hated myself but I felt powerless to change. The only point of pride I felt was knowing that I was still a good surgical nurse despite my negative behaviors. Even my alcoholism and drug abuse did not interfere with my competence on the job.
If I was approaching rock bottom, my future husband, a neurosurgeon at the hospital where I worked, was, to all appearances, on top of the world--enormously successful, handsome and athletic. He was (and still is) widely respected within his profession. He had invested in real estate and the stock market and was independently wealthy apart from the revenue from his profession. Women swooned over him. What no one knew was that he was terribly sexually frustrated and lonely. Divorced, he had spent a lifetime searching for someone who would live out his fantasies of full time bondage and "fetish" clothing. He felt isolated despite his charisma and charm. Much more about this later.
Quentin and I always worked well together but I never gave a moment's thought to the possibility that we might each be what the other was seeking. I never so much as entertained the idea of a romantic relationship between us. That I was unworthy of him was, for me, a given. He clearly respected me--I was a good nurse despite my personal failings--but I assumed his feelings for me ended there. He was kind and considerate, not common traits among gifted surgeons. We took our first step toward a closer relationship when I complained, toward the end of a long procedure, that my back had been very sore lately. Quentin replied, "I'll take a look at it as soon as we finish up here." I was intensely embarrassed. I had not been trolling for free medical care but I saw no way to back out at that point.
After we had finished and washed up Q lead me into an exam room. He went through a routine back exam with straight leg raising, palpitation of the lumbar spine and range of motion testing. Then he surprised me by taking a series of measurements of my waist, hips, bust and torso. "OK," he finally said. "There are no surprises. I'm sure you don't have any herniated discs...yet. We could shoot xrays or even run an MRI but I am 100% positive they won't tell us anything. You're suffering from mechanical low back pain that will likely respond well to NSAIDs but, of course, we will just be treating the symptoms and not the underlying causes. Your back is supporting more weight than it was designed to carry and some of your lifestyle choices aren't helping." At his point he seemed to sense how embarrassed I felt and took my hand. "Look, Susan, we can make this problem a lot better relatively quickly. I would start with bracing, smoking cessation or reduction and some sensible nutritional planning. I'd be delighted to help you with all three. What do you say?"
Somewhere on this planet there may be a woman with the strength of character to look into those dark blue eyes and say no to Quentin but, as history has demonstrated repeatedly, it's not me. "Sure," I said. "That sounds wonderful." I had no clue to what I had committed. Q gave me a quick hug and suggested we start immediately. I was dumbfounded. That would become a more or less permanent state with me. Q lead me (still holding my hand!) to the hospital pharmacy and asked for a prescription pad. Pausing only to ask my date of birth he completed a prescription and handed it to the pharmacist. "Could you fill this right now, please."
Ten minutes later the pharmacist returned with a good sized box and handed it to me. Quentin opened the box and pulled out a foil packet that he tore open to reveal the kind of dermal patch with which medical professionals are all familiar. "Nicotine patch," he announced. This will reduced your cravings for cigarettes tremendously." He then pulled back the neck of my scrub top and smoothed the patch onto my shoulder. My mind was reeling at this point. Smoking cessation really hadn't been at the top of my "to do" list...or even at the bottom. On the other hand I was getting a lot of attention from the most amazing man I knew and I liked that quite a bit. "Now how about I buy you dinner and we can discuss how else we can help one another?" he asked and gave me a wolfish grin. WHAT?! Did this handsome and brilliant surgeon just make a pass at me? Me??? Speechless, I made a gesture with my hands indicating the worn surgical scrubs I was still wearing.
"So we go extremely casual." Q said. "I'll drive." He put his arm into the crook of my elbow (Wow! Wow! Wow!) and walked me to the doctors' parking lot. In that lot full of Mercedes and Lincolns and BMWs nothing stood out like Quentin's steel blue 1963 Corvette String Ray. To this day I have never seen a more beautiful automobile and to this day I still get a little thrill whenever I get to ride in it even though I am now blindfolded whenever I am in a car. "I know the perfect place." Quentin said. Of course he did. He fired up the Corvette's fuel injected V-8 and played with the throttle until he was satisfied with the sounds his pet was making. Then he headed north out of town for several miles. We pulled into an old fashion diner with neon lights and a statue of Elvis by the door.
Quentin took it upon himself to order for me--grilled chicken salad and a glass of unsweetened iced tea. Those would not have been my choices but I didn't much care. By this point the nicotine patch was starting to itch and it wasn't completely killing my urge for a cigarette. I also wondered if they offered a cocaine patch since I was thinking that a couple lines would go down great right then. Nonetheless, I was beyond thrilled that I was out on what seemed to be a date with such an impressive man. I was so overwhelmed that I don't remember many of the details of the meal. I am sure that I badly fumbled the conversation that evening and I assumed that we would never have a second date if, indeed, that was how he thought of the evening. I do recall that Q asked me if I was serious about improving my health. I told him truthfully that I had never really thought much about my health and that I knew that was foolish. "I'll write you a script for some medication to reduce your appetite. The patches will help you with smoking and we really should get you some support for your back. I'll see what I can come up with. More globally, we need to address a number of lifestyle issues if we're going to maximize your health."
I ignored the last part and told him that I hated the idea of wearing the bulky orthopedic braces that I saw on so many back surgery patients. I didn't think my back was nearly bad enough for that. Q waved a hand dismissively. "Those things are largely useless and, I should think, very uncomfortable. What you need is something that will prevent, as opposed to treat, serious back problems. What I have in mind is a well fitted corset laced as tightly as possible." An old fashioned corset crushing my guts didn't appeal to me much either but, hoping to please Q, I nodded enthusiastically and said, "Sounds good." Our evening ended with a sweet kiss on the lips when Q dropped me at my car. I took the nicotine patches with me and promised to wear one the next day. I crossed my fingers when I told him that I would do my best not to smoke that evening and lit up as soon as he was out of sight.
The following day Q had a dozen roses delivered to me at work with a note attached asking me out again. I'm not sure if I was more shocked or excited. I did make an effort to clean up my act that week. I smoked less, drank less and, in general, cut back on substance abuse including food. I wasn't perfect but I was better. I also started asking myself what it would take to truly clean up my life, to be free of the addictions that had governed my every move since childhood. Could I live free of alcohol, nicotine, excess food and all of the mind numbing chemicals I used to hide from reality. The prospect overwhelmed me. I had tried treatment and failed spectacularly.
Our second date, a week later, was to watch a baseball game at his condo. I spent hours fretting over what to wear. I settled on a pair of jeans and my best top. I fussed with my makeup but still botched things. This was the first time I could remember caring so much about how I looked. I was so embarrassed to drive my $300 Chevy Citation to Quentin's ritzy condo complex that I parked a block away and walked the rest of the distance.
When I got there Q met me at the door with a kiss on the lips (good start I thought) and a pair of gift wrapped packages. Before he let me open them, Q asked me to promise, no matter what, that I would wear the contents the rest of that evening. "I'm asking you to trust me on this. I think it would be fun to decorate you a bit." I gave the matter little thought and promised I would wear whatever it was that he had gotten me. I suppose I was assuming that the boxes contained some kind of sexy lingerie in a size extra huge and that this boded well for the end of the evening. I was partially right.
I tore off the wrapping and opened the larger box. Inside were four substantial garments or perhaps I should say devices. "Let me help you put these on properly." Q volunteered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to remove all of your clothing." His eyes twinkled (oh God, what a twinkle) and again I saw the lopsided grin. No 250 plus pound woman is proud of her body so I felt extremely self conscious but I did as told and stripped completely right there in the foyer of Q's condominium. I suppose the fact that we were both medical professionals made the situation a little less intimidating but I flushed nonetheless. I assumed that my body, carrying at least 100 pounds too much, would be a complete turn off. Q, ever the gentleman, offered a reassuring smile and reached into the gift box. I recognized the first garment because my mother had worn similar items. "This is an all-in-one." Q said. "Specifically, a Playtex 18 Hour all-in-one. Some people call these corselettes or bodysuits. It functions as a bra and girdle both but we are going to use it primarily as a liner. Would you be so kind as to slip it on?"
I now recalled Q saying that I needed to do something to support my back and I wondered if this was what he had in mind. Frankly, the garment didn't look very inviting but I was anxious to please Q so I dutifully stepped into it and began the process of tugging it up my legs and over my hips. The all-in-one was constructed of a heavy elastic/cotton combination that gave ground only reluctantly. It was a girdle in every sense of the word--hot, heavy and tight. As I struggled with it I wondered if Q might have purchased a size or two smaller than what I needed.
With sufficient effort and the occasional assist from my surgeon-turned-lingerie-consultant I got all the way into the thing and pulled the straps over my shoulders. I adjusted my breasts in the cups as Quentin closed the hook and eye crotch. For the first time since high school I was wearing what had once been called a foundation garment. The all-in-one was tight and pinchy, obviously a long way from comfortable, but when I glimpsed myself in the mirror I was startled to see that my body no longer looked quite so much like an amorphous blob. My breasts were pushed up and my waist was cinched in. I might not have had an hourglass figure at this point but now I didn't seem to be spilling out everywhere. That was nice but if this bra/girdle combination was supposed to support my back the way an orthopedic brace might I thought it fell short. I told Q as much.
He offered another knowing smile and pulled from the gift box a large inflexible garment unlike anything I had ever seen and handed it to me. "Try this," he said. "I think you will find it more than firm enough." After a brief inspection I realized that it was a heavily boned, back laced corset. I recalled all of the measurements Q took during his examination of my back. The corset was constructed of ivory satin lined with cotton. It was heavy, easily weighing a couple pounds. Steel boning was spaced perhaps two inches apart around the garment. The front would extend from just above my pubic region to just below my breasts. The back, with its lacing, would rise to the base of my neck where the straps that would encircle my shoulders were attached.
"Is this a piece of lingerie or a straitjacket?" I asked, only partly in jest.
Q laughed and said, "It's actually a little bit of both. I believe it will serve a number of functions for you. First, it will support you and help prevent further degenerative changes in your spine. Victorian ladies had it right. The female body truly does benefit from external support. Second, wearing the corset will give you a sense of confidence. It will dramatically enhance your figure and improve your posture as well. Finally, the corset should help to restrain some of your self destructive impulses. I'm told that it is very hard to overeat while wearing a tightly laced corset."
I was flabbergasted. Quentin was serious about this. A corset. A real, rigid, lace up corset. What had I gotten into? I was standing in his hallway wearing nothing but the bodysuit he had given me and my only options seemed to be to leave or put on the corset. I decided that was no choice at all. "Help me get it on?" I asked.
He held the corset behind me so I could slip my arms through the shoulder straps. Even with the corset unhooked and unlaced, I had to reach well behind me with each arm to get them through the openings created by the broad shoulder straps. My posture instantly improved. Once my arms were through the openings Q came around to face me. He dropped to one knee and attacked the long row of hook-and-eye closures in the front beginning at my waist and progressively working his way both up and down. Halfway through this process I was forced to straighten my spine and suck in my gut. Even before the lacing process started, the corset felt tight and exceedingly rigid. This would definitely suffice as a back brace...if it didn't strangle me. Q finished with the front hooks, spun me 180 degrees and started tugging on the laces in back As he laced me into the garment Q explained, "If it were up to me there would be a law requiring every woman to wear a corset. They do wonders for both your health and your appearance. I prescribe them for every female patient who comes in with complaints of mechanical back pain."
The lacing process did not go quickly. He would tug for a while at the top and then move to the bottom and work up from there. I felt my waist being pulled in and my shoulders pulled back. The straps holding my shoulders were wide and unforgiving. I felt like a soldier standing rigidly at attention. Breathing became a challenge. Deep breaths weren't an option with my diaphragm in the grips of this garment. On several occasions when I thought he could not make it any tighter Quentin proved me wrong. Despite the discomfort, there was something very erotic and intimate about having Quentin strap me into this industrial strength piece of lingerie. I sensed my embarrassment giving way to a tingling hint of arousal. Q kept up his cordial banter telling me how lovely I looked and how much I would enjoy wearing corsets. "Are you thinking I will be wearing this quite often?" I asked, picturing myself trying to perform my job laced into this unyielding suit of armor.
"Oh yes," he responded. "It would hardly do to slip it on for a few hours every now and then. You need to LIVE in a corset to gain the benefits." That answer certainly caught me off guard but, to be fair, I had been in a state of mild disbelief since Q asked me to take off all my clothes.
"It's awfully tight," I said even as Q continued to tug at the laces. I was starting to feel short of breath. My rib cage was being squeezed and I could only take quick shallow breaths. I also noticed with a grimace that the wide rigid straps encircling my shoulders were pulling me into an extremely upright posture to the extent that it felt like my shoulder blades were about to meet. I wondered if I would be able to bring my arms together in front of me. Wearing this thing would be a gamechanger--if I decided to wear it beyond this evening. As I was thinking these thoughts Q announced that he was tying off the laces "for now" and stood to admire his handiwork.
The corset was stiff and breathtakingly tight but, in a weird way, it felt sort of sexy at the same time and I liked the idea that I had donned a piece of lingerie that this lovely man picked out for me. The top of the corset pushed my boobs up to the point that I felt I could rest my chin on them. This was the first even remotely sexy piece of lingerie I had ever worn. While I probably would have chosen something that less closely resembled a straitjacket, Q seemed inordinately pleased with the look of the corset on me and that made me happy. The lacing process had been a bit awkward both physically and emotionally for me. It felt funny that Q's first view of my naked body came as he was installing this massive piece of armament on me. I didn't time the lacing process but I would estimate that we were at it for a good 30 to 40 minutes. I ran my hands up and down my torso. My new shape felt unfamiliar, even alien. I had a waist. I had good posture. I couldn't bend--not even a little. At the same time that it felt weird, it felt good to have a more womanly shape. I felt as though I cared about my appearance for the first time.
"Now the corset is the big ticket item--it will do wonders for you--but there are a couple more items that I think you should be wearing regularly." With this Q reached into the gift box yet again and pulled out another item. He held before him a garment that looked a bit like a pair of elastic shorts but I recognized it for what it was, a high waisted, long-legged panty girdle. "With a tightly laced corset it's very important that you wear a firm girdle. Again, we're going with the Playtex 18 hour model. There may be firmer girdles out there but I think this will do the job and be relatively comfortable. You'll notice that you are bulging around the bottom of your corset. The girdle will smooth out those bulges and support your stockings as well."
I started to tell Q that I didn't wear stockings but it quickly dawned on me that he had a much better idea of what was going on than I did. I took the girdle, rolled it up as my mother had made me do countless times in junior high and high school and pulled it on, struggling to balance in the rigid corset. Pulling on a tight girdle is no simple matter. You have to do it in a series of hard tugs working your way from the top down all the time adjusting the waist, the hips and the legs. I finally got the thing in place with the top resting a couple inches above my waist line and the legs extending to near my knees. It fit like a glove, or maybe like a girdle, and I saw that Q had been right about smoothing out the bulges left by my corset. It also firmed up my thighs which was kind of nice but, holy cow, this combination of industrial strength lingerie was tight.
I ran my hands down my sides from boobs to thighs. My body felt firm and solid--no jiggle, no squishy. I inspected myself in the mirror and turned around inspecting my backside. The girdle gave my butt a boost and the corset did truly amazing things with my waist. The overall feeling was...ambivalence. I liked, no I loved the improvement in my figure and I had already noticed that the corset relieved the strain on my back. On the other hand, I felt foolish standing there in under garments from generations gone by and the sensation of being squeezed by three layers of very tight lingerie was not pleasant...well, not entirely pleasant. This would require much thought. Q approached me from behind and wrapped his arms around me. That felt nice. He massaged my now well-girdled ass and that felt even nicer...erotic. I was getting turned on even in these very strange circumstances.
I was winded from the exertion of being laced into the corset and then battling to pull on the girdle. I was also anxious to get to my second gift and then to plop in front of Q's big screen TV but he grasped me in his arms and gave me a lingering kiss--the first of its kind that I had ever experienced. "I hope you enjoy this?" he said, gently caressing my torso through the corset. "It's lovely," I replied, very surprised to realize that I meant it. Sort of. I was feeling a little lightheaded. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into my me. I felt a strong physical response "down there" I regretted the fact that we seemed to be in the process of putting clothes on me instead of taking them off.
I pulled my jeans back on (harder to do in a tight corset than you might think) and was surprised by how loose they were with the corset and girdle in place. Later in the evening I would learn that my waist was now five inches smaller than it had been without the corset. When I reached for my top Q stopped me saying that he loved to see me with the corset exposed. I took this level of interest as another good omen although I remained totally baffled by his interest in me.
I had not realized that there was a final item at the bottom of the first gift box. It too was an item with which I was quite familiar due to my profession and I was not pleased at the prospect of wearing it. Q held out before me a rigid plastic and foam neck brace--the kind we applied to patients suffering severe cervical disease or recovering from neck surgery. I recognized the model he held as being very high and absolutely ungiving. It was intended to completely immobilize the head--no turning left or right; no looking up or down. "That pretty corset is going to immobilize your thoracic and lumbar spine and prevent degenerative changes as much as possible. We need to do the equivalent for your neck. I know these things are a little inconvenient but you need to get used to wearing one. Doctor's orders." With that he lifted my chin and wrapped the brace around my neck tugging the velcro straps tight in the back. My chin was forced up until it nested into the foam padding of the brace. I suddenly had an excellent view of the ceiling. "This seems like a bit much," I said as well as I could given how difficult moving my jaw had become. "I can't move my head at all."
"Well, yes, that is the whole idea. I know the collar is a nuisance but I want you to wear it nonetheless. You really are at severe risk for degenerative disc disease and total immobilization is the best prevention we have available to us right at the moment. I'll just have to distract you." With that he engulfed me in his arms and, holding me tightly, pressed his lips to mine. The distraction tactic worked. I forgot the neck brace and opened my mouth to let our tongues meet. That was when I remembered the neck brace because it didn't allow me to open my mouth very far. Nonetheless we had a very nice time kissing and even added a bit of groping. He, not I, broke away.
"The second box has items that I think are going to be necessary for your full recovery. Maybe you will come to enjoy them a bit too." Finally Q allowed me to pick up the second gift wrapped box and open it. The contents surprised me more than even the industrial strength lingerie had.
Full disclosure requires me to tell you that, to this point in my life, my entire sexual history consisted of a handful of awkward efforts with fellow addicts and drunks. It had been neither romantic nor fulfilling. To say that I was unsophisticated in the realm of physical romance is to understate the case greatly. I didn't know much about regular sex, let alone the kinky side of the equation. This having been the case, I was utterly befuddled when I opened the smaller box and found three sets of silver chains. One set was clearly a pair of handcuffs. I'd seen (and worn) my fair share of those during my youthful encounters with law enforcement. The other two sets resembled handcuffs but the chain between the cuffs was longer--perhaps 8 or 10 inches. Q seemed to sense my confused reluctance and said, "I don't want your hands wandering where they don't belong tonight--specifically to grab a cigarette or extra food or something even worse. This is the first day of your healthy new lifestyle so I think we need to put some restraints on you."
I suppose a normal reaction might have been fear or suspicion followed by a mad dash from the premises but you must understand that I was in awe of the attention I was getting from this amazing man and my abiding concern was to keep him in my life. By this time, the whole evening had a surreal quality to it anyway. Giving the matter no serious thought I put my hands out in front of me to be cuffed. Q smiled and shook his head. "Honey, there are just too many things you can do with your hands in front of you even if you are wearing handcuffs. We need to lock your wrists behind your back."
It speaks volumes that my thoughts ran in this order: 1. He called me "Honey!" 2. He wants to cuff me behind my back. 3. I'd better put my hands behind my back. I reached behind my back and locked my fingers and locked my fingers while Q used the key to open the cuffs and step behind me. I felt the cold metal first on one wrist and then the other. Q tightened both cuffs until I could not rotate my wrists at all inside them. I knew from experience that my hands would be numb in a few minutes but that seemed a small price to pay if I could get another kiss (or maybe more) later on. Being handcuffed behind the back is not very comfortable for anyone. Your arms are pulled back into an awkward position and then locked in place. For someone as large as I was, however, the sensation is distinctly unpleasant. I immediately started wondering how soon the cuffs would come off. As it turned out we weren't even finished securing my arms. Q reached around me and grasped one of the other sets of chains. "I'm going to lock these manacles just above your elbows so you aren't tempted to try to slip your feet through your hands.
"I need you to pull your elbows toward one another. The chain isn't very long on these things." I complied as best I could and soon felt the metal cuff close around my left upper arm. It pinched. I winced. I knew my upper arms were meaty and I imagined the cuffs biting into them. I felt a tug on my left arm and then the other cuff encircling my right arm just above the elbow. I heard the click and realized how completely I had just lost the use of my arms and hands. This wasn't going to be a comfortable evening, obviously, but I held out hope that it might hold other rewards. It also seemed a positive sign that Q had gone to all of this trouble in preparation for our date. I told myself that I was tough and that I could endure the discomfort for as long as necessary. I also noticed that my helplessness was somehow adding to the sexual tension I had felt from being bound up in all of this tight corsetry.
"Now let's get these shackles on your ankles," he said as he knelt by my feet and stretched out the other pair of chains. I wondered idly why my ankles were being chained. I lacked the capability of lighting a cigarette or eating a donut with my feet. I wasn't thinking of making a break for it since I couldn't even open a door with my hands locked behind my back. On the other hand, I saw little point in resisting at this point. The shackles would be the least of my encumbrances and I had already committed to going along with Q's plans for the evening.
I brought my feet together to show that I was ready to have the shackles locked in place. Q knelt before me and I felt a wide metal band wrap around my left ankle It tightened to a point just past comfortable and I heard the click of the lock. A moment later the process was repeated with my right ankle. I had never been so thoroughly confined. Feeling an immediate impulse to test the restraints, I tried to take a step and nearly tripped. I was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. "Be careful," Q said grasping my shoulders. "It will take you a while to get used to operating in chains."
Finally, at this late juncture I felt a measure of panic, not based upon any perceived danger from Q but rather on something more elemental. Handcuffed I couldn't eat or drink or smoke--all things I deemed critical to my mental and emotional survival. With my ankles shackled I couldn't even slip into the bathroom--at least not conveniently--if I needed to pee. I was as helpless as I had ever been. I now understood that this was the whole point and my panic gave way to more arousal. I was getting wet! I was Q's captive and that made me feel special. He told me that he wanted me to get used to feeling helpless. That seemed a strange statement but I was prepared to do a lot more than wear a set of chains to accommodate and promote his interest in me. I dared to flirt a bit, "So you think I look good all chained up?"
His smile was wolfish. "I think you look absolutely ravishing all chained up." He brought his hands to my breasts and rubbed through the material of my bodysuit. He kissed me again, more passionately than before. He reached around my waist and took my cuffed hands in his and pulled me toward him so that we were touching up and down the entire length of our bodies. I desperately wanted to hug him. Strangely the fact that I couldn't was arousing. I wanted to make love right there at that moment. When Q pulled away this time I was panting. Beads of sweat dotted my forehead. "I want you," was my hoarse whisper.
"In time. Let's enjoy the evening." He helped me shuffle to the couch where he eased me into a sitting position. This was no easy task with my arms locked behind me and my entire spine held rigid and immobile. Q had gauged the time required to thoroughly bind me perfectly. The first inning was about to start when we turned on the big screen. We watched the game and did quite a lot of kissing. Q got to second base well ahead of either team but his affections were gentle and slow. He exploited my helplessness perfectly, arousing me to the point that I would have felt compelled to force myself on him had I been able. He reached behind my back and held my hand. He caressed my face. I soon forgot all about the ballgame. I was getting intensely turned on and to my surprise being restrained so thoroughly greatly heightened my arousal. I felt the inside of my girdle getting wet. I recall briefly wondering if being so turned on by being in restraints constituted me a pervert. At this point I didn't care.
In the rigid corset with my hands behind my back I found that I couldn't get up and I needed a lot of help to go to the bathroom. Q fed me the takeout Chinese he had ordered wiping my face with the napkin from time to time. This felt sexy in an odd sort of way. I was ambivalent about being so restricted in my movement. It was inconvenient, uncomfortable and a little scary but I liked the fact that for once my addictions were under control--someone else's control. For the first time in over a decade I was secure in the knowledge that I would not engage in substance abuse that evening. I also liked being with Q and maybe sort of liked being in his power. Somewhere around the fourth inning Q pulled me toward him and placed his hands on my breasts through the fabric of my bodysuit again. He rubbed me gently and then pinched both nipples between his thumbs and first fingers. An electric jolt shot through me and I wriggled against the restraining corset and chains. I leaned into him and brought my lips to his kissing harder than ever. We continued this way for a couple more innings but did not venture below the waist.
A bit later a thought entered my mind and it was so powerful that I blurted out without giving the matter any forethought. "Being bound up like this is really working for me sexually. Do you suppose that you could also blindfold me?' I had no idea why I said that or what the source of the thought had been. I had never associated being blindfolded with sex but at that moment having my eyes covered sounded like the most deliciously erotic thing I could imagine. I wanted it as badly as I had ever craved a line of cocaine.
"Your wish is my command," Q responded and trotted down a hallway to my right. Moments later he returned with a black satin sleep mask in his hand. The sight of it sent a bolt of electric energy throughout my nether regions. "Now if I put this on you, you won't be able to see the end of the game." he teased.
"I don't care," I hissed. "Put that on me and then kiss me and rub me HARD." At the risk of repeating myself, I had no clue why I had such a sudden and compelling urge to be blindfolded but the feeling was as strong as anything I had ever felt. I NEEDED to be blindfolded. Q slipped the mask over my head and pulled it down so that it completely covered my eyes. The world went dark and my arousal shifted into high gear. I now felt completely helpless and that excited me. It scared me too but the feelings were inseparable at that point. The mask was light weight but very effective. It was held in place by two elastic bands that circled my head--one above my ears and one just below.
"Is that better?" Q asked with a tone of amusement in his voice.
"It is better." I said. "I can't tell you why but for the first time in my life I feel a little bit sexy with this thing on. Please don't take it off, OK?"
"I never remove a lady's blindfold without her permission. And, by the way you look EXTREMELY sexy wearing it. I think I will kiss you." And he did. And he caressed me. And pinched me in just the right places. I strained against my chains as I edged closer to an orgasm. The frustration of immobility somehow morphed into sexual energy. Unable to see, I gave my mind over to wild fantasy. Each time I approached the brink Q eased back and turned his attention to the ballgame. I had lost interest in baseball even before my world went dark.
This was all new to me. At the end of the ballgame Q shut off the TV and we kissed and petted some more. He massaged my clitoris through the thick fabric of my girdle and bodysuit. Somehow this felt wonderful--not too much but enough to bring me to the highest levels of arousal. At that point he jangled the keys to my handcuffs and manacles. He removed the manacles from my elbows and unlocked one of my wrists. "Let's make you more comfortable for the rest of the evening." he said. I brought my arms around in front of me expecting him to remove the other cuff but instead he recuffed my wrists in front. He brought my hands to his lips and kissed both of them. We "watched" the local news with him holding my cuffed hands in his. Then he turned to me and said, "i'm hoping you will agree to spend the night?" I nodded, a tear leaking from under my mask.
Quentin helped me get off the couch and guided me, handcuffed and shackled to the master bedroom. He then removed my shackles, unbuckled and unzipped my jeans and helped me step out of them. I expected him to undo my corset and neck brace at this point but he did nothing of the kind. I was not really surprised when he locked the shackles back on my ankles. He guided me to the bathroom and asked if I would like to brush my teeth explaining that he always kept a supply of new toothbrushes. I did the prisoner shuffle into his plushly-appointed bathroom and soon discovered that brushing one's teeth while handcuffed and blindfolded is quite a bit harder than it sounds. Adding to the challenge was the fact that the rigid corset with its taut shoulder straps would not allow me to bend forward in the least and the neck brace would not let me tilt my head forward. Eventually though I completed that awkward task and shuffled back toward the bedroom holding my cuffed wrists out in front of me so as to not bump into anything. Much to my surprise I found the bed despite my blindfold.
Q took me by the shoulders and helped me ease down onto his king sized bed. Sitting down in the corset was not easy. My abdominal muscles were crushed and essentially useless. I could not bend my spine. Being unable to place my hands on either side of me made matters worse. Quentin gently lifted my ankles and positioned them onto the bed. He bent over, kissed me on the lips. I could see only a tiny sliver of light below my right eye. I raised my hands to the mask and tugged it down so if that spot went completely dark. I've no idea why it felt so important to insure that the mask was one hundred percent effective.
Q laid down beside me and began caressing me gently. He helped me ease the tight girdle down my legs to my ankles. With the shackles still locked in place I could not remove it completely. With a neurosurgeon's knowledge of the central nervous system and extraordinary patience and self control he brought me to a number of climaxes without asking for anything for himself. I was anxious to please him as well but the triad of corset, chains and blindfold restricted my ability to do much of anything. I started to apologize but Quentin silenced me with a finger to my lips. "There will be plenty of time for that. Let's get some sleep now. We have a lot of folks to heal tomorrow." I felt him roll on his side and soon heard gentle snoring. I had expected him to remove my chains before going to sleep and probably the corset as well. Was I expected to sleep in them? And what of the mask? I could remove it but that somehow felt like cheating. Sexually sated as I had never been before, I laid back and managed a restful few hours of sleep.
This was the first night in over a decade that I fell asleep with neither alcohol nor narcotics in my system. Although I craved both, as well as nicotine, I made it through the night reasonably well. The corset, shackles and handcuffs were very restrictive and I remained on my back all night. I lifted the corner of the sleep mask a couple times to check the time but then promptly pulled it back in place. I wondered how long I could wear it before I stopped enjoying the sensation of being blindfolded.
At 6:00 the next morning Q woke me from a deep sleep saying, "We need to get up, Sweetheart. We overslept. I pushed up my sleep mask and blinked at the morning light flooding the room. Memories of the previous evening came back to me. I was still in my corset and body suit. The girdle was bunched at my ankles. The neck brace still held my head in the same chin up position. My wrists and ankles were still cuffed. A note of panic sprung up. I did not have time to drive back to my dumpy little apartment, shower and change before I was due at the hospital.
Q anticipated my concern. "Not to worry. I have scrubs in the guest room closet in all sizes. You can brush your teeth and sponge off here and we'll ride to work together." That meant we would have to ride home together too, right? I smiled. Then I held up my cuffed wrists thinking Q would have to release me at this point. Never assume. "Oh I'll get those in a bit. For right now why don't you hit the bathroom while I get ready in the guest bath."
I did as directed shuffling back into the bathroom. I first eased my way onto the toilet and did my business. The combination of corset and handcuffs made wiping a challenge but I got the job done. Q was nowhere in sight so I decided that I probably should pull up my girdle so that I could "walk" more easily. Pulling on a tight girdle is not easy even under the best of circumstances. Doing it while handcuffed requires the skills of a contortionist but I got the job done. I hobbled to the sink, rinsed my face and arm pits and brushed my teeth. I was becoming marginally more competent at functioning in handcuffs. notwithstanding the fact that by now my hands were thoroughly numb.
