BOUND IN LEATHER
Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 1, Episodes 6-10 (10 illustrations) - 10 tokens
Enter Token Code to Access Gallery
Bound in Leather - Book One
continued from Episodes 1 - 5
Episode 6 (2 images)
There was another photograph that fascinated me. It was in colour, and was obviously based on an old master. Which one it was had me baffled until, in one corner of the frame I saw the words, "After Goya." Then I placed it. It was the famous "Naked Maja." The couch, the pose, the lighting, all were carefully reproduced. But in this picture the subject who was, quite obviously, Vicki, wore a pair of marvellously fitting over-knee boots in flesh-coloured leather, with heels that I guessed to be not less than eight inches in height. From boot-tops to waist she wore a pair of nude elastic mesh tights, and from the waist to just below the jutting bust, a tiny waisted, stiffly boned corset of leather to match the boots.
Her arms, which in the original are held languorously behind the head, were in the same pose. But in tight flesh-coloured leather gloves, which were actually joined to each other in such a manner that each hand was clasped around the opposite elbow. Thus, she was actually in capable of defending her self, though, to judge by her attitude, defence was the last thing she had in mind.
Her mouth was drawn far back at the corners into a sort of fixed grin by a narrow band of the same leather drawn very tightly between her teeth, and presumably buckled behind her head. A certain appearance of pressure about her mouth showed clearly that though it was forced into invisibility, her mouth was packed with some sort of silencing pad.
The sexy quality of the boots, the helpless arms and the tight gag all combined into an effect of charming willingness that was quite indescribable.
There were numerous other pictures in the room, some just costume studies, some stressing bondage, too. All were interesting, but there is no point in describing them here.
I had just completed my examination of all of them, when I heard Vicki's voice in the hall, calling:
"Will you open the door please?"
"Sure, ' I answered, hastening to oblige, wondering, as I did, why she could not open it for herself; after all, it wasn't locked or anything, just closed.
I opened it and she minced past me into the room, holding herself very upright and taking very small steps, even allowing for her high heels. As she passed, I saw the reason for the upright pose. Her arms were held behind her back in a "Y" shaped glove of black kid. It reached almost to the armpits and the two separate arms joined into one at the elbows, which were held in actual contact in the small of her back. From there, down to the tips of her fingers, it was a single glove, holding her forearms, hands, and even fingers rigidly together.
Arrived in the middle of the room she turned and faced me.
"Well?" she smiled, "how do I look?"
From a very low-cut bustline almost down to her toes, she was wearing a skin-tight gown of what I took to be raspberry red velvet. It was quite plain, save for a crisp white edging around the sleeveless top and outlining a small slit in the front of the skirt. It fitted, literally, like a skin. The bones of her corset, the tops and lacing of her boots were all clearly outlined. The area from the bottom of the corset to the tops of the boots was especially clearly shown. The skirt could not have been more revealing had it been pasted to her body; not a line, not a muscle of her pretty hips and curving bottom was concealed.
Suddenly I realised her bosom, incredibly high and full, must tape well over forty inches, while her wasp waist could not have been any more than eighteen inches.
"Well?" she pouted. "Aren't you going to say anything'?"
Episode 7 (2 images)
"So that's what you meant by the figure you wear in public!" I exclaimed.
"What? Oh. Oh, yes. I can hardly show my real figure when I'm outside. It really would stop traffic, don't you think?"
"I'll say!" I agreed heartily, "Just what do you do when you go out?"
"Well, for one thing, I wear a sort of padded vest around my waist, that adds a few inches. I like to look slim, you understand, but no slimmer than a girl with a naturally small waist; about twenty-three, twenty-four inches."
"But how about the-umm-upper works? The way you stand out now, compared to-"
"Different brassiered," she explained, "they anchor to the top of my corset, of course. When I want to go out, I wear one that sort of minimises things. But here at home I wear one that is really designed to make the most of a naturally full bust, aided by a very tight corset."
"Sounds kind of complicated. Wouldn't it be easier simply to leave your corset off when you go out?"
"What?" she exclaimed, "For one thing, after years of corset wearing, I feel like I'm going to fall apart if I take it off even for a few minutes. For another, I've been training for a small waist for too many years to let it expand even for a matter of hours."
Turning away from me, she strutted over to a straight chair or rather I should say an upright chair with arms and back of plain wood no upholstery.
As she moved, her hips, thanks to the stiff corset above and high heels below, undulated most enticingly.
Arrived at the chair, she turned to stand with her body in profile, smiling at me over her shoulder, as she asked
"Aren't you going to say that I look pretty? After all, it isn't every day that a girl gets herself up in a costume like this, and then has her arms so rigidly restrained, just so as to look appealing."
"Well, frankly," I replied, "I've never seen anybody like you before. I've heard that there were girls who liked to corset and wear high heels and thigh boots; I'd even read of some that enjoyed bondage. But I never expected to meet one, especially one who obviously gets such whole hearted pleasure out of it. Believe me, you are the loveliest, most desirable creature I've ever seen."
"Thank you," she smiled. "That's what my husband tells me. But I like hearing it from somebody else, too."
"There's just one thing. . " I murmured.
"What's that?" she asked, in obvious concern.
"Your legs. It's a pity to hide them under that long skirt."
"Well?" she challenged.
"Huh?" I gasped.
"Well, with my arms behind me like this, I can't very well stop you. After all, that's what a skirt like this is for-to be pulled up."
In a second, I was beside her and had grasped the material to begin raising it, when I said,
"Hey, what goes on? This stuff feels like rubber."
"That's what it is, red sheet rubber, cut and draped into a gown. That's what makes it cling so wonderfully."
In a second I had the skirt gathered and looped up to her hips. Gracefully, she sank into the chair, sitting far enough back in the seat so that her gloved hands, which hung so rigidly over her bottom, slipped over the back of the seat, so that she could sat upright.
Then, as I stepped back to look at her, she crossed her booted legs in the approved pin-up manner and smiled,
The picture she presented, the beautifully fitting, skin-tight, high heeled boots, the red rubber gown, suggestively gathered about the hips and hugging the tiny waist and incredible bust, the back-arched shoulders and back-gloved, helpless arms, and finally the pretty, warmly smiling face made me admire her immensely.
"Great God in Heaven!" was all I could say.
Then I stared some more, while she obviously basked in my pop eyed admiration. Finally, I managed to murmur,
"How do you get this dress off?" I asked, "It doesn't seem to have any fastening."
It doesn't. It's rubber, remember? It just rolls down like a stocking."
It took me a second to get the roll started around the close-fitting top; but after that it was almost like peeling a banana. In a very brief time the dress was just a red doughnut on the floor, and she was stepping away from it. I tossed it on a chair and turned to inspect my lovely companion.
Episode 8 (2 images)
>From heels to the tops of her legs she wore, as I had seen, the most perfectly fitting thigh-high boots imaginable. They were of black kid, highly polished and seemingly almost buttery in softness. At the top of each leg, on the outside, a tightly drawn strap ran up to the leather corset that stretched from rather below the hip-bones, up past the tiny waist, to the base of the jutting bust. Above this and fastened to the corset in some way, was the brassiere that had started the discussion. This was shaped into two half cups, obviously shaped and boned rigidly to hold the proper shape. The breasts rested in and welled out of these supports.
Then, my eye caught something else that I had more or less skipped over before. Her pants. Not that much showed between them and the bottom of the corset and the top of the boots, but what did was black and fitted like a skin, literally like a skin.
Following the direction of my eye, Vicki rolled her hips slowly and asked,
"Admiring the pants?"
"Darn right. How can you get them to fit that way?"
"Feel," she invited, turning in profile.
"I get it. Rubber?"
"Why the rubber pants-especially when everything else is leather?' I asked.
"Because in this house the pants have to fit perfectly, if they are worn at all. Of course, Nicki and I often wear matching leather pants, to go with the rest of whatever costume we may be wearing. But when they're put on, laced to fit properly, we can sit down. So, since I could hardly go to the theatre without sitting, I wore rubber."
"Sounds like a delightful idea. But tell me, how long can you go without sitting down?"
"Oh, all day. All evening too, if Dick decides he wants us to. For instance, if I had a pair of leather pants on now, I'd just have to keep standing up till somebody decided to take them off. I certainly couldn't do it for myself, could I?" she asked, moving her bound arms slightly.
"I guess not," I admitted, rather startled. "But couldn't you ask for help, or a little rest?"
"When we're dressed in that sort of a formal rig, we don't ask for anything," she assured me, firmly.
Then strolling back to the same chair she had sat in before, she perched on it prettily, with one leg resting along the arm, the other resting on the floor. Putting her head attractively on one side, she asked,
"Will you do me a favour?"
"Sure. Anything you want."
"Will you tie me up?"