These tasks completed I checked myself in the mirror. I would definitely need to freshen up my makeup but I had to admit that I liked my new corseted and girdled figure. Never mind that I was wearing garments that my grandmother would have considered hopelessly old fashioned. I had not heard anything from Quentin since he left the bedroom and I wondered what I should do. I glanced down at the chains on my ankles and contemplated the walk from the bedroom to wherever he was. I concluded that I had little choice in the matter and started shuffling toward the living room. It was slow going as the short chain would barely allow me to put one foot in front of the other'
As I "stepped" out of the bedroom I smelled coffee brewing and something toasting. My stomach rumbled and I did my best to quicken my pace. I found Q in the kitchen loading food on two plates. One contained sausage, eggs, a bagel and jelly. The other contained two slices of wheat toast. Guess which one he placed in front of me. I picked up a slice of toast awkwardly and took a good sized bite. It was dry and flavorless. "It feels weird to be sitting here eating breakfast in my underwear." I said."
Q came around the table and gave me a passionate kiss on the lips. "you look amazingly sexy in your underwear. I can barely concentrate on my breakfast."
I reached up and embraced his face in my cuffed hands. I pulled him in to me and we kissed again. This kiss lingered. He finally pulled away and said, "We need to get going. I'll grab you some scrubs."
Q jogged from the kitchen and returned moments later with a set of navy scrubs that looked to be approximately my size. I held out my wrists. "Time to take these off?" I asked.
"Well, temporarily at least." he responded and, producing a key unlocked my right wrist only. I looked at him curiously but then slipped my unshackled right wrist and then my left wrist, handcuffs and all, into the sleeves of the top and pulled it over my head. Q immediately took both of my hands in his and pulled them together. I was surprised to be handcuffed as we needed to leave for work momentarily.
"Don't we need to get to the hospital?" I asked as Q squatted to unlock my shackles. Again, he only unlocked one cuff and then held out the scrubs bottom for me to step into.
"Well certainly we do but there is no rule against riding to work in chains," he said as he re-locked the cuff he had released.
"But your car is in the garage and we have to go out into the corridor and then all the way down on the elevator. Somebody is bound to see me." I felt my face reddening at the prospect.
"So what if they do?" He asked with a coy smile. "It will likely make their day to see a beautiful lady in chains."
Again demonstrating that I had lost touch with reason, my first reaction was excitement that this gorgeous man had called ME beautiful. Only secondarily did I contemplate that he wanted, no expected, me to walk out of the condo wearing handcuffs and shackles. By now I had realized that Q was not someone to be deterred--or embarrassed. Taking the deepest breath my corset would allow, I picked up my purse and started shuffling toward the door. Q put his arm around my waist as we stepped into the corridor and headed toward the elevators. I noticed that my shackles made a tinkling sound as I walked. Strangely I found the sound pleasant and a bit comforting.
Q punched the elevator button as I tried to position my purse in a way that would conceal my handcuffs. The elevator opened and thankfully it was empty. Q stepped in to hold the door and I shuffled aboard. He punched the button for the parking garage as I whispered a prayer that no one we join us on the ride down. My prayer was not answered. On the third floor the elevator car came to a stop and the door slid open. I edged behind Q making my best effort to conceal my wrists. There was no way to hide my shackles if anyone looked down at my ankles.
An older lady leading a miniature poodle on a leash tottered on to the elevator and greeted Quentin effusively. He smiled and told her good morning. Then he bent to pet the pooch leaving my wrists completely exposed. I tried to turn to conceal my chains but the combination of corset and shackles limited my motion. I bent one knee and turned what little I could. I needn't have bothered. The newcomer was focused on Q and her pet and rode all the way to the lobby without noticing that I was chained up like an accused murdered. Q turned to me and as soon as the door closed burst out laughing. His amusement was infectious and I started laughing too.
I discovered at that moment that uncontrolled laughter in a tight corset is not very comfortable. As my body shook, the boning stabbed me, the shoulder straps cut into me and tight lacing resisted my efforts to take deep breaths. By the time we reached the garage level I felt as if I would collapse but the situation seemed so embarrassingly funny that I kept laughing. Tears welled in my eyes. Q steadied me and together we eased off the elevator. I spotted Q's Corvette a short distance away and started shuffling toward it. He spoke up, "No, no, Dear. We're going to take the yellow car down at the end of this row."
I looked up and saw a sleek yellow sports car that was parked the entire length of the garage from us. My shackles let me take five or six inch steps. I had seen people in their 90s who could walk faster than I could. It would take me 600 or 700 mincing steps to get to the car Q had indicated. "I'm going to make us late," I pled. "Could you come get me?"
He smiled that smile that I loved and feared and shook his head. "This will be good experience for you. Your new healthy lifestyle is going to involve a lot of time in restraints. We have to stop you from doing things to harm yourself. This little hike will be good experience for you. By the way, I really should have cuffed your arms behind you. Would you remind me of that in the future?" He gave me a kiss on the cheek and I hobbled in the direction of his chosen chariot. I stepped as quickly as I could which had the effect of making the legs of my girdle creep up my thighs. I wanted to adjust them but I had my purse in my hands and the handcuffs stopped me from using them for more than one thing at a time. Step by mincing step I started off in the direction of our distant ride. Q held me by the elbow to make sure I did not trip--something that is easy to do in shackles. "What kind of car is that?" I asked?
"A 1972 DeTomaso Pantera," was the response. "It's a mid-engine Italian sports car powered by a Ford 351 Cleveland V-8. Tons of fun to drive. A little tricky when it comes to ingress and egress. We'll see how you manage with all of that hardware." I did the perp walk the entire length of the garage. This was the most exercise I had had since being laced into the corset and I just couldn't take deep enough breaths. My heart was racing by the time I got to the passenger door of the yellow sports couple. Q unlocked and opened my door. He had me turn my back to the car and then held my hands as I bent my knees and lowered my self to the seat. With the cervical collar in place I managed by milimeters to get my head under the top of the door frame. Then Q helped me swing my still shackled ankles into the footwell. Q buckled me in which trapped my arms in my lap. The handcuffs and shackles were inconvenient and very restrictive but somehow they form a bond between us much like a promise ring might. Q reached into my purse and pulled out the sleep mask I had worn the night before. "Would you like to wear this?"
As silly as this sounds, his thoughtfulness in bringing the mask brought tears to my eyes. I responded with a phlegmy "Mm hmm," and Q slipped the blindfold into place. I was glad it blocked his view of the flood that was filling my eyes. Q started the powerful engine and I felt sudden acceleration. Q had been a fighter pilot during Vietnam and he drove as if he were piloting a jet. One more reason to be grateful for the blindfold. The drive to the medical center would have taken me 20 minutes. We made it in 12 pulling into the doctor's garage with minutes to spare. Q hopped out came around to my side and quickly unlocked my handcuffs and shackles. I removed the mask and slipped it into my purse. Q helped my out of the car--a much easier proposition without the chains.
For the first time in my life I got compliments on my figure that day--lots of compliments. Several people asked me if I had lost weight. I was thrilled and decided the stiffness and constriction of the corset and girdle weren't a bad price to pay for having a woman's shape again. I also decided I could get over the embarrassment of wearing foundation garments decades out of fashion. I found that it was mighty hard to over eat while laced into a tight corset. It was also nearly impossible to bend over, reach forward or take a deep breath but I carried on. As promised, Q and I slipped into an exam room twice that day and he tugged the laces even tighter each time. The pressure initially seemed unbearable but I adjusted to it quickly enough and took pride in my shrinking circumference.
As soon as Q headed off to do rounds I ducked into the nurse's lounge thinking to smoke my first cigarette in 14 hours. I popped open my purse only to find that both my cigarettes and my lighter were missing. Q was a strong willed man. I spotted my friend Cindi, a cute little blonde with a two pack a day habit and bummed a Marlboro and a light from her. I was a menthol smoker but the first cigarette of the morning always tastes great regardless of brand. Nonetheless I felt guilty sneaking a smoke when I knew Q disapproved. "What's with the neck brace?" Cindi asked gesturing with the cigarette she was smoking. "Did you have an accident?"
"No, Dr. Q says I have degenerative disc disease and he thinks I need to wear this for a while."
Cindi winced in sympathy but then giggled. "I'd wear a neck brace for Dr. Q. I'd wear anything or nothing at all for Dr. Q. God, that man is hot." She glanced wistfully at her wedding ring and gave a shrug. Her eyes took on a far off dreamy quality. Q has that effect on women.
"Hey, Cin," I said, "May I ask you something personal? Does it bother your husband that you smoke?"
"No...at least not terribly. I started smoking when I was in junior high school and by the time we met I was up to a couple packs a day. It's my only real vice and Brad's pretty mellow about the whole thing. He has his beer. I have my Marlboros."
"Junior high, huh? I thought I was the only one who started that young."
"Yeah, my mom and my older sisters all smoked. Nobody really objected when I took up the habit. Brad knew when we got married that I had no intention of quitting. Besides, I told him that he would have to tie me up and tape my mouth shut if he ever wanted me to." She gave a husky laugh as she lit a new cigarette from the one she had been smoking.
"That actually sounds like fun." I said wondering if my higher power was sending me a message. "And I'm halfway to being tied up right now with this brace." I said nothing about the girdle and corset that were binding me every bit as much as the cervical collar.
In point of fact, I was more bothered by the neck brace than either my corset or girdle. It chafed my jaw and my neck muscles were spasming from the immobility. Most frustrating though was the need to turn my whole body whenever I needed to look to the left or right. With my long and heavily boned corset, looking down was simply out of the question. I found myself frequently running a finger between the collar and my neck or chin trying to relieve the pressure. I considered removing it more than once but I did not want to derail whatever it was I had going with Q. If he wanted me to wear this thing then I would find a way to endure it.
"You thinking of quitting?" she asked.
"Only if I can find someone to tie me up." I said very honestly.
"Ask Dr. Q," she laughed. "And while you're at it ask him to tie me up too."
I was not scheduled in the OR that day which seemed like a blessing given my limited mobility but there was plenty to keep me busy. I had to learn new ways to move, to look at things and even to breathe. I was constantly pulling down the legs of my girdle and finally concluded that Q's idea of stockings was a good one. He seemed to have quite a few good and yet simultaneously crazy ideas.
Q and I found time for a late lunch at my favorite Italian restaurant. I ordered a large plate of pasta but found that I could swallow only a few bites thanks to the pressure of the corset. Seemingly unaware of my plight, Q kept up a steady conversation about the surgery we had performed the previous day--a delicate re-routing of blood vessels in the patient's brain. As usual he had performed masterfully but his focus was on revising the procedure to reduce the blood loss and risks of subsequent CVAs. He caught me off guard when he abruptly switched topics and asked, "Did you have as good a time as I did last night?" I said that I had had a wonderful time and thanked him for everything. What I said was true. Admittedly being put in a corset and chained at the outset of a date was a new experience for me but still I had enjoyed the company, the intimacy and the hints of even more to come. The experience had also lead me to a discovery about myself. The previous evening had been the only time since my early teens where I had gone as much as twelve hours without engaging in any form of substance abuse--no cigarettes, no booze, no weed, no coke. And I knew to a moral certainty that I could not, would not, repeat that feat unless I was again physically restrained.
I also pondered how urgently I had wanted to be blindfolded and what a strong physical reaction I had to having the sleep mask pulled over my eyes. An image tickled at the periphery of my memory and then danced away. Why had the blindfold--even the thought of the blindfold--had such a powerful impact on me? Finally, I had, much to my surprise, greatly enjoyed the encounter with the old lady on the elevator that morning. I couldn't remember laughing so hard.
The pieces came together for me at that point. I needed to make a request of Q and yet I did not know him well enough at this point for the life changing favor I wanted. Still, my inner voice/intuition/gut told me that this was a now or never situation. I swallowed with some difficulty and started speaking more formally than I intended, "Doctor Q, it's no secret that I have a huge problem with addictive behavior. I feel completely powerless to overcome my addictions. I've tried treatment. I've tried Twelve Step programs. I've even tried methadone. Nothing has changed except my substance abuse has gotten worse. I'm slowly killing myself." Q listened attentively, nodding at each point I made. "Last night you opened a door to me--a door I had never seen. For a brief time last night I did overcome every single one of my addictions. It was a strange and wonderful sensation to be physically prevented from hurting myself. For the first time in years I felt...human. My mind was clear and I was in touch with another person."
"Yes, we certainly were in touch." Q mused. "We need to get in touch more often."
I ignored the lighthearted banter and continued driving toward my point. "Last night was possible for me because I was restrained. It simply would not have happened, notwithstanding all of your charms, had I not been in chains. I would have found a way to get high or drunk or stoned. You made those things impossible for me...and I loved it. I loved being sober and alert and fully in the moment. I want to live my life that way."
Q nodded thoughtfully. "How do you propose that we make that happen? I suppose that I could keep you tied up all of the time but I don't see you going for that."
I took as deep a breath as my well corseted lungs would allow and swung for the fences. "That's where you are mistaken," I said. "I would like you to keep me tied up all of the time. I would love to be restrained to the point that it is absolutely impossible for me to overeat or smoke or snort or drink or in any other way fuck up my life. I want you to take away my freedom completely. Tie me up hand and foot. Gag me. Seal my mouth. Make it completely impossible for me to abuse my body and keep me that way."
He looked incredulous. "You're serious? You want to spend your life bound hand and foot?"
"And gagged and blindfolded," I responded. "I want to be physically prevented from abusing my body. I want to lose weight too. I want you to regulate what I eat. I want you to make a new woman of me"
"A new woman who's trussed up 24 hours a day, who can't move about and can't even feed herself? Truly?"
"Truly. And who can't see either. For some reason being blindfolded is kind of a big deal to me." I said. "And I think it's important that I be gagged too so that no one can help me cheat and so that at a weak moment I won"t try to talk you into setting me free. Last night you said you really liked seeing me in restraints. Well now I'm offering you the opportunity to see me bound all the time, And if I can't overeat, I'll lose a lot of weight and look sexier for you."
"And how would we disable you? Surely you don't want to live every day in handcuffs and shackles? You would have to be handcuffed in back and, as you saw last night, that would be enormously uncomfortable."
I hadn't given this issue any thought since I was speaking impulsively but I had to acknowledge that I wouldn't care to have my wrists cuffed behind me 24 hours a day. "How about medical restraints like we use with unruly patients? I could be strapped to a chair during the day and to a bed--maybe our bed?--at night. I'm thinking multiple straps on each extremity and around my torso--really pin me in place. I would be a voluntary quadriplegic...who's blind and mute." I said all of this on impulse. I had not contemplated such a radical lifestyle change. I'd never sampled bondage before the previous evening but what I was laying out seemed so right, so perfect in this moment. It represented a chance to escape the addictions that I always assumed would be with me until my early death.
Q looked contemplative for a long minute and then broke into a grin. "Listen, Sue, I'm game if you are but if we start this thing we have to finish. I'm not talking days or weeks. I'm talking years. Your mind is hard wired to crave addictive substances. Fixing that problem will take a long time. Would you be willing to commit to a minimum period of restraint of two years? I'm very serious about that--two years of having no control whatsoever over your body--no walking about, no use of your hands, no choice in what you eat or drink, no speaking except when I choose to remove your gag?'
I made the biggest decision of my life on the spot without the slightest hesitation. "i'll commit to 20 years if you will do this for me. When can we get started?"
"It's Friday afternoon. I need to look at one MRI and then I'm done for the rest of the day. How about you?" The look he gave me made me wet.
"I can get free but it seems naughty to leave this early...sort of."
He grinned, "Naughty girls need to be punished."
I was new to sexual banter but I thought I might do OK with it after a little practice. "Just don't send me to my room early...alone." I pleaded. He grinned some more. "Do you have my chains with you?"
"Indeed I do. They are in my brief case in my office. We wouldn't want you getting out of control on the ride home."
An idea popped into my head. It was out of this world crazy but I loved it nonetheless. "I'll meet you in your office in half an hour." I said as we left the restaurant for the hike back to the medical center. I tried to hustle (I was filled with anticipation) but my corset would have no part of aerobic exercise. I could take only shallow breaths so I slowed my pace and we had a leisurely stroll with Q holding my hand. That feeling was the moral equivalent of orgasm. When we got back Q headed to his office and I made a beeline to the nurses' lounge where I smoked my final cigarette of the day very quickly. Then I went to the surgical supply closet and appropriated a box of surgical masks, a roll of 4 inch wide surgical tape, a heavy duty pair of rubber gloves, a small hand towel and one other item. I took my purloined items to a private restroom near the OR, locked the door and went to work. Again I thought how crazy what I was doing was but the tingling in my groin was enough to drive me on. I soaked the hand towel in cold water and then folded it into a small square several layers thick. I looked at the square of cloth, looked in the mirror and then took the plunge. I opened my mouth as far as I could and pushed the folded cloth into it as far as possible. Using both tongue and fingers I was able to lodge the wet cloth behind my front teeth and then I bit down. My mouth was stuffed. Fearing that I might chicken out if I thought about this too much, I cut off a six inch strip of the surgical tape and plastered it across my mouth. It covered everything from the bottom of my nose to my chin. I looked in the mirror and a thoroughly gagged young woman looked back. This was good! For purposes of security, I added half a dozen additional strips of tape to hold the first firmly in place. I offered a quick prayer of thanks that hospital tape was so effective and so unlikely to come loose. I then slipped one of the surgical masks in place and checked the mirror. It completely covered my gag. Excellent!
I had one more issue to address. I knew I was going to be tied down for the foreseeable future. Tied Down Girl wouldn't have many options when it came to the call of nature. There were bed pans, adult diapers or the item I now held--a Foley catheter. I thought bed pans and diapers were yucky so the choice was easy. I pulled down my scrub bottoms and struggled to lower my girdle to my knees. I unsnapped the crotch of my body briefer and proceeded to catheterize myself. The process was more than a little painful but, in my mind, far better than the alternatives. I ran the tube through the left leg of my girdle and strapped the collection bag to my left calve.I think re-dressed being careful not to disturb the catheter as I tugged my girdle into placed.
I checked my watch and saw that I was running late. I stuffed the remaining supplies into my purse (a girl never knows when she might need to gag herself) and headed straight to my locker. Once again my corset slowed me and I noted that breathing was even more of a challenge with the gag and mask in place. I got to my locker out of wind and had to rest for a few minutes. Then I opened the locker, took out the knee length raincoat I kept for emergencies and a note pad and pen. I scribbled a quick note, closed the locker and took off to find Q. His office was at far end of the building so I was in for my longest corseted walk to date. I resolved to take it slow and easy in order to not have to stop and rest. Along the way half a dozen people I knew greeted me and, of course, all I could do was raise a hand and give a little wave. presumably none of them guessed that I was gagged under my surgical mask. Eventually I found myself at Quentin's door. I knocked lightly and stepped inside. Q was at his desk scanning some papers and barely glanced up. Seeing that I was masked, he smiled and asked, "Was there a very brief procedure?" I stepped forward and handed him the note I had written. He looked down at it, an expression of curiosity on his face.
"I AM WEARING A GAG UNDER THIS MASK. CAN'T SPEAK. SUGGEST YOU CUFF MY ARMS AND THEN BUCKLE THIS COAT AROUND MY SHOULDERS TO CONCEAL THE CHAINS. ALSO I AM CATHETERIZED SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT BATHROOM ISSUES. PLEASE BLINDFOLD ME ONCE WE GET TO THE CAR."
A look of delight appeared on Q's very handsome face. "You're just a little bondage princess aren't you? Well, why not." He moved to the door and locked it. Then he opened the briefcase resting on one of his office chairs and extracted the manacles and handcuffs. I had an idea. I raised a finger indicating "give me a moment" and reached into my purse. I pulled out the pair of gloves and tugged them onto my hands. They extended far enough up my arms that I thought they would protect my wrists from the tight handcuffs. "Smart girl," Q said. "Now let's get you hooked up." I dutifully reached behind my back and grasped one gloved hand in the other. I did not notice the cold steel this time but I certainly felt the tight grip of the cuffs first on my left wrist and then on my right My shoulders protested having my arms leveraged behind me again so soon but physical pain had never been a big concern of mine. Emotional pain was another story. I did feel the metal when Q locked the manacle around my left arm above my elbow and then tugged my right arm into place and snapped the remaining manacle onto it. Q stepped in front of me and inspected my face. Our eyes met sending a chill through my body. He gently pulled down my mask and inspected the tape sealing my mouth. "Nicely done." He commented. "Do you have something in your mouth?" I made a mm hmm sound being unable to nod in the ever more annoying neck brace. "Excellent," he responded. "Just excellent. Let's head out."
Q wrapped my coat around my shoulders effectively concealing the fact that my arms were chained behind my back. He buttoned the top two buttons and guided me to the door. He opened it for me and I stepped into the corridor and waited while he shut off the lights and locked up. We were in for a nearly two block walk and I had to do it breathing only through my nose and through a surgical mask all while my corset held my ribcage and lungs in a vice grip. And then there was the fact that I had been a heavy smoker for 15 years. What's life without challenges? Once again we encountered several people I knew and this time I couldn't so much as raise a hand to waive. Q covered for me very well though and I don't think any suspicions were raised. It took only a few minutes for both of my arms to go completely numb. I hoped that the famous neurosurgeon who had chained me up like this knew what he was doing and that I would eventually recover feelings in my hands. In the meantime I resolved to enjoy the freedom from pain from the tight cuffs. No one asked why I was wearing a vinyl raincoat on a hot sunny day but it must have looked funny.
When we stepped from the air conditioned medical center lobby into the baking hot parking garage I instantly broke into a sweat. The raincoat amplified the heat and it seemed impossible to draw the muggy Missouri air through my mask. Maybe my idea to gag myself hadn't been so clever after all. I realized that Q's vintage sports car almost certainly didn't have air conditioning and I felt grateful that he drove at warp ten. We got to the car and Q unbuttoned my coat and slipped it from my shoulders. My chains were now exposed but that bothered me hardly at all. Q opened the passenger door and helped me ease into the low slung coupe. He helped me get my feet and legs in and then pulled my shackles from his brief case. He knelt beside the car door and positioned them on my ankles ratcheting them as tight as he possibly could. Then he brought out my sleep mask and, as I had requested, covered my eyes with it, carefully positioning the bottom of the sleep mask under the top of the surgical mask. I wondered how I looked with eyes, nose and mouth all concealed behind my masks. It turned me on a little to think of my image--face almost entirely concealed and neither able to see or speak. Helplessness seemed to be a turn on for me. Was this some form of psychopathology?
I had assumed that we would head directly to Q's condo where he would take care of dinner and any other arrangements that he thought appropriate. I was mistaken. "I need to stop at the medical pharmacy and at the grocery. I would think that you would prefer to remain in the car given your limited mobility and lack of vision?"
The question caught me off guard. I was very uncomfortable. It was hot in the tiny car and the combination of gag, mask and corset made breathing a challenge. What I really wanted was some air conditioned comfort. Not knowing what to say--or grunt--I remained silent as I felt Q back quickly out of the parking slot. We accelerated out of the ramp and the motion of the car did seem to produce a bit of a cool breeze. I relaxed as much as my restraints would allow. Again, and still to my surprise, being blindfolded produced in me a sense of euphoria--as if I had been transported to a different, happier, world. This sensation was strangely familiar and altogether pleasant. Why did I like being blind??? Or was it that I liked being blindfolded? Was there any practical difference?
My daydreaming came to an abrupt halt when I felt the car stopped and I heard Q shut down the engine. "I will be a while, Sweetheart, I'm going to pick up some supplies for you. I will lock the car and lower the windows a crack. I hope you aren't too uncomfortable." I heard the door shut and the key turn in the lock. Then I heard nothing but the sounds of traffic. It felt strange to suddenly be alone and so completely helpless. I took an inventory of what I could and couldn't do. I couldn't see. I couldn't speak. I couldn't use my hands, arms or legs. I couldn't turn my head or bend my spine. I could hear, although there seemed to be very little to hear. I idly wondered if the car had a radio. I could shift my waist to the left and right to a very limited degree. I could move my shackled ankles a few inches in each direction. I couldn't light a cigarette or a joint. I couldn't do a line of coke or scarf down a Big Mac. I couldn't pour myself a drink and even if I could, I couldn't swallow with my mouth taped shut. How did I feel about having my addictions taken away from me? I wasn't sure. Kind of good. Kind of panicky.
Was I developing new addictions to replace the recently departed ones, I wondered. I certainly craved the physical sensations Q produced when he touched me. The climaxes he produced were far better than anything I had ever experienced with drugs or alcohol. And how did I feel about the prospect of being permanently in restraints? My intellect suggested that I should hate and rebel from being placed in restraints. Confinement was something to be feared and avoided. And yet...and yet. I found an undeniable pleasure in my helplessness. Something about being bound aroused me. Or maybe it was the fact of being bound by Q that produced this strange effect. I knew I had fallen in love with him. I wondered to what degree the feeling was reciprocated. And finally there was the question of the blindfold. The chains and the corset and the neck brace had all been Q's idea but the desire to be blindfolded had clearly started with me. When the thought hit me I had begged Q to blindfold me immediately. Once he did I LOVED the sensation of having my vision taken away. The feeling was sexual but it was something more as well. What? Why was I, even at that moment, experiencing a feeling a peaceful well being as a result of having my eyes covered?
The mid-afternoon sun was raising the temperature in the little coupe and I fervently hoped that Q would not be much longer. I gave little thought to what he was buying at the wholesale medical supply pharmacy. He was a surgeon after all. I had started to sweat heavily. Sweat from my forehead run under my sleep mask and into my eyes. I worried that the tape holding my gag in place would come loose. Why did that prospect bother me so much? My hands felt hot and clammy inside the rubber gloves I was wearing but at least my handcuffs weren't cutting into flesh. I resolved that I would become a regular glove wearer. My feet had gone numb. Could I get gloves for my ankles? I wondered how much of my future I would be spending in chains. I fervently hoped that I would spend most of my time in far more comfortable medical restraints.
My train of thought was interrupted when I heard Q open the trunk of the car. Is it still considered a trunk when it's in the front of the vehicle? Heard him load something bulky and then what sounded like plastic bags. He slammed the cover and a moment later I heard the key in the lock and then felt him slide into the driver's seat. "Whew, it's warm in here. I will have broiled Susan for dinner. Yum! I picked up some things that should make your life much easier in the upcoming days and weeks. I hope you like them.'
My curiosity spiked. What could Q have purchased at a medical pharmacy to ease my life? Methadone? Two cartons of Salem 100s? A fifth or two of Jim Beam? Probably none of those. This man clearly likes surprises. He started the powerful car and moved out quickly. Moving air flooded the cabin and even though it was warm the motion helped tremendously. I felt my spirits lift as I thought about the evening and the feeling of Q's hands on my body. Unable to see, I formed a mental image of the world flying past us. I made it much prettier and more vivid than the real world, adding extra dashes of flowers and eliminating all of the ugly things. I decided that I would like to go for long walks wearing a blindfold. Was that a realistic possibility? With Q, who knew? Was I the only person on earth who liked being blindfolded? I was certainly the only one I had ever heard about. It was, after all, a pretty weird new addiction but it had to be healthier than cocaine and I was coming to think that I liked it more.
"Are you enjoying being gagged?" Q asked as I felt the car slow to make a turn.
I gave the matter some thought and decided that, yes, in the overall context of this unusual experience I did in fact like being silenced. I knew I talked too much. I knew that my mouth got me in trouble on a regular basis. Moreover I knew that I needed to be gagged to stop me from putting things in my mouth that didn't belong there.. I did my best gagged, "Mm hmm," trying to add a tone of enthusiasm.
"Good, good," Q replied. "I think it is an excellent idea for you to wear a gag or muzzle. It will prevent a lot of problems. I'm grateful that you took the initiative." Me and my big gagged mouth, I thought. I had learned enough to know that Q was being quite serious. I didn't know how he was going to do it but I was fairly certain that my talking days were numbered. I smiled inwardly and contemplated life as Gagged and Blindfolded Tied Up Girl. The thought made me want to giggle. I was pretty sure that I had lost my mind.
I sensed that we had turned into the parking garage and I wondered how I would be traversing the nearly block long distance to the elevator. Would I be blindfolded? Shackled? I was pretty sure that my gag would not be coming off. I felt a lot less embarrassed than I had been a few hours earlier. Maybe it was the blindfold but I no longer felt ashamed of my restraints. I was proud to be Gagged and Blindfolded and Chained Up Girl. I didn't care who saw me. I WAS crazy. Q shut down the Pantera and announced, "I bought a very nice wheelchair for you. It will make getting about much easier for you. I will get it out and opened up and then we'll slip your coat on." I sensed him opening the driver's door and slipping out. Once again I heard the trunk open and the sounds of Q unloading the contents. Then I felt my door being opened. Q reached in and unlatched my seatbelt. Then he lifted my ankles and helped me rotate so I could slip my legs through the open door.
"There you go, Darling. Now I'm going to help you stand up. Be very careful not to hit your head. I know that neck brace is a nuisance but it's doing you a world of good. You'll be wearing it constantly from now on." In truth, I hated the neck brace more than all of my other restraints put together. It chafed and gave me a neck ache and it forced me to turn my whole body if I wanted to see what was to my left or right (assuming I wasn't blindfolded, of course). Q eased me out of the car in a process not unlike exiting the birth canal and then assisted me in standing. I felt him slip my rain coat over my shoulders and button a couple buttons. He then re-positioned me and I heard him roll the wheelchair in place behind me. He walked back around and guided me as I lowered myself into the chair.
I'm going to remove your shackles so that you will be able to separate your feet and place them on the foot rests but I don't want your legs unrestrained so I am going to use some medical restraints to strap each of you ankles and calves to the legs of the chair. These restraints will be very comfortable but they are also very effective. You won't be able to move either leg at all." I felt the shackles come loose from my left ankle and then my right. Q lifted one foot and then the other onto the wheelchair's footrests. Then I felt a wide canvas strap being wrapped around my left ankle and pulled tight forcing my lower leg up next to the leg of the wheel chair. Next I felt a similar strap being wrapped around my left upper calf and it also being buckled tightly into place. My left leg was now completely immobilized by the two restraints. Q repeated the process with my right leg and I realized that I was firmly wedded to the wheelchair with no ability to move either leg. The medical restraints were much more comfortable than the metal shackles but they were even more effective at immobilizing me.
I heard Q close and lock the passenger door of his car and then I sensed that he had moved behind my wheelchair. He spun me about and I felt us moving toward the elevator. I had not heard anyone else on this floor of the parking structure so I assumed no one was looking. Inexplicably, I had the sense that if I couldn't see them I didn't care if they were staring at me in my masks and wheelchair. We covered the ground between parking slot and elevator much quicker than we had that morning when I had had to walk in shackles. I heard the ding of the elevator and when the door opened I did not sense anyone else aboard. On the ride up, Q commented, "I think we both have realized in the last 24 hours that effective restraints are going to be the key to you leading a healthy lifestyle. I am very much in love with you and I want to see you healthy and happy. I am so grateful that you have so readily accepted the need for restraint. I think this wheelchair will be a terrific tool in keeping you firmly but comfortably restrained long term." The only words I really heard were, "I am very much in love with you." After that there was something about being restrained. I didn't care. Whatever. The Man was in love with me. Absolutely nothing else mattered!
We arrived at the top floor and Q wheeled me to the door of his condo. I heard him unlock the door and then he wheeled me into this living room. The air conditioning felt so good. Q took what I guessed was a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from my brow. "You've had that gag in place for better than two hours. Are you ready for a cold drink of water?" I made an enthusiastic mm-hmm sound and almost immediately felt Q removing my surgical mask. Then he started peeling off the wide strips of medical tape. Like any trained medical professional he knew to pull off tape as quickly as possible so as it minimize pain but there was still quite a sting when the last two strips came off. Without being asked, I opened my mouth and Q pulled the hand towel from behind my teeth. "You did an impressive job of gagging yourself," he commented.
I worked my jaw until I felt confident that I could speak and then I said, "I will gladly gag myself every day for the rest of my life if that would please you."
"I am so grateful that you said that because it is my thought that you are right that you should wear a gag at all times. Substance abuse is very difficult with one's mouth sealed shut. The sex shops have a huge assortment of gags and muzzles. Most of them can be locked. We will try out a few and see what is the most effective and comfortable for you. They also make something called a trainer that incorporates both a blindfold and a gag. That is something that you might enjoy wearing." I felt a glass being pressed against my lips and I drank the cold ice water happily. It tasted better than any alcohol I had ever had.
"I want to get you properly belted into your new chair but before we do that, how would you feel about a blindfold upgrade? I know that sleep mask let's in slivers of light and, when your hands are free it's far too easy to remove. You aren't really blindfolded if you can just slip it off and see."
"A better blindfold sounds great," I said sincerely. "What do you have in mind?"
"Well, how about we thoroughly bandage your eyes so that you can't even tell if it is light or dark? Total blindness." With that he slipped my sleep mask off and displayed to me a tray of supplies he had laid out. "Shall we do this?"
"Absolutely," I responded feeling little trepidation and a great deal of excitement. I knew that Q was not talking about bandaging my eyes for a few minutes or a few hours. He was talking long term. My job, my profession, was fading in importance along with my many addictions. Obviously, my working days were over given that I was going to be strapped to a wheelchair or bad, gagged and blindfolded. I didn't care. This man was the new center of my universe. Q began by scrubbing my forehead, my eyebrows, my eyelids and my cheeks with a surgical scrubbing solution. He then gently wiped away the residue from my skin.
He then leaned in, kissed me and said, "Take a good look. I'm the last thing you are going to see for a very long time. Now close your eyes." I did as told. I felt Q tug on my right upper eyelid pulling it down over the lower lid. Then I felt him place a series of tape strips in "X" formations across both lids sealing my eye shut. He repeated the procedure with my left eye and I could no longer see. He then placed a thick gauze pad over my right eye and secured it in place with a good many strips of tape. I lost all sense of light and dark in that eye. Again he repeated the process with my left eye leaving my world completely black.
"OK I'm going to wrap your eyes in adhesive gauze bandages to hold everything in place. I'm going to be very thorough so this will create quite a thick bandage." I felt him place the beginning of the bandage on my temple and then wrap the material repeatedly around my head covering everything from the center of my forehead to the tip of my nose and my upper lip. When one set of bandages ran out he added a second and then a third. By the time he taped down the end of the third twelve feet long bandage I was very aware of a thick heavy dressing covering the upper two thirds of my face. I couldn't imagine being more completely blindfolded. I wondered if I would ever see again. There was a sense of thoroughness and permanence to these bandages. I felt more blind than blindfolded. Would I see again? To my surprise I could live with either answer as long as I had Q in my life.
"How does that feel?" Q asked.
"It feels...good. A little strange but really really good. I have no clue why I like being blindfolded so much." That statement wasn't entirely true. I was coming to realize that my blindfold shut out a world where I had been profoundly unhappy. With my vision gone, I could imagine a new happier world. I liked that, liked it a lot.
"You'll sort it out in time. I think the blindness will be a good tool in rebuilding your life. You will have no visual cues to trigger old negative responses."
"It's also great for my fantasy life. When I'm blindfolded I see a bright beautiful world full of colors and flowers and nothing ugly or hateful."
"What a wonderful notion," Q mused. "Maybe you should be blindfolded permanently. Would you like that?"
"Maybe," I said. "As crazy as it sounds, I think I might like being blindfolded for the rest of my life. I could take long walks and imagine that the things I hear and smell are incredibly beautiful and I could meet new people and assume that they are all strikingly attractive with lovely smiles. Maybe this will change but right now being blindfolded makes me indescribably happy. Thank you for doing this for me. I also find being blindfolded relaxing. It's as if I'm relieved of the duty to be vigilant. Would you do me a huge favor? Would you agree not to remove my blindfold until I ask you to?" I felt Q lean in and press his lips against mine. Our lips parted and our tongues met. I strained against my bonds wanting to wrap my arms and legs around him. "I love you," I whispered.
"I love you too," he said. "Now let's make you more comfortable." I felt him unbutton the raincoat I was still wearing. I couldn't stand with the ankle and calf restraints in place so he gently pulled it from under me. He then had me lean forward as much as my corset would permit and he unlocked my handcuffs and elbow manacles. I brought my arms in front of me and reached out and hugged Q. I touched his face with my rubber clad hands. I ran my fingers across his lips. Then I touched my own face. Such a strange sensation to feel my face covered in bandages. "Do I look silly in these bandages?" I asked.
"You look beautiful, Susan. There is an elegant dignity to a blindfolded woman. I would be happy to spend the rest of my life with you in your blindfold and strapped regally into this chair, your throne. All I need from you is for you to be the best you that you can be. If we need to tie you down and blindfold you to get you there then that's just fine with me. I can be your eyes and your legs and maybe even your voice. Now let's get you buckled in and then we can have some supper." Q started by slipping straps under and then around my upper and lower thighs, belting them in place to the seat of my wheelchair. Once this process was finished, I had four tight wide straps on each of my legs making it absolutely impossible to move either of them even a milimeter. Next he wrapped belts around my torso at my hips, my waist and just below my boobs pinning me to the back of the chair. Finally came my arms. "I am going to err on the side of extreme caution with your arms," Q announced. "The arms are highly maneuverable so we're going to use redundant restraints to eliminate even the slightest possibility of escape." He then placed five wide straps around each of my arms-a set at my wrists, a set at mid-forearm, a set just below my elbows, a set just above my elbows and a set just below my shoulders. Each strap was buckled as tightly as possible and then attached to the arms or frame of my wheelchair. When Q was finished, I could move my fingers and toes but absolutely nothing else. I was tethered to the chair by 21 wide canvas straps each one buckled as tightly as possible. I had the sense of being overwhelmed by my restraints. I would not have been more helpless had I been a quadriplegic. Emotionally the medical restraints felt much less frivolous than handcuffs and shackles. These weren't toys. They were serious restraints from which I would not soon be released.
"Susan, welcome to your new life. I love you."
"Thank you for doing this for me," I said, feeling the tears well behind my bandages. "I love you too. Now please kiss me as hard as you can." And he did. Then he stroked both of my breasts, finally reaching inside my bodybriefer to squeeze my nipples. The feeling was beyond wonderful. I tried to move against my restraints but could not budge. I made fists and curled my toes and moaned. My immobility--my inability to satisfy either him or myself--was both frustrating and titillating. I thought about how many restraints and how many garments would have to come off for me to be able to attain gratification and that, strange as it may seem, was a turn on for me. In the new world my mind created, Q and I were naked making love in a meadow of flowers. In that world I was thin and lithe and utterly unashamed of my body. I loved that world. I was happy there. Then I re-imagined the scene. We were still in the meadow and we were still naked but now I was strapped into my wheelchair and my eyes were bandaged. Somehow this made me even happier. We continued to kiss in both worlds and in both worlds I could not move in response to Q's touch. My arousal increased.
"Tied up like this I won't be able to do anything to please you. I feel very badly--guilty--about that. Once I am gagged we won't even be able to kiss. That's really the only part of this experience that I regret."
"Susan, by having the courage to accept being completely restrained in order to live a healthier life you are doing more for me than you could ever hope to do unfettered. You are a beautiful amazing woman. You are also very sexy in your embrace of helplessness. This thing is going to be a long term commitment for both of us. A life long commitment I suspect. We will both need to make sacrifices, you obviously more so than I. You are an extraordinarily tough young woman to do this."
I heard the doorbell ring. "That must be our food order. I phoned it in from the hospital," Q said and I heard him moving toward the entryway. My sexual reverie crashed but the prospect of food held quite a bit of appeal for me as well. I heard Q pay the delivery person who seemed shocked and delighted by the tip and then I heard the door closed. "What are we having?" I called.
"You are having chicken broth," came the reply. "I'm having a steak and baked potato. I want to limit you to 1000 calories per day at least until you become more physically active." I was more than a little disappointed by Q's announcement but I knew that I shouldn't be surprised. We were cleaning up my lifestyle and the old me certainly was guilty of chronic overeating. As the scent of the food reached me I wondered just how a person as thoroughly tied down as I could become physically active. There's a limit to what you can do with isometrics. I heard Q moving about handling the food and presumably setting the table. Eventually he came and pushed me to the table in his dining area. I remembered that he had a terrific view from this window of the city and the river beyond. I now recreated that view making it more breathtaking and the colors more vibrant. How had I come to possess this capability? Had I known that I had it and was that the reason I insisted on being blindfolded? If so, I had waited 28 years to employ my unusual super power. I was struck by the thought that I felt lighthearted as a result of having my eyes bandaged, almost giddy. Would this sensation last?
"I'm going to feed you your meal through a straw," Q told me. "There should be fewer chances of a spill that way. Once we get you fitted with some good gags and muzzles, you will need to take all of your nourishment through straws."
"Really? You're not even going to ungag me at mealtime?" I tried to say it in a lighthearted voice but even hyper-compliant Susan thought wearing a muzzle at dinner time sounded like a bit much.
"No, as you pointed out, most of your health and behavioral issues stem from putting things in your mouth and nose. I think we need to get them sealed up and then keep them that way." I thought about that. I knew he was right and it was what I had requested but still.... I liked talking. I liked kissing. I even still entertained thoughts of trying to get Q's permission to smoke a couple cigarettes a day. Wearing a gag full time would throw a wrench into all of that. Then I considered my situation. I was clearly not calling the shots. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. I didn't even get to decide what I would have for dinner. I had made a decision to put my future entirely in this man's hands. If he wanted me to spend my days muzzled then that was what would and should happen. "Are you planning to gag me tonight?" I asked.
"Oh yes. I think we should. Don't you? We need to set patterns and stick to them. Obviously, you won't be able to engage in any negative behavior bound up as you are but there will be daily transitions from chair to bed and vice versa as well as exercise periods. I think a gag or muzzle will act to prevent temptation which should be a relief for you. This whole project is about taking away negative options. In that regard, a proper muzzle may be the most important piece of equipment we can get for you. You are paying far too great a price to allow any possibility of slippage. We are going to be as rigorous as possible with all of your restraints. I promise you that. I was thinking that for tonight we could tape your mouth shut after we finish up here. Tomorrow we will get you some proper gags and muzzles. As with the restraints you are wearing, I am going to err on the side of absolute certainty in sealing your mouth. Ideally we should be able to find gags that both cover your mouth and clamp your jaw shut. It's regrettable that you will lose the ability to speak but there may be advantages to being silenced just as you seem to find advantages in being blind."
"OK, that sounds good," I said. "Before I lose my voice could I ask you a couple questions?"
"Of course you may, Love. What would you like to know?" Q reached over and took my hand. Even through my rubber glove the contact felt warm and wonderful. I squeezed his hand as best I could.
"I was thinking that if I am going to be this thoroughly immobilized for most of the day and, presumably, night proper circulation might be an issue. Last night you mentioned that I could hook stockings to my girdle. Do you suppose it would be a good idea for me to wear good quality compression hose?"
Q took both of my hands and squeezed. "That's a terrific idea and something that I meant to bring up. We're going shopping for you tomorrow and I will put compression stockings at the top of the list. Good thinking, Susan. What else is on your mind?"
I felt the straw touch my lips and took a long sip of the warm broth. I was hungry and it was well seasoned so I didn't feel particularly cheated. Also, liquids are much easier to handle when tightly corseted. I heard Q's knife and fork scraping his plate and I tried not to think about how good his food must taste. I was the new queen of self-deprivation, or, perhaps, assisted self-deprivation.
"Let's move from my legs to my arms," I began. "This wheelchair is wonderful. It's infinitely more comfortable than shackles and handcuffs. Thank you so much for getting it for me. The medical restraints are great too and they are very tight just as I want them to be. I was thinking though that the straps on my arms would cut into my skin much less if I were wearing something under them. I mean even these surgical gloves help." I wiggled m fingers to draw attention to my gloved hands. "Specifically, what if I had a pair of those shoulder length formal gloves made from some heavy material. The restraint straps could remain as tight as they are now but I think it would be much easier on my skin and also more comfortable." I hoped I wasn't being too pushy but the straps that had encircled my arms for less than an hour were digging into my flesh and I could foresee problems long term.
"Another excellent idea, Susan. I frequent a formal wear shop in St. Louis and I have seen ladies leather opera gloves there. We will get you a few pairs at once." I heard a tone of amusement enter his voice, "Of course we will have to dress you in accordance with the style of a woman sporting shoulder length gloves." This made me giggle. I had never in my life done anything to adorn myself and now I was bantering about dressing up with this elegant and wealthy man. "Now, if that exhausts the questions, let's brush your teeth and get your gag in place for the evening. The ballgame will be starting shortly." He wheeled me to the bathroom and brushed my teeth for me holding an emesis tray under my mouth when I rinsed. This felt strange but there was also something very self indulgent about having someone else brush your teeth.
"Alright now," he announced. "Lets get that pretty mouth sealed up." He gave me one more lingering kiss and then, using the same type of wide medical tape I had employed a few hours early, Q wrapped an entire roll over my mouth and jaw and around my head. Although I didn't have anything in my mouth as I had earlier when I gagged myself, I felt much more thoroughly silenced. My jaw was absolutely immobilized and my lips were sealed with at least a dozen layers of tape. I would be holding no further conversations that night. Q emptied my catheter collection bag and then pushed my chair--I was already thinking of it as mine--back to the living room and positioned me next to his recliner. I heard the TV come to life amid a discussion of players on the disabled list. I supposed that I was now on the disabled list having lost my ability to walk, talk, see or use any part of my body. Yep, Susan will be spending the rest of this season on the bench.
I struggle to describe my feelings that first night of total restraint. They were nothing that I would have expected. I did not panic nor did I become angry or frustrated at my total helplessness. Although I could not have articulated it then, I instinctively realized that there was a zen to being tied up--a need to view the restraints as a positive rather than a negative. All of those straps, the gag and the bandages covering my eyes were aids in my recovery. I resolved to be grateful for them and for the man who applied them. As a nurse I knew that there would be some real discomfort from being so thoroughly immobilized--cramps, itching, vertigo, etc. I could handle those things. I would have plenty of time to think--I could do little else. I resolved to make those thoughts constructive positive meditations. In addition to the great mysteries of life my meditations would include my own future which was now distinctly out of my hands. Would I ever see again? Did I want to see again? Would I ever move freely again? What were my wishes.
Tonight strapped to the wheelchair hand and foot felt entirely different from spending the previous evening in handcuffs and shackles. There was a sense of permanency to my new restraints. My eyes weren't just covered, they were heavily taped and bandaged. I could not move any of my limbs at all. I could not shift in my chair. My shuffling shackled gait of the night before now seemed the epitome of freedom.
For an addict like me being fully restrained was strangely liberating. Drugs, alcohol, nicotine and food had lost their power over me. I had found the one sure way to overcome my weakness. I thought of Cyndi saying that she would need to be tied up in order to give up cigarettes. Here I was following her suggestion literally. I wondered what an extended period of sobriety would feel like. Or, for that matter, How I would feel if I weighed 100 pounds less.
Q positioned my wheelchair near the couch a tuned in to the Cardinals game. I am an avid baseball fan and love the cheer loudly and demonstrably during a game. Tonight, however, my restraints would permit none of that. Since I couldn't see I had to listen closely to the audio broadcast. I felt frustrated whenever I would hear phrases such as, "Look at that!" Look at what, damn it? I'm blind here. I also noticed my girdle pressing uncomfortably on my catheter. I had debated catheterizing myself as opposed to wearing a diaper. I was beginning to question my decision. The game was a boring scoreless affair which gave me plenty of time to dwell on my utter helplessness. My mouth felt dry but I knew the tape gag wouldn't be coming off until morning. I flexed my hands to relieve the monotony and Q must have noticed He took my rubber-clad left hand and gave it a squeeze. That felt wonderful. I squeezed back. I longed to hug and be hugged by Q but that wasn't to be. He rubbed the palm of my hand with his thumb. Even through the thick glove that felt erotic. A tingle started down there. Little I could do about it. I was as helpless as a human being could be or so I thought.
"
I should explain that I am ethnically half American Indian and half Cuban. I was blessed with good skin and high cheekbones and in my teen years I was always the "she has a nice face" girl to people who were trying to explain away my obesity and vulgar attitude. I have dark brown eyes that people say are pretty but unless Q had x-ray vision he couldn't see my eyes at present. I had never considered the possibility that anyone could think I was beautiful. And yet now one of the hottest men I had ever met was telling me just that. It felt wonderful. I flushed warmly despite being nearly naked. I forgot the cramps in my shoulders and jaw and my empty stomach. Tears poured behind my blindfold again. I was in love--in love with a man who scared me, who thrilled me and who most of all confounded my understanding. Such powerful feelings were quickly erased by the awareness that my nose was running and I had no way of wiping it. Q, perceptive as always, saw my dilemma and held a tissue to the breathing holes in my blindfold and gently dabbed. He again took my shoulders and suggested that we get me something to drink.
Q guided me to the dining area of the kitchen and helped me down into a chair. Moving even room-to-room in my shackles was arduous. The chain that ran between my ankles was a mere eight inches long. I could barely lift a foot and instead needed to shuffle side to side. I felt him brush a strand of loose hair from my forehead. Then he ran his finger along my lips--lips stretched tight by the ballgag. He touched my throat. then he brought both hands to my breast and pinched my nipples between his thumbs and fingers. I moaned and squeezed my legs tightly together around my bulky diaper to try to quell the burning urge I suddenly felt. Q must have done really well in Human Anatomy. "Let's get you a little something to drink and then we'll take care of our other appetites." he whispered. "I'm going to take your gag off for a few minutes So you can drink. You are wearing a gag with a breather hole so this isn't strictly necessary but the first feeding we'll let you have the gag off for a few minutes. After that you will take your meals with the gag in place." As I considered the implications of that statement, I felt him working with the buckle behind my head and in a bit the strap that held the gag in my mouth went slack. Q pulled the ball of the gag free and for the first time in hours I could work my jaw.
Q kissed me, hard. Our tongues met. I leaned into him wishing I could put my arms around his neck and run my fingers through his hair. I wondered what he was wearing, if anything. I wondered if we were about to make love. I wondered what was for breakfast! After a minute...or five...Q pulled away but put his finger to my lips. "Now just because I took your gag off does not mean you have permission to speak. Understood?" I made an mm hmm sound but didn't open my lips. I was not a Gagged Person so it wasn't OK to speak even when my gag was not in place.. Only later did I wonder why I needed permission to speak. I heard him move to the refrigerator and open the door. I had never been blindfolded for any length of time and I was surprised by how much I could tell about what was happening just by listening. I heard Q moving things about and then closing the door followed by the sound of something plastic being opened. "This is a nutrition drink," he said. "It contains about 300 calories. I'm going to limit you to three of these a day. If we do that for three days that will be a good start on a serious weight loss program. You'll be hungry but we will keep tightening your corset which will put pressure on your stomach and we'll see that you drink plenty of water."
These were strange words. They implied that Quentin, and not I, had the right to decide what and how much I could eat and whether or not I would diet. I had an impulse to scream profanities at him and demand that he release me so I could leave. Who the hell was he to take control of my body and my life? But I didn't scream or so much as say one word. I recalled the mad sensation of his touch, the magnificent way be brought me to one level of arousal and then the next, one climax and then the next. I remembered the feeling of him telling me--me!--that I was beautiful. I took the straw he pressed against my lips and drew in the nearly tasteless gritty liquid. The small serving did little to fill my stomach. I longed for a 2000 calorie breakfast. I said nothing. Q took what I assume was a napkin and dabbed at my lips.
Quentin then said, "Let's get your gag back in place now." Was I going to be gagged all weekend?
I screwed up my courage knowing it was against the rules and said, "Will you please kiss me again before you gag me?" His answer came quick and hard. His mouth engulfed mine. His tongue pressed into me, against the roof of my mouth, against my tongue, across my lips. I felt his hands on the back of my head pulling me into him. I didn't have much experience with such things but I decided that Q must be the best kisser in the world. I wished he would pinch my nipples again. I wished he would touch me DOWN THERE. I longed to have my hands free to guide his, to touch him. Too soon he pulled away. I felt him arranging the straps on my gag. "Open wide," He said. I suppose my instincts should have been to grit my teeth and resist being muzzled. I had no idea how long I would be forced to wear the gag this time. Would anyone in her right mind consent to having such a thing stuffed into her mouth and then locked in place?
I don't know but I did. I opened my jaw and took the big leather ball into my mouth. Then I bit down as Q pulled the straps that held it in place and that held my jaw tightly shut. I felt him working the buckles and wondered if he wasn't fastening it even tighter than he had the night before. "Does that feel snug enough?" Q asked, apparently seriously. I grunted emphatically. "I know that a gag feels a tad strange at first but you'll get used to it with time. There is nothing more erotic than a beautiful woman who is thoroughly muzzled. From your perspective it liberates you from the social obligation to speak and gives you the luxury of continual introspection. The fact that you are blindfolded is icing on this sweet cake." Truly beautiful! He said I was TRULY BEAUTIFUL. OK he also said I was going to get used to being gagged all the time but who cares if he keeps telling me I'm beautiful? I felt high. I WAS high. I might as well have been a 14 year old in the throes of her first crush. I would have told Q that I loved him had I been able.
"Our next step is to get you into your wheelchair. You'll be far more comfortable in it than with all of those tight chains on." He helped me to my feet and guided me toward the great room. I loved the feeling of his hands on my shoulders. Walking while wearing the thick diaper felt strange. I wondered how long I could go before I would need to wet in it. "In a minute I'm going to help you sit down in the chair over there but there are a couple things I want to do for you first. You haven't had anything to eat for something like 20 hours. I bet we can pull that corset quite a bit tighter." This announcement wasn't my idea of good news. I would have preferred having the corset quite a bit looser...but obviously this wasn't my call. It was heavily boned and I could not flex my spine in any direction while wearing it. My abs ached. Nonetheless I stood still and inhaled while Q tugged at the laces. He worked his way up and down my spine. I felt my torso, especially my rib cage being constricted by its grip. I was taking short rapid breaths wondering if women really did faint from being tightly laced. Eventually Q was satisfied with his efforts and tied off the laces. I flashed back on the time in high school when my mother tried to get me to wear control top pantyhose and I told her they were too restrictive.
As I struggled to force oxygen into my lungs I badly wished I could draw more air through my mouth. Corsets and gags are a wicked combination. Even the "breather" gag I wore did not allow for the passage of much air through the mouth. "Now let's get you into your chair. You'll be spending a lot of time in it from now on. Q helped me turn about--not easy in shackles--and then reached behind me and removed both my handcuffs and manacles. The relief from the strain was enormous. I brought my gloved arms forward and shook them in an effort to restore feeling. Q then guided me to a sitting position in the wheelchair. "This chair is equipped with a great many medical restraint belts. We're going to strap you tightly in it starting with your torso.' I sensed a belt being wrapped around my hips and then cinched tightly across my lap. Next a felt a second strap encircling my waist perhaps eight inches above the first and felt in pull tight--uncomfortably tight even though it was directly over my corset. Then a strapped was wrapped around my ribcage just below my breast and it in turn was cinched as tight as possible.
"Next I'm going to strap down your arms. I'm very sorry that these straps are so damned tight but the whole point is to see that you are thoroughly restrained and can't escape so I know you will understand." He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead just above my blindfold and went to work. Each of my arms were bound to the arms and frame of the wheelchair with four wide leather straps--one right at my arm pit, one just above my elbow, one around my forearm and one at my wrist. The straps were cinched as tight as possible and were absolutely unyielding. I would have absolutely no use of my arms or hands. Finally my legs were strapped to the legs of the wheelchair. Restraints circled my ankles, calves, lower and upper thighs. When all of the restraints were in place I believe I was bound as thoroughly as a human being could be. I could wiggle my toes and fingers but I was incapable of moving any other part of my body. I could not see. I could not speak and I could not move my head in any direction. I was absolutely and completely helpless.
So I sat. I thought about Q saying he loved me--words I thought I would never hear from a man, let alone such a spectacular man. I thought about the cramps in my shoulders and the corset stays that were poking me in the ribs and hips. I contemplated my empty stomach, my craving for nicotine and the many itches I couldn't scratch. I wondered how long I could keep my diaper dry. I wondered about the future. Was this for real or a quick fling that would leave me embarrassed and humiliated? I wished that the straps weren't so tight. I wished that my corset wasn't as tight and that my ballgag wasn't as big. I wished that I could stop drooling. I wished that I could masturbate. I thought about the fact that I was only about 12 hours into a three day weekend. I wanted a cigarette!
Sensory deprivation and immobility shatter the sense of time. For most of that morning I did not know if Q had been gone 10 minutes or two hours. I am now accustomed to this sensation but on that first day it provoked panic. I tried to shift positions but wasn't very successful. With my ankles locked together and my abdomen crushed I found that I couldn't lift my legs or use them to re-position myself. My arms were useless of course. Again and again my thoughts returned to Q's declaration of love. Did he mean it? Did I love him too? Hell yes I loved him too. I never wanted to be apart from him. He could tie me up and blindfold me and spank me with a ping pong paddle if he wanted if he would only tell me he loved me every day. With this awareness my panic subsided a bit. I was able to relax which, I discovered, made my bonds a great deal more tolerable. In fact I started getting aroused. Just as I was working out how to masturbate with my wrists cuffed behind my back I heard Q at the door.
"Hi, Suzie! I'm back." I hated being called Suzie. My name is Susan. I have a graduate degree and "Suzie" sounds like a poodle's name. And yet.... And yet spoken by Quentin "Suzie" sounded like the sweetest term of endearment I had ever heard. I turned my head in the direction of his voice and tried without much success to smile. "I had a wonderful breakfast--it's a shame you can't eat any longer--and I brought another bag of toys from the car for us. Would you like to try some new toys?" God knows why but I nodded enthusiastically.
I heard Q step to the seating area where I was parked, helpless--in an overstuffed chair. I sensed him kneeling down beside me and felt his hand on my knee. He slowly caressed my inner thigh sending electric waves of arousal throughout me. His hands were soft but strong. He ran the backs of his fingers down the inside of my other thigh. I moaned involuntarily into my gag. I wanted him--badly wanted him--to make love to me again. But that was not to happen, at least not immediately. I heard the snaps on a suitcase or valise and then the rattle of metal. "Sweetheart, I'm going to help you stand and then we are going to try to make you a bit more comfortable." What? Was he going to remove some or all of these restraints? Strangely, I found that thought disquieting. In a very short time I had come to link being bound with expressions of Q's affection. Would removing the one result in a diminution of the other? I needn't have worried on either score.
Quentin placed his hands under my arms and helped pull me to my feel. He then wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. "You are so very beautiful." he murmured. I leaned into him and tried to make moans of contentment and desire. That didn't go very well. He released me and told me to turn around so my back was to him. With his help I accomplished this maneuver despite the shackles. Gently stroking my shoulders, Q said, you've been handcuffed behind your back for almost 24 hours. I know that can't have been comfortable but you've been a real trooper. I wanted you to get used to the sensation of total restraint but now let's see if we can't relieve some of the pressure on your shoulders and wrists. I'm going to unlock your arm restraints now." With that I heard the jingle of keys and felt a tug on my bound wrists and eventually felt the key slip into one of the locks. With a click the left cuff open and the pressure on my wrists subsided. Q repeated the procedure to release the manacles above my elbows. I brought my arms around, painfully, and flexed my shoulders as much as the straps on my corset would allow. Q grasped my right wrist to which the handcuffs were still attached and released that cuff as well. I rubbed my wrists through my gloves and felt relief as the pinpricks of pain that had been present in my hands slowly diminished.
I brought my hands to my face and felt the hard leather gag in my mouth and then the softer leather of the blindfold covering the rest of my face. What a strange sensation to not feel my face! I then lowered my hands to my waist, feeling it for the first time with the corset tightened to this extent. I felt a thrill at the sensation of the new-to-me hourglass shape. I shuffled my still bound feet so that I could turn toward Quentin. I reached out for him and pulled him toward me. I felt his hands on the back of my neck. I tilted my head upward toward him. Despite the gag lodged in my mouth I felt his lips on mine. I pressed into him. I wanted so badly to make love. I moaned. I wrapped my arms tightly around him pulling him toward me. Despite the awkwardness of my gag we kissed for what must have been ten minutes. I was wet and horny when Q pulled away. I assumed that we would make love now but I was wrong...or at least premature. "Before we get carried away here," he said, "let's get you bound up properly. It won't do to have your hands free."
I felt a rush of disappointment, first at being denied sexual release and second at the thought of having my arms re-cuffed behind my back. I withdrew from our embrace and resumed massaging my wrists through my gloves. I felt certain that there would be marks and bruising that I would have to conceal at work in three days. Q then took both of my hands in one of his and asked, "Now if I were to let you wear your handcuffs in front for a while would you promise to be a good girl and not try anything funny?'
I vaguely wondered what sort of funny things I could possibly try while shackled, handcuffed, gagged, blindfolded and nearly naked but for an extremely tight corset, a diaper and a pair of leather gloves but I nodded enthusiastically. The idea of having my hands in front of me and having some minimal use of them sounded wonderful. I felt Quentin slip the cuff first around one wrist and then about the other. As he tighten the handcuffs I realized that the lined leather gloves did indeed protect my wrists from the irritation of the metal and I felt a wave of gratitude toward my lover for getting them for me. Still grasping my now bound wrists, Q told me, "I do want to install two more items just to make sure your hands don't get you in trouble. First, I'm going to put a pair of thumbcuffs on you." Moments later through my glove I felt a tight band of steel encircle my left thumb and then heard it click shut. Next I felt Q tug my right thumb into position next to the left and an identical band of steel quickly locked in place around it. I tried to move my thumbs independently but the cuffs locked them together and prevented any independent motion Between the handcuffs and the thumbcuffs I would have very little use of my hands but I was at least much more comfortable having them bound in front.
I reached out and touched Quentin's face. I ran my leather clad fingers over his cheeks and then slipped my cuffed wrists over his head. I pulled him into me and once again our lips touched. I imagined that the big leather ball in my mouth was Q's manhood. I pressed into him using what little motion of my lips and jaw that I could manage to enhance the kiss. I wondered if I would ever again kiss Q without the obstruction of a gag. If not I resolved to become the world's best gagged kisser. To my delight I felt Q bring his hands to my breasts. He ran his thumbnails across my nipples producing a powerful and instant reaction. I wanted him inside me but once again it was not to be.