"But-but-" I sputtered, "you are tied up already."
"Oh, only my arms. I want to feel really helpless."
"You bet I'll tie you up. I'll tie you right into that chair. But what can I tie you with?"
"Just pull the bell," she nodded to a bell-pull by the fireplace. "Pull it three times. Fifi will understand."
It was only a matter of seconds after I pulled it that Fifi was opening the door and remarking,
"Mon dieu! Fifi was beginning to think that madame would never ring."
In her hands she carried a big silver tray. On it was coiled a selection of ropes, numerous straps of various lengths and widths, as well as a couple of pairs of handcuffs, an ankle-chain, and some other things I was too interested to notice at the moment.
She put the tray down on an end table, then moved the table over near the chair where we were standing, being careful to face away from me, so that as she leaned over and moved the table, she gave me a very interesting view. Then she straightened up, faced around and, putting her hands behind her, asked,
"Would you care to have me help you, monsieur?"
"Why no, I don't think so, thank you, Fifi," I answered, smiling at her.
"Fifi is very good at tying up, monsieur-or being tied up," she added hopefully.
"Well, maybe some day soon I'll have the pleasure of tying you."
"Fifi hopes so, monsieur Ted. Any time at all. But I must warn you. Fifi struggles and must be tied very tightly."
"All right, Fifi break it up." There was a distinct edge to Vicki's voice Obviously, she was the one who was going to be tied and she didn't want the maid horning in on it.
Slightly abashed the pretty maid started to mince out, when her mistress stopped her with,
"Fifi, where's Miss Nicki?"
"She spent most of the day in the darkroom, madame, working on those last pictures. But then, about five, she came out and told me that she had been very clumsy. Her high heel had turned and she had spilled some solution. She wanted to be punished."
Episode 9 (2 images)
Vicki nodded as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Then she asked,
"How did you punish her?"
"I lock her in the trunk, madame."
"Good. Well, in about ten minutes, bring her up here. I want her to meet Mr. Walk."
"Oui, madame. Still in the trunk?"
"I don't see why not. Maybe Mr. Walk would like taking her out."
This was all Greek to me; but I resolved not to say anything. If they wanted to regard this punishing of girls by putting them in trunks as a natural thing to do, I wasn't going to be different.
Instead, I stepped up to the tray and picked out a tong piece of rather heavy rope.
With a final glance at us to see if there was anything else, Fifi minced over to the door and departed. From the way she switched her hips and closed the door rather firmly behind her, I got the impression that she was annoyed with me for not letting her help. Well, that was too bad. But I didn't get a chance like this every day, and I wasn't going to share it with anybody.
I beckoned my willing victim over; passed the rope once around her pretty little waist and tied it firmly at the back, with two long ends equal and trailing almost to the floor. Then I helped her to sit in the chair, well back in the seat, with her gloved arms over the back. Bringing the two ends of the rope forward, one around each side. Then I passed them back under her body, not without some smothered protest on her part, as I handled her in the process. Next I tied a shorter rope, figure of eight wise, several times around her upper arms, just above the elbows. Then I brought the two ends of the rope from under her body up, through the arm rope and pulled it as tight as I could. Then I knotted it. The result was to pull her shoulders back and down, make her arch her back as much as her stiff corset would allow, and apply some very interesting tension to the tendons at the tops of her legs.
"Ooh!" she gasped softly, as the rope drew tight, "That feels wonderful, I can see I'm going to enjoy this, I love it."
I had considered tying her legs together, but decided I could make her more helpless and more uncomfortable by securing them another way. I tied a short rope to each pretty ankle, passed the ropes outside the front legs of the chair and back underneath to her gloved wrists. Pulling these short ropes very tight, I forced her legs wide apart in front then, bent steeply at the knees, with the toes well clear of the floor, back under the seat. Then I secured the ropes around her wrists.
"Have you ever done this sort of thing before?" asked Vicki.
"Well, once or twice and only in fun." I admitted.
"I must say you seem to have a natural knack for it, then. I feel delightfully helpless and of course escape is out of the question."
Feeling highly complimented, I continued securing her. I passed a long strap, figure of eight wise around her upper body and the back of the chair and pulled it extremely tight across her chest, above and below her bosom.
"Umm " she sighed, "you're even making it hard to breathe."
Two more shorter straps went around each knee, anchoring them securely to the front legs of the chair.
"All right," I said, "now wriggle."
She tried, but aside from a little writhing, she couldn't move at all, except for her hair, of course, which I hadn't planned to do anything to.
"You know your business, boy. I feel like a trussed chicken," she smiled
"Oooh! Ummm!" she sighed "that feels so wonderful."
"More wonderful than if I were doing it, say, in the back seat of a car on a dark road somewhere?" I asked curiously.
"Oh, yes, yes! A tight, stiff corset makes any experience much more exciting; then being tied up and unable to do anything to stop you makes it still more thrilling.'
I continued my ministrations for several minutes, while she sighed and moaned her appreciation.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. We both jumped. Fifi's voice, out in the hall, spoke.
"Here is Miss Nicki, madame."
I don't know just what I expected to see, maybe Fifi pushing a large trunk on a little wheelbarrow of some sort. But instead, when the door opened, I saw quite a small dark green trunk, more of a foot-locker, up on one end, supported by a pair of singularly lovely legs in dark brown thigh-boots.
Episode 10 (2 images)
Guided by Fifi, this vision strutted into the room, taking ,steps not much over six inches long. The reason for the short steps was evident. The extremely thin heels on the boots were over eight inches high. But each pace, though tiny, was perfect, not a trace of a tremor at the ankles. The knees quite straight and firm the rounded toes of the beautifully fitting boots being pointed so far down that the walk was entirely on the toes, the heels touching the ground only when the occupant of the boots stood still. The walk was light as thistledown and very reminiscent of a ballet dancer, moving on tiptoe.
The trunk was just large enough to enclose a girl from the top of her head to the fork of her legs, allowing just enough width for her shoulders. There was no trace of an opening in the lid, which, of course, faced front, so the occupant was quite blind.
But she gave no sign of it. Fifi sort of aimed her in the general direction of Vicki's chair and gave her a slight push. She minced forward, stopping, seemingly by instinct, a few feet in front of the chair.
"Nicki dear, can you hear me?" Vicki asked.
The trunk bowed slightly.
"I have to ask her," Vicki explained in an aside to me. "Sometimes she wears a discipline helmet with heavy padding over the ears and she can't quite hear a sound" Then she turned back to the trunk.
"Did Fifi tell you what I did tonight?"
The trunk pivoted back and forth in what was obviously a movement of 'no'
"Well, you know I went to the theatre?"
"Yes," bowed the trunk.
"While I was there, I sat next to a very nice young man, I made an excuse to borrow his pencil and drop it. He looked like he might be interested in girls like us. So when he dived for the pencil. I pulled up my skirt and showed him my boots. As a result, he not only came back to the house to meet you, but he's got me tied to this chair and he's looking at you as though he'd love to eat you. If you want to say 'hello,' he's just to the right of me here.'
The trunk turned in my direction and the legs did a very nice curtsey.
"Hello, I'm Ted Walk," I introduced myself. "If the rest of you is one tenth as pretty as those boots, well-wow!"
At this point Fifi who had been standing rather proudly in the background, stepped forward and asked,
"May Fifi make a suggestion, madame?"
"Certainly, Fifi, what is it?" asked Vicki.
"Perhaps you and Monsieur Ted would like some coffee? Miss Nicki would make a lovely coffee table."
Casually, she took a corner of the trunk and manoeuvred Nicki around so that she stood sideways to Vicki, four or five feet to her right. Then she tapped the trunk and ordered,
"Rigid Mam'selle." Turning to me she suggested,
"Perhaps Monsieur Ted fill lay her flat on her back? My corset is too tight for me to take the weight."
So I stepped behind Nicki, put my hands on the trunk and pulled her gently backward. She came toward me, holding her legs quite stiff, so that it was a simple matter to lay the trunk on its bottom on the floor, with Nicki's pretty legs sticking out of it, off to the right.
Fifi bustled out to get the tray, and I took a moment to look at the trunk. The lock side was toward Vicki and the clasps and lock were securely closed. The girl inside had not a chance of escaping. Her legs, which thrust through two holes cut in the right-hand end were absolutely perfect and set off by the skin fitting brown boots that laced very tightly from toe-cap to the top of the leg. The heels came down to bases smaller than a dime, while the bearing part of the sole was not much over an inch, allowing no more than the first joints of the toes to touch the ground. Since the pretty, high-arched feet were by no means large to begin with, some such arrangement was necessary to carry heels of such extreme height.