"Now since your corset has given you such a lovely hourglass figure I think we can fit a waist chain on you." I had no idea what Q meant by a waist chain but assumed I would find out soon. I again heard the clinking of chains and felt Q reaching around my waist. I felt a tightening at the narrowest point of my waist and then heard the click of a lock being closed. I tried to feel what was encircling me but between the cuffs and the leather of my gloves I couldn't learn much. "OK, now I am going to attach your handcuffs to the waist chain." At this point I got it. My wrists were going to be chained to my waist so I wouldn't be able to reach with my arms or hands. I regretted the loss of use of my hands but on balance this wasn't nearly as bad as having my arms pinned behind me. Moments later Q guided my conjoined wrists to the vicinity of my navel and I heard another lock closed. I tried to pull my hands away from my body but, as I expected, they were locked firmly in place and were essentially useless. I felt strangely impressed with the thoroughness with which Q had restrained me. I could not see. I could not speak. I could not walk and I could not use my hands. I could not rotate my spine or bend forward.
"We're not quite finished accessorizing you, Sweetheart. I have a few more items that will make you even more beautiful than you already are." Considering all of the hardware I was currently wearing I couldn't quite imagine what more he was planning to do to me. "I'm going to fiddle with your lady parts in a moment but I wonder if you would like to have a diaper change before you do?" In truth I had not yet wet my current diaper hoping that I would be able to use the toilet before that became necessary. It wasn't sounding as if the toilet was going to be an option, however, so I made a quick decision and released a stream of pee into the diaper. I wondered if I would ever get used to the sensation of warm urine spreading through my diaper. [spoiler alert: yes I would]. I nodded my head indicating that I would like to be changed and Q responded that he would be right back with "your diaper bag." I apparently now had my own diaper bag. What an interesting development. I heard Q's steps returning and he dropped something on the floor near my feet.
"I'm going to release your shackles for a bit. Once they are off please spread your feet as far apart as you can. I both heard and felt him working the locks on my ankles. I felt first the left and then the right shackle come off and the blood flowing back into my feet. I moved one foot away from the other so as to give Q free access to my crotch. Once again he went through the ritual of pulling my girdle down to my ankles. Unless you have worn a very tight girdle, you have no idea what a struggle it is to get one up and down. He released the tabs on my diaper and pulled it away from me. I felt him using some kind of moistened wipes on my butt (a strangely erotic sensation) and then on my vaginal area. Once again he applied what I would later learn was old fashioned Vaseline to the entire area covered by my diaper. "I am so impressed by the way your lovely skin tolerates a diaper. Most encouraging!" I wondered just what this encouraged although I was pretty sure that I knew. Q paused for a moment and then ran his hands up and down my inner thighs sending an electric flash of desire throughout my body. My knees buckled and I might have fallen had Q not wrapped his arms around me and grasped me tightly. I felt his breath on my face and I leaned into him trying as best I could to bring my mouth to his.
I felt Q's lips on mine and once more I tried to work around my gag to kiss him. I had found that I could rub first my top lip and then my bottom lip against his mouth. If he parted his lips enough we could kiss full on with the ball of my gag partly in his mouth as well--a strangely erotic experience. Was I developing a preference for kissing while gagged?! He placed both hands on my breasts first rubbing gently and then pinching my nipples tightly. I moaned and pressed into him harder. To my surprise I felt something through my gloves pressing firmly into my bound hands. I knew what it was and hoped that even in my restrained state I could please Q. I had no idea when he had removed his pants. I squeezed his massive member between my fingers and palm. I tried to use my thumbs but the thumbcuffs held them almost completely immobile. I squeezed and released the pressure, squeezed again. Q moaned. I think he said "My god." I wanted to guide him toward my vagina but the waist chain did not permit me that much movement. The awkwardness engendered by my restraints was unexpectedly arousing. Being denied what I so desperately wanted made me want it more. Apparently Q wanted it too.
"Let's move to the couch," he whispered. I made the best "Mm hmm" I could and nodded enthusiastically. I felt his hands on my shoulders. He turned me and guided me to a soft leather sofa and helped me ease down onto it. He separated my knees and entered me at once. "Susan [yes!] you are so wet that you would need a diaper even if you had access to the commode." I don't know why but that cracked me up. I started laughing hysterically which isn't an easy thing to do while thoroughly gagged. The only thing that stopped my laughing was the pounding of Q inside me. He was savagely out of control in a way he had not been before. He cried out, "You are the most amazing woman...." At that point he became no more capable of speech than I. His climax seemed to last for minutes and just as he was finishing I too lost all control and shuddered with pleasure. I bit into my gag and emitted an animal growl from my throat. My hands jerked spastically against my chains I arched my back as much as I could and pressed my pelvis into Q's then collapsed onto my back. That moment, despite my bonds, was the happiest moment of my life to date.
After a few minutes rejuvenation, Q helped me first sit up and then stand. I heard him retrieve what I guessed was my diaper bag. At this point one would think that nothing Q could say would surprise me. One would be wrong. "Have you ever worn a butt plug?" he asked. My jaw would have dropped had it not been so tightly strapped shut. Nonetheless I shook my head indicating that I was a virgin when it came to butt plugs. "I see," he said. "We'll start with a small one--relatively small and move up from there. To the extent that you are able in your corset would you kindly bend forward while I spread your butt cheeks."
I did as asked but in truth I couldn't bend at the waist more than maybe 20 degrees. "That's my good girl. Now I am going to use my finger to spread some Vaseline inside you. Relax your sphincter as much as you are able. This will soon become much easier for you." I recognized the sound of latex gloves being pulled on and then felt Q's hands, cold with Vaseline on my butt. He gently parted my cheeks and entered my anus with one well-lubricated finger. I felt the dim stirrings of arousal. What the hell? Does everything this guy does turn me on? Yes, pretty much. Q pressed his finger deeper into my rear entry. His hands are huge but his gentle surgeon's touch caused me no pain and an increasing amount of arousal.
"OK, you are thoroughly lubricated. You're doing a great job, My Love. Let's get the plug in place. You will initially feel very full but this is a sensation to which you will become accustomed very quickly. In fact, I think you will like it quite a lot." I felt Q withdraw his finger and moments later I felt something hard press into my anus. It seemed far too wide to ever fit. Q pressed firmly. I started to panic and thought, "That's never going to fit." Then I had the sensation of being split in half and felt the plug sliding up my ass. Q kept pressing and I felt the first twinges of pain. I tried to contract my sphincter but the effort was wasted as the plug had now slipped deep inside me. Q gave one last push and then patted me on my enormous butt. "Great job. It is right where we want it. In a few weeks you'll be wearing a plug three times that size...and loving it." What a strange choice of words. I had just had a huge rubber phallus shoved up my ass with nothing more than my implied consent but the truth was that I did kind of love it. I felt weirdly good. Some really nice nerves were firing as a result of the butt plug. I felt full, in a good way, but at the same time uncomfortable as if I had an urgent need to poop. How long would I have this thing inside me?
"Alright, we have quite a bit more work to do before we take a break. By the way it's a gorgeous day and I can't wait to get out on the dock and catch some sun. First things first. I'm going to put a fresh diaper on you. By the way, I bought you the extra absorbent type. They are a bit bulkier but hold quite a bit more. I think you could easily go 24 hours without being changed." I had no idea my lover was so well informed on the topic of adult diapers but somehow it made sense. I wondered if I was now a full time diaper wearer. That would be strange but what about this experience wasn't. And yet...I was ecstatically happy. What the hell was going on? I felt Q fitting the diaper between my legs and I widened my stance to give him more room to work. That produced a powerful reminder of the rubber plug stuck up my butt. This was all very different from anything I had ever experienced. Q fastened the diaper in place. He had made it as snug as he could which caused it to press against the base of the butt plug pushing it further into me.
"The next thing I have for you is a fresh girdle. Although you're no longer able to shower daily, regular girdle changes are important." I shook my head in wonder. I could have never imagined myself as a full time girdle wearer. My size two chain-smoking mother had nagged me throughout my teen years to use a girdle but I had refused primarily because it represented a chance to defy her but also because the thing looked very uncomfortable and old fashioned. If Mommy Dearest could only see me now. One at a time he guided my feet into the legs of the girdle and then tugged it up my calves and thighs and then over my diapered butt.
"Next come your stockings." Did he mean pantyhose? Nobody wore real stockings anymore. But then I remembered that he had mentioned the garters on my girdle. Yikes. "For a variety of reasons, you need to wear compression hose. You are a bit overweight, you are wearing an extremely tight corset and girdle and will soon be in shackles again and you will be spending most of your time from now on immobilized which, as you know, has the potential to cause serious blood clots. The fact that you have been a smoker is a concern as well. For all of these reasons, I have bought you the firmest compression hose available and I'm going to have you wear them 24/7. These are 40-50 mmHg compression. They are hard to get on and off but I think they will feel great on your legs." Wow, compression hose? Like old ladies and patients at risk of having their legs amputated wore. I definitely hadn't seen that coming. Q slipped one stocking and then the other onto my legs. They were thick and tight. It felt as if I was now wearing a girdle that extended to the tips of my toes. Q clipped the tops of the stockings to the garters of my girdle and smoothed everything into place. To my surprise the pressure from the stockings did feel good on my legs. I knew he was right about the health benefits to someone with my unhealthy lifestyle but that just made me think about how hungry I was and how much I wanted a cigarette.
"Just a couple more items and then we will take a break. First, lets get your shackles back on. You've been a good girl while you've had them off but I'll feel better when you're properly bound. We'll try you in walking shackles this time." With that I felt him slip the shackle around my left ankle and lock it in place. I had to admit that the shackle was a lot more comfortable with the heavy compression stocking in place. Without being asked I moved my right leg into place to allow Q to lock the shackle on that ankle. He did so and then patted me on the butt, saying, "You are such a good girl" With the heavy girdle and thick diaper in place I barely felt his pat. I noticed that I felt a compulsion to test the limits of each new restraint as it was locked on me. I tried taking a short step in my shackles but of course came up short. I thought that I was now trussed up about as thoroughly as a person could be. I was mistaken.
"Have you ever seen or worn a neck corset?" Q asked? I was aghast. Was a neck corset what it sounded like? Was I about to be strangled? Q seemed to read my mind. "A neck corset is a lace up rigid collar. They can be anywhere from say three inches wide to long enough to extend over the mouth and act as a muzzle. Other than looking damn sexy, their function is to immobilize the head. With a proper neck corset locked in place you can't move your head either front to back or side to side--a very effective restraint. I picked out a lovely black leather one for you. I wish you could see it." This concept was not sounding all that lovely to me. It sounded extremely uncomfortable. I didn't have much time to contemplate life in a neck corset before I felt Q tugging something over my head. He gently tilted my head backward until it felt as if I would be staring at the ceiling had I been able to see. I smelled more leather as the corset passed over my nose. Q fit it in place atop my shoulders and around my neck. I felt a lip extend out under my jaw and then up over my jaw in the direction of my lower lip. I felt the top of it on my cheeks just below the strap holding my gag in place. The neck corset was completely rigid and obviously contained metal boning.
Quentin began lacing the neck corset and it quickly tightened around my neck and jaw. My head was drawn further and further back and upward. I thought that my jaw could not be forced any higher but again I was wrong. I wondered if this was safe but I knew that Q was one of the most competent physicians anywhere and that he cared too much for me to put my health at risk. After still more tugging at the laces I sensed Q tying them off. As was my want, I tested the limits of the neck corset. They were severe. I could not raise or lower my head. I could not turn it even one degree left or right. It was locked in place and would remain in its current position until Q removed the neck corset. I wondered how I must look--chained and corseted, diapered and girdled, blindfolded and gagged. Once again I got the giggles and once again my restraints made laughter very difficult. Q started laughing at the vision of me trying to laugh at my imaginary vision of myself. He put his arms around me and pressed in close. "Your neck corset puts your mouth at just the right angle to kiss. I like that." He leaned in and once again i felt his lips on mine. We were getting good at kissing while I was gagged! I, of course, could no longer move my head which limited the variations in our kissing but neither of us minded much. Q broke our lip lock and hugged me tightly. "I love you so much. You are the loveliest woman I have ever met." I would have swooned had I been physically able. A sense of warmth spread through me. I had not expected to ever hear these words. They meant more to me than all of the freedom I the world. I knew I would bear any burden to hear them every day for the rest of my life. Who needs to move when you are loved by such an amazing man.
Before we were married we formalized our legal relationship by going to court and having Q declared my legal guardian and conservator on the grounds that I presented a danger to myself or others and that I was incapable of managing my own affairs. I attended the hearing in a full length straitjacket strapped to a high-backed wheelchair. Aided by the testimony of a kinky psychiatrist friend of Quentin's that I was mentally unstable (I really couldn't dispute the point) the hearing lasted only a few minutes and the judge granted the request. He signed an order prepared by Q and his lawyer stating that I forfeited all of my legal rights in favor of Quentin. Having been declared legally incompetent, I no longer had the right to own property, to enter into a contract, to have a bank account, to possess a firearm, a knife, mace, pepper spray or any other weapon, to vote, to have a driver's license, to make my own medical decisions or even to leave the house without Q. The guardianship order authorizes and directs Q to physically restrain me, "to such an extent, by such means and for such duration with or without [my] consent as [he] deems advisable" if he considers me to be a danger to myself or others. He has exercised this right very, very liberally. That was in 1987. Many years later we both believe that we have what we wanted most.
When I entered into this journey with my husband , he told me, "While you will never be in pain, you will also never be completely comfortable. Furthermore, you will forever surrender the right to move any part of your body without my consent." He was right. I am kept in bondage and in what most people would call fetish clothing 24/7. It is not terribly comfortable. I am not really "into" discomfort but I accept these conditions as part of our commitments to one another and I feel it is my duty to live with the inconvenience of my lifestyle. Certainly I would feel differently if I thought I were in danger or if true pain were inflicted on me. Gags and blindfolds aren't a lot of fun for me but they are important to my husband and being with him is important to me. Therefore I accept the imposition as my duty to him. In return he provides for me, cares for me, dotes on me and keeps me safe from my own self destructive impulses. Does this make sense to others?
As one might imagine, being kept in bondage 24/7 has been transformative. I have lost over 50% of my body mass since Q started controlling my diet. I have not consumed solid food in decades. I have not touched alcohol in over 30 years. Other than prescriptions for hefty doses of Xanax and Valium that help me overcome my claustrophobia about being bound and Ambien to help me sleep, I have been drug free for the same length of time. I am allowed one or two cigarettes a week.
I am never without substantial restraints. During my two hours per day of "free time" I wear handcuffs, thumbcuffs, shackles and either a gag or muzzle. If I have acted inappropriately, my hands are cuffed behind my back. Otherwise I am allowed to have them cuffed in front. When I am cuffed behind my back I must also wear a set of manacles just above my elbows to prevent any use of my hands or arms. My shackles are removed for one hour per day so that I can use the treadmill or exercise bike. During this time I am handcuffed to the exercise device and, of course, blindfolded. Aerobic exercise while gagged and severely corseted is very challenging but I am required to meet a quota of calories burned each day or I will be handcuffed behind my back and blindfolded during free time the next day.
The chain on my shackles is only about 4" long so getting around during free time is a bit of a challenge particularly since my boots feature high stiletto heels. I can only take small steps and I cannot go up and down steps. Within these limits I am able to move around the house during my free time or to sit and read. The rest of the day I am constantly bound to something--my wheelchair, the bed or our St. Andrew's cross--and am largely immobile. In addition to the restraints I wear, my clothing is quite restrictive. I wear a full length extremely tight corset with shoulder straps and a neck corset at all times. I wear a long heavy girdle, shoulder length black leather gloves, heavy support hose and thigh high boots with spike heels. The neck corset prevents me from moving my head either up and down or from side to side. It took me years to adjust to so much immobility but, as Q says, immobility is the whole point of bondage. All of my clothing is very tight. My boots are two sizes too small. My gloves are so tight and the leather is so thick that it is difficult to bend my elbows or use my fingers when I am allowed to do so.
I don't get to leave the house too often. Q takes me to the hairstylist once a week where my stylist does her work with me strapped down in my wheelchair. We go to church most Sundays. In addition, we go out perhaps once or twice a month to shop or to a movie or play. When we are out, I am almost always in my wheelchair with my torso, arms and legs bound to the chair with leather restraints. People assume that I have suffered a brain injury or that I have had a stroke or am epileptic. I wear a surgical mask to conceal my gag (a large sponge stuffed into my mouth which is then taped shut with multiple layers of wide medical tape). I have opaque contacts and wrap around sunglasses with the inside painted over with nail polish that function well as an "invisible" blindfold. In lieu of my neck corset I wear a rigid cervical collar. These occasional excursions are the part of bondage that I enjoy most in that they serve to break up the monotony of my day-to-day life (although it can be mighty frustrating to "watch" a movie while blindfolded). It is also strange to have church friends whom I have never seen due to being blindfolded whenever I have meet them. I initially felt embarrassed to have people see me in restraints but I have long since overcome such feelings. A few close friends and family members know why I am restrained. No one else seems particularly curious.
At night I am completely restrained in bed on my back using three sets of medical restraints on my torso and arms and four sets on my legs. Basically all I get to move is my fingers. I wear the same thing I do during the day with the exception of my outerwear. I even keep my gloves and boots on. I wear a blindfold, ear plugs and gag at night. To my surprise, I am fairly comfortable confined in this manner and I sleep well. I am embarrassed to say that I now must wear an adult diaper in bed as I can no longer make it through the night without urinating.
Throughout our marriage the extent of my confinement has slowly increased. I now spend eight hours a day bound in my wheelchair. My legs and torso are always tightly restrained with heavy medical straps attached to the wheelchair. Three days a week, including Sundays, my arms (both upper and lower) are also strapped down completely and I have no use of my hands. Two days a week my wrists are bound to the arms of the wheelchair by medical restraints but I have about 12" of movement with each wrist. On these days I can use a special keyboard or hold a book but I can't quite touch one hand to the other nor can I reach my mouth or any other part of my body. Two days a week I wear handcuffs and thumb cuffs while in my wheelchair but am otherwise free to use my arms and hands. Thumbcuffs are particularly frustrating but I have become fairly adept at doing things with only my fingers while wearing tight leather gloves.
I also spend four hours per day strapped to a St. Andrew's cross. This helps insure proper circulation but standing that long in very tight boots gets quite uncomfortable particularly with my arms and wrists strapped to the cross above my head. My entire body is immobilized when I am on the cross and I am blindfolded and wear ear plugs during this time.
I am allowed three diaper changes per day. Every morning I get an enema and my nurse helps me with cleanup after that. I wear my butt plug except for when I am getting an enema. I wear very little makeup since so much of my face is covered by my gag or muzzle and blindfold most of the time. Since I wear gloves 24/7 nail care is not a problem.
I am currently blindfolded for 24 hours on Sundays and for 20 hours or more all other days. I perform inadequately on the stationary bike or I force out my butt plug accidentally. Being blindfolded is frustrating for me and I have struggled to accept this facet of my life. I am an avid reader and time passes very slowly when I can't see. I was blindfolded at my stepson's wedding and throughout several vacations to places I would have liked to have seen. I felt very badly at the time but I do enjoy seeing photos and videos of events that I "missed." The amount of time I am blindfolded each week has progressed throughout our marriage and one of my greatest sources of anxiety is the thought that it will be further increased in the future. The hours of total darkness from Saturday evening until Monday morning are difficult to bear. On the other hand, since the blindfold is the most difficult restrain for me to accept, I suspect it does me the most good spiritually. My husband knows that I would desperately like to wear it less but I am grateful that he compels me to wear it as much as he wishes. I will strive to accept additional hours of sightlessness when they come and I hope to someday have the courage to ask for additional hours in a blindfold.
When I am not blindfolded (and some times when I am such as at night and when I am on the cross) I also wear ear plugs that prevent all hearing. In this way I experience a degree of sensory deprivation at all times. Furthermore I can feel very little through my thick leather gloves even when I have the use of my hands. I taste very little since I am on a bland liquid diet and only get to drink water and I rarely smell anything other than the leather of my gag and blindfold. This tends to intensify the senses that I am allowed and, to my surprise, has greatly increased my sexual responsiveness. Even the slightest touch to my lady parts absolutely drives me mad.
I have come to appreciate, if not enjoy, the fact that I wear a gag or muzzle at all times. Tight straps around my head aren't particularly comfortable but I know my mouth would get me in trouble were I free to speak. Before meeting Q I was very much a sarcastic loudmouth. For the past 30 years, however, I have not had that option and I like the silent me much better. I've even overcome my aversion to drooling--something that is inevitable while wearing a high quality gag. The inability to speak has made me far more introspective and a far better listener. I really think I would choose to be gagged even if the decision were left to me. Q generally allows me to speak for a few minutes once or twice a week and I like to think that I now choose my few words wisely. I generally prefer gags to muzzles because a muzzle must be so very tight in order to be effective. In addition, I am just oral enough that I appreciate having something stuffed in my mouth. I have no choice in the matter, of course, so I wear both regularly. My gags and muzzles all have a small "breather" hole so that I can drink without having to remove them.
I have now been in full time bondage for 30 years and it has come to be familiar and comfortable for me in the most part. By forcing me to give up or limit so many addictions bondage has prolonged my life for many years beyond what I could otherwise have expected. Certainly the daily restraint has taken a toll on my body. My neck muscles are badly atrophied as a result of the neck corset. The same is true of my abs and the few minutes each week when my corset is removed are quite uncomfortable. I wear a large butt plug constantly and that has resulted in a loss of sphincter control when it is out but I do find the plug highly erotic. I am blindfolded so much that I can no longer tolerate bright light and now must wear a pinhole mask over my eyes when the blindfold is off. Balanced against the fact that I would almost certainly have killed myself by now had I been left to my own devices, this doesn't seem like too high a price to pay.
I recognize that few would make the bargain that I have but I am absolutely content with my choice. It would be a difficult decision but if my husband were to die tomorrow (what an awful thought) I do not believe I would want to be released, at least not completely. I pray that I never face that decision and that I die many years from now in my sleep, in bed securely strapped down, blindfolded and gagged.
I awake in bed flat on my back, immobile. I see nothing. I am thoroughly blindfolded. My eyelids are taped shut under gauze pads and my fleece lined leather blindfold. I hear nothing. My ear canals are filled with state-of-the-art earplugs that muffle all sound. I am silenced. My mouth is filled by a large leather ball gag and my jaw is clamped shut around the gag by straps that encircle my head in all directions and are locked in place. A rigid neck corset prevents me from moving my head either up and down or side to side. I cannot lift it from the mattress. My neck muscles are almost completely atrophied by now and I cannot support my own head unaided.
Five sets of wide leather medical restraints hold each of my legs in place. They encircle my ankles, my calves and my thighs both just above my knees and near my crotch. The straps are tightly cinched and allow no movement at all. Similar restraints bind my arms at my sides--one set at my wrists, one circling each forearm, one just below my elbows and a final set around my biceps. They render my arms and my hands useless. Similar restraints bind my hips, waist and upper torso to the bed making it impossible for me to turn or roll even to the slightest extent. I have worn these restraints virtually every night for the last 31 years. In this state, I am, for all intents, a blind, deaf and mute quadriplegic, denied all use of my body and its senses. All that I can do freely is think.
Beneath my bonds I am clothed more extensively than most modern women are at work or out on a date. I wear a full body compression garment that extends from the base of my throat to my ankles and my wrists. Over it I wear a long rigid corset that throttles my waist to 3/4 of its original size and prevents me from any movement of my spine. The corset's shoulder straps draw back my shoulders and hold them immobile even when I am not strapped to my bed as I am at present. Over the bottom of my corset and extending almost to my knees is a well-boned and extremely tight zip up panty girdle and attached to the garters of that girdle are the firmest compression stockings money can buy. Over these, even though I am in bed, I wear a pair of custom made thigh-high leather boots with five inch stiletto heels. My hands and arms are clad in long silk lined leather gloves.
Of necessity, I wear an adult diaper. I will be bound in this fashion for eight hours and I can rarely withhold the contents of my bladder that long. Wetting myself once embarrassed me deeply. Now I don't give it a second thought. In the pre-dawn hours I inevitably wake from urinary urgency, wet myself and, at times, return to sleep. At other times I will remain awake feeling the warm liquid spread through my diaper, trying to flex my fingers--the only part of my body I am able to move--within my stiff leather gloves. I try to do isometric exercises, straining first one limb and then another against my bonds. I have no hope of escaping so thoroughly and tightly am I restrained nor would I if I could. I have agreed to my confinement. I accept my lot willingly, if not enthusiastically. It is a fate I have chosen for myself--part of a bargain that saved my life but cast me into a lifestyle few would understand.
My thoughts follow a pattern on the mornings I can't return to sleep. I replay my childhood and my adolescent descent into self destructive addictions. I recall in minute detail the short weeks of my courtship and introduction into an alternative society of which I had no prior knowledge. I re-weigh the choices I have made. I imagine myself free of my bonds. I imagine myself in "normal" conversations free of the gag that is my constant companion and in routine daily activities that have been denied me for the past three decades. I fantasize walking unshackled and speaking whenever I choose. I wonder what it would be like to again see my own naked body, something I have not done since I was 28 years old.
I have been the subject of half a dozen academic articles on the topic of long term restraint of patients. I even co-authored one of those. For more than 31 years I have spent the majority of every day blindfolded. All four of my limbs have been bound in some fashion for every minute of those 31 years. I have been gagged or muzzled unceasingly for that same span. Except for brief periods when I am being moved from one location to another, I am unfailingly tethered to some immovable object. I have even been to court and had a judge reluctantly but unconditionally strip me of every single right including the right to leave my house, to possess even the smallest sum of money and to decide what I may eat and drink. And I have been a willing, if often unenthusiastic, participant in my enslavement.
The story of my life is a tale of transformation from an unloved and unlovely addict--an abuser of everything and everyone--into the object of a wonderful man's lust, love and obsession--of a Faustian bargain that saved my life but changed me and my notion of living more fundamentally than most people could imagine.
I was born in small town Oklahoma, the daughter of a hard working, hard drinking, chain smoking waitress and a pro baseball player who passed through one summer and never saw my mother again. My mother provided for my physical needs--barely--but not much else. By the time I was 8 years old she would routinely leave me home alone all night. My introduction to addictive behaviors was early and enthusiastic. At age 12 and with my mother's consent I started smoking cigarettes. Within six months I was up to a pack a day--two packs by age 15. I started stealing my mother's liquor about the same time I started smoking and quickly became as much of an alcoholic as she. I first tried pot when I was 15 and soon progressed to cocaine, PCP and crack.
I was kicked out of school for smoking so many times that I found myself in an alternative high school where the kids were allowed to smoke in school. I met many a teenage thug and soon had connections for every mind altering substance I could afford. I managed to graduate because I was naturally bright not because I invested any effort whatsoever in my education.
Somehow I earned enough scholarship money to attend college. Four years and five arrests for possession later, I received a BSN from the University of Missouri. In nursing school I discovered the magical world of prescription drugs and I knew I had found my true calling. Once I entered the workforce as a nurse I gained easy access to prescription medications and immediately started abusing those with reckless abandon. First and foremost though my drug of choice was always food. When I graduated from college I weighed 200 pounds. By my 25th birthday I topped 250.
I went through treatment for my addictions twice but to no avail. I was desperately unhappy. I recognized that I was an alcoholic, a drug addict, a chronic overeater and a heavy smoker but I didn't know where to turn for help. I convinced myself that my story was unique and that no one could understand my situation. My addictions consumed every penny I could get my hands on. By my 28th birthday in 1987 I had had two cars repossessed which was just as well since I also had two DUIs and served 30 days in jail. I was on the brink of losing my nursing license as the result of an investigation into missing medications at the hospital where I worked. I hated myself but I felt powerless to change. The only point of pride I felt was knowing that I was still a good surgical nurse despite my negative behaviors. Even my alcoholism and drug abuse did not interfere with my competence on the job.
If I was approaching rock bottom, my future husband, a neurosurgeon at the hospital where I worked, was, to all appearances, on top of the world--enormously successful, handsome and athletic. He was (and still is) widely respected within his profession. He had invested in real estate and the stock market and was independently wealthy apart from the revenue from his profession. Women swooned over him. What no one knew was that he was terribly sexually frustrated and lonely. Divorced, he had spent a lifetime searching for someone who would live out his fantasies of full time bondage and "fetish" clothing. He felt isolated despite his charisma and charm. Much more about this later.
Quentin and I always worked well together but I never gave a moment's thought to the possibility that we might each be what the other was seeking. I never so much as entertained the idea of a romantic relationship between us. That I was unworthy of him was, for me, a given. He clearly respected me--I was a good nurse despite my personal failings--but I assumed his feelings for me ended there. He was kind and considerate, not common traits among gifted surgeons. We took our first step toward a closer relationship when I complained, toward the end of a long procedure, that my back had been very sore lately. Quentin replied, "I'll take a look at it as soon as we finish up here." I was intensely embarrassed. I had not been trolling for free medical care but I saw no way to back out at that point.
After we had finished and washed up Q lead me into an exam room. He went through a routine back exam with straight leg raising, palpitation of the lumbar spine and range of motion testing. Then he surprised me by taking a series of measurements of my waist, hips, bust and torso. "OK," he finally said. "There are no surprises. I'm sure you don't have any herniated discs...yet. We could shoot xrays or even run an MRI but I am 100% positive they won't tell us anything. You're suffering from mechanical low back pain that will likely respond well to NSAIDs but, of course, we will just be treating the symptoms and not the underlying causes. Your back is supporting more weight than it was designed to carry and some of your lifestyle choices aren't helping." At his point he seemed to sense how embarrassed I felt and took my hand. "Look, Susan, we can make this problem a lot better relatively quickly. I would start with bracing, smoking cessation or reduction and some sensible nutritional planning. I'd be delighted to help you with all three. What do you say?"
Somewhere on this planet there may be a woman with the strength of character to look into those dark blue eyes and say no to Quentin but, as history has demonstrated repeatedly, it's not me. "Sure," I said. "That sounds wonderful." I had no clue to what I had committed. Q gave me a quick hug and suggested we start immediately. I was dumbfounded. That would become a more or less permanent state with me. Q lead me (still holding my hand!) to the hospital pharmacy and asked for a prescription pad. Pausing only to ask my date of birth he completed a prescription and handed it to the pharmacist. "Could you fill this right now, please."
Ten minutes later the pharmacist returned with a good sized box and handed it to me. Quentin opened the box and pulled out a foil packet that he tore open to reveal the kind of dermal patch with which medical professionals are all familiar. "Nicotine patch," he announced. This will reduced your cravings for cigarettes tremendously." He then pulled back the neck of my scrub top and smoothed the patch onto my shoulder. My mind was reeling at this point. Smoking cessation really hadn't been at the top of my "to do" list...or even at the bottom. On the other hand I was getting a lot of attention from the most amazing man I knew and I liked that quite a bit. "Now how about I buy you dinner and we can discuss how else we can help one another?" he asked and gave me a wolfish grin. WHAT?! Did this handsome and brilliant surgeon just make a pass at me? Me??? Speechless, I made a gesture with my hands indicating the worn surgical scrubs I was still wearing.