The pretty maid came back with the tray, making a very pretty picture in her own right, with her lovely corseted figure in gleaming black satin contrasting so sharply with the mesh-covered legs and sandalled feet on their six-inch spindle heels. She put the tray on a side table produced a lace cloth, spread it carefully over the trunk and then put the tray on it. Then she hurried out again, murmuring something about "firing Mam'selle's legs."
BOUND IN LEATHER
Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 1, Episodes 11-15 (12 illustrations) - 10 tokens
Enter Token Code to Access Gallery
Episode 11 (3 images)
I poured two cups of coffee and added sugar and cream for Vicki, as she requested. By this time Fifi returned, carrying a nickel-plated metal bar, about four feet long, with an ankle locked in the cuffs, her legs spread incredibly wide apart. Fifi had to use a little force to get the bar in place.
"I know how impatient you are to unlock that trunk," Vicki smiled suddenly. "I guess you'd better begin the Grand Opening by taking the coffee things off the trunk."
Eagerly, I did as she told me and then she advised,
"Better unlock that Leg Stretcher and take it off next. You'd have a tough job getting her out of the trunk with that in place, since she couldn't help you."
Again I obeyed. The pretty legs began moving and twisting about, gently at first, then more freely.
"Getting the kinks out," Vicki explained, in answer to my enquiring glance. "That position gets very uncomfortable in just a few minutes."
Using the other key, I unlocked the main clasp of the trunk and opened the ones at each end. Then, my heart beating with excitement, I threw back the lid.
Instinctively, I suppose, one looks first at the face under conditions like these. But instead of a face, I saw a mask, a beautifully made mask, in flesh-coloured suede. It was obviously skin-tight and fitted the contours beneath it without a wrinkle. The eyeholes were little more than narrow slits, interestingly turned up at the outer corners and fringed with long artificial lashes of black. Thin brows of black arched above them and the eye-lid area was even shadowed in green and there was touches of rouge, or an imitation, on the high, prominent cheek-bones. The hair was represented by a wig of stiffened silk fringe, in a brassy blonde shade and set in a mass of curling ringlets all over the head. The faintly smiling lips, in deep red, were simply made of a piece of coloured kid, sewn in the proper place.
The arms, tightly gloved in gleaming black kid, right up to the shoulders, where they were met by very brief but wide sleeves on the blouse, were folded and tightly strapped to rest in the corseted arch of the small of the back.
Episode 12 (2 images)
"But-but-" I fumbled, in my amazement, "Nicki must be an utter and complete bondage enthusiast."
"Oh, she is," Vicki agreed. "I'm pretty strong in that line myself. I like nothing better than being dressed and bound like you see me now-or even more stringently if my husband is around. But Nicki wears costumes, insists on bondage and silencers that would make me a wreck."
Quickly, I bent over and began unfastening the straps that held her so tightly bound in the trunk, starting with the one around her head and working down.
When I had unfastened the last one, I asked, "How do I get her legs clear of the end of the trunk here? Those holes are a pretty tight ft around her thighs."
"That upper part of the end there slides up and out. Works sort of like a pillory " Vicki explained.
In a second, I had the part mentioned pulled up and free. Since the trunk was such a tight fit and her costume so stiff anyway, I puzzled for a moment as to how to get her out. Then I remembered how I had laid her down, trunk and all, and simply decided to reverse the process. Telling her to hold herself rigid, I lifted behind her wigged head with my left hand and when she was clear of the trunk, I slipped my other one behind her waist and continued lifting. In a second, she was upright, poised on the tips of her toes and her towering heels.
In a moment she stepped back a little, spun lightly on her heels and presented her rigidly strapped arms
"What does she want now?" I asked, "to have me unstrap her arms?"
"Probably, under the circumstances. But you'd better ask her" Vicki answered. "It's quite possible that she simply wants the straps tightened."
"Well?" I asked the intriguing figure in front of me, "Should I take the straps off?"
She nodded moving even closer to me.
It was quite a tussle to get the straps off, because they had been pulled so tightly. I was sure that even after they were off, it would be sometime before she could use her arms. After all when they have been held rigidly in one position for a number of hours, and by very tightly adjusted bonds, it stands to reason that they would be completely numb.
So I was greatly astonished to see that she had full use of them immediately. Turning to face me and stepping back a foot or two, she placed her gloved hands on her tiny waist, put her feet together, and posed for my approval. She looked utterly delightful.
Episode 13 (2 images)
Then she minced, with surprising quickness and grace, considering the height of her towering heels, over to the tray of bondage material. She picked up a big wad of absorbent cotton and a roll of adhesive tape; then she started for where her mother sat, helplessly tied to her chair. The latter saw her coming and stated, with an attempt to command,
"Nicole, I will not allow you to gag me. Put that stuff back immediately?"
It was just as though she had not spoken, for all the attention her daughter paid. As she neared her mother, she beckoned to me. Glad to assist, I hurried to her side.
"Ted," pleaded Vicki, "you'll listen to me, won't you? You won't let her gag me, will you?"
"You're damn right I will!" I grinned, heartily, "your lovely daughter has impressed me so much with her charming silence that I'm convinced that, lovely as you are, you'll be lovelier yet with a gag in your mouth."
"Well, try to get it in!" snapped the helpless woman, writhing fruitlessly in her chair and she clamped her jaws tight together.
To my mind, this would have presented quite a problem, since the jaw muscles are enormously strong and if she didn't want to open her mouth, it would be tough making her do it.
But her daughter was serenely confident, she passed behind the other woman's chair, beckoned me to stand in front and gave me the wad of cotton, gesturing that I should compress it as small as possible. Eagerly, I did so.
Nicki placed her thumbs against her mother's cheeks, just about opposite the hinges of the jaw; then she placed her first fingers, one against each nostril and pressed gently. Result, no air through the nose.
In a few seconds, Vicki countered by parting her lips in a sort of grin, breathing between her clenched teeth. The tightly gloved hands met this challenge by closing over the mouth, while keeping the nostrils closed.
Vicki squirmed and fought for a few seconds, but she had no chance, she had to give in and open her mouth. Immediately, her daughter removed her fingers but thrust in very powerfully with her thumbs so that her victim could not close her mouth without biting her cheeks. After letting her draw a couple of gasping breaths, she nodded to me.
I surmised, quite rightly, that I was to pack the cotton in place. This was a delightful job. I'd never gagged a woman before, but could see that I had been missing a treat. She fought me with her tongue at first, thrusting the padding out as fast as I tried to push it in. But a warning pressure by Nicki on her nostrils was enough to make her behave. Her tongue lay passively in the bottom of her mouth as I poked and pushed the big wad of cotton in. It was quite a tussle, too, since there was so much. When I had her mouth packed about as full as I thought it could go, I paused and asked the silent figure behind our victim,
"Isn't that enough?"
Nicki shook her head.
"Well, how much more? Surely not all of it?"
She nodded. Even though she could not see her, her helpless victim sensed her answer and moaned faintly.
Eager to oblige, I went back to work and finally got all the cotton stuffed into my subject's gaping mouth. While I was on the latter stages, Nicki was tearing off a piece of adhesive tape a little over two feet long. As soon as I was through, she placed the centre of the tape on the cotton as it bulged between her victim's teeth brought the ends back along her cheeks and got ready to pull them tight. But the way she did it startled me, she actually placed a knee against the back of her mother's neck and pulled with all her might.
Poor Vicki writhed convulsively and her eyes flew open in anguish; I saw her strain to make a sound of protest, but so tight was the gag that not the least sound emerged.
By now, the cotton was well inside her teeth and the latter, due to the pressure on the hinges of her jaw, was actually forced to bite down on it very definitely. The pressure must have been terrific.
Quickly Nicki removed her knee and lapped the ends. Then she took the roll of tape and passed the adhesive three times completely around her head and through her mouth, to make sure the gag could not slip even the slightest; then she tore off the tape and smoothed the end.
She stepped back and put her leather-covered head on one side as she admired her handiwork. Her mother's face was a study; her eyes were wide open, in a fixed stare that I later learned was the "Gag-Look" and a tear was running from the corner of each eye, while her lips were drawn away from her teeth in a mirthless grin. But in spite of the obvious pain, there was also a look of very definite excitement on her face.
Apparently satisfied, Nicki walked around and stood a few feet away from and squarely in front of her mother.
"Hmm, looks like your mother doesn't wholly approve," I grinned.
Episode 14 (3 images)
Nicki nodded. Suddenly she stepped back and signalled "wait."
With positively fairy-like steps that her towering heels enforced, she hurried out of the room, her pretty hips rolling with a delightful crispness at each tiny pace.
At this point, Nicki bustled back into the room and came mincing over. In her hands she had some vague black leather shape. She gave it to me and gestured toward our miserable victim.
A glance showed me that it was a discipline helmet.
"You want me to put it on?" I asked.
My pretty companion nodded.
"This," I announced, "will be a pleasure. Read about these things, but I never thought I'd have the pleasure of lacing one into place."
It took me a moment or two to figure out how it went on, then I stepped toward the helpless figure in the chair. As soon as she saw me coming, she began shaking her head again.
"What's the matter? Ropes not tight enough?" I asked.
That did it. She stopped immediately and made no effort to hinder me as I slipped the helmet into place over her head and face. As I did so, I noticed that it was very heavily padded over the ears.
So, as I began to lace it down the back, I asked Nicki,
"Is this the helmet that cuts off your hearing?"
"In other words, when I'm through, our willing subject here will be deaf, dumb and blind?"
"Yes," she signalled.
I continued lacing the helmet into place, smoothing the wrinkles as I did so. The helmet was a beautiful piece of work, fitting the wearer's head like skin. The only openings in the front were the nostrils in the well shaped nose, so the wearer would have no difficulty in breathing. The neck part continued down in the form of quite a high, stiff collar, shaped to be higher in the front than in the back, for wearer to hold chin high.
Finally, I got the lace pulled tight and tied the ends in a bow. There was still about an inch opening in the lace at the back, but I decided that that was intentional, just as many corsets are made to have a slight opening in the lacing, even when fully pulled in.
"Okay?" I asked Nicki.
To my surprise, she shook her head and came over. She began smoothing and working the helmet all over her mother's helpless head, aiming always at the lacing. Her pretty little hands in their tight brown gloves formed a lovely contrast to the glistening black kid.
In a little while, she pantomimed at me to work on the lace again, while she continued to smooth the leather into place.
I tried to stop her a couple of times, being afraid that the lace would break, or we would do her mother some permanent damage. But she wouldn't hear of it.
When she finally stepped back, satisfied, the lace was closed from top to bottom and the tightly stretched leather gleamed like satin. Vicki's silent, helpless head looked almost like a portrait head in ebony.
One thing that had puzzled me slightly was a metal eyelet sewn to the exact top of the head. I understood the use of this when Nicki went to the supply of bondage material and selected a length of rope. She brought it back and signalled to me to tie it around Vicki's ankles. I did so. Then she took the other end and passed it through the eyelet and began pulling. I could see that Vicki was fighting her, but it was useless, slowly, inexorably, her head was drawn back and back until I thought her neck must break. When Nicki tied the rope, had her mother been able to see straight forward from her eye sockets, she would have not looked straight up into the air, but considerably behind her.
With a pretty gesture, Nicki stepped back and made a feint of dusting her gloved hands off.
Episode 15 (3 images)
It seemed to me that it was about time for me to make some sort of contribution to the proceedings, so I pointed to the trunk lying open on the floor and suggested,
"It seems a shame to leave that empty. Do you think that we could squeeze Fifi into it?" ".
Nicki nodded and clapped her tightly gloved hands in eager agreement. Then she minced quickly to the tray of bondage materials and selected what was obviously a gag, consisting of a wide leather strap, about eighteen inches long. At about the middle it was much narrower for an inch or two, on this was strung a leather egg, about two inches in diameter and three inches long.
By means of pantomime, she showed me what I was to do and what she would do. (In spite of her enforced silence and total lack of expression, provided her hands were free, I was to find that Nicki could express herself with amazing clarity.)
So I took my place to one side of the door; and she, after ringing the bell, slipped to the other.
In a few seconds we heard the crisp tap of Fifi's high heels outside. The door opened.
"Did mam'selle-ulb!" was all she managed to say as I slipped in back of her, grabbed her elbows and pinned them behind her, the chain between her wrists drawing taut and securing her hands.
Nicki slapped the gag hard enough against her lips to make her open her mouth automatically. The egg was so big, she had to push hard to force it between her squirming victim's teeth. But she got it in and quickly drew the strap as tight as she could, stretching the corners of Fifi's mouth back in a sort of fixed grin.
The expression on Fifi's face was a blend of surprise, pain and excitement.
At a nod from Nicki, I forced the struggling French girl over to the table of bondage material. My silent companion selected a long strap and wound it a couple of times through Fifi's elbows and pulled it as tight as possible. Then she released the chain that ran from wrist-chain to collar, passed it under the maid's body and pulled it up and fastened it to the strap around her elbows.
Finally, she took a soft strap about three inches wide, which had a row of lace-holes at each end, passed it around Fifi's head and across her gaping mouth and laced it closed at the back of her head. The effect was to force the egg even further into her mouth and make the gag yet more effective. Fifi's eyes were wide open and filled with tears, and it was easy to see she was desperately trying to talk to beg her young mistress not to pull the lace so tight. But not the faintest sound emerged.
The binding and silencing complete, Nicki stepped back and for a moment we watched our captive as she squirmed and writhed against her bonds.
Then Nicki signalled to me that I was to put the captive in the trunk while she went to get something.
She strutted out and I went to work with a will. Since Fifi was a bit larger in the body than Nicki, I had quite a lot of pleasant difficulty in wedging her into the trunk. Her pretty legs kicked and failed delightfully as I pulled the anchoring straps as tight as I could, so that from the hips up she had not the least power of movement.
As I closed the lid, I took a last long look at her lovely helpless figure, silent face and eloquent eyes as she begged mutely for relief.
The lid closed and locked, I sat on it and admired the writhing, mesh-stockinged legs and pretty high-heeled feet as I waited for Nicki to return.
BOUND IN LEATHER
Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 1, Episodes 16-20 (13 illustrations) - 10 tokens
Enter Token Code to Access Gallery
Episode 16 (3 images)
Nicki returned, and I was impressed all over again with the ease in which she moved her eight-inch heels. She minced over to me as I sat on the trunk, carrying a very odd-looking pair of booties over her arm. She also had a notebook and pencil in one tightly gloved hand. She handed me the notebook and I read, "Fifi kept me in that trunk for six hours. Three would have been plenty. I'm going to teach her a lesson."
"Seems like a good idea," I agreed, adding, "Girls like Fifi need lots of lessons. What are you going to do?"
Putting the note-book and pencil on a convenient table, Nicki signalled me to up-end the trunk, making it clear by her gestures that the luckless maid was to end up upside down. I couldn't follow what she was up to, but was glad to oblige and in a second, Fifi was on her head, her lovely mesh-covered legs waving protestingly in the air. But an unusually powerful kick nearly upset the trunk, so she quieted down.
Quickly, Nicki removed one of the pretty high-heeled sandals and started to force one of the booties on in its place. Obviously, it was a terribly tight fit and Nicki, hampered by her crushingly tight corset, unable even to take a deep breath through her mouth, was soon panting through the nostrils of her mask. Her lovely out thrust bosom rose and fell quickly with the shallow breaths she was compelled to take. I offered to help, but she shook her leather-covered head. Obviously, she was going to take her revenge personally.
After a while, she had one bootie on and started on the other. They were shaped like ballet toe-slippers, with apparently, a steel bone running up the sole of the foot, around the heel and up to the top of the boot. When they were laced on, the wearer had no choice but to remain poised, right on the tips of her toes. In addition, the steel bone was shaped to force the foot into an extremely steep arch.
The lacing complete, Nicki signalled that I should stand Fifi on her feet or rather toes. I did so, with some difficulty. It was obvious that the silent occupant of the trunk found the boots far from comfortable.
Even when she was balanced, she showed a distinct inclination to fall over. But Nicki fixed that by standing behind her and giving her unprotected thigh a very painful pinch at each loss of balance.
In a short while, the trunk was standing with apparent pride. Standing is a bad word, since the most practised of ballet dancers cannot remain balanced on the tips of their toes. They have to shift the weight almost continuously from foot to foot, moving back and forth or from side to side, to hold their balance. That was what Fifi was doing.
Taking a hank of rope from the table, Nicki pantomimed that I was to attach it to the heavy chandelier that hung from the ceiling. I missed a couple of times, but soon had a slipknot around the fixture chain.
With my help, Nicki mounted a chair and attached the rope to the handle of the trunk. But to my surprise, she left a good deal of slack. Then I guessed why. With this arrangement, if she did fall, the trunk would not go too far and she could regain her balance. But, on the other hand, she had to maintain her own equilibrium and would have to concentrate on it all the time.
The rope in place and the chair removed, Nicki, gloved hands on hips, booted feet tom-boyishly apart, watched her victim for some time. Even without speech or facial expression, her pride and triumph were evident.
After a few moments, she took the notebook and wrote, "Do you have a car?"
"Why, yes, "I answered, surprised. "It's just near here."
I was startled by her next message:
Episode 17 (3 images)
Well, you don't need a second invitation in a case like that. As I agreed, Nicki handed me another note, saying that she would be getting ready while I got the car.
I was back with my convertible in about fifteen minutes. The top was up to start with, but I had other ideas for later on. As I walked up the front steps, the door opened and my silent companion ushered me in.