"So we go extremely casual." Q said. "I'll drive." He put his arm into the crook of my elbow (Wow! Wow! Wow!) and walked me to the doctors' parking lot. In that lot full of Mercedes and Lincolns and BMWs nothing stood out like Quentin's steel blue 1963 Corvette String Ray. To this day I have never seen a more beautiful automobile and to this day I still get a little thrill whenever I get to ride in it even though I am now blindfolded whenever I am in a car. "I know the perfect place." Quentin said. Of course he did. He fired up the Corvette's fuel injected V-8 and played with the throttle until he was satisfied with the sounds his pet was making. Then he headed north out of town for several miles. We pulled into an old fashion diner with neon lights and a statue of Elvis by the door.
Quentin took it upon himself to order for me--grilled chicken salad and a glass of unsweetened iced tea. Those would not have been my choices but I didn't much care. By this point the nicotine patch was starting to itch and it wasn't completely killing my urge for a cigarette. I also wondered if they offered a cocaine patch since I was thinking that a couple lines would go down great right then. Nonetheless, I was beyond thrilled that I was out on what seemed to be a date with such an impressive man. I was so overwhelmed that I don't remember many of the details of the meal. I am sure that I badly fumbled the conversation that evening and I assumed that we would never have a second date if, indeed, that was how he thought of the evening. I do recall that Q asked me if I was serious about improving my health. I told him truthfully that I had never really thought much about my health and that I knew that was foolish. "I'll write you a script for some medication to reduce your appetite. The patches will help you with smoking and we really should get you some support for your back. I'll see what I can come up with. More globally, we need to address a number of lifestyle issues if we're going to maximize your health."
I ignored the last part and told him that I hated the idea of wearing the bulky orthopedic braces that I saw on so many back surgery patients. I didn't think my back was nearly bad enough for that. Q waved a hand dismissively. "Those things are largely useless and, I should think, very uncomfortable. What you need is something that will prevent, as opposed to treat, serious back problems. What I have in mind is a well fitted corset laced as tightly as possible." An old fashioned corset crushing my guts didn't appeal to me much either but, hoping to please Q, I nodded enthusiastically and said, "Sounds good." Our evening ended with a sweet kiss on the lips when Q dropped me at my car. I took the nicotine patches with me and promised to wear one the next day. I crossed my fingers when I told him that I would do my best not to smoke that evening and lit up as soon as he was out of sight.
The following day Q had a dozen roses delivered to me at work with a note attached asking me out again. I'm not sure if I was more shocked or excited. I did make an effort to clean up my act that week. I smoked less, drank less and, in general, cut back on substance abuse including food. I wasn't perfect but I was better. I also started asking myself what it would take to truly clean up my life, to be free of the addictions that had governed my every move since childhood. Could I live free of alcohol, nicotine, excess food and all of the mind numbing chemicals I used to hide from reality. The prospect overwhelmed me. I had tried treatment and failed spectacularly.
Our second date, a week later, was to watch a baseball game at his condo. I spent hours fretting over what to wear. I settled on a pair of jeans and my best top. I fussed with my makeup but still botched things. This was the first time I could remember caring so much about how I looked. I was so embarrassed to drive my $300 Chevy Citation to Quentin's ritzy condo complex that I parked a block away and walked the rest of the distance.
When I got there Q met me at the door with a kiss on the lips (good start I thought) and a pair of gift wrapped packages. Before he let me open them, Q asked me to promise, no matter what, that I would wear the contents the rest of that evening. "I'm asking you to trust me on this. I think it would be fun to decorate you a bit." I gave the matter little thought and promised I would wear whatever it was that he had gotten me. I suppose I was assuming that the boxes contained some kind of sexy lingerie in a size extra huge and that this boded well for the end of the evening. I was partially right.
I tore off the wrapping and opened the larger box. Inside were four substantial garments or perhaps I should say devices. "Let me help you put these on properly." Q volunteered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to remove all of your clothing." His eyes twinkled (oh God, what a twinkle) and again I saw the lopsided grin. No 250 plus pound woman is proud of her body so I felt extremely self conscious but I did as told and stripped completely right there in the foyer of Q's condominium. I suppose the fact that we were both medical professionals made the situation a little less intimidating but I flushed nonetheless. I assumed that my body, carrying at least 100 pounds too much, would be a complete turn off. Q, ever the gentleman, offered a reassuring smile and reached into the gift box. I recognized the first garment because my mother had worn similar items. "This is an all-in-one." Q said. "Specifically, a Playtex 18 Hour all-in-one. Some people call these corselettes or bodysuits. It functions as a bra and girdle both but we are going to use it primarily as a liner. Would you be so kind as to slip it on?"
I now recalled Q saying that I needed to do something to support my back and I wondered if this was what he had in mind. Frankly, the garment didn't look very inviting but I was anxious to please Q so I dutifully stepped into it and began the process of tugging it up my legs and over my hips. The all-in-one was constructed of a heavy elastic/cotton combination that gave ground only reluctantly. It was a girdle in every sense of the word--hot, heavy and tight. As I struggled with it I wondered if Q might have purchased a size or two smaller than what I needed.
With sufficient effort and the occasional assist from my surgeon-turned-lingerie-consultant I got all the way into the thing and pulled the straps over my shoulders. I adjusted my breasts in the cups as Quentin closed the hook and eye crotch. For the first time since high school I was wearing what had once been called a foundation garment. The all-in-one was tight and pinchy, obviously a long way from comfortable, but when I glimpsed myself in the mirror I was startled to see that my body no longer looked quite so much like an amorphous blob. My breasts were pushed up and my waist was cinched in. I might not have had an hourglass figure at this point but now I didn't seem to be spilling out everywhere. That was nice but if this bra/girdle combination was supposed to support my back the way an orthopedic brace might I thought it fell short. I told Q as much.
He offered another knowing smile and pulled from the gift box a large inflexible garment unlike anything I had ever seen and handed it to me. "Try this," he said. "I think you will find it more than firm enough." After a brief inspection I realized that it was a heavily boned, back laced corset. I recalled all of the measurements Q took during his examination of my back. The corset was constructed of ivory satin lined with cotton. It was heavy, easily weighing a couple pounds. Steel boning was spaced perhaps two inches apart around the garment. The front would extend from just above my pubic region to just below my breasts. The back, with its lacing, would rise to the base of my neck where the straps that would encircle my shoulders were attached.
"Is this a piece of lingerie or a straitjacket?" I asked, only partly in jest.
Q laughed and said, "It's actually a little bit of both. I believe it will serve a number of functions for you. First, it will support you and help prevent further degenerative changes in your spine. Victorian ladies had it right. The female body truly does benefit from external support. Second, wearing the corset will give you a sense of confidence. It will dramatically enhance your figure and improve your posture as well. Finally, the corset should help to restrain some of your self destructive impulses. I'm told that it is very hard to overeat while wearing a tightly laced corset."
I was flabbergasted. Quentin was serious about this. A corset. A real, rigid, lace up corset. What had I gotten into? I was standing in his hallway wearing nothing but the bodysuit he had given me and my only options seemed to be to leave or put on the corset. I decided that was no choice at all. "Help me get it on?" I asked.
He held the corset behind me so I could slip my arms through the shoulder straps. Even with the corset unhooked and unlaced, I had to reach well behind me with each arm to get them through the openings created by the broad shoulder straps. My posture instantly improved. Once my arms were through the openings Q came around to face me. He dropped to one knee and attacked the long row of hook-and-eye closures in the front beginning at my waist and progressively working his way both up and down. Halfway through this process I was forced to straighten my spine and suck in my gut. Even before the lacing process started, the corset felt tight and exceedingly rigid. This would definitely suffice as a back brace...if it didn't strangle me. Q finished with the front hooks, spun me 180 degrees and started tugging on the laces in back As he laced me into the garment Q explained, "If it were up to me there would be a law requiring every woman to wear a corset. They do wonders for both your health and your appearance. I prescribe them for every female patient who comes in with complaints of mechanical back pain."
The lacing process did not go quickly. He would tug for a while at the top and then move to the bottom and work up from there. I felt my waist being pulled in and my shoulders pulled back. The straps holding my shoulders were wide and unforgiving. I felt like a soldier standing rigidly at attention. Breathing became a challenge. Deep breaths weren't an option with my diaphragm in the grips of this garment. On several occasions when I thought he could not make it any tighter Quentin proved me wrong. Despite the discomfort, there was something very erotic and intimate about having Quentin strap me into this industrial strength piece of lingerie. I sensed my embarrassment giving way to a tingling hint of arousal. Q kept up his cordial banter telling me how lovely I looked and how much I would enjoy wearing corsets. "Are you thinking I will be wearing this quite often?" I asked, picturing myself trying to perform my job laced into this unyielding suit of armor.
"Oh yes," he responded. "It would hardly do to slip it on for a few hours every now and then. You need to LIVE in a corset to gain the benefits." That answer certainly caught me off guard but, to be fair, I had been in a state of mild disbelief since Q asked me to take off all my clothes.
"It's awfully tight," I said even as Q continued to tug at the laces. I was starting to feel short of breath. My rib cage was being squeezed and I could only take quick shallow breaths. I also noticed with a grimace that the wide rigid straps encircling my shoulders were pulling me into an extremely upright posture to the extent that it felt like my shoulder blades were about to meet. I wondered if I would be able to bring my arms together in front of me. Wearing this thing would be a gamechanger--if I decided to wear it beyond this evening. As I was thinking these thoughts Q announced that he was tying off the laces "for now" and stood to admire his handiwork.
The corset was stiff and breathtakingly tight but, in a weird way, it felt sort of sexy at the same time and I liked the idea that I had donned a piece of lingerie that this lovely man picked out for me. The top of the corset pushed my boobs up to the point that I felt I could rest my chin on them. This was the first even remotely sexy piece of lingerie I had ever worn. While I probably would have chosen something that less closely resembled a straitjacket, Q seemed inordinately pleased with the look of the corset on me and that made me happy. The lacing process had been a bit awkward both physically and emotionally for me. It felt funny that Q's first view of my naked body came as he was installing this massive piece of armament on me. I didn't time the lacing process but I would estimate that we were at it for a good 30 to 40 minutes. I ran my hands up and down my torso. My new shape felt unfamiliar, even alien. I had a waist. I had good posture. I couldn't bend--not even a little. At the same time that it felt weird, it felt good to have a more womanly shape. I felt as though I cared about my appearance for the first time.
"Now the corset is the big ticket item--it will do wonders for you--but there are a couple more items that I think you should be wearing regularly." With this Q reached into the gift box yet again and pulled out another item. He held before him a garment that looked a bit like a pair of elastic shorts but I recognized it for what it was, a high waisted, long-legged panty girdle. "With a tightly laced corset it's very important that you wear a firm girdle. Again, we're going with the Playtex 18 hour model. There may be firmer girdles out there but I think this will do the job and be relatively comfortable. You'll notice that you are bulging around the bottom of your corset. The girdle will smooth out those bulges and support your stockings as well."
I started to tell Q that I didn't wear stockings but it quickly dawned on me that he had a much better idea of what was going on than I did. I took the girdle, rolled it up as my mother had made me do countless times in junior high and high school and pulled it on, struggling to balance in the rigid corset. Pulling on a tight girdle is no simple matter. You have to do it in a series of hard tugs working your way from the top down all the time adjusting the waist, the hips and the legs. I finally got the thing in place with the top resting a couple inches above my waist line and the legs extending to near my knees. It fit like a glove, or maybe like a girdle, and I saw that Q had been right about smoothing out the bulges left by my corset. It also firmed up my thighs which was kind of nice but, holy cow, this combination of industrial strength lingerie was tight.
I ran my hands down my sides from boobs to thighs. My body felt firm and solid--no jiggle, no squishy. I inspected myself in the mirror and turned around inspecting my backside. The girdle gave my butt a boost and the corset did truly amazing things with my waist. The overall feeling was...ambivalence. I liked, no I loved the improvement in my figure and I had already noticed that the corset relieved the strain on my back. On the other hand, I felt foolish standing there in under garments from generations gone by and the sensation of being squeezed by three layers of very tight lingerie was not pleasant...well, not entirely pleasant. This would require much thought. Q approached me from behind and wrapped his arms around me. That felt nice. He massaged my now well-girdled ass and that felt even nicer...erotic. I was getting turned on even in these very strange circumstances.
I was winded from the exertion of being laced into the corset and then battling to pull on the girdle. I was also anxious to get to my second gift and then to plop in front of Q's big screen TV but he grasped me in his arms and gave me a lingering kiss--the first of its kind that I had ever experienced. "I hope you enjoy this?" he said, gently caressing my torso through the corset. "It's lovely," I replied, very surprised to realize that I meant it. Sort of. I was feeling a little lightheaded. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into my me. I felt a strong physical response "down there" I regretted the fact that we seemed to be in the process of putting clothes on me instead of taking them off.
I pulled my jeans back on (harder to do in a tight corset than you might think) and was surprised by how loose they were with the corset and girdle in place. Later in the evening I would learn that my waist was now five inches smaller than it had been without the corset. When I reached for my top Q stopped me saying that he loved to see me with the corset exposed. I took this level of interest as another good omen although I remained totally baffled by his interest in me.
I had not realized that there was a final item at the bottom of the first gift box. It too was an item with which I was quite familiar due to my profession and I was not pleased at the prospect of wearing it. Q held out before me a rigid plastic and foam neck brace--the kind we applied to patients suffering severe cervical disease or recovering from neck surgery. I recognized the model he held as being very high and absolutely ungiving. It was intended to completely immobilize the head--no turning left or right; no looking up or down. "That pretty corset is going to immobilize your thoracic and lumbar spine and prevent degenerative changes as much as possible. We need to do the equivalent for your neck. I know these things are a little inconvenient but you need to get used to wearing one. Doctor's orders." With that he lifted my chin and wrapped the brace around my neck tugging the velcro straps tight in the back. My chin was forced up until it nested into the foam padding of the brace. I suddenly had an excellent view of the ceiling. "This seems like a bit much," I said as well as I could given how difficult moving my jaw had become. "I can't move my head at all."
"Well, yes, that is the whole idea. I know the collar is a nuisance but I want you to wear it nonetheless. You really are at severe risk for degenerative disc disease and total immobilization is the best prevention we have available to us right at the moment. I'll just have to distract you." With that he engulfed me in his arms and, holding me tightly, pressed his lips to mine. The distraction tactic worked. I forgot the neck brace and opened my mouth to let our tongues meet. That was when I remembered the neck brace because it didn't allow me to open my mouth very far. Nonetheless we had a very nice time kissing and even added a bit of groping. He, not I, broke away.
"The second box has items that I think are going to be necessary for your full recovery. Maybe you will come to enjoy them a bit too." Finally Q allowed me to pick up the second gift wrapped box and open it. The contents surprised me more than even the industrial strength lingerie had.
Full disclosure requires me to tell you that, to this point in my life, my entire sexual history consisted of a handful of awkward efforts with fellow addicts and drunks. It had been neither romantic nor fulfilling. To say that I was unsophisticated in the realm of physical romance is to understate the case greatly. I didn't know much about regular sex, let alone the kinky side of the equation. This having been the case, I was utterly befuddled when I opened the smaller box and found three sets of silver chains. One set was clearly a pair of handcuffs. I'd seen (and worn) my fair share of those during my youthful encounters with law enforcement. The other two sets resembled handcuffs but the chain between the cuffs was longer--perhaps 8 or 10 inches. Q seemed to sense my confused reluctance and said, "I don't want your hands wandering where they don't belong tonight--specifically to grab a cigarette or extra food or something even worse. This is the first day of your healthy new lifestyle so I think we need to put some restraints on you."
I suppose a normal reaction might have been fear or suspicion followed by a mad dash from the premises but you must understand that I was in awe of the attention I was getting from this amazing man and my abiding concern was to keep him in my life. By this time, the whole evening had a surreal quality to it anyway. Giving the matter no serious thought I put my hands out in front of me to be cuffed. Q smiled and shook his head. "Honey, there are just too many things you can do with your hands in front of you even if you are wearing handcuffs. We need to lock your wrists behind your back."
It speaks volumes that my thoughts ran in this order: 1. He called me "Honey!" 2. He wants to cuff me behind my back. 3. I'd better put my hands behind my back. I reached behind my back and locked my fingers and locked my fingers while Q used the key to open the cuffs and step behind me. I felt the cold metal first on one wrist and then the other. Q tightened both cuffs until I could not rotate my wrists at all inside them. I knew from experience that my hands would be numb in a few minutes but that seemed a small price to pay if I could get another kiss (or maybe more) later on. Being handcuffed behind the back is not very comfortable for anyone. Your arms are pulled back into an awkward position and then locked in place. For someone as large as I was, however, the sensation is distinctly unpleasant. I immediately started wondering how soon the cuffs would come off. As it turned out we weren't even finished securing my arms. Q reached around me and grasped one of the other sets of chains. "I'm going to lock these manacles just above your elbows so you aren't tempted to try to slip your feet through your hands.
"I need you to pull your elbows toward one another. The chain isn't very long on these things." I complied as best I could and soon felt the metal cuff close around my left upper arm. It pinched. I winced. I knew my upper arms were meaty and I imagined the cuffs biting into them. I felt a tug on my left arm and then the other cuff encircling my right arm just above the elbow. I heard the click and realized how completely I had just lost the use of my arms and hands. This wasn't going to be a comfortable evening, obviously, but I held out hope that it might hold other rewards. It also seemed a positive sign that Q had gone to all of this trouble in preparation for our date. I told myself that I was tough and that I could endure the discomfort for as long as necessary. I also noticed that my helplessness was somehow adding to the sexual tension I had felt from being bound up in all of this tight corsetry.
"Now let's get these shackles on your ankles," he said as he knelt by my feet and stretched out the other pair of chains. I wondered idly why my ankles were being chained. I lacked the capability of lighting a cigarette or eating a donut with my feet. I wasn't thinking of making a break for it since I couldn't even open a door with my hands locked behind my back. On the other hand, I saw little point in resisting at this point. The shackles would be the least of my encumbrances and I had already committed to going along with Q's plans for the evening.
I brought my feet together to show that I was ready to have the shackles locked in place. Q knelt before me and I felt a wide metal band wrap around my left ankle It tightened to a point just past comfortable and I heard the click of the lock. A moment later the process was repeated with my right ankle. I had never been so thoroughly confined. Feeling an immediate impulse to test the restraints, I tried to take a step and nearly tripped. I was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. "Be careful," Q said grasping my shoulders. "It will take you a while to get used to operating in chains."
Finally, at this late juncture I felt a measure of panic, not based upon any perceived danger from Q but rather on something more elemental. Handcuffed I couldn't eat or drink or smoke--all things I deemed critical to my mental and emotional survival. With my ankles shackled I couldn't even slip into the bathroom--at least not conveniently--if I needed to pee. I was as helpless as I had ever been. I now understood that this was the whole point and my panic gave way to more arousal. I was getting wet! I was Q's captive and that made me feel special. He told me that he wanted me to get used to feeling helpless. That seemed a strange statement but I was prepared to do a lot more than wear a set of chains to accommodate and promote his interest in me. I dared to flirt a bit, "So you think I look good all chained up?"
His smile was wolfish. "I think you look absolutely ravishing all chained up." He brought his hands to my breasts and rubbed through the material of my bodysuit. He kissed me again, more passionately than before. He reached around my waist and took my cuffed hands in his and pulled me toward him so that we were touching up and down the entire length of our bodies. I desperately wanted to hug him. Strangely the fact that I couldn't was arousing. I wanted to make love right there at that moment. When Q pulled away this time I was panting. Beads of sweat dotted my forehead. "I want you," was my hoarse whisper.
"In time. Let's enjoy the evening." He helped me shuffle to the couch where he eased me into a sitting position. This was no easy task with my arms locked behind me and my entire spine held rigid and immobile. Q had gauged the time required to thoroughly bind me perfectly. The first inning was about to start when we turned on the big screen. We watched the game and did quite a lot of kissing. Q got to second base well ahead of either team but his affections were gentle and slow. He exploited my helplessness perfectly, arousing me to the point that I would have felt compelled to force myself on him had I been able. He reached behind my back and held my hand. He caressed my face. I soon forgot all about the ballgame. I was getting intensely turned on and to my surprise being restrained so thoroughly greatly heightened my arousal. I felt the inside of my girdle getting wet. I recall briefly wondering if being so turned on by being in restraints constituted me a pervert. At this point I didn't care.
In the rigid corset with my hands behind my back I found that I couldn't get up and I needed a lot of help to go to the bathroom. Q fed me the takeout Chinese he had ordered wiping my face with the napkin from time to time. This felt sexy in an odd sort of way. I was ambivalent about being so restricted in my movement. It was inconvenient, uncomfortable and a little scary but I liked the fact that for once my addictions were under control--someone else's control. For the first time in over a decade I was secure in the knowledge that I would not engage in substance abuse that evening. I also liked being with Q and maybe sort of liked being in his power. Somewhere around the fourth inning Q pulled me toward him and placed his hands on my breasts through the fabric of my bodysuit again. He rubbed me gently and then pinched both nipples between his thumbs and first fingers. An electric jolt shot through me and I wriggled against the restraining corset and chains. I leaned into him and brought my lips to his kissing harder than ever. We continued this way for a couple more innings but did not venture below the waist.
A bit later a thought entered my mind and it was so powerful that I blurted out without giving the matter any forethought. "Being bound up like this is really working for me sexually. Do you suppose that you could also blindfold me?' I had no idea why I said that or what the source of the thought had been. I had never associated being blindfolded with sex but at that moment having my eyes covered sounded like the most deliciously erotic thing I could imagine. I wanted it as badly as I had ever craved a line of cocaine.
"Your wish is my command," Q responded and trotted down a hallway to my right. Moments later he returned with a black satin sleep mask in his hand. The sight of it sent a bolt of electric energy throughout my nether regions. "Now if I put this on you, you won't be able to see the end of the game." he teased.
"I don't care," I hissed. "Put that on me and then kiss me and rub me HARD." At the risk of repeating myself, I had no clue why I had such a sudden and compelling urge to be blindfolded but the feeling was as strong as anything I had ever felt. I NEEDED to be blindfolded. Q slipped the mask over my head and pulled it down so that it completely covered my eyes. The world went dark and my arousal shifted into high gear. I now felt completely helpless and that excited me. It scared me too but the feelings were inseparable at that point. The mask was light weight but very effective. It was held in place by two elastic bands that circled my head--one above my ears and one just below.
"Is that better?" Q asked with a tone of amusement in his voice.
"It is better." I said. "I can't tell you why but for the first time in my life I feel a little bit sexy with this thing on. Please don't take it off, OK?"
"I never remove a lady's blindfold without her permission. And, by the way you look EXTREMELY sexy wearing it. I think I will kiss you." And he did. And he caressed me. And pinched me in just the right places. I strained against my chains as I edged closer to an orgasm. The frustration of immobility somehow morphed into sexual energy. Unable to see, I gave my mind over to wild fantasy. Each time I approached the brink Q eased back and turned his attention to the ballgame. I had lost interest in baseball even before my world went dark.
This was all new to me. At the end of the ballgame Q shut off the TV and we kissed and petted some more. He massaged my clitoris through the thick fabric of my girdle and bodysuit. Somehow this felt wonderful--not too much but enough to bring me to the highest levels of arousal. At that point he jangled the keys to my handcuffs and manacles. He removed the manacles from my elbows and unlocked one of my wrists. "Let's make you more comfortable for the rest of the evening." he said. I brought my arms around in front of me expecting him to remove the other cuff but instead he recuffed my wrists in front. He brought my hands to his lips and kissed both of them. We "watched" the local news with him holding my cuffed hands in his. Then he turned to me and said, "i'm hoping you will agree to spend the night?" I nodded, a tear leaking from under my mask.
Quentin helped me get off the couch and guided me, handcuffed and shackled to the master bedroom. He then removed my shackles, unbuckled and unzipped my jeans and helped me step out of them. I expected him to undo my corset and neck brace at this point but he did nothing of the kind. I was not really surprised when he locked the shackles back on my ankles. He guided me to the bathroom and asked if I would like to brush my teeth explaining that he always kept a supply of new toothbrushes. I did the prisoner shuffle into his plushly-appointed bathroom and soon discovered that brushing one's teeth while handcuffed and blindfolded is quite a bit harder than it sounds. Adding to the challenge was the fact that the rigid corset with its taut shoulder straps would not allow me to bend forward in the least and the neck brace would not let me tilt my head forward. Eventually though I completed that awkward task and shuffled back toward the bedroom holding my cuffed wrists out in front of me so as to not bump into anything. Much to my surprise I found the bed despite my blindfold.
Q took me by the shoulders and helped me ease down onto his king sized bed. Sitting down in the corset was not easy. My abdominal muscles were crushed and essentially useless. I could not bend my spine. Being unable to place my hands on either side of me made matters worse. Quentin gently lifted my ankles and positioned them onto the bed. He bent over, kissed me on the lips. I could see only a tiny sliver of light below my right eye. I raised my hands to the mask and tugged it down so if that spot went completely dark. I've no idea why it felt so important to insure that the mask was one hundred percent effective.
Q laid down beside me and began caressing me gently. He helped me ease the tight girdle down my legs to my ankles. With the shackles still locked in place I could not remove it completely. With a neurosurgeon's knowledge of the central nervous system and extraordinary patience and self control he brought me to a number of climaxes without asking for anything for himself. I was anxious to please him as well but the triad of corset, chains and blindfold restricted my ability to do much of anything. I started to apologize but Quentin silenced me with a finger to my lips. "There will be plenty of time for that. Let's get some sleep now. We have a lot of folks to heal tomorrow." I felt him roll on his side and soon heard gentle snoring. I had expected him to remove my chains before going to sleep and probably the corset as well. Was I expected to sleep in them? And what of the mask? I could remove it but that somehow felt like cheating. Sexually sated as I had never been before, I laid back and managed a restful few hours of sleep.
This was the first night in over a decade that I fell asleep with neither alcohol nor narcotics in my system. Although I craved both, as well as nicotine, I made it through the night reasonably well. The corset, shackles and handcuffs were very restrictive and I remained on my back all night. I lifted the corner of the sleep mask a couple times to check the time but then promptly pulled it back in place. I wondered how long I could wear it before I stopped enjoying the sensation of being blindfolded.
At 6:00 the next morning Q woke me from a deep sleep saying, "We need to get up, Sweetheart. We overslept. I pushed up my sleep mask and blinked at the morning light flooding the room. Memories of the previous evening came back to me. I was still in my corset and body suit. The girdle was bunched at my ankles. The neck brace still held my head in the same chin up position. My wrists and ankles were still cuffed. A note of panic sprung up. I did not have time to drive back to my dumpy little apartment, shower and change before I was due at the hospital.
Q anticipated my concern. "Not to worry. I have scrubs in the guest room closet in all sizes. You can brush your teeth and sponge off here and we'll ride to work together." That meant we would have to ride home together too, right? I smiled. Then I held up my cuffed wrists thinking Q would have to release me at this point. Never assume. "Oh I'll get those in a bit. For right now why don't you hit the bathroom while I get ready in the guest bath."
I did as directed shuffling back into the bathroom. I first eased my way onto the toilet and did my business. The combination of corset and handcuffs made wiping a challenge but I got the job done. Q was nowhere in sight so I decided that I probably should pull up my girdle so that I could "walk" more easily. Pulling on a tight girdle is not easy even under the best of circumstances. Doing it while handcuffed requires the skills of a contortionist but I got the job done. I hobbled to the sink, rinsed my face and arm pits and brushed my teeth. I was becoming marginally more competent at functioning in handcuffs. notwithstanding the fact that by now my hands were thoroughly numb.
These tasks completed I checked myself in the mirror. I would definitely need to freshen up my makeup but I had to admit that I liked my new corseted and girdled figure. Never mind that I was wearing garments that my grandmother would have considered hopelessly old fashioned. I had not heard anything from Quentin since he left the bedroom and I wondered what I should do. I glanced down at the chains on my ankles and contemplated the walk from the bedroom to wherever he was. I concluded that I had little choice in the matter and started shuffling toward the living room. It was slow going as the short chain would barely allow me to put one foot in front of the other'
As I "stepped" out of the bedroom I smelled coffee brewing and something toasting. My stomach rumbled and I did my best to quicken my pace. I found Q in the kitchen loading food on two plates. One contained sausage, eggs, a bagel and jelly. The other contained two slices of wheat toast. Guess which one he placed in front of me. I picked up a slice of toast awkwardly and took a good sized bite. It was dry and flavorless. "It feels weird to be sitting here eating breakfast in my underwear." I said."
Q came around the table and gave me a passionate kiss on the lips. "you look amazingly sexy in your underwear. I can barely concentrate on my breakfast."
I reached up and embraced his face in my cuffed hands. I pulled him in to me and we kissed again. This kiss lingered. He finally pulled away and said, "We need to get going. I'll grab you some scrubs."
Q jogged from the kitchen and returned moments later with a set of navy scrubs that looked to be approximately my size. I held out my wrists. "Time to take these off?" I asked.
"Well, temporarily at least." he responded and, producing a key unlocked my right wrist only. I looked at him curiously but then slipped my unshackled right wrist and then my left wrist, handcuffs and all, into the sleeves of the top and pulled it over my head. Q immediately took both of my hands in his and pulled them together. I was surprised to be handcuffed as we needed to leave for work momentarily.
"Don't we need to get to the hospital?" I asked as Q squatted to unlock my shackles. Again, he only unlocked one cuff and then held out the scrubs bottom for me to step into.
"Well certainly we do but there is no rule against riding to work in chains," he said as he re-locked the cuff he had released.
"But your car is in the garage and we have to go out into the corridor and then all the way down on the elevator. Somebody is bound to see me." I felt my face reddening at the prospect.
"So what if they do?" He asked with a coy smile. "It will likely make their day to see a beautiful lady in chains."
Again demonstrating that I had lost touch with reason, my first reaction was excitement that this gorgeous man had called ME beautiful. Only secondarily did I contemplate that he wanted, no expected, me to walk out of the condo wearing handcuffs and shackles. By now I had realized that Q was not someone to be deterred--or embarrassed. Taking the deepest breath my corset would allow, I picked up my purse and started shuffling toward the door. Q put his arm around my waist as we stepped into the corridor and headed toward the elevators. I noticed that my shackles made a tinkling sound as I walked. Strangely I found the sound pleasant and a bit comforting.
Q punched the elevator button as I tried to position my purse in a way that would conceal my handcuffs. The elevator opened and thankfully it was empty. Q stepped in to hold the door and I shuffled aboard. He punched the button for the parking garage as I whispered a prayer that no one we join us on the ride down. My prayer was not answered. On the third floor the elevator car came to a stop and the door slid open. I edged behind Q making my best effort to conceal my wrists. There was no way to hide my shackles if anyone looked down at my ankles.
An older lady leading a miniature poodle on a leash tottered on to the elevator and greeted Quentin effusively. He smiled and told her good morning. Then he bent to pet the pooch leaving my wrists completely exposed. I tried to turn to conceal my chains but the combination of corset and shackles limited my motion. I bent one knee and turned what little I could. I needn't have bothered. The newcomer was focused on Q and her pet and rode all the way to the lobby without noticing that I was chained up like an accused murdered. Q turned to me and as soon as the door closed burst out laughing. His amusement was infectious and I started laughing too.
I discovered at that moment that uncontrolled laughter in a tight corset is not very comfortable. As my body shook, the boning stabbed me, the shoulder straps cut into me and tight lacing resisted my efforts to take deep breaths. By the time we reached the garage level I felt as if I would collapse but the situation seemed so embarrassingly funny that I kept laughing. Tears welled in my eyes. Q steadied me and together we eased off the elevator. I spotted Q's Corvette a short distance away and started shuffling toward it. He spoke up, "No, no, Dear. We're going to take the yellow car down at the end of this row."
I looked up and saw a sleek yellow sports car that was parked the entire length of the garage from us. My shackles let me take five or six inch steps. I had seen people in their 90s who could walk faster than I could. It would take me 600 or 700 mincing steps to get to the car Q had indicated. "I'm going to make us late," I pled. "Could you come get me?"
He smiled that smile that I loved and feared and shook his head. "This will be good experience for you. Your new healthy lifestyle is going to involve a lot of time in restraints. We have to stop you from doing things to harm yourself. This little hike will be good experience for you. By the way, I really should have cuffed your arms behind you. Would you remind me of that in the future?" He gave me a kiss on the cheek and I hobbled in the direction of his chosen chariot. I stepped as quickly as I could which had the effect of making the legs of my girdle creep up my thighs. I wanted to adjust them but I had my purse in my hands and the handcuffs stopped me from using them for more than one thing at a time. Step by mincing step I started off in the direction of our distant ride. Q held me by the elbow to make sure I did not trip--something that is easy to do in shackles. "What kind of car is that?" I asked?
"A 1972 DeTomaso Pantera," was the response. "It's a mid-engine Italian sports car powered by a Ford 351 Cleveland V-8. Tons of fun to drive. A little tricky when it comes to ingress and egress. We'll see how you manage with all of that hardware." I did the perp walk the entire length of the garage. This was the most exercise I had had since being laced into the corset and I just couldn't take deep enough breaths. My heart was racing by the time I got to the passenger door of the yellow sports couple. Q unlocked and opened my door. He had me turn my back to the car and then held my hands as I bent my knees and lowered my self to the seat. With the cervical collar in place I managed by milimeters to get my head under the top of the door frame. Then Q helped me swing my still shackled ankles into the footwell. Q buckled me in which trapped my arms in my lap. The handcuffs and shackles were inconvenient and very restrictive but somehow they form a bond between us much like a promise ring might. Q reached into my purse and pulled out the sleep mask I had worn the night before. "Would you like to wear this?"
As silly as this sounds, his thoughtfulness in bringing the mask brought tears to my eyes. I responded with a phlegmy "Mm hmm," and Q slipped the blindfold into place. I was glad it blocked his view of the flood that was filling my eyes. Q started the powerful engine and I felt sudden acceleration. Q had been a fighter pilot during Vietnam and he drove as if he were piloting a jet. One more reason to be grateful for the blindfold. The drive to the medical center would have taken me 20 minutes. We made it in 12 pulling into the doctor's garage with minutes to spare. Q hopped out came around to my side and quickly unlocked my handcuffs and shackles. I removed the mask and slipped it into my purse. Q helped my out of the car--a much easier proposition without the chains.
For the first time in my life I got compliments on my figure that day--lots of compliments. Several people asked me if I had lost weight. I was thrilled and decided the stiffness and constriction of the corset and girdle weren't a bad price to pay for having a woman's shape again. I also decided I could get over the embarrassment of wearing foundation garments decades out of fashion. I found that it was mighty hard to over eat while laced into a tight corset. It was also nearly impossible to bend over, reach forward or take a deep breath but I carried on. As promised, Q and I slipped into an exam room twice that day and he tugged the laces even tighter each time. The pressure initially seemed unbearable but I adjusted to it quickly enough and took pride in my shrinking circumference.
As soon as Q headed off to do rounds I ducked into the nurse's lounge thinking to smoke my first cigarette in 14 hours. I popped open my purse only to find that both my cigarettes and my lighter were missing. Q was a strong willed man. I spotted my friend Cindi, a cute little blonde with a two pack a day habit and bummed a Marlboro and a light from her. I was a menthol smoker but the first cigarette of the morning always tastes great regardless of brand. Nonetheless I felt guilty sneaking a smoke when I knew Q disapproved. "What's with the neck brace?" Cindi asked gesturing with the cigarette she was smoking. "Did you have an accident?"
"No, Dr. Q says I have degenerative disc disease and he thinks I need to wear this for a while."
Cindi winced in sympathy but then giggled. "I'd wear a neck brace for Dr. Q. I'd wear anything or nothing at all for Dr. Q. God, that man is hot." She glanced wistfully at her wedding ring and gave a shrug. Her eyes took on a far off dreamy quality. Q has that effect on women.
"Hey, Cin," I said, "May I ask you something personal? Does it bother your husband that you smoke?"
"No...at least not terribly. I started smoking when I was in junior high school and by the time we met I was up to a couple packs a day. It's my only real vice and Brad's pretty mellow about the whole thing. He has his beer. I have my Marlboros."
"Junior high, huh? I thought I was the only one who started that young."
"Yeah, my mom and my older sisters all smoked. Nobody really objected when I took up the habit. Brad knew when we got married that I had no intention of quitting. Besides, I told him that he would have to tie me up and tape my mouth shut if he ever wanted me to." She gave a husky laugh as she lit a new cigarette from the one she had been smoking.
"That actually sounds like fun." I said wondering if my higher power was sending me a message. "And I'm halfway to being tied up right now with this brace." I said nothing about the girdle and corset that were binding me every bit as much as the cervical collar.
In point of fact, I was more bothered by the neck brace than either my corset or girdle. It chafed my jaw and my neck muscles were spasming from the immobility. Most frustrating though was the need to turn my whole body whenever I needed to look to the left or right. With my long and heavily boned corset, looking down was simply out of the question. I found myself frequently running a finger between the collar and my neck or chin trying to relieve the pressure. I considered removing it more than once but I did not want to derail whatever it was I had going with Q. If he wanted me to wear this thing then I would find a way to endure it.
"You thinking of quitting?" she asked.
"Only if I can find someone to tie me up." I said very honestly.
"Ask Dr. Q," she laughed. "And while you're at it ask him to tie me up too."
I was not scheduled in the OR that day which seemed like a blessing given my limited mobility but there was plenty to keep me busy. I had to learn new ways to move, to look at things and even to breathe. I was constantly pulling down the legs of my girdle and finally concluded that Q's idea of stockings was a good one. He seemed to have quite a few good and yet simultaneously crazy ideas.
Q and I found time for a late lunch at my favorite Italian restaurant. I ordered a large plate of pasta but found that I could swallow only a few bites thanks to the pressure of the corset. Seemingly unaware of my plight, Q kept up a steady conversation about the surgery we had performed the previous day--a delicate re-routing of blood vessels in the patient's brain. As usual he had performed masterfully but his focus was on revising the procedure to reduce the blood loss and risks of subsequent CVAs. He caught me off guard when he abruptly switched topics and asked, "Did you have as good a time as I did last night?" I said that I had had a wonderful time and thanked him for everything. What I said was true. Admittedly being put in a corset and chained at the outset of a date was a new experience for me but still I had enjoyed the company, the intimacy and the hints of even more to come. The experience had also lead me to a discovery about myself. The previous evening had been the only time since my early teens where I had gone as much as twelve hours without engaging in any form of substance abuse--no cigarettes, no booze, no weed, no coke. And I knew to a moral certainty that I could not, would not, repeat that feat unless I was again physically restrained.
I also pondered how urgently I had wanted to be blindfolded and what a strong physical reaction I had to having the sleep mask pulled over my eyes. An image tickled at the periphery of my memory and then danced away. Why had the blindfold--even the thought of the blindfold--had such a powerful impact on me? Finally, I had, much to my surprise, greatly enjoyed the encounter with the old lady on the elevator that morning. I couldn't remember laughing so hard.
The pieces came together for me at that point. I needed to make a request of Q and yet I did not know him well enough at this point for the life changing favor I wanted. Still, my inner voice/intuition/gut told me that this was a now or never situation. I swallowed with some difficulty and started speaking more formally than I intended, "Doctor Q, it's no secret that I have a huge problem with addictive behavior. I feel completely powerless to overcome my addictions. I've tried treatment. I've tried Twelve Step programs. I've even tried methadone. Nothing has changed except my substance abuse has gotten worse. I'm slowly killing myself." Q listened attentively, nodding at each point I made. "Last night you opened a door to me--a door I had never seen. For a brief time last night I did overcome every single one of my addictions. It was a strange and wonderful sensation to be physically prevented from hurting myself. For the first time in years I felt...human. My mind was clear and I was in touch with another person."
"Yes, we certainly were in touch." Q mused. "We need to get in touch more often."
I ignored the lighthearted banter and continued driving toward my point. "Last night was possible for me because I was restrained. It simply would not have happened, notwithstanding all of your charms, had I not been in chains. I would have found a way to get high or drunk or stoned. You made those things impossible for me...and I loved it. I loved being sober and alert and fully in the moment. I want to live my life that way."
Q nodded thoughtfully. "How do you propose that we make that happen? I suppose that I could keep you tied up all of the time but I don't see you going for that."
I took as deep a breath as my well corseted lungs would allow and swung for the fences. "That's where you are mistaken," I said. "I would like you to keep me tied up all of the time. I would love to be restrained to the point that it is absolutely impossible for me to overeat or smoke or snort or drink or in any other way fuck up my life. I want you to take away my freedom completely. Tie me up hand and foot. Gag me. Seal my mouth. Make it completely impossible for me to abuse my body and keep me that way."
He looked incredulous. "You're serious? You want to spend your life bound hand and foot?"
"And gagged and blindfolded," I responded. "I want to be physically prevented from abusing my body. I want to lose weight too. I want you to regulate what I eat. I want you to make a new woman of me"
"A new woman who's trussed up 24 hours a day, who can't move about and can't even feed herself? Truly?"
"Truly. And who can't see either. For some reason being blindfolded is kind of a big deal to me." I said. "And I think it's important that I be gagged too so that no one can help me cheat and so that at a weak moment I won"t try to talk you into setting me free. Last night you said you really liked seeing me in restraints. Well now I'm offering you the opportunity to see me bound all the time, And if I can't overeat, I'll lose a lot of weight and look sexier for you."
"And how would we disable you? Surely you don't want to live every day in handcuffs and shackles? You would have to be handcuffed in back and, as you saw last night, that would be enormously uncomfortable."
I hadn't given this issue any thought since I was speaking impulsively but I had to acknowledge that I wouldn't care to have my wrists cuffed behind me 24 hours a day. "How about medical restraints like we use with unruly patients? I could be strapped to a chair during the day and to a bed--maybe our bed?--at night. I'm thinking multiple straps on each extremity and around my torso--really pin me in place. I would be a voluntary quadriplegic...who's blind and mute." I said all of this on impulse. I had not contemplated such a radical lifestyle change. I'd never sampled bondage before the previous evening but what I was laying out seemed so right, so perfect in this moment. It represented a chance to escape the addictions that I always assumed would be with me until my early death.
Q looked contemplative for a long minute and then broke into a grin. "Listen, Sue, I'm game if you are but if we start this thing we have to finish. I'm not talking days or weeks. I'm talking years. Your mind is hard wired to crave addictive substances. Fixing that problem will take a long time. Would you be willing to commit to a minimum period of restraint of two years? I'm very serious about that--two years of having no control whatsoever over your body--no walking about, no use of your hands, no choice in what you eat or drink, no speaking except when I choose to remove your gag?'
I made the biggest decision of my life on the spot without the slightest hesitation. "i'll commit to 20 years if you will do this for me. When can we get started?"
"It's Friday afternoon. I need to look at one MRI and then I'm done for the rest of the day. How about you?" The look he gave me made me wet.
"I can get free but it seems naughty to leave this early...sort of."
He grinned, "Naughty girls need to be punished."
I was new to sexual banter but I thought I might do OK with it after a little practice. "Just don't send me to my room early...alone." I pleaded. He grinned some more. "Do you have my chains with you?"
"Indeed I do. They are in my brief case in my office. We wouldn't want you getting out of control on the ride home."
An idea popped into my head. It was out of this world crazy but I loved it nonetheless. "I'll meet you in your office in half an hour." I said as we left the restaurant for the hike back to the medical center. I tried to hustle (I was filled with anticipation) but my corset would have no part of aerobic exercise. I could take only shallow breaths so I slowed my pace and we had a leisurely stroll with Q holding my hand. That feeling was the moral equivalent of orgasm. When we got back Q headed to his office and I made a beeline to the nurses' lounge where I smoked my final cigarette of the day very quickly. Then I went to the surgical supply closet and appropriated a box of surgical masks, a roll of 4 inch wide surgical tape, a heavy duty pair of rubber gloves, a small hand towel and one other item. I took my purloined items to a private restroom near the OR, locked the door and went to work. Again I thought how crazy what I was doing was but the tingling in my groin was enough to drive me on. I soaked the hand towel in cold water and then folded it into a small square several layers thick. I looked at the square of cloth, looked in the mirror and then took the plunge. I opened my mouth as far as I could and pushed the folded cloth into it as far as possible. Using both tongue and fingers I was able to lodge the wet cloth behind my front teeth and then I bit down. My mouth was stuffed. Fearing that I might chicken out if I thought about this too much, I cut off a six inch strip of the surgical tape and plastered it across my mouth. It covered everything from the bottom of my nose to my chin. I looked in the mirror and a thoroughly gagged young woman looked back. This was good! For purposes of security, I added half a dozen additional strips of tape to hold the first firmly in place. I offered a quick prayer of thanks that hospital tape was so effective and so unlikely to come loose. I then slipped one of the surgical masks in place and checked the mirror. It completely covered my gag. Excellent!
I had one more issue to address. I knew I was going to be tied down for the foreseeable future. Tied Down Girl wouldn't have many options when it came to the call of nature. There were bed pans, adult diapers or the item I now held--a Foley catheter. I thought bed pans and diapers were yucky so the choice was easy. I pulled down my scrub bottoms and struggled to lower my girdle to my knees. I unsnapped the crotch of my body briefer and proceeded to catheterize myself. The process was more than a little painful but, in my mind, far better than the alternatives. I ran the tube through the left leg of my girdle and strapped the collection bag to my left calve.I think re-dressed being careful not to disturb the catheter as I tugged my girdle into placed.
I checked my watch and saw that I was running late. I stuffed the remaining supplies into my purse (a girl never knows when she might need to gag herself) and headed straight to my locker. Once again my corset slowed me and I noted that breathing was even more of a challenge with the gag and mask in place. I got to my locker out of wind and had to rest for a few minutes. Then I opened the locker, took out the knee length raincoat I kept for emergencies and a note pad and pen. I scribbled a quick note, closed the locker and took off to find Q. His office was at far end of the building so I was in for my longest corseted walk to date. I resolved to take it slow and easy in order to not have to stop and rest. Along the way half a dozen people I knew greeted me and, of course, all I could do was raise a hand and give a little wave. presumably none of them guessed that I was gagged under my surgical mask. Eventually I found myself at Quentin's door. I knocked lightly and stepped inside. Q was at his desk scanning some papers and barely glanced up. Seeing that I was masked, he smiled and asked, "Was there a very brief procedure?" I stepped forward and handed him the note I had written. He looked down at it, an expression of curiosity on his face.
"I AM WEARING A GAG UNDER THIS MASK. CAN'T SPEAK. SUGGEST YOU CUFF MY ARMS AND THEN BUCKLE THIS COAT AROUND MY SHOULDERS TO CONCEAL THE CHAINS. ALSO I AM CATHETERIZED SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT BATHROOM ISSUES. PLEASE BLINDFOLD ME ONCE WE GET TO THE CAR."
A look of delight appeared on Q's very handsome face. "You're just a little bondage princess aren't you? Well, why not." He moved to the door and locked it. Then he opened the briefcase resting on one of his office chairs and extracted the manacles and handcuffs. I had an idea. I raised a finger indicating "give me a moment" and reached into my purse. I pulled out the pair of gloves and tugged them onto my hands. They extended far enough up my arms that I thought they would protect my wrists from the tight handcuffs. "Smart girl," Q said. "Now let's get you hooked up." I dutifully reached behind my back and grasped one gloved hand in the other. I did not notice the cold steel this time but I certainly felt the tight grip of the cuffs first on my left wrist and then on my right My shoulders protested having my arms leveraged behind me again so soon but physical pain had never been a big concern of mine. Emotional pain was another story. I did feel the metal when Q locked the manacle around my left arm above my elbow and then tugged my right arm into place and snapped the remaining manacle onto it. Q stepped in front of me and inspected my face. Our eyes met sending a chill through my body. He gently pulled down my mask and inspected the tape sealing my mouth. "Nicely done." He commented. "Do you have something in your mouth?" I made a mm hmm sound being unable to nod in the ever more annoying neck brace. "Excellent," he responded. "Just excellent. Let's head out."
Q wrapped my coat around my shoulders effectively concealing the fact that my arms were chained behind my back. He buttoned the top two buttons and guided me to the door. He opened it for me and I stepped into the corridor and waited while he shut off the lights and locked up. We were in for a nearly two block walk and I had to do it breathing only through my nose and through a surgical mask all while my corset held my ribcage and lungs in a vice grip. And then there was the fact that I had been a heavy smoker for 15 years. What's life without challenges? Once again we encountered several people I knew and this time I couldn't so much as raise a hand to waive. Q covered for me very well though and I don't think any suspicions were raised. It took only a few minutes for both of my arms to go completely numb. I hoped that the famous neurosurgeon who had chained me up like this knew what he was doing and that I would eventually recover feelings in my hands. In the meantime I resolved to enjoy the freedom from pain from the tight cuffs. No one asked why I was wearing a vinyl raincoat on a hot sunny day but it must have looked funny.
When we stepped from the air conditioned medical center lobby into the baking hot parking garage I instantly broke into a sweat. The raincoat amplified the heat and it seemed impossible to draw the muggy Missouri air through my mask. Maybe my idea to gag myself hadn't been so clever after all. I realized that Q's vintage sports car almost certainly didn't have air conditioning and I felt grateful that he drove at warp ten. We got to the car and Q unbuttoned my coat and slipped it from my shoulders. My chains were now exposed but that bothered me hardly at all. Q opened the passenger door and helped me ease into the low slung coupe. He helped me get my feet and legs in and then pulled my shackles from his brief case. He knelt beside the car door and positioned them on my ankles ratcheting them as tight as he possibly could. Then he brought out my sleep mask and, as I had requested, covered my eyes with it, carefully positioning the bottom of the sleep mask under the top of the surgical mask. I wondered how I looked with eyes, nose and mouth all concealed behind my masks. It turned me on a little to think of my image--face almost entirely concealed and neither able to see or speak. Helplessness seemed to be a turn on for me. Was this some form of psychopathology?
I had assumed that we would head directly to Q's condo where he would take care of dinner and any other arrangements that he thought appropriate. I was mistaken. "I need to stop at the medical pharmacy and at the grocery. I would think that you would prefer to remain in the car given your limited mobility and lack of vision?"
The question caught me off guard. I was very uncomfortable. It was hot in the tiny car and the combination of gag, mask and corset made breathing a challenge. What I really wanted was some air conditioned comfort. Not knowing what to say--or grunt--I remained silent as I felt Q back quickly out of the parking slot. We accelerated out of the ramp and the motion of the car did seem to produce a bit of a cool breeze. I relaxed as much as my restraints would allow. Again, and still to my surprise, being blindfolded produced in me a sense of euphoria--as if I had been transported to a different, happier, world. This sensation was strangely familiar and altogether pleasant. Why did I like being blind??? Or was it that I liked being blindfolded? Was there any practical difference?
My daydreaming came to an abrupt halt when I felt the car stopped and I heard Q shut down the engine. "I will be a while, Sweetheart, I'm going to pick up some supplies for you. I will lock the car and lower the windows a crack. I hope you aren't too uncomfortable." I heard the door shut and the key turn in the lock. Then I heard nothing but the sounds of traffic. It felt strange to suddenly be alone and so completely helpless. I took an inventory of what I could and couldn't do. I couldn't see. I couldn't speak. I couldn't use my hands, arms or legs. I couldn't turn my head or bend my spine. I could hear, although there seemed to be very little to hear. I idly wondered if the car had a radio. I could shift my waist to the left and right to a very limited degree. I could move my shackled ankles a few inches in each direction. I couldn't light a cigarette or a joint. I couldn't do a line of coke or scarf down a Big Mac. I couldn't pour myself a drink and even if I could, I couldn't swallow with my mouth taped shut. How did I feel about having my addictions taken away from me? I wasn't sure. Kind of good. Kind of panicky.
Was I developing new addictions to replace the recently departed ones, I wondered. I certainly craved the physical sensations Q produced when he touched me. The climaxes he produced were far better than anything I had ever experienced with drugs or alcohol. And how did I feel about the prospect of being permanently in restraints? My intellect suggested that I should hate and rebel from being placed in restraints. Confinement was something to be feared and avoided. And yet...and yet. I found an undeniable pleasure in my helplessness. Something about being bound aroused me. Or maybe it was the fact of being bound by Q that produced this strange effect. I knew I had fallen in love with him. I wondered to what degree the feeling was reciprocated. And finally there was the question of the blindfold. The chains and the corset and the neck brace had all been Q's idea but the desire to be blindfolded had clearly started with me. When the thought hit me I had begged Q to blindfold me immediately. Once he did I LOVED the sensation of having my vision taken away. The feeling was sexual but it was something more as well. What? Why was I, even at that moment, experiencing a feeling a peaceful well being as a result of having my eyes covered?
The mid-afternoon sun was raising the temperature in the little coupe and I fervently hoped that Q would not be much longer. I gave little thought to what he was buying at the wholesale medical supply pharmacy. He was a surgeon after all. I had started to sweat heavily. Sweat from my forehead run under my sleep mask and into my eyes. I worried that the tape holding my gag in place would come loose. Why did that prospect bother me so much? My hands felt hot and clammy inside the rubber gloves I was wearing but at least my handcuffs weren't cutting into flesh. I resolved that I would become a regular glove wearer. My feet had gone numb. Could I get gloves for my ankles? I wondered how much of my future I would be spending in chains. I fervently hoped that I would spend most of my time in far more comfortable medical restraints.
My train of thought was interrupted when I heard Q open the trunk of the car. Is it still considered a trunk when it's in the front of the vehicle? Heard him load something bulky and then what sounded like plastic bags. He slammed the cover and a moment later I heard the key in the lock and then felt him slide into the driver's seat. "Whew, it's warm in here. I will have broiled Susan for dinner. Yum! I picked up some things that should make your life much easier in the upcoming days and weeks. I hope you like them.'
My curiosity spiked. What could Q have purchased at a medical pharmacy to ease my life? Methadone? Two cartons of Salem 100s? A fifth or two of Jim Beam? Probably none of those. This man clearly likes surprises. He started the powerful car and moved out quickly. Moving air flooded the cabin and even though it was warm the motion helped tremendously. I felt my spirits lift as I thought about the evening and the feeling of Q's hands on my body. Unable to see, I formed a mental image of the world flying past us. I made it much prettier and more vivid than the real world, adding extra dashes of flowers and eliminating all of the ugly things. I decided that I would like to go for long walks wearing a blindfold. Was that a realistic possibility? With Q, who knew? Was I the only person on earth who liked being blindfolded? I was certainly the only one I had ever heard about. It was, after all, a pretty weird new addiction but it had to be healthier than cocaine and I was coming to think that I liked it more.
"Are you enjoying being gagged?" Q asked as I felt the car slow to make a turn.
I gave the matter some thought and decided that, yes, in the overall context of this unusual experience I did in fact like being silenced. I knew I talked too much. I knew that my mouth got me in trouble on a regular basis. Moreover I knew that I needed to be gagged to stop me from putting things in my mouth that didn't belong there.. I did my best gagged, "Mm hmm," trying to add a tone of enthusiasm.
"Good, good," Q replied. "I think it is an excellent idea for you to wear a gag or muzzle. It will prevent a lot of problems. I'm grateful that you took the initiative." Me and my big gagged mouth, I thought. I had learned enough to know that Q was being quite serious. I didn't know how he was going to do it but I was fairly certain that my talking days were numbered. I smiled inwardly and contemplated life as Gagged and Blindfolded Tied Up Girl. The thought made me want to giggle. I was pretty sure that I had lost my mind.
I sensed that we had turned into the parking garage and I wondered how I would be traversing the nearly block long distance to the elevator. Would I be blindfolded? Shackled? I was pretty sure that my gag would not be coming off. I felt a lot less embarrassed than I had been a few hours earlier. Maybe it was the blindfold but I no longer felt ashamed of my restraints. I was proud to be Gagged and Blindfolded and Chained Up Girl. I didn't care who saw me. I WAS crazy. Q shut down the Pantera and announced, "I bought a very nice wheelchair for you. It will make getting about much easier for you. I will get it out and opened up and then we'll slip your coat on." I sensed him opening the driver's door and slipping out. Once again I heard the trunk open and the sounds of Q unloading the contents. Then I felt my door being opened. Q reached in and unlatched my seatbelt. Then he lifted my ankles and helped me rotate so I could slip my legs through the open door.
"There you go, Darling. Now I'm going to help you stand up. Be very careful not to hit your head. I know that neck brace is a nuisance but it's doing you a world of good. You'll be wearing it constantly from now on." In truth, I hated the neck brace more than all of my other restraints put together. It chafed and gave me a neck ache and it forced me to turn my whole body if I wanted to see what was to my left or right (assuming I wasn't blindfolded, of course). Q eased me out of the car in a process not unlike exiting the birth canal and then assisted me in standing. I felt him slip my rain coat over my shoulders and button a couple buttons. He then re-positioned me and I heard him roll the wheelchair in place behind me. He walked back around and guided me as I lowered myself into the chair.
I'm going to remove your shackles so that you will be able to separate your feet and place them on the foot rests but I don't want your legs unrestrained so I am going to use some medical restraints to strap each of you ankles and calves to the legs of the chair. These restraints will be very comfortable but they are also very effective. You won't be able to move either leg at all." I felt the shackles come loose from my left ankle and then my right. Q lifted one foot and then the other onto the wheelchair's footrests. Then I felt a wide canvas strap being wrapped around my left ankle and pulled tight forcing my lower leg up next to the leg of the wheel chair. Next I felt a similar strap being wrapped around my left upper calf and it also being buckled tightly into place. My left leg was now completely immobilized by the two restraints. Q repeated the process with my right leg and I realized that I was firmly wedded to the wheelchair with no ability to move either leg. The medical restraints were much more comfortable than the metal shackles but they were even more effective at immobilizing me.
I heard Q close and lock the passenger door of his car and then I sensed that he had moved behind my wheelchair. He spun me about and I felt us moving toward the elevator. I had not heard anyone else on this floor of the parking structure so I assumed no one was looking. Inexplicably, I had the sense that if I couldn't see them I didn't care if they were staring at me in my masks and wheelchair. We covered the ground between parking slot and elevator much quicker than we had that morning when I had had to walk in shackles. I heard the ding of the elevator and when the door opened I did not sense anyone else aboard. On the ride up, Q commented, "I think we both have realized in the last 24 hours that effective restraints are going to be the key to you leading a healthy lifestyle. I am very much in love with you and I want to see you healthy and happy. I am so grateful that you have so readily accepted the need for restraint. I think this wheelchair will be a terrific tool in keeping you firmly but comfortably restrained long term." The only words I really heard were, "I am very much in love with you." After that there was something about being restrained. I didn't care. Whatever. The Man was in love with me. Absolutely nothing else mattered!
We arrived at the top floor and Q wheeled me to the door of his condo. I heard him unlock the door and then he wheeled me into this living room. The air conditioning felt so good. Q took what I guessed was a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from my brow. "You've had that gag in place for better than two hours. Are you ready for a cold drink of water?" I made an enthusiastic mm-hmm sound and almost immediately felt Q removing my surgical mask. Then he started peeling off the wide strips of medical tape. Like any trained medical professional he knew to pull off tape as quickly as possible so as it minimize pain but there was still quite a sting when the last two strips came off. Without being asked, I opened my mouth and Q pulled the hand towel from behind my teeth. "You did an impressive job of gagging yourself," he commented.
I worked my jaw until I felt confident that I could speak and then I said, "I will gladly gag myself every day for the rest of my life if that would please you."
"I am so grateful that you said that because it is my thought that you are right that you should wear a gag at all times. Substance abuse is very difficult with one's mouth sealed shut. The sex shops have a huge assortment of gags and muzzles. Most of them can be locked. We will try out a few and see what is the most effective and comfortable for you. They also make something called a trainer that incorporates both a blindfold and a gag. That is something that you might enjoy wearing." I felt a glass being pressed against my lips and I drank the cold ice water happily. It tasted better than any alcohol I had ever had.
"I want to get you properly belted into your new chair but before we do that, how would you feel about a blindfold upgrade? I know that sleep mask let's in slivers of light and, when your hands are free it's far too easy to remove. You aren't really blindfolded if you can just slip it off and see."
"A better blindfold sounds great," I said sincerely. "What do you have in mind?"
"Well, how about we thoroughly bandage your eyes so that you can't even tell if it is light or dark? Total blindness." With that he slipped my sleep mask off and displayed to me a tray of supplies he had laid out. "Shall we do this?"
"Absolutely," I responded feeling little trepidation and a great deal of excitement. I knew that Q was not talking about bandaging my eyes for a few minutes or a few hours. He was talking long term. My job, my profession, was fading in importance along with my many addictions. Obviously, my working days were over given that I was going to be strapped to a wheelchair or bad, gagged and blindfolded. I didn't care. This man was the new center of my universe. Q began by scrubbing my forehead, my eyebrows, my eyelids and my cheeks with a surgical scrubbing solution. He then gently wiped away the residue from my skin.
He then leaned in, kissed me and said, "Take a good look. I'm the last thing you are going to see for a very long time. Now close your eyes." I did as told. I felt Q tug on my right upper eyelid pulling it down over the lower lid. Then I felt him place a series of tape strips in "X" formations across both lids sealing my eye shut. He repeated the procedure with my left eye and I could no longer see. He then placed a thick gauze pad over my right eye and secured it in place with a good many strips of tape. I lost all sense of light and dark in that eye. Again he repeated the process with my left eye leaving my world completely black.
"OK I'm going to wrap your eyes in adhesive gauze bandages to hold everything in place. I'm going to be very thorough so this will create quite a thick bandage." I felt him place the beginning of the bandage on my temple and then wrap the material repeatedly around my head covering everything from the center of my forehead to the tip of my nose and my upper lip. When one set of bandages ran out he added a second and then a third. By the time he taped down the end of the third twelve feet long bandage I was very aware of a thick heavy dressing covering the upper two thirds of my face. I couldn't imagine being more completely blindfolded. I wondered if I would ever see again. There was a sense of thoroughness and permanence to these bandages. I felt more blind than blindfolded. Would I see again? To my surprise I could live with either answer as long as I had Q in my life.
"How does that feel?" Q asked.
"It feels...good. A little strange but really really good. I have no clue why I like being blindfolded so much." That statement wasn't entirely true. I was coming to realize that my blindfold shut out a world where I had been profoundly unhappy. With my vision gone, I could imagine a new happier world. I liked that, liked it a lot.