She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a floor length, skin-tight gown of dark grey velvety rubber. It had a very high, tight collar, a bold cutout over the imposing bosom, and a slit in the left side from waist to hem. At the moment this slit was opened on the side so that the eight-inch heeled thigh-boots were fully displayed. Also, she was now wearing the ankle chain, which had previously adorned Fifi's trim legs.
On a side table was a short, full fur jacket and in her gloved hands she held what looked like a pair of long slim bags, in black kid, which terminated in long leather straps, one of which had a buckle and the other a row of holes at the end. Nicki held out her hands for me to slip the bags on and buckle them around her wrists. Then she doubled her arms at the elbows and held them close to her sides. It took me a minute to figure out what she wanted. But I finally drew the straps back over her shoulder, crossed them, drew them through her elbows and buckled them in front as tight as I could pull them. Her arms were now quite motionless, but when I put the cloak around her shoulders and fastened the catch in front, there was nothing to show that she was bound. With the hood pulled up around her masked face, it was sufficiently shadowed to look natural to any casual observer. Then I unfastened the snap that held her skirt open in front; it closed, leaving her looking like any smartly dressed young lady, on her way to a late nightspot. There was no sign of the tiny waisted corset, the bound arms, the towering heeled boots or the tight gag.
Telling her to wait a moment, I went out to the car and brought in a large brief case, into which I dumped the whole tray of bondage material that Fifi had brought in.
As I ushered my lovely charge to the car, a smartly dressed man strolled by. He looked at Nicki in obvious admiration; the slim hips and legs that emerged in the clinging grey rubber from beneath the fur cloak were well worth a look. Her queenly carriage was also highly attractive. As I say, he looked and passed on. He had not the faintest idea that she held herself so upright because she couldn't hold herself any other way, or that she took such small, slow paces so that her ankle chain would not jingle revealingly.
I helped Nicki seat her self on the front seat of the car and then got a long length of rope from the brief case. I fastened one end to the middle of her ankle-chain, brought it back under the seat; up between the back of the seat and the seat itself, tied it around her tiny waist, then back out again, up the back of the seat and around her neck. Having tied it, I still had two or three feet left, so I bound her knees together.
Now, save that she could turn her head slightly, Nicki was absolutely motionless. I closed the door on her side of the car, slid in behind the wheel on my side and drove off.
Within an hour, we were well out beyond the suburbs and the streetlights. I stopped long enough to let the top of the convertible down. I also removed Nicki's hood, leaving her leather mask and brassy blonde wig fully displayed. I figured that since people could only see her in the glow of passing head-lamps, they could not see very much.
I think she wanted to object. At least, she shook her head as much as she could. But I tightened the rope that held her to the seat a couple of times and that put a stop to any nonsense about objections.
About half an hour further out in the country, where things were really quiet, I turned to my silent companion and asked,
"Remember you asked, `How about a drive?"'
Episode 18 (3 images)
"All right, can you drive a car?"
"Okay, you're going to have to drive this one and do it blindfolded."
She raised her head inquiringly.
"Oh, don't worry. I'll show you how it can be done. First, we've got to get you settled behind the wheel."
Pulling the car off the road, I untied the rope around Nicki's neck and from her ankle chain, but left it around her waist. Then I pulled the rope around so the knot was in front. Removing her cloak and strap-gloves, I made her stand up and pull her skirt high around her hips, untied her knees, passed the two ends of the cord back under body and as she slid in behind the wheel I threaded the ends between the seat itself and the back. Pulling them very tight so she was forced against the back of the seat, I brought them up and around her neck, knotting them tightly, anchoring her rigidly behind the wheel. From the brief case I produced a pair of wrist cuffs joined by about eighteen inches of chain. Snapping the cuffs about her wrists I fastened the centre of the chain to the steering column. This gave her enough liberty to hold the wheel and manipulate the transmission lever, but that was about all. I also attached her ankle chain to the lower part of the steering wheel column, so she could work the pedals with her feet.
As it was, she would have been able to drive the car quite easily, but not the way I had in mind. I tore off two small pieces of flesh-coloured adhesive tape from a roll in the briefcase and placed them over the eye-holes in her mask, blindfolding her completely.
"As I understand it," I inquired, "you don't want to take off that mask?"
She nodded very definitely.
"All right, but I find I'll have to make certain changes in it," I said.
The ever-ready brief case furnished me with something I had been thinking about for some time, a black rubber ball with a hold in it, through which went a steel rod, about eight inches long. There was a ring on each end of the rod. Looking from ball to mask, I made some mental calculations and then, with a pencil I drew a sort of diamond-shape on the mask, over the mouth and out onto the cheeks, in line with the jaw. Then I took off the wig and began to unlace the lower part of the mask. Nicki tried to stop me, but her chained hands could not reach her face and she was too tightly bound to struggle effectively.
When the part over her jaw and mouth was loose enough I rolled it upward, disclosing the gag. This was several layers of wide adhesive tape covering the mouth. Peeling it off, I found another narrow band of tape around her head and through her mouth holding a big pad of cotton tightly in her mouth.
I pulled some of the padding out but left most of it in place smoothed the mask down again so her mouth showed through the opening, forced the ball into her mouth with the bar bit-wise between her teeth and pulled the lace tight again. As the fastening grew tight, I was glad to see that the tension on her chin and jaw forced her to clamp down on the ball
"All right try to force that ball out of your mouth," I ordered, as I replaced her wig.
I could see her lips and jaw work as she tried to obey, but she couldn't even begin to open her mouth.
"That's fine, " I said as I tied the ends of a long cord to each of the bit-rings and sank into the seat behind her. "Gee up, motor-pony!" and I drew the reins tight.
It took her a second to realise what I meant then she slowly put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. A pull on the left rein and she turned the wheel that way and we were back on the road a pull to the right and we were straight. A jerk on the bit and she shifted speed.
In about five minutes' time I was enjoying a delightful pony drive.
Episode 19 (2 images)
I hadn't bothered to tell Nicki, but I was taking her out to a little sort of week-end cabin I had in the woods, some distance from the city. Of course, one of the advantages of a gag in a pretty companion's mouth is that you don't have to explain everything. You go ahead with your plans and since she cannot demand explanations and object to them when given, she goes along with becoming docility. Much better all around.
Since the cabin is situated on what you might call a back road off a back road, it is pleasantly secluded, but it represented quite a problem in fancy pony driving along the twisting single lane road that made up the last half mile. But by driving slowly and a firm hand on the reins, we made it.
As soon as the car was in the little clearing by the side of the house, I unfastened the cord from the bit-rings and then used most of it running from one end of the bit-bar to the other, around the back of her head. I pulled it so tight that she fairly squirmed her hands, still chained to the car-wheel, making futile grabbing motions toward her face. When I was through, the ball was almost entirely inside her teeth and the bar pulled the corners of her mouth back in an exaggerated mirthless grin.
Then I removed the bonds holding her in the car and helped her out. She tried to get her hands to her mouth, but I was too quick; I had a strap ready and in a second her elbows were in firm contact in the middle of her back. The wrist chain was still in place, so I attached a cord to the middle of it, took it down and under her body and up to the strap around her elbows, so that her arms were quite helpless. Of course, I had to tuck the long skirt in back to make this possible, so I rolled it up at the sides, too, gave it to her to hold, remarking that "Satan finds work for idle hands."
Taking the long end of the rope that trailed down from the' bit-cord, I passed it between her legs and used it as a lead-rein. My blind and bitted leather girl-pony followed as pretty as you please, her ankle-chain jingling musically at each tiny step.
I led her around the side of the house and up the steps onto the little front porch.
I had intended to take her directly inside. But then I thought it might be a good thing to let her rest and meditate for a while outside, while I fixed things inside.
Unfastening the cord that ran to the centre of the wrist chain and taking off the chain itself, I used the cord to tie her wrists together behind her back and fastened them to a cord around her waist, so that her elbows stuck out sharply behind.
Then I laid her down on her stomach on the floor of the porch, looped the long end of the cord from the back of her head around her ankle chain and pulled. I kept pulling until her head and her heels were only about a foot apart. Again, the advantage of the gag became apparent; had her mouth been free, I'm sure she would have objected, perhaps loudly, even shrilly. But as it was, she accepted my ministrations if not with approval at least in silence.
Of course, she was bound in a manner very similar to the old French military punishment known as "La Crapaudine," save that they didn't bother to put the head under tension.
I was going to leave her on the floor, but then I got another idea. I picked her up, sat her sort of astride the railing of the porch. Of course, she was bent so far back that her wigged head also rested on the rail.
If she had wanted to fall off, I suppose she could have done it. But I figured that as long as she kept her knees close together, she could hold herself in place, just like riding horseback. Even if she couldn't ride, now was a good time to learn.
Then I went inside to fix things up a bit.
A couple of times I poked my head out to ask if she was quite comfortable. As she didn't answer, I assumed she was.
In about half an hour, I had a fire going in the big fireplace, as it gets cold late at night in my neck of the woods-and a big couch drawn up in front of it. I had a table with some drinks for me and so on.
Episode 20 (2 images)
I had even let the big wagon-wheel, which hangs in the middle of the ceiling with light-fixtures on it, down and dusted it thoroughly. After all, you want things to be neat for your guests.
Then I went out to the car and brought in the brief-case of bondage material.
After everything else was ready, I went out and released Nicki. Of course, I did it bit by bit, as she seemed to be pretty badly cramped for some reason. I even took off the cord that held the bar-bit so far back in her mouth. But I knew I was safe, because the chin part of her mask kept her from opening her mouth wide enough to get the ball out. As a final touch I took the tape off the eyeholes of the mask.
Bringing her into the living room, I told her she could take off the long-grey rubber dress and lie down on the couch and rest for half an hour. Gratefully, she did so.
I spent the time in a little sort of workshop I have down in the cellar. I took a piece of quarter-inch iron rod and bent it into a ring two inches across, being careful to smooth the ends where they came together. Then I went upstairs again.
She had probably been asleep, but as soon as she heard me enter the room she sat up and folded her arms behind her back. I told her she could go into the other room, loosen her helmet enough to get the ball and padding out of her mouth. Then she could take a drink and return.
In a few minutes she was back with her mask once more in place and her arms behind her back.
"Well?" she asked, posing just inside the door
"Why do you hold your arms like that?" I asked.
"To show you that even when they're not bound, they're ready to be."
"I get it. A very nice idea," I commented. "Now come over here and let me tie your arms."
"Oh good," she cried, "It's much more fun when I'm helpless."
Quickly I tied her arms so they were high behind her back, in the same position they were while she was in the trunk.
"That feels wonderful. I don't know of any position that makes a girl feel more helpless-or more willing to be helpless," she breathed, as I drew the cords as tight as I could.
"Now come over here on the couch," I instructed. As she did so, I made her kneel on the seat with her legs doubled under her and strapped them in that position.
"Aren't you going to gag me?" she pouted.
"In a way," I answered. "Do you know what this is?" I showed her the ring. She shook her head.
"Well, let's try it," Nicki smiled.
I took off the wig, loosened the lace of the mask again and made her open her mouth wide. Then I slipped the ring into her mouth side-ways, then stood it up and pulled it forward, so that it was wedged between her teeth, with her jaws stretched wide. Then the helmet was tightened and the wig went back.
Later, I plugged her mouth tightly by packing cotton in through the ring. She couldn't get it out again and was once more delightfully silent.
I let the wagon wheel down and bound her to it by the wrists and ankles. Then I pulled it up so it hung about a foot above the couch.
BOUND IN LEATHER
Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 1, Episodes 21-25 (11 illustrations) - 10 tokens
Enter Token Code to Access Gallery
Episode 21 (2 images)
Then I sat down on the couch, near my silent subject as she hung, swaying slightly on the chandelier. I poured myself a drink and gestured towards her as I said,
"To the loveliest creature I've ever seen. May your waist measure ever grow less and your heels higher."
Her only answer was a faint creak of leather as she tried, perhaps unconsciously, to ease her strained position.
During the next few minutes I enjoyed the warmth of the fire, the flavour of my drink, and, after I had given the wheel a turn, the sight of my companion revolving slowly first one way, then the other, l like the circular pendulum of a four hundred day clock.
I noticed that as she swung to and fro, her eyes, or as much of them as I could see through the narrow slits of her leather mask, seemed to fix themselves on my drink. That reminded me that she must have been gagged in one way or another, for a good many thirst-making hours, so I asked, "Thirsty?"
In spite of the tight cord around her throat, she managed a faint and, it seemed, eager, nod. So I got another glass, mixed a good stiff drink and then held it against the cotton packed in her mouth, tilting it slowly as the liquid soaked into the absorbent material.
"All right," I said, "try swallowing some of that." I could see the muscles of her jaw and throat working, then she shook her head.
"What's the matter? Not getting any?"
Another head shake.
"Why, cord around your throat to tight to let you swallow?"
"Well, I guess we'll have to change things around a little," I remarked, getting up and beginning by letting the wheel down so that she rested on the couch again. Then, I began untying her as I continued,
"Of course, it's the rope from your wrists that runs up around your neck that causes the trouble. We'l1 have to take it off. It's a pity, though, because your arms are in such a fine position." She nodded. Then I had an idea.
"I got it!" I cried. "First, we'll put your grey rubber gown and strap gloves back on again. Then, we can force your arms into an even better position than they're in now."
It took a few minutes. Before long, she was once more in the floor length skirt and full-length gloves. Then, I bent her arms up behind her, so her hands, palm to palm, were between her shoulder blades. Next, I passed the straps over her shoulders, crossed them in front just below her neck, brought them around, crossed them in back again outside her arms and finally buckled them at her waist in front. Her arms were now held in a high double hammerlock, with her elbows only about six inches apart in the small of her back, the strained position making her pull her shoulders back, arch her spine and thrust her bosom forward delightfully.
"Now," I smiled, "let's put the legs on view, too."
"Okay, come and get your drink," I said, seating myself on the couch once more. Proud as a peacock, Nicki minced over, a study in helpless arrogance and perched on my knee. I held the glass to her gaping lips. Little by little, because swallowing with her mouth so tightly stretched was still difficult, she drained the glass.
Suddenly we both froze. A car had driven up outside and stopped. Nicki jumped to her feet and I instinctively followed, as we heard footsteps outside; first on the walk, then up the steps and finally across the cabin porch. There were two sets of steps; the slow, heavy; pace of a man and the quick, light tapping of a woman's high heels.
Episode 22 (3 images)
Then two figures appeared in the doorway, a woman in a long cloak in front and a tall, grey-haired man of about fifty just behind. For a moment we all stared at each other.
The man, I had never seen before. The woman, at first, I thought was Vicki. Then I decided she wasn't, because her hair was a deep red and wore it dressed in a long, flowing, pageboy effect. Besides, though the eyes looked like hers, the lower part of her face was quite different being very long from nose to chin, with oddly high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. I could tell nothing about the rest of her because of the concealing cloak.
In a second, the man stepped forward, smiled, and offered his hand.
"You're Ted Walk, aren't you?"
"Why, uh, yes, I am," I foundered.
"Thought you must be. Had enough trouble to find you. I'm Dick Roberts. Husband of Vicki, here, and father of that leather and rubber-covered bondage lover over there," and he nodded to Nicki, who pertly curtsied an acknowledgement.
"But she doesn't look like Vicki!" I protested, nodding toward the red-haired vision that stood stiffly in the doorway.
"Well, a red wig, a horse-face gag and a thin rubber mask can change a face completely. Here, take a look," he answered, stepping over to her.
In a second he pulled off the wig, unzipped the back of the mask, which covered her whole head and peeled it off.
I recognised Vicki immediately, chiefly by her curling black hair, now once more revealed, and her wide green eyes stretched wide open in the typical "Gag Look"-and well they might be.
Her mouth was obviously stretched wide open and packed very tightly I couldn't see what was used for packing, since the lower part of her face was completely covered with strips of adhesive tape. It was the pressure of this tape, which had given the mask the hollow cheeks and high cheekbones.
"I can see why you call it a `horse-face' gag," I remarked, as he prepared to remove her cloak, " the great length from nose to chin gives her a very horse-jawed look. Must be very uncomfortable to wear, though."
"Oh I don't know," he grinned. "I don't hear any complaints."
At this point the cloak came off from high neck to waist, Vicki wore a skin fitting, white lace blouse, through which her dark corset and brassiere showed very interestingly. From her tiny wasp waist, encircled by a wide patent leather belt just to the tops of her thigh high boots she wore a skirt of black silk fringe, which played peek-a-boo at every slight movement. Her arms were anchored behind her back, with each hand cupped around the opposite elbow by means of a tightly laced black sheath, extending from one armpit to the other, like a long single glove.
For some reason, I felt impelled to say,
"Well, it looks like we're all here but Fifi. Why didn't you bring her?"
"Oh, but I did " he answered surprisingly. "She's down in the car. Good as gold and quiet as a mouse. Why don't you look?"
You can understand I didn't need a further invitation. I was out of the door and going down the steps in a second. I heard the tap of high heels behind me, but was too intent to turn and see which girl it was.
I found a large and opulent imported limousine parked next to my rather humble domestic product. I looked in both the front and back seat, but saw no one. I was wondering whether Dick was having some sort of joke at my expense when I felt somebody nudge me. I looked around to see Nicki. Signalling with her masked head for me to follow she led me to the back of the car, pointing with a pretty high heeled foot toward the trunk compartment.