"You'll sort it out in time. I think the blindness will be a good tool in rebuilding your life. You will have no visual cues to trigger old negative responses."
"It's also great for my fantasy life. When I'm blindfolded I see a bright beautiful world full of colors and flowers and nothing ugly or hateful."
"What a wonderful notion," Q mused. "Maybe you should be blindfolded permanently. Would you like that?"
"Maybe," I said. "As crazy as it sounds, I think I might like being blindfolded for the rest of my life. I could take long walks and imagine that the things I hear and smell are incredibly beautiful and I could meet new people and assume that they are all strikingly attractive with lovely smiles. Maybe this will change but right now being blindfolded makes me indescribably happy. Thank you for doing this for me. I also find being blindfolded relaxing. It's as if I'm relieved of the duty to be vigilant. Would you do me a huge favor? Would you agree not to remove my blindfold until I ask you to?" I felt Q lean in and press his lips against mine. Our lips parted and our tongues met. I strained against my bonds wanting to wrap my arms and legs around him. "I love you," I whispered.
"I love you too," he said. "Now let's make you more comfortable." I felt him unbutton the raincoat I was still wearing. I couldn't stand with the ankle and calf restraints in place so he gently pulled it from under me. He then had me lean forward as much as my corset would permit and he unlocked my handcuffs and elbow manacles. I brought my arms in front of me and reached out and hugged Q. I touched his face with my rubber clad hands. I ran my fingers across his lips. Then I touched my own face. Such a strange sensation to feel my face covered in bandages. "Do I look silly in these bandages?" I asked.
"You look beautiful, Susan. There is an elegant dignity to a blindfolded woman. I would be happy to spend the rest of my life with you in your blindfold and strapped regally into this chair, your throne. All I need from you is for you to be the best you that you can be. If we need to tie you down and blindfold you to get you there then that's just fine with me. I can be your eyes and your legs and maybe even your voice. Now let's get you buckled in and then we can have some supper." Q started by slipping straps under and then around my upper and lower thighs, belting them in place to the seat of my wheelchair. Once this process was finished, I had four tight wide straps on each of my legs making it absolutely impossible to move either of them even a milimeter. Next he wrapped belts around my torso at my hips, my waist and just below my boobs pinning me to the back of the chair. Finally came my arms. "I am going to err on the side of extreme caution with your arms," Q announced. "The arms are highly maneuverable so we're going to use redundant restraints to eliminate even the slightest possibility of escape." He then placed five wide straps around each of my arms-a set at my wrists, a set at mid-forearm, a set just below my elbows, a set just above my elbows and a set just below my shoulders. Each strap was buckled as tightly as possible and then attached to the arms or frame of my wheelchair. When Q was finished, I could move my fingers and toes but absolutely nothing else. I was tethered to the chair by 21 wide canvas straps each one buckled as tightly as possible. I had the sense of being overwhelmed by my restraints. I would not have been more helpless had I been a quadriplegic. Emotionally the medical restraints felt much less frivolous than handcuffs and shackles. These weren't toys. They were serious restraints from which I would not soon be released.
"Susan, welcome to your new life. I love you."
"Thank you for doing this for me," I said, feeling the tears well behind my bandages. "I love you too. Now please kiss me as hard as you can." And he did. Then he stroked both of my breasts, finally reaching inside my bodybriefer to squeeze my nipples. The feeling was beyond wonderful. I tried to move against my restraints but could not budge. I made fists and curled my toes and moaned. My immobility--my inability to satisfy either him or myself--was both frustrating and titillating. I thought about how many restraints and how many garments would have to come off for me to be able to attain gratification and that, strange as it may seem, was a turn on for me. In the new world my mind created, Q and I were naked making love in a meadow of flowers. In that world I was thin and lithe and utterly unashamed of my body. I loved that world. I was happy there. Then I re-imagined the scene. We were still in the meadow and we were still naked but now I was strapped into my wheelchair and my eyes were bandaged. Somehow this made me even happier. We continued to kiss in both worlds and in both worlds I could not move in response to Q's touch. My arousal increased.
"Tied up like this I won't be able to do anything to please you. I feel very badly--guilty--about that. Once I am gagged we won't even be able to kiss. That's really the only part of this experience that I regret."
"Susan, by having the courage to accept being completely restrained in order to live a healthier life you are doing more for me than you could ever hope to do unfettered. You are a beautiful amazing woman. You are also very sexy in your embrace of helplessness. This thing is going to be a long term commitment for both of us. A life long commitment I suspect. We will both need to make sacrifices, you obviously more so than I. You are an extraordinarily tough young woman to do this."
I heard the doorbell ring. "That must be our food order. I phoned it in from the hospital," Q said and I heard him moving toward the entryway. My sexual reverie crashed but the prospect of food held quite a bit of appeal for me as well. I heard Q pay the delivery person who seemed shocked and delighted by the tip and then I heard the door closed. "What are we having?" I called.
"You are having chicken broth," came the reply. "I'm having a steak and baked potato. I want to limit you to 1000 calories per day at least until you become more physically active." I was more than a little disappointed by Q's announcement but I knew that I shouldn't be surprised. We were cleaning up my lifestyle and the old me certainly was guilty of chronic overeating. As the scent of the food reached me I wondered just how a person as thoroughly tied down as I could become physically active. There's a limit to what you can do with isometrics. I heard Q moving about handling the food and presumably setting the table. Eventually he came and pushed me to the table in his dining area. I remembered that he had a terrific view from this window of the city and the river beyond. I now recreated that view making it more breathtaking and the colors more vibrant. How had I come to possess this capability? Had I known that I had it and was that the reason I insisted on being blindfolded? If so, I had waited 28 years to employ my unusual super power. I was struck by the thought that I felt lighthearted as a result of having my eyes bandaged, almost giddy. Would this sensation last?
"I'm going to feed you your meal through a straw," Q told me. "There should be fewer chances of a spill that way. Once we get you fitted with some good gags and muzzles, you will need to take all of your nourishment through straws."
"Really? You're not even going to ungag me at mealtime?" I tried to say it in a lighthearted voice but even hyper-compliant Susan thought wearing a muzzle at dinner time sounded like a bit much.
"No, as you pointed out, most of your health and behavioral issues stem from putting things in your mouth and nose. I think we need to get them sealed up and then keep them that way." I thought about that. I knew he was right and it was what I had requested but still.... I liked talking. I liked kissing. I even still entertained thoughts of trying to get Q's permission to smoke a couple cigarettes a day. Wearing a gag full time would throw a wrench into all of that. Then I considered my situation. I was clearly not calling the shots. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. I didn't even get to decide what I would have for dinner. I had made a decision to put my future entirely in this man's hands. If he wanted me to spend my days muzzled then that was what would and should happen. "Are you planning to gag me tonight?" I asked.
"Oh yes. I think we should. Don't you? We need to set patterns and stick to them. Obviously, you won't be able to engage in any negative behavior bound up as you are but there will be daily transitions from chair to bed and vice versa as well as exercise periods. I think a gag or muzzle will act to prevent temptation which should be a relief for you. This whole project is about taking away negative options. In that regard, a proper muzzle may be the most important piece of equipment we can get for you. You are paying far too great a price to allow any possibility of slippage. We are going to be as rigorous as possible with all of your restraints. I promise you that. I was thinking that for tonight we could tape your mouth shut after we finish up here. Tomorrow we will get you some proper gags and muzzles. As with the restraints you are wearing, I am going to err on the side of absolute certainty in sealing your mouth. Ideally we should be able to find gags that both cover your mouth and clamp your jaw shut. It's regrettable that you will lose the ability to speak but there may be advantages to being silenced just as you seem to find advantages in being blind."
"OK, that sounds good," I said. "Before I lose my voice could I ask you a couple questions?"
"Of course you may, Love. What would you like to know?" Q reached over and took my hand. Even through my rubber glove the contact felt warm and wonderful. I squeezed his hand as best I could.
"I was thinking that if I am going to be this thoroughly immobilized for most of the day and, presumably, night proper circulation might be an issue. Last night you mentioned that I could hook stockings to my girdle. Do you suppose it would be a good idea for me to wear good quality compression hose?"
Q took both of my hands and squeezed. "That's a terrific idea and something that I meant to bring up. We're going shopping for you tomorrow and I will put compression stockings at the top of the list. Good thinking, Susan. What else is on your mind?"
I felt the straw touch my lips and took a long sip of the warm broth. I was hungry and it was well seasoned so I didn't feel particularly cheated. Also, liquids are much easier to handle when tightly corseted. I heard Q's knife and fork scraping his plate and I tried not to think about how good his food must taste. I was the new queen of self-deprivation, or, perhaps, assisted self-deprivation.
"Let's move from my legs to my arms," I began. "This wheelchair is wonderful. It's infinitely more comfortable than shackles and handcuffs. Thank you so much for getting it for me. The medical restraints are great too and they are very tight just as I want them to be. I was thinking though that the straps on my arms would cut into my skin much less if I were wearing something under them. I mean even these surgical gloves help." I wiggled m fingers to draw attention to my gloved hands. "Specifically, what if I had a pair of those shoulder length formal gloves made from some heavy material. The restraint straps could remain as tight as they are now but I think it would be much easier on my skin and also more comfortable." I hoped I wasn't being too pushy but the straps that had encircled my arms for less than an hour were digging into my flesh and I could foresee problems long term.
"Another excellent idea, Susan. I frequent a formal wear shop in St. Louis and I have seen ladies leather opera gloves there. We will get you a few pairs at once." I heard a tone of amusement enter his voice, "Of course we will have to dress you in accordance with the style of a woman sporting shoulder length gloves." This made me giggle. I had never in my life done anything to adorn myself and now I was bantering about dressing up with this elegant and wealthy man. "Now, if that exhausts the questions, let's brush your teeth and get your gag in place for the evening. The ballgame will be starting shortly." He wheeled me to the bathroom and brushed my teeth for me holding an emesis tray under my mouth when I rinsed. This felt strange but there was also something very self indulgent about having someone else brush your teeth.
"Alright now," he announced. "Lets get that pretty mouth sealed up." He gave me one more lingering kiss and then, using the same type of wide medical tape I had employed a few hours early, Q wrapped an entire roll over my mouth and jaw and around my head. Although I didn't have anything in my mouth as I had earlier when I gagged myself, I felt much more thoroughly silenced. My jaw was absolutely immobilized and my lips were sealed with at least a dozen layers of tape. I would be holding no further conversations that night. Q emptied my catheter collection bag and then pushed my chair--I was already thinking of it as mine--back to the living room and positioned me next to his recliner. I heard the TV come to life amid a discussion of players on the disabled list. I supposed that I was now on the disabled list having lost my ability to walk, talk, see or use any part of my body. Yep, Susan will be spending the rest of this season on the bench.
I struggle to describe my feelings that first night of total restraint. They were nothing that I would have expected. I did not panic nor did I become angry or frustrated at my total helplessness. Although I could not have articulated it then, I instinctively realized that there was a zen to being tied up--a need to view the restraints as a positive rather than a negative. All of those straps, the gag and the bandages covering my eyes were aids in my recovery. I resolved to be grateful for them and for the man who applied them. As a nurse I knew that there would be some real discomfort from being so thoroughly immobilized--cramps, itching, vertigo, etc. I could handle those things. I would have plenty of time to think--I could do little else. I resolved to make those thoughts constructive positive meditations. In addition to the great mysteries of life my meditations would include my own future which was now distinctly out of my hands. Would I ever see again? Did I want to see again? Would I ever move freely again? What were my wishes.
Tonight strapped to the wheelchair hand and foot felt entirely different from spending the previous evening in handcuffs and shackles. There was a sense of permanency to my new restraints. My eyes weren't just covered, they were heavily taped and bandaged. I could not move any of my limbs at all. I could not shift in my chair. My shuffling shackled gait of the night before now seemed the epitome of freedom.
For an addict like me being fully restrained was strangely liberating. Drugs, alcohol, nicotine and food had lost their power over me. I had found the one sure way to overcome my weakness. I thought of Cyndi saying that she would need to be tied up in order to give up cigarettes. Here I was following her suggestion literally. I wondered what an extended period of sobriety would feel like. Or, for that matter, How I would feel if I weighed 100 pounds less.
Q positioned my wheelchair near the couch a tuned in to the Cardinals game. I am an avid baseball fan and love the cheer loudly and demonstrably during a game. Tonight, however, my restraints would permit none of that. Since I couldn't see I had to listen closely to the audio broadcast. I felt frustrated whenever I would hear phrases such as, "Look at that!" Look at what, damn it? I'm blind here. I also noticed my girdle pressing uncomfortably on my catheter. I had debated catheterizing myself as opposed to wearing a diaper. I was beginning to question my decision. The game was a boring scoreless affair which gave me plenty of time to dwell on my utter helplessness. My mouth felt dry but I knew the tape gag wouldn't be coming off until morning. I flexed my hands to relieve the monotony and Q must have noticed He took my rubber-clad left hand and gave it a squeeze. That felt wonderful. I squeezed back. I longed to hug and be hugged by Q but that wasn't to be. He rubbed the palm of my hand with his thumb. Even through the thick glove that felt erotic. A tingle started down there. Little I could do about it. I was as helpless as a human being could be or so I thought.
"
I should explain that I am ethnically half American Indian and half Cuban. I was blessed with good skin and high cheekbones and in my teen years I was always the "she has a nice face" girl to people who were trying to explain away my obesity and vulgar attitude. I have dark brown eyes that people say are pretty but unless Q had x-ray vision he couldn't see my eyes at present. I had never considered the possibility that anyone could think I was beautiful. And yet now one of the hottest men I had ever met was telling me just that. It felt wonderful. I flushed warmly despite being nearly naked. I forgot the cramps in my shoulders and jaw and my empty stomach. Tears poured behind my blindfold again. I was in love--in love with a man who scared me, who thrilled me and who most of all confounded my understanding. Such powerful feelings were quickly erased by the awareness that my nose was running and I had no way of wiping it. Q, perceptive as always, saw my dilemma and held a tissue to the breathing holes in my blindfold and gently dabbed. He again took my shoulders and suggested that we get me something to drink.
Q guided me to the dining area of the kitchen and helped me down into a chair. Moving even room-to-room in my shackles was arduous. The chain that ran between my ankles was a mere eight inches long. I could barely lift a foot and instead needed to shuffle side to side. I felt him brush a strand of loose hair from my forehead. Then he ran his finger along my lips--lips stretched tight by the ballgag. He touched my throat. then he brought both hands to my breast and pinched my nipples between his thumbs and fingers. I moaned and squeezed my legs tightly together around my bulky diaper to try to quell the burning urge I suddenly felt. Q must have done really well in Human Anatomy. "Let's get you a little something to drink and then we'll take care of our other appetites." he whispered. "I'm going to take your gag off for a few minutes So you can drink. You are wearing a gag with a breather hole so this isn't strictly necessary but the first feeding we'll let you have the gag off for a few minutes. After that you will take your meals with the gag in place." As I considered the implications of that statement, I felt him working with the buckle behind my head and in a bit the strap that held the gag in my mouth went slack. Q pulled the ball of the gag free and for the first time in hours I could work my jaw.
Q kissed me, hard. Our tongues met. I leaned into him wishing I could put my arms around his neck and run my fingers through his hair. I wondered what he was wearing, if anything. I wondered if we were about to make love. I wondered what was for breakfast! After a minute...or five...Q pulled away but put his finger to my lips. "Now just because I took your gag off does not mean you have permission to speak. Understood?" I made an mm hmm sound but didn't open my lips. I was not a Gagged Person so it wasn't OK to speak even when my gag was not in place.. Only later did I wonder why I needed permission to speak. I heard him move to the refrigerator and open the door. I had never been blindfolded for any length of time and I was surprised by how much I could tell about what was happening just by listening. I heard Q moving things about and then closing the door followed by the sound of something plastic being opened. "This is a nutrition drink," he said. "It contains about 300 calories. I'm going to limit you to three of these a day. If we do that for three days that will be a good start on a serious weight loss program. You'll be hungry but we will keep tightening your corset which will put pressure on your stomach and we'll see that you drink plenty of water."
These were strange words. They implied that Quentin, and not I, had the right to decide what and how much I could eat and whether or not I would diet. I had an impulse to scream profanities at him and demand that he release me so I could leave. Who the hell was he to take control of my body and my life? But I didn't scream or so much as say one word. I recalled the mad sensation of his touch, the magnificent way be brought me to one level of arousal and then the next, one climax and then the next. I remembered the feeling of him telling me--me!--that I was beautiful. I took the straw he pressed against my lips and drew in the nearly tasteless gritty liquid. The small serving did little to fill my stomach. I longed for a 2000 calorie breakfast. I said nothing. Q took what I assume was a napkin and dabbed at my lips.
Quentin then said, "Let's get your gag back in place now." Was I going to be gagged all weekend?
I screwed up my courage knowing it was against the rules and said, "Will you please kiss me again before you gag me?" His answer came quick and hard. His mouth engulfed mine. His tongue pressed into me, against the roof of my mouth, against my tongue, across my lips. I felt his hands on the back of my head pulling me into him. I didn't have much experience with such things but I decided that Q must be the best kisser in the world. I wished he would pinch my nipples again. I wished he would touch me DOWN THERE. I longed to have my hands free to guide his, to touch him. Too soon he pulled away. I felt him arranging the straps on my gag. "Open wide," He said. I suppose my instincts should have been to grit my teeth and resist being muzzled. I had no idea how long I would be forced to wear the gag this time. Would anyone in her right mind consent to having such a thing stuffed into her mouth and then locked in place?
I don't know but I did. I opened my jaw and took the big leather ball into my mouth. Then I bit down as Q pulled the straps that held it in place and that held my jaw tightly shut. I felt him working the buckles and wondered if he wasn't fastening it even tighter than he had the night before. "Does that feel snug enough?" Q asked, apparently seriously. I grunted emphatically. "I know that a gag feels a tad strange at first but you'll get used to it with time. There is nothing more erotic than a beautiful woman who is thoroughly muzzled. From your perspective it liberates you from the social obligation to speak and gives you the luxury of continual introspection. The fact that you are blindfolded is icing on this sweet cake." Truly beautiful! He said I was TRULY BEAUTIFUL. OK he also said I was going to get used to being gagged all the time but who cares if he keeps telling me I'm beautiful? I felt high. I WAS high. I might as well have been a 14 year old in the throes of her first crush. I would have told Q that I loved him had I been able.
"Our next step is to get you into your wheelchair. You'll be far more comfortable in it than with all of those tight chains on." He helped me to my feet and guided me toward the great room. I loved the feeling of his hands on my shoulders. Walking while wearing the thick diaper felt strange. I wondered how long I could go before I would need to wet in it. "In a minute I'm going to help you sit down in the chair over there but there are a couple things I want to do for you first. You haven't had anything to eat for something like 20 hours. I bet we can pull that corset quite a bit tighter." This announcement wasn't my idea of good news. I would have preferred having the corset quite a bit looser...but obviously this wasn't my call. It was heavily boned and I could not flex my spine in any direction while wearing it. My abs ached. Nonetheless I stood still and inhaled while Q tugged at the laces. He worked his way up and down my spine. I felt my torso, especially my rib cage being constricted by its grip. I was taking short rapid breaths wondering if women really did faint from being tightly laced. Eventually Q was satisfied with his efforts and tied off the laces. I flashed back on the time in high school when my mother tried to get me to wear control top pantyhose and I told her they were too restrictive.
As I struggled to force oxygen into my lungs I badly wished I could draw more air through my mouth. Corsets and gags are a wicked combination. Even the "breather" gag I wore did not allow for the passage of much air through the mouth. "Now let's get you into your chair. You'll be spending a lot of time in it from now on. Q helped me turn about--not easy in shackles--and then reached behind me and removed both my handcuffs and manacles. The relief from the strain was enormous. I brought my gloved arms forward and shook them in an effort to restore feeling. Q then guided me to a sitting position in the wheelchair. "This chair is equipped with a great many medical restraint belts. We're going to strap you tightly in it starting with your torso.' I sensed a belt being wrapped around my hips and then cinched tightly across my lap. Next a felt a second strap encircling my waist perhaps eight inches above the first and felt in pull tight--uncomfortably tight even though it was directly over my corset. Then a strapped was wrapped around my ribcage just below my breast and it in turn was cinched as tight as possible.
"Next I'm going to strap down your arms. I'm very sorry that these straps are so damned tight but the whole point is to see that you are thoroughly restrained and can't escape so I know you will understand." He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead just above my blindfold and went to work. Each of my arms were bound to the arms and frame of the wheelchair with four wide leather straps--one right at my arm pit, one just above my elbow, one around my forearm and one at my wrist. The straps were cinched as tight as possible and were absolutely unyielding. I would have absolutely no use of my arms or hands. Finally my legs were strapped to the legs of the wheelchair. Restraints circled my ankles, calves, lower and upper thighs. When all of the restraints were in place I believe I was bound as thoroughly as a human being could be. I could wiggle my toes and fingers but I was incapable of moving any other part of my body. I could not see. I could not speak and I could not move my head in any direction. I was absolutely and completely helpless.
So I sat. I thought about Q saying he loved me--words I thought I would never hear from a man, let alone such a spectacular man. I thought about the cramps in my shoulders and the corset stays that were poking me in the ribs and hips. I contemplated my empty stomach, my craving for nicotine and the many itches I couldn't scratch. I wondered how long I could keep my diaper dry. I wondered about the future. Was this for real or a quick fling that would leave me embarrassed and humiliated? I wished that the straps weren't so tight. I wished that my corset wasn't as tight and that my ballgag wasn't as big. I wished that I could stop drooling. I wished that I could masturbate. I thought about the fact that I was only about 12 hours into a three day weekend. I wanted a cigarette!
Sensory deprivation and immobility shatter the sense of time. For most of that morning I did not know if Q had been gone 10 minutes or two hours. I am now accustomed to this sensation but on that first day it provoked panic. I tried to shift positions but wasn't very successful. With my ankles locked together and my abdomen crushed I found that I couldn't lift my legs or use them to re-position myself. My arms were useless of course. Again and again my thoughts returned to Q's declaration of love. Did he mean it? Did I love him too? Hell yes I loved him too. I never wanted to be apart from him. He could tie me up and blindfold me and spank me with a ping pong paddle if he wanted if he would only tell me he loved me every day. With this awareness my panic subsided a bit. I was able to relax which, I discovered, made my bonds a great deal more tolerable. In fact I started getting aroused. Just as I was working out how to masturbate with my wrists cuffed behind my back I heard Q at the door.
"Hi, Suzie! I'm back." I hated being called Suzie. My name is Susan. I have a graduate degree and "Suzie" sounds like a poodle's name. And yet.... And yet spoken by Quentin "Suzie" sounded like the sweetest term of endearment I had ever heard. I turned my head in the direction of his voice and tried without much success to smile. "I had a wonderful breakfast--it's a shame you can't eat any longer--and I brought another bag of toys from the car for us. Would you like to try some new toys?" God knows why but I nodded enthusiastically.
I heard Q step to the seating area where I was parked, helpless--in an overstuffed chair. I sensed him kneeling down beside me and felt his hand on my knee. He slowly caressed my inner thigh sending electric waves of arousal throughout me. His hands were soft but strong. He ran the backs of his fingers down the inside of my other thigh. I moaned involuntarily into my gag. I wanted him--badly wanted him--to make love to me again. But that was not to happen, at least not immediately. I heard the snaps on a suitcase or valise and then the rattle of metal. "Sweetheart, I'm going to help you stand and then we are going to try to make you a bit more comfortable." What? Was he going to remove some or all of these restraints? Strangely, I found that thought disquieting. In a very short time I had come to link being bound with expressions of Q's affection. Would removing the one result in a diminution of the other? I needn't have worried on either score.
Quentin placed his hands under my arms and helped pull me to my feel. He then wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. "You are so very beautiful." he murmured. I leaned into him and tried to make moans of contentment and desire. That didn't go very well. He released me and told me to turn around so my back was to him. With his help I accomplished this maneuver despite the shackles. Gently stroking my shoulders, Q said, you've been handcuffed behind your back for almost 24 hours. I know that can't have been comfortable but you've been a real trooper. I wanted you to get used to the sensation of total restraint but now let's see if we can't relieve some of the pressure on your shoulders and wrists. I'm going to unlock your arm restraints now." With that I heard the jingle of keys and felt a tug on my bound wrists and eventually felt the key slip into one of the locks. With a click the left cuff open and the pressure on my wrists subsided. Q repeated the procedure to release the manacles above my elbows. I brought my arms around, painfully, and flexed my shoulders as much as the straps on my corset would allow. Q grasped my right wrist to which the handcuffs were still attached and released that cuff as well. I rubbed my wrists through my gloves and felt relief as the pinpricks of pain that had been present in my hands slowly diminished.
I brought my hands to my face and felt the hard leather gag in my mouth and then the softer leather of the blindfold covering the rest of my face. What a strange sensation to not feel my face! I then lowered my hands to my waist, feeling it for the first time with the corset tightened to this extent. I felt a thrill at the sensation of the new-to-me hourglass shape. I shuffled my still bound feet so that I could turn toward Quentin. I reached out for him and pulled him toward me. I felt his hands on the back of my neck. I tilted my head upward toward him. Despite the gag lodged in my mouth I felt his lips on mine. I pressed into him. I wanted so badly to make love. I moaned. I wrapped my arms tightly around him pulling him toward me. Despite the awkwardness of my gag we kissed for what must have been ten minutes. I was wet and horny when Q pulled away. I assumed that we would make love now but I was wrong...or at least premature. "Before we get carried away here," he said, "let's get you bound up properly. It won't do to have your hands free."
I felt a rush of disappointment, first at being denied sexual release and second at the thought of having my arms re-cuffed behind my back. I withdrew from our embrace and resumed massaging my wrists through my gloves. I felt certain that there would be marks and bruising that I would have to conceal at work in three days. Q then took both of my hands in one of his and asked, "Now if I were to let you wear your handcuffs in front for a while would you promise to be a good girl and not try anything funny?'
I vaguely wondered what sort of funny things I could possibly try while shackled, handcuffed, gagged, blindfolded and nearly naked but for an extremely tight corset, a diaper and a pair of leather gloves but I nodded enthusiastically. The idea of having my hands in front of me and having some minimal use of them sounded wonderful. I felt Quentin slip the cuff first around one wrist and then about the other. As he tighten the handcuffs I realized that the lined leather gloves did indeed protect my wrists from the irritation of the metal and I felt a wave of gratitude toward my lover for getting them for me. Still grasping my now bound wrists, Q told me, "I do want to install two more items just to make sure your hands don't get you in trouble. First, I'm going to put a pair of thumbcuffs on you." Moments later through my glove I felt a tight band of steel encircle my left thumb and then heard it click shut. Next I felt Q tug my right thumb into position next to the left and an identical band of steel quickly locked in place around it. I tried to move my thumbs independently but the cuffs locked them together and prevented any independent motion Between the handcuffs and the thumbcuffs I would have very little use of my hands but I was at least much more comfortable having them bound in front.
I reached out and touched Quentin's face. I ran my leather clad fingers over his cheeks and then slipped my cuffed wrists over his head. I pulled him into me and once again our lips touched. I imagined that the big leather ball in my mouth was Q's manhood. I pressed into him using what little motion of my lips and jaw that I could manage to enhance the kiss. I wondered if I would ever again kiss Q without the obstruction of a gag. If not I resolved to become the world's best gagged kisser. To my delight I felt Q bring his hands to my breasts. He ran his thumbnails across my nipples producing a powerful and instant reaction. I wanted him inside me but once again it was not to be.
"Now since your corset has given you such a lovely hourglass figure I think we can fit a waist chain on you." I had no idea what Q meant by a waist chain but assumed I would find out soon. I again heard the clinking of chains and felt Q reaching around my waist. I felt a tightening at the narrowest point of my waist and then heard the click of a lock being closed. I tried to feel what was encircling me but between the cuffs and the leather of my gloves I couldn't learn much. "OK, now I am going to attach your handcuffs to the waist chain." At this point I got it. My wrists were going to be chained to my waist so I wouldn't be able to reach with my arms or hands. I regretted the loss of use of my hands but on balance this wasn't nearly as bad as having my arms pinned behind me. Moments later Q guided my conjoined wrists to the vicinity of my navel and I heard another lock closed. I tried to pull my hands away from my body but, as I expected, they were locked firmly in place and were essentially useless. I felt strangely impressed with the thoroughness with which Q had restrained me. I could not see. I could not speak. I could not walk and I could not use my hands. I could not rotate my spine or bend forward.
"We're not quite finished accessorizing you, Sweetheart. I have a few more items that will make you even more beautiful than you already are." Considering all of the hardware I was currently wearing I couldn't quite imagine what more he was planning to do to me. "I'm going to fiddle with your lady parts in a moment but I wonder if you would like to have a diaper change before you do?" In truth I had not yet wet my current diaper hoping that I would be able to use the toilet before that became necessary. It wasn't sounding as if the toilet was going to be an option, however, so I made a quick decision and released a stream of pee into the diaper. I wondered if I would ever get used to the sensation of warm urine spreading through my diaper. [spoiler alert: yes I would]. I nodded my head indicating that I would like to be changed and Q responded that he would be right back with "your diaper bag." I apparently now had my own diaper bag. What an interesting development. I heard Q's steps returning and he dropped something on the floor near my feet.
"I'm going to release your shackles for a bit. Once they are off please spread your feet as far apart as you can. I both heard and felt him working the locks on my ankles. I felt first the left and then the right shackle come off and the blood flowing back into my feet. I moved one foot away from the other so as to give Q free access to my crotch. Once again he went through the ritual of pulling my girdle down to my ankles. Unless you have worn a very tight girdle, you have no idea what a struggle it is to get one up and down. He released the tabs on my diaper and pulled it away from me. I felt him using some kind of moistened wipes on my butt (a strangely erotic sensation) and then on my vaginal area. Once again he applied what I would later learn was old fashioned Vaseline to the entire area covered by my diaper. "I am so impressed by the way your lovely skin tolerates a diaper. Most encouraging!" I wondered just what this encouraged although I was pretty sure that I knew. Q paused for a moment and then ran his hands up and down my inner thighs sending an electric flash of desire throughout my body. My knees buckled and I might have fallen had Q not wrapped his arms around me and grasped me tightly. I felt his breath on my face and I leaned into him trying as best I could to bring my mouth to his.
I felt Q's lips on mine and once more I tried to work around my gag to kiss him. I had found that I could rub first my top lip and then my bottom lip against his mouth. If he parted his lips enough we could kiss full on with the ball of my gag partly in his mouth as well--a strangely erotic experience. Was I developing a preference for kissing while gagged?! He placed both hands on my breasts first rubbing gently and then pinching my nipples tightly. I moaned and pressed into him harder. To my surprise I felt something through my gloves pressing firmly into my bound hands. I knew what it was and hoped that even in my restrained state I could please Q. I had no idea when he had removed his pants. I squeezed his massive member between my fingers and palm. I tried to use my thumbs but the thumbcuffs held them almost completely immobile. I squeezed and released the pressure, squeezed again. Q moaned. I think he said "My god." I wanted to guide him toward my vagina but the waist chain did not permit me that much movement. The awkwardness engendered by my restraints was unexpectedly arousing. Being denied what I so desperately wanted made me want it more. Apparently Q wanted it too.