Episode 23 (2 images)
It took me a moment to figure out the catch, then I swung the lid open. Inside, hunched over in a curious manner, I saw the short-skirted, mesh-stockinged form of the French maid.
I spoke to her and then invited her to get out, but the only answer I got was a strange squirming motion. Obviously, she was secured in some manner. In the faint fight from the open cabin door, it took me a while to figure it out. There was a steel bar, about three feet long. At the lower end was a pair of ankle cuffs which were clamped tightly around her slim ankles. Higher up, another pair encircled her knees; a third pair held her wrists tightly against the bar. At the upper end, a steel hoop went around her head in such a manner that a large hard rubber ball, which was fastened to the end of the rod, was forced deep into her mouth, acting as a very powerful egg. As a final touch, her elbows were strapped tightly to her tiny waist.
Each of the clamps was held closed by a wing nut. Thus, though the luckless wearer of the device could not remove it, anybody else could. I soon had her free of the device, but poor Fifi was so cramped that it was several minutes before she could move freely or mumble creakily,
"Thank you, M'sieur Ted."
I was wondering whether to try to lift her out and carry her up to the cabin or what, when Dick leaned over the rail and called down to me.
"Leave her there, Ted. She'l1 come up as soon as she gets the kinks out."
Nicki was standing close beside me, so, with my arms around her rigid waist I went back up the steps and into the living room.
Dick had occupied the time while we were away by tying Vicki to a straight chair, but in a rather unusual manner. He had stood her with her back against the back of the chair, binding her ankles to the back legs; other cords went around her legs and the chair above and below the knees. While her thighs were corded separately to the top rail of the chair. Then he had wound a cord several times around her head and over her gagged and taped mouth.
The free end of this went back over the front of the seat and down to the cross rail; it was pulled so tightly that Vicki was bent steeply backward like a strung bow and was virtually without power of movement.
As soon as Nicki appeared, mincing along by my side, her father beckoned her over to a low table, saying,
"Let's fix you up, too, then the men can have a quiet talk."
Working with the skill of long practice, Dick seated Nicki on the low coffee table with her legs crossed, tailor fashion. Then he bound them in that position with each pretty foot tightly corded to the opposite knee. With her arms already so tightly and helplessly secured behind her back, Nicki was now just about as powerless as her mother.
With the assist from me, Dick placed the two girls, one on either side of the big couch, so they could easily be seen and admired by anyone sitting there. He was must murmuring,
"Fifi ought to be able to navigate under her own steam along about now," when he was struck with an idea. Stepping to the door, he called,
"Fifi, before you come up, look in the glove compartment of the car and bring up that choke-pear you'l1 find in there."
"A choke-pear!" I exclaimed. "That's certainly an unusual thing to find in a car."
Dick laughed and pointed to the two silent and helpless girls and said, "We're a very unusual family."
At this point Fifi entered. Obviously, she had taken the opportunity to set her uniform to rights, because she looked quite crisp and fresh. Her very brief black latex lace underpants were displayed because she carried something in her skirt, the hem of which she held daintily in her fingers.
Episode 24 (3 images)
"This ees not the proper way for a maid to present somesing to the mastair, monsieur. But eet ees the best Fifi can do. So 'as no silver tray," she remarked, posing in the doorway, knowing perfectly well what a delightful picture she presented.
"Is that the choke-pear Fifi?" Dick asked.
. . . Oui, monsieur," she sighed and, after a glance at Nicki and Vicki, both of whom were already tightly gagged she moaned.
"An' one does not 'have to be a mind-reader to guess 'oo ees going to 'have to wear eet."
"Well you can comfort yourself with the thought of how pretty it makes you look. Now come over here and let me fix you up a bit," her master ordered from the table carrying the briefcases full of bondage supplies.
With obvious unwillingness she crossed over to him. Dick passed a fist belt of chrome-plated steel around her waist, pulled it tight and snapped the catch in the back. From either side just over the hipbone, there hung a plated steel cuff, on the end of about eight inches of matching chain. In a second, the cuffs were snapped around her wrists. He explained to me,
"This is known as a Harem-Belt. Gives the wearer enough freedom to wait on somebody else, but it keeps her hands away from her mouth."
Then he turned to Fifi, who still held her skirt between her finger-' tips and ordered, "Go over and ask Mr. Ted to put that pear in your mouth."
Obediently, but with obvious unwillingness, she minced over.
"Monsieur Ted," she breathed, "would you be kind enough to gag Fifi?"
"Why, I'd be glad to, Fifi!" I exclaimed, taking the pear from her skirt. It was made apparently, from ebony, about three inches long and two in diameter at the largest part. There was a hinge at the small end and a press-catch at the large one.
I brought it up to her mouth, which opened unwillingly to receive it. I pressed it between her teeth, but it wouldn't go all the way in.
"Say Roberts," I exclaimed, "The gag's too big. It won't go between her teeth."
"Push harder," he said. "No, no. Brace your hand behind her head and REALLY push."
Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 1, Episodes 26-30 (12 illustrations) - 10 tokens
Enter Token Code to Access Gallery
Episode 25 (2 images)
A final shove on my part and the pear popped into her mouth.
"Now what, Dick? How do I make it open?" I asked.
"Just press that little button on the end there."
I did so and the two halves of the pear flew apart, impelled by a powerful spring between them. As a result, poor Fifi's mouth was jacked wide open, with her jaws at their fullest stretch. She jumped as though she had been stung and I could see her throat swell n an attempted scream; but not the faintest sound emerged. At the same time, her hands released her skirt and flew upward in a reflex action, sharply checked by the chains attached to her Harem-Belt.
As I stepped back, her gloved fingers still made futile clutching gestures toward her face.
"Fifi!" said her master in a warning tone.
With frantic haste, the dainty fingers dropped away from her mouth.
"Now let's just fix her like an occasional table and we'll be set for out talk," remarked Dick. "Do you have a couple of little trays?"
I happened to have a half dozen little snack trays in a closet; he took two of them. On each, he placed a drink, a pack of cigarettes, matches, and an ashtray. He stood Fifi facing the centre of the couch and about three feet from it, with one tray balanced on the outspread fingers of each hand.
"All right let's sit and talk a while," he said, sitting on the side of the couch near his silent and helpless wife.
"Oops! Nearly forgot something."
As I took my place on the other side, he got some cord and bound Fifi's legs together as tightly as he could, above and below, the knees, at the ankles and even around the high-arched insteps.
"First," I said, after we had each taken a pull at our drinks and lit a cigarette from our lovely human table, "how did you find Nicki and me way up here in the country?"
"Oh, it wasn't too hard," he grinned. `We knew your address you had told Vicki-so we drove over and I managed to convince your building manager that I wanted to see you. (A few dollars helped, of course.) He knew that you had this place here, so it was a worthwhile risk to drive up and see if this was where you had come."
"But how did you find it? When I give my friends full directions of how to get here in daylight they usually get lost."
"Oh, oddly enough we have a place of our own not far from here."
That rung a bell, so I exclaimed,
"Wait a minute! You must be the Richard Roberts that owns that big place about two miles north of here."
"That's me-or rather us," he agreed.
We talked for an hour or more, enjoying the appealing helplessness and silence of the three girls.
Then Dick said,
"Well, it's getting late, I'd better get the girls back to town."
Regretfully, I helped him get the girls ready. Fifi, we simply carried down as she was and packed her in the trunk. We released Nicki from the table, doubled her legs at the knees and strapped them there and laid her on the floor of the car at the back, with a rug over her. Vicki, her legs freed, but with the mask, wig and cloak once more in place, looked quite natural, if very stiff as she sat beside Dick in the front seat. Just before they pulled away, Dick said,
"Why don't you come and have dinner with us in town tomorrow? Say around seven?"
That invitation was a great relief; I wanted to see Nicki again and again and again- more than I had ever wanted anything.
Episode 26 (4 images)
Early next morning I was in a jewellery store. The owner objected at first that he did not have time to make up what I wanted. But I finally talked him into having it ready by six.
Right on the dot of seven I was ringing the doorbell at the Roberts' house.
In a second, Fifi opened the door, ushered me in, closed the door and then preened herself for my approval. She was worth approving too. The main part of her uniform was a full-length set of black mesh tights, reaching from high about her neck to her toes, which were well displayed because she was shod with the lightest of black patent sandals with the usual six inch heels. She wore a little frill of white lace at the collar, cuffs, and on top of her high-piled black hair. Her tiny waist stringently an almost invisible flesh-coloured corset, was set off by a four-inch wide belt of black patent, shaped to the corset beneath. A very frilly, crisp white apron came down in front.