"Let's move to the couch," he whispered. I made the best "Mm hmm" I could and nodded enthusiastically. I felt his hands on my shoulders. He turned me and guided me to a soft leather sofa and helped me ease down onto it. He separated my knees and entered me at once. "Susan [yes!] you are so wet that you would need a diaper even if you had access to the commode." I don't know why but that cracked me up. I started laughing hysterically which isn't an easy thing to do while thoroughly gagged. The only thing that stopped my laughing was the pounding of Q inside me. He was savagely out of control in a way he had not been before. He cried out, "You are the most amazing woman...." At that point he became no more capable of speech than I. His climax seemed to last for minutes and just as he was finishing I too lost all control and shuddered with pleasure. I bit into my gag and emitted an animal growl from my throat. My hands jerked spastically against my chains I arched my back as much as I could and pressed my pelvis into Q's then collapsed onto my back. That moment, despite my bonds, was the happiest moment of my life to date.
After a few minutes rejuvenation, Q helped me first sit up and then stand. I heard him retrieve what I guessed was my diaper bag. At this point one would think that nothing Q could say would surprise me. One would be wrong. "Have you ever worn a butt plug?" he asked. My jaw would have dropped had it not been so tightly strapped shut. Nonetheless I shook my head indicating that I was a virgin when it came to butt plugs. "I see," he said. "We'll start with a small one--relatively small and move up from there. To the extent that you are able in your corset would you kindly bend forward while I spread your butt cheeks."
I did as asked but in truth I couldn't bend at the waist more than maybe 20 degrees. "That's my good girl. Now I am going to use my finger to spread some Vaseline inside you. Relax your sphincter as much as you are able. This will soon become much easier for you." I recognized the sound of latex gloves being pulled on and then felt Q's hands, cold with Vaseline on my butt. He gently parted my cheeks and entered my anus with one well-lubricated finger. I felt the dim stirrings of arousal. What the hell? Does everything this guy does turn me on? Yes, pretty much. Q pressed his finger deeper into my rear entry. His hands are huge but his gentle surgeon's touch caused me no pain and an increasing amount of arousal.
"OK, you are thoroughly lubricated. You're doing a great job, My Love. Let's get the plug in place. You will initially feel very full but this is a sensation to which you will become accustomed very quickly. In fact, I think you will like it quite a lot." I felt Q withdraw his finger and moments later I felt something hard press into my anus. It seemed far too wide to ever fit. Q pressed firmly. I started to panic and thought, "That's never going to fit." Then I had the sensation of being split in half and felt the plug sliding up my ass. Q kept pressing and I felt the first twinges of pain. I tried to contract my sphincter but the effort was wasted as the plug had now slipped deep inside me. Q gave one last push and then patted me on my enormous butt. "Great job. It is right where we want it. In a few weeks you'll be wearing a plug three times that size...and loving it." What a strange choice of words. I had just had a huge rubber phallus shoved up my ass with nothing more than my implied consent but the truth was that I did kind of love it. I felt weirdly good. Some really nice nerves were firing as a result of the butt plug. I felt full, in a good way, but at the same time uncomfortable as if I had an urgent need to poop. How long would I have this thing inside me?
"Alright, we have quite a bit more work to do before we take a break. By the way it's a gorgeous day and I can't wait to get out on the dock and catch some sun. First things first. I'm going to put a fresh diaper on you. By the way, I bought you the extra absorbent type. They are a bit bulkier but hold quite a bit more. I think you could easily go 24 hours without being changed." I had no idea my lover was so well informed on the topic of adult diapers but somehow it made sense. I wondered if I was now a full time diaper wearer. That would be strange but what about this experience wasn't. And yet...I was ecstatically happy. What the hell was going on? I felt Q fitting the diaper between my legs and I widened my stance to give him more room to work. That produced a powerful reminder of the rubber plug stuck up my butt. This was all very different from anything I had ever experienced. Q fastened the diaper in place. He had made it as snug as he could which caused it to press against the base of the butt plug pushing it further into me.
"The next thing I have for you is a fresh girdle. Although you're no longer able to shower daily, regular girdle changes are important." I shook my head in wonder. I could have never imagined myself as a full time girdle wearer. My size two chain-smoking mother had nagged me throughout my teen years to use a girdle but I had refused primarily because it represented a chance to defy her but also because the thing looked very uncomfortable and old fashioned. If Mommy Dearest could only see me now. One at a time he guided my feet into the legs of the girdle and then tugged it up my calves and thighs and then over my diapered butt.
"Next come your stockings." Did he mean pantyhose? Nobody wore real stockings anymore. But then I remembered that he had mentioned the garters on my girdle. Yikes. "For a variety of reasons, you need to wear compression hose. You are a bit overweight, you are wearing an extremely tight corset and girdle and will soon be in shackles again and you will be spending most of your time from now on immobilized which, as you know, has the potential to cause serious blood clots. The fact that you have been a smoker is a concern as well. For all of these reasons, I have bought you the firmest compression hose available and I'm going to have you wear them 24/7. These are 40-50 mmHg compression. They are hard to get on and off but I think they will feel great on your legs." Wow, compression hose? Like old ladies and patients at risk of having their legs amputated wore. I definitely hadn't seen that coming. Q slipped one stocking and then the other onto my legs. They were thick and tight. It felt as if I was now wearing a girdle that extended to the tips of my toes. Q clipped the tops of the stockings to the garters of my girdle and smoothed everything into place. To my surprise the pressure from the stockings did feel good on my legs. I knew he was right about the health benefits to someone with my unhealthy lifestyle but that just made me think about how hungry I was and how much I wanted a cigarette.
"Just a couple more items and then we will take a break. First, lets get your shackles back on. You've been a good girl while you've had them off but I'll feel better when you're properly bound. We'll try you in walking shackles this time." With that I felt him slip the shackle around my left ankle and lock it in place. I had to admit that the shackle was a lot more comfortable with the heavy compression stocking in place. Without being asked I moved my right leg into place to allow Q to lock the shackle on that ankle. He did so and then patted me on the butt, saying, "You are such a good girl" With the heavy girdle and thick diaper in place I barely felt his pat. I noticed that I felt a compulsion to test the limits of each new restraint as it was locked on me. I tried taking a short step in my shackles but of course came up short. I thought that I was now trussed up about as thoroughly as a person could be. I was mistaken.
"Have you ever seen or worn a neck corset?" Q asked? I was aghast. Was a neck corset what it sounded like? Was I about to be strangled? Q seemed to read my mind. "A neck corset is a lace up rigid collar. They can be anywhere from say three inches wide to long enough to extend over the mouth and act as a muzzle. Other than looking damn sexy, their function is to immobilize the head. With a proper neck corset locked in place you can't move your head either front to back or side to side--a very effective restraint. I picked out a lovely black leather one for you. I wish you could see it." This concept was not sounding all that lovely to me. It sounded extremely uncomfortable. I didn't have much time to contemplate life in a neck corset before I felt Q tugging something over my head. He gently tilted my head backward until it felt as if I would be staring at the ceiling had I been able to see. I smelled more leather as the corset passed over my nose. Q fit it in place atop my shoulders and around my neck. I felt a lip extend out under my jaw and then up over my jaw in the direction of my lower lip. I felt the top of it on my cheeks just below the strap holding my gag in place. The neck corset was completely rigid and obviously contained metal boning.
Quentin began lacing the neck corset and it quickly tightened around my neck and jaw. My head was drawn further and further back and upward. I thought that my jaw could not be forced any higher but again I was wrong. I wondered if this was safe but I knew that Q was one of the most competent physicians anywhere and that he cared too much for me to put my health at risk. After still more tugging at the laces I sensed Q tying them off. As was my want, I tested the limits of the neck corset. They were severe. I could not raise or lower my head. I could not turn it even one degree left or right. It was locked in place and would remain in its current position until Q removed the neck corset. I wondered how I must look--chained and corseted, diapered and girdled, blindfolded and gagged. Once again I got the giggles and once again my restraints made laughter very difficult. Q started laughing at the vision of me trying to laugh at my imaginary vision of myself. He put his arms around me and pressed in close. "Your neck corset puts your mouth at just the right angle to kiss. I like that." He leaned in and once again i felt his lips on mine. We were getting good at kissing while I was gagged! I, of course, could no longer move my head which limited the variations in our kissing but neither of us minded much. Q broke our lip lock and hugged me tightly. "I love you so much. You are the loveliest woman I have ever met." I would have swooned had I been physically able. A sense of warmth spread through me. I had not expected to ever hear these words. They meant more to me than all of the freedom I the world. I knew I would bear any burden to hear them every day for the rest of my life. Who needs to move when you are loved by such an amazing man.
Before we were married we formalized our legal relationship by going to court and having Q declared my legal guardian and conservator on the grounds that I presented a danger to myself or others and that I was incapable of managing my own affairs. I attended the hearing in a full length straitjacket strapped to a high-backed wheelchair. Aided by the testimony of a kinky psychiatrist friend of Quentin's that I was mentally unstable (I really couldn't dispute the point) the hearing lasted only a few minutes and the judge granted the request. He signed an order prepared by Q and his lawyer stating that I forfeited all of my legal rights in favor of Quentin. Having been declared legally incompetent, I no longer had the right to own property, to enter into a contract, to have a bank account, to possess a firearm, a knife, mace, pepper spray or any other weapon, to vote, to have a driver's license, to make my own medical decisions or even to leave the house without Q. The guardianship order authorizes and directs Q to physically restrain me, "to such an extent, by such means and for such duration with or without [my] consent as [he] deems advisable" if he considers me to be a danger to myself or others. He has exercised this right very, very liberally. That was in 1987. Many years later we both believe that we have what we wanted most.
When I entered into this journey with my husband , he told me, "While you will never be in pain, you will also never be completely comfortable. Furthermore, you will forever surrender the right to move any part of your body without my consent." He was right. I am kept in bondage and in what most people would call fetish clothing 24/7. It is not terribly comfortable. I am not really "into" discomfort but I accept these conditions as part of our commitments to one another and I feel it is my duty to live with the inconvenience of my lifestyle. Certainly I would feel differently if I thought I were in danger or if true pain were inflicted on me. Gags and blindfolds aren't a lot of fun for me but they are important to my husband and being with him is important to me. Therefore I accept the imposition as my duty to him. In return he provides for me, cares for me, dotes on me and keeps me safe from my own self destructive impulses. Does this make sense to others?
As one might imagine, being kept in bondage 24/7 has been transformative. I have lost over 50% of my body mass since Q started controlling my diet. I have not consumed solid food in decades. I have not touched alcohol in over 30 years. Other than prescriptions for hefty doses of Xanax and Valium that help me overcome my claustrophobia about being bound and Ambien to help me sleep, I have been drug free for the same length of time. I am allowed one or two cigarettes a week.
I am never without substantial restraints. During my two hours per day of "free time" I wear handcuffs, thumbcuffs, shackles and either a gag or muzzle. If I have acted inappropriately, my hands are cuffed behind my back. Otherwise I am allowed to have them cuffed in front. When I am cuffed behind my back I must also wear a set of manacles just above my elbows to prevent any use of my hands or arms. My shackles are removed for one hour per day so that I can use the treadmill or exercise bike. During this time I am handcuffed to the exercise device and, of course, blindfolded. Aerobic exercise while gagged and severely corseted is very challenging but I am required to meet a quota of calories burned each day or I will be handcuffed behind my back and blindfolded during free time the next day.
The chain on my shackles is only about 4" long so getting around during free time is a bit of a challenge particularly since my boots feature high stiletto heels. I can only take small steps and I cannot go up and down steps. Within these limits I am able to move around the house during my free time or to sit and read. The rest of the day I am constantly bound to something--my wheelchair, the bed or our St. Andrew's cross--and am largely immobile. In addition to the restraints I wear, my clothing is quite restrictive. I wear a full length extremely tight corset with shoulder straps and a neck corset at all times. I wear a long heavy girdle, shoulder length black leather gloves, heavy support hose and thigh high boots with spike heels. The neck corset prevents me from moving my head either up and down or from side to side. It took me years to adjust to so much immobility but, as Q says, immobility is the whole point of bondage. All of my clothing is very tight. My boots are two sizes too small. My gloves are so tight and the leather is so thick that it is difficult to bend my elbows or use my fingers when I am allowed to do so.
I don't get to leave the house too often. Q takes me to the hairstylist once a week where my stylist does her work with me strapped down in my wheelchair. We go to church most Sundays. In addition, we go out perhaps once or twice a month to shop or to a movie or play. When we are out, I am almost always in my wheelchair with my torso, arms and legs bound to the chair with leather restraints. People assume that I have suffered a brain injury or that I have had a stroke or am epileptic. I wear a surgical mask to conceal my gag (a large sponge stuffed into my mouth which is then taped shut with multiple layers of wide medical tape). I have opaque contacts and wrap around sunglasses with the inside painted over with nail polish that function well as an "invisible" blindfold. In lieu of my neck corset I wear a rigid cervical collar. These occasional excursions are the part of bondage that I enjoy most in that they serve to break up the monotony of my day-to-day life (although it can be mighty frustrating to "watch" a movie while blindfolded). It is also strange to have church friends whom I have never seen due to being blindfolded whenever I have meet them. I initially felt embarrassed to have people see me in restraints but I have long since overcome such feelings. A few close friends and family members know why I am restrained. No one else seems particularly curious.
At night I am completely restrained in bed on my back using three sets of medical restraints on my torso and arms and four sets on my legs. Basically all I get to move is my fingers. I wear the same thing I do during the day with the exception of my outerwear. I even keep my gloves and boots on. I wear a blindfold, ear plugs and gag at night. To my surprise, I am fairly comfortable confined in this manner and I sleep well. I am embarrassed to say that I now must wear an adult diaper in bed as I can no longer make it through the night without urinating.
Throughout our marriage the extent of my confinement has slowly increased. I now spend eight hours a day bound in my wheelchair. My legs and torso are always tightly restrained with heavy medical straps attached to the wheelchair. Three days a week, including Sundays, my arms (both upper and lower) are also strapped down completely and I have no use of my hands. Two days a week my wrists are bound to the arms of the wheelchair by medical restraints but I have about 12" of movement with each wrist. On these days I can use a special keyboard or hold a book but I can't quite touch one hand to the other nor can I reach my mouth or any other part of my body. Two days a week I wear handcuffs and thumb cuffs while in my wheelchair but am otherwise free to use my arms and hands. Thumbcuffs are particularly frustrating but I have become fairly adept at doing things with only my fingers while wearing tight leather gloves.
I also spend four hours per day strapped to a St. Andrew's cross. This helps insure proper circulation but standing that long in very tight boots gets quite uncomfortable particularly with my arms and wrists strapped to the cross above my head. My entire body is immobilized when I am on the cross and I am blindfolded and wear ear plugs during this time.
I am allowed three diaper changes per day. Every morning I get an enema and my nurse helps me with cleanup after that. I wear my butt plug except for when I am getting an enema. I wear very little makeup since so much of my face is covered by my gag or muzzle and blindfold most of the time. Since I wear gloves 24/7 nail care is not a problem.
I am currently blindfolded for 24 hours on Sundays and for 20 hours or more all other days. I perform inadequately on the stationary bike or I force out my butt plug accidentally. Being blindfolded is frustrating for me and I have struggled to accept this facet of my life. I am an avid reader and time passes very slowly when I can't see. I was blindfolded at my stepson's wedding and throughout several vacations to places I would have liked to have seen. I felt very badly at the time but I do enjoy seeing photos and videos of events that I "missed." The amount of time I am blindfolded each week has progressed throughout our marriage and one of my greatest sources of anxiety is the thought that it will be further increased in the future. The hours of total darkness from Saturday evening until Monday morning are difficult to bear. On the other hand, since the blindfold is the most difficult restrain for me to accept, I suspect it does me the most good spiritually. My husband knows that I would desperately like to wear it less but I am grateful that he compels me to wear it as much as he wishes. I will strive to accept additional hours of sightlessness when they come and I hope to someday have the courage to ask for additional hours in a blindfold.
When I am not blindfolded (and some times when I am such as at night and when I am on the cross) I also wear ear plugs that prevent all hearing. In this way I experience a degree of sensory deprivation at all times. Furthermore I can feel very little through my thick leather gloves even when I have the use of my hands. I taste very little since I am on a bland liquid diet and only get to drink water and I rarely smell anything other than the leather of my gag and blindfold. This tends to intensify the senses that I am allowed and, to my surprise, has greatly increased my sexual responsiveness. Even the slightest touch to my lady parts absolutely drives me mad.
I have come to appreciate, if not enjoy, the fact that I wear a gag or muzzle at all times. Tight straps around my head aren't particularly comfortable but I know my mouth would get me in trouble were I free to speak. Before meeting Q I was very much a sarcastic loudmouth. For the past 30 years, however, I have not had that option and I like the silent me much better. I've even overcome my aversion to drooling--something that is inevitable while wearing a high quality gag. The inability to speak has made me far more introspective and a far better listener. I really think I would choose to be gagged even if the decision were left to me. Q generally allows me to speak for a few minutes once or twice a week and I like to think that I now choose my few words wisely. I generally prefer gags to muzzles because a muzzle must be so very tight in order to be effective. In addition, I am just oral enough that I appreciate having something stuffed in my mouth. I have no choice in the matter, of course, so I wear both regularly. My gags and muzzles all have a small "breather" hole so that I can drink without having to remove them.
I have now been in full time bondage for 30 years and it has come to be familiar and comfortable for me in the most part. By forcing me to give up or limit so many addictions bondage has prolonged my life for many years beyond what I could otherwise have expected. Certainly the daily restraint has taken a toll on my body. My neck muscles are badly atrophied as a result of the neck corset. The same is true of my abs and the few minutes each week when my corset is removed are quite uncomfortable. I wear a large butt plug constantly and that has resulted in a loss of sphincter control when it is out but I do find the plug highly erotic. I am blindfolded so much that I can no longer tolerate bright light and now must wear a pinhole mask over my eyes when the blindfold is off. Balanced against the fact that I would almost certainly have killed myself by now had I been left to my own devices, this doesn't seem like too high a price to pay.
I recognize that few would make the bargain that I have but I am absolutely content with my choice. It would be a difficult decision but if my husband were to die tomorrow (what an awful thought) I do not believe I would want to be released, at least not completely. I pray that I never face that decision and that I die many years from now in my sleep, in bed securely strapped down, blindfolded and gagged.
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DwayneDibley
Suck my Thermos!!
- Joined
- Mar 22, 2005
- Posts
- 1,835
Very interesting story you have there SubMrs. You really do live a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle! Things like this do interest me (if you don't mind me saying), many people wouldn't understand you living your life like this, and to be honest I'm not sure I do fully, though you both did discuss these boundaries before entering the relationship. If you decided, say for sake of example, that you wanted to sleep without been chained to the bed, could you discuss this with your husband and come to an agreement to leave the shackles off when in bed?
Hope you don't mind me asking, do you ever feel that you would like to be an equal in the relationship, or ever hanker after a more 'conventional' relationship?
As I say though, I do kind of find it a turn on thinking of having a girlfriend/wife that's in bondage gear 24/7, always wearing something slightly uncomfortable, and shackled, and tied to the bed, so I can empathise with your husband and finding it a huge turn on!
However, I don't think I'd like to live like that all the time with my GF, perhaps an evening though!
Hope you don't mind me asking, do you ever feel that you would like to be an equal in the relationship, or ever hanker after a more 'conventional' relationship?
As I say though, I do kind of find it a turn on thinking of having a girlfriend/wife that's in bondage gear 24/7, always wearing something slightly uncomfortable, and shackled, and tied to the bed, so I can empathise with your husband and finding it a huge turn on!
However, I don't think I'd like to live like that all the time with my GF, perhaps an evening though!
My life
My life (or at least the part of it that I think you are most interested in) revolves around my husband's very strong attraction for bondage and what other's (but not he) would call fetish clothing. The difference between our lives and those of most--but not all--other couples with these interests is that we make bondage a fulltime lifestyle and not just a brief prelude to sex play. I am heavily restrained twenty-four hours a day every day of the year. In my husband's view, there is nothing compelling about bondage that you can walk away from after a few minutes. This, I think, is what separates him from most people who have an interest in bondage.
Similarly, there would be nothing genuine about our commitment to this chosen life if I had the right to opt out at some point. Doing so would be a breach of the fundamental covenant underlying our relationship.
My life (or at least the part of it that I think you are most interested in) revolves around my husband's very strong attraction for bondage and what other's (but not he) would call fetish clothing. The difference between our lives and those of most--but not all--other couples with these interests is that we make bondage a fulltime lifestyle and not just a brief prelude to sex play. I am heavily restrained twenty-four hours a day every day of the year. In my husband's view, there is nothing compelling about bondage that you can walk away from after a few minutes. This, I think, is what separates him from most people who have an interest in bondage.
Similarly, there would be nothing genuine about our commitment to this chosen life if I had the right to opt out at some point. Doing so would be a breach of the fundamental covenant underlying our relationship.
Plasmacaster
The bearded one cometh
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2004
- Posts
- 3,255
My Thoughts
In the past I have been in 2 relationships involving BDSM and D/s. One relied on my role as a Master, the other was just a Dom/sub relationship with me as the dominant partner.
When i was the Master I was almost a completely different person to who i am normally and for this reason it wasn't a 24/7 thing. It WAS however an evening thing. My partner actually wanted to take it further and in the end our relationship broke up because I wasn't comfortable with the person that I was when i took on the Master persona. I mean it was terribly enjoyable during the evenings but when morning came I just felt uncomfortable with myself. I personally consider myself to be more informed about the lifestyle than the average person and I can see where people find their enjoyment in it.
Personally I prefer to be in a D/s relationship because I need to have that break from the roles, I would still be a 24/7 Master if the right person came along and they wanted it like that but to me, in a perfect relationship control would be shared about 60/40. I would be in control but I would still be able to treat my partner on roughly equal terms.
In the past I have been in 2 relationships involving BDSM and D/s. One relied on my role as a Master, the other was just a Dom/sub relationship with me as the dominant partner.
When i was the Master I was almost a completely different person to who i am normally and for this reason it wasn't a 24/7 thing. It WAS however an evening thing. My partner actually wanted to take it further and in the end our relationship broke up because I wasn't comfortable with the person that I was when i took on the Master persona. I mean it was terribly enjoyable during the evenings but when morning came I just felt uncomfortable with myself. I personally consider myself to be more informed about the lifestyle than the average person and I can see where people find their enjoyment in it.
Personally I prefer to be in a D/s relationship because I need to have that break from the roles, I would still be a 24/7 Master if the right person came along and they wanted it like that but to me, in a perfect relationship control would be shared about 60/40. I would be in control but I would still be able to treat my partner on roughly equal terms.
my view
Master and i have a very loving, respectful and caring relationship. It is not 24/7 though I do try and adhere to His wishes when we are apart. We both have commitments to other things which come first, but that changes when we are together. Masters wants / wishes / desires are my priority. This feels very natural to me.
I call Him Master apart from when we are out, then it is His r/l name, though sometimes it does feel a little strange.
Master and i have a very loving, respectful and caring relationship. It is not 24/7 though I do try and adhere to His wishes when we are apart. We both have commitments to other things which come first, but that changes when we are together. Masters wants / wishes / desires are my priority. This feels very natural to me.
I call Him Master apart from when we are out, then it is His r/l name, though sometimes it does feel a little strange.
DwayneDibley
Suck my Thermos!!
- Joined
- Mar 22, 2005
- Posts
- 1,835
Thanks for your thoughts
Thanks for putting your thoughts down plas and emes
I'm kind of like plas here. As I say, I only really 'dabble' with bdsm with my girlfriend, me as the dom and her as the sub. It's actually the reverse (kind of!) of how things are in real life, as she tends to be the bossy one! It sometimes gives me the chance to get my own back of sorts. I'd say that our relationship is probably at the moment 95% vanilla and 5% bdsm, though hopefully we can get a bit more bdsm into things when we get a place of our own!!
@Emes, speaking personally I would feel quite uncomfortable being called 'Master' by my GF, and she would probably hit me if I suggested she did anyway! Power, in theory anyway, is about 50/50 in our relationship (although she tends to pinch a few more percent quite a lot!), and apart from when I'm in Dom mode, generally quite indecisive and timid.
I hope it doesn't sound like I'm criticising you Emes, I do sometimes have a tendency to word things wrongly or badly! Each to their own, and as long as both parties are happy, anything goes - I'm just trying to understand the more 'full-time' relationships here, human nature can be so fascinating!
Thanks for putting your thoughts down plas and emes
I'm kind of like plas here. As I say, I only really 'dabble' with bdsm with my girlfriend, me as the dom and her as the sub. It's actually the reverse (kind of!) of how things are in real life, as she tends to be the bossy one! It sometimes gives me the chance to get my own back of sorts. I'd say that our relationship is probably at the moment 95% vanilla and 5% bdsm, though hopefully we can get a bit more bdsm into things when we get a place of our own!!
@Emes, speaking personally I would feel quite uncomfortable being called 'Master' by my GF, and she would probably hit me if I suggested she did anyway!
Power, in theory anyway, is about 50/50 in our relationship (although she tends to pinch a few more percent quite a lot!), and apart from when I'm in Dom mode, generally quite indecisive and timid.I hope it doesn't sound like I'm criticising you Emes, I do sometimes have a tendency to word things wrongly or badly! Each to their own, and as long as both parties are happy, anything goes - I'm just trying to understand the more 'full-time' relationships here, human nature can be so fascinating!
DwayneDibley said:Thanks for putting your thoughts down plas and emes
@Emes, speaking personally I would feel quite uncomfortable being called 'Master' by my GF, and she would probably hit me if I suggested she did anyway!
I hope it doesn't sound like I'm criticising you Emes, I do sometimes have a tendency to word things wrongly or badly! Each to their own, and as long as both parties are happy, anything goes - I'm just trying to understand the more 'full-time' relationships here, human nature can be so fascinating!
Doesnt sound like criticism at all!
I see calling Him Master a sign of respect and submissivness.
As you say ~ each to their own, the world would be a boring place if we were all the same!
Rosie_Riveter
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2007
- Posts
- 200
Hi Submrs.
If I may ask, do you still live in much the same way as when you posted in this thread several years ago?
If I may ask, do you still live in much the same way as when you posted in this thread several years ago?
Rosie,
I suppose that I am the answer to the question, "What happens when kinky folks get old?" My husband's health has taken a turn for the worse and we spent several years dealing with some very painful legal issues. I am not restrained as rigorously as I have been in recent years but I do still live in some form of bondage at all times. I hope to have the opportunity to post more in the upcoming weeks. My life's story is unique and I would like to document it.
Sue
I suppose that I am the answer to the question, "What happens when kinky folks get old?" My husband's health has taken a turn for the worse and we spent several years dealing with some very painful legal issues. I am not restrained as rigorously as I have been in recent years but I do still live in some form of bondage at all times. I hope to have the opportunity to post more in the upcoming weeks. My life's story is unique and I would like to document it.
Sue
clock1
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2007
- Posts
- 611
I assume your husband is old. Your bio lists 50, I do not know if that is from 2005, and you are now 54, or if this machine keeps up and youi are only 50 now, but early 50s is hardly old.
Nowthen I am sorry to hear of health issues at any age, for you or your husband, and legal issues are frequently stressful enough that they create health problems.
My best wishes for both of you.
Nowthen I am sorry to hear of health issues at any age, for you or your husband, and legal issues are frequently stressful enough that they create health problems.
My best wishes for both of you.
Clock1,
Thank you for your kind thoughts. Yes, my husband is older than I and he has experienced two incidents with his heart and a stroke that has impaired his mobility.
Fifty may not be old in a general way but if you abuse your body as severely as I did for the first 30 years of my life there will be a price to pay.
Sue
Thank you for your kind thoughts. Yes, my husband is older than I and he has experienced two incidents with his heart and a stroke that has impaired his mobility.
Fifty may not be old in a general way but if you abuse your body as severely as I did for the first 30 years of my life there will be a price to pay.
Sue
Bandit58
Sir's wonder woman
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2002
- Posts
- 8,121
Wow this is an old thread I'd forgotten I'd posted here
Our D/s relationship is almost at the 6 year mark now. We married nearly 3 years ago. I now refer to Him as Sir here instead of Master - it rolls off the tongue easier out of the bedroom I have been known to call Him "Lord and Master Grand Poohbah Best Master in the Whole World"..... And He still wants me to add Sir at the end However most of the time we use really mushy endearments like darling and sweetheart....
This is a partnership. The power exchange ebbs and flows according to Sir's health issues (of which there are many). We tend to make decisions together about most things. I don't have a paying job, Sir's health precludes that. Our finances are held in separate bank accounts and I pay our bills and keep track of money. I am encouraged to go to the gym and do things for myself.
I hate the word "owned" and Sir doesn't like it either. I rarely if ever disobey outright. If I don't want to do something, the reasons why are discussed. For example, I don't like driving here in the city, sometimes it just paralyses me with fear. He wanted me to drive to the local fast food chicken place, in the dark. I told Him I was scared, but He made me get in the drivers seat and talked me through it....I even made it through the drive through part without having to reverse back to get round. Now I know I can do it, I won't be as nervous about it anymore.
The worst way to punish me is to ignore me and not speak to me. It tears me up inside. This has only happened once or twice in the whole relationship. Believe me this hurts more than the worst flogging ever could
Sir is 56, I will be 51 in a few weeks. I am lucky I am very healthy and strong - I go to the gym regularly and I lift weights. If I was kept in bondage all the time I don't think I could serve Him properly as His carer. I would be interested to hear how this works for you
Our D/s relationship is almost at the 6 year mark now. We married nearly 3 years ago. I now refer to Him as Sir here instead of Master - it rolls off the tongue easier out of the bedroom
I have been known to call Him "Lord and Master Grand Poohbah Best Master in the Whole World"..... And He still wants me to add Sir at the end However most of the time we use really mushy endearments like darling and sweetheart.... This is a partnership. The power exchange ebbs and flows according to Sir's health issues (of which there are many). We tend to make decisions together about most things. I don't have a paying job, Sir's health precludes that. Our finances are held in separate bank accounts and I pay our bills and keep track of money. I am encouraged to go to the gym and do things for myself.
I hate the word "owned" and Sir doesn't like it either. I rarely if ever disobey outright. If I don't want to do something, the reasons why are discussed. For example, I don't like driving here in the city, sometimes it just paralyses me with fear. He wanted me to drive to the local fast food chicken place, in the dark. I told Him I was scared, but He made me get in the drivers seat and talked me through it....I even made it through the drive through part without having to reverse back to get round. Now I know I can do it, I won't be as nervous about it anymore.
The worst way to punish me is to ignore me and not speak to me. It tears me up inside. This has only happened once or twice in the whole relationship. Believe me this hurts more than the worst flogging ever could
SubMrs said:
Sir is 56, I will be 51 in a few weeks. I am lucky I am very healthy and strong - I go to the gym regularly and I lift weights. If I was kept in bondage all the time I don't think I could serve Him properly as His carer. I would be interested to hear how this works for you
PredatorSmile
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 31, 2005
- Posts
- 1,201
Marriage is a BDSM lifestyle. Someone's dominant, and someone's perpetually submissive.