She was, of course, restrained. She wore the usual ankle chain to curb her stride, while her elbows were strapped together behind her back making her pull her shoulders back and thrust her bosom forward arrogantly. Her hands were free, so she could do a good many things, like opening doors, etc.
"Good evening, Fifi," I smiled. "You look pretty enough to kiss." She drew back and said,
"Un moment, monsieur. Madame thought you might care to put ze bit in my mouth before you kees me." "Bit? What bit, Fifi?" "Ze Flirtation Bit,' monsieur. Eet make Fi i-'ow you say more kissable."
She pointed, having to turn slightly to do so, to a silver tray on the slide-table. On fit was a metal device like a square-bottomed "U"; the bottom being rather thicker than the arms. These latter were bent steeply outward at the top and had little rings attached, on these were the two ends of a narrow black strap.
The method of application was obvious. As I picked it up, Fifi's mouth opened eagerly to receive it. Slipping it in, I buckled the strap tightly behind her head, so the thick bar at the back of her mouth pressed against the hinge of the jaw. Her mouth was forced to remain submissively open, with her teeth invitingly parted. As I adjusted it, her dark eyes encouraged me tremendously and heeded the invitation on her lips, smiling around the bit and gave her a kiss full on the lips.
She was quite right. She was amazingly kissable.
Episode 27 (2 images)
Fifi and I were surprised when a cool voice behind us spoke. "Well, greeting the French maid in the traditional manner, I see." Startled, I pulled away from Fifi and looked around. Vicki was smiling at us from the foot of the stairs. I'll admit I stared at her; but I believe with good reason.
>From her toes right up to her bustline, she was poured into a single leather garment, which combined boots and tights. The rigidity of her pose, the fullness of her bust and the wasplike proportions of her waist indicated that she wore a severe corset beneath it, though the latter failed to show at all, or to mark the skin-like fit of the boot-tights. Her arms were moulded, right up to the shoulders, in matching black kid gloves; while a helmet of the same leather covered her whole head, save for the face.
Her arms were stretched straight outward from the shoulders by a steel bar fitted with cuffs, encircling the arms at wrists, elbows and shoulders. The bar was held rigidly horizontal because it was attached to a steel upright, which extended from a tight metal hoop around her waist up to the top of her head. A wide steel collar attached to it forced her to carry her chin very proudly, while she was prevented from turning her head, even slightly, by a "U" shaped steel bar coming forward from the bar along her cheeks at jaw level ending in an eyelet about an inch back of the corners of her mouth. To look to the side, she had to turn her whole body.
"Well, how do I look?" she asked, parading stiffly, like a mechanical figurine front of me.
"Utterly delightful," I answered, then asked, "But isn't that very tiring to wear?"
"How do you get any rest? Can you manage to sit down?"
"Absolutely impossible. I can't even take a long step. Until somebody takes pity on me and releases me or lays me flat on my back, I have to stay like this. It's exhausting, but thrilling."
Dick appeared on the upper landing and as he came down the stairs, he ordered, "Tell Ted what happens if you make any complaints." "I-I end up behind the Eight-Ball, Ted," murmured Vicki softly.
"Behind the Eight-Ball? What does that mean?" I asked, purposely dense.
"Let's show him, shall we, Vicki dear?" suggested her husband going over to her.
"Of course, Dick, anything you say," she sighed miserably. "But please, it's so early, you won't make me wear it all evening, will you? It makes my jaw feel like it's breaking."
"I wasn't going to, but since you've made a fuss about it, I'm afraid you'll wear it a very long time. If you give me any more trouble, you'll wear it all night. Open your mouth."
With a look that would melt a heart of steel, Vicki complied.
Dick produced a big piece of red rubber sponge from his pocket and stuffed it as far back in her gaping mouth as he could. Next, hebrought out a standard "8-Ball," held it against her teeth with the fingers of one hand and struck it sharply with the palm of his other hand. It popped in, holding her mouth incredibly wide open.
"That's a full-sized ball, Ted." he remarked, as he produced a six-inch steel rod. "It's so big she couldn't force it out again. But I make doubly sure by having a hole drilled in the ball. Then I push this rod through one of these eyelets, through the ball and into the other eyelet."
Vicki's eyes were wide and tear-filled, but she was unable to make the faintest sound.
From a closet, Dick produced a big bowl-type lamp, fastened it to the top of the steel rod and plugged it in, saying proudly, "My latest invention - human electric light fixture. No home complete without one."
Episode 28 (2 images)
A few minutes later, Dick and I were seated in the living room, having a before-dinner drink. Suddenly, from the direction of the open door behind me, I heard one of the most attractive sounds in the world -the whisper of one opera-hosed thigh against another.
I turned my chair to see Nicki approaching. She was not recognisable directly, but from the costume and restraint it couldn't be anybody else.
Her high-arched insteps were stretched past the vertical by the thin seven-inch heels on her black kid ankle-strap sandals. Her legs were delightfully displayed for their full-length by a single black suspender on the outside of the thigh. The major part of her costume was of the "peasant" style; the ultra-short skirt, which came just to the tops of her legs in front, was stiffened at the sides and stuck out so that the high-pulled tops of her stockings were easily visible. Above this, was a rigid black leather bodice displaying the tiny waist and extending up to the base of the bust. This latter welled out of a froth of white lace, which left the arms and shoulder bare. The arms themselves were covered for their full length by tight flesh-coloured kid gloves. These latter were unusual because they had no fingers, ending instead in a closed, mitten like bag. Thus, while she could, say, open a door by using both hands, she could not use a key, pencil, or untie a knot. The head, face and neck were covered by a skin-fitting helmet of flesh-coloured kid, to match the gloves. The only openings were two nostrils and a tiny round opening in front of each eye.
As I rose, this startling vision minced up to me, as light as thistledown on her towering heels, placed her useless hands behind her and offered her mask for a kiss.
Then she pushed me gently back into my chair and sat gratefully on my knee, indicating that I should finish my drink. During the next few minutes she displayed her lovely figure, crossing one knee I lightly over the other, folding her gloved arms behind her back and so on.
My drink finished, she stood up, started for the door and beckoned me mysteriously to follow.
"What's the idea, Dick?" I asked. "What does she want?"
"Probably wants you to give her a face," he answered.
"To do WHAT?"
"Why don't you go with her and see?"
Actually of course, I was more than eager to follow. She led me across the hall past the rigid and silent human lamp, up the stairs. As I went up the stairs behind her, I marvelled afresh at the utter perfection of her legs and feet and the easy grace with which she moved on those ultra-high, spindle heels.
In the upper hall, she led me to a cross between a dressing room and a beauty parlour. Three walls were lined with closets, the fourth was mostly a dressing table. On it were lined up a whole row of wig stands, each with a different colour and style of female wig. In the centre was a large, glass-covered, shallow box. In it were rows of feminine lips apparently in rubber, full, narrow, smiling, pouting all expressions, all shades. Above them were pairs of eyes, complete with lashes, whites, irises-but the pupils were openings. Some eyes were wide open in surprise, others were sleepily half closed. Every imaginable expression was here and above each pair was a pair of eyebrows to match.
In the centre of the floor stood a steel upright, with a short, narrow bar sticking out for the subject to sit on and clamps for her arms neck and ankles. In a second, I had Nicki rigidly locked in place, legs far apart, her full weight resting on the narrow bar.
Then I turned to the display of features, trying to decide how I wanted my silent subject's face to look.
Episode 29 (2 images)
I found the features were delightfully easy to apply. They were all backed with a permanent adhesive, all you had to do was peel them off the backing and smooth them into the proper place on the smooth leather mask. By turns I made her look surprised, laughing and frightened; adding what seemed to be the appropriate wig for each face. I finally settled on a sultry, faintly smiling expression, with high arching brows, sleepily half-closed eyes and a generous, full-lipped mouth with the corners slightly turned up. For hair, I chose an almost white blonde wig with the hair in a mass of very short, tight curls.
Stepping back to admire my handiwork, I was very pleased. Save for the charming fixity of her expression, Nicki looked amazingly normal, like a girl who is lovely, knows it and expects to get kissed.
As I was releasing her from the post, I had an idea.
"Hey, you know the way I got your arms up behind your back the last time? Well, let's try to get them a little higher, so your elbows actually touch."
Rather hesitantly, she nodded. I could see she liked the idea, but was afraid it would hurt.
I had noticed a lacing-bar hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room and at my request, Nicki showed me a whole drawer full of straps, cords, and bondage material.
In a very short while, my subject's arms were high up behind her back, with a separate cord from each wrist to the bar. As I pulled it upward, her hands were forced higher and higher between her shoulder blades, while her elbows came closer behind her back. Soon she rose on the tips of her toes; still I kept pulling. Finally, when her elbows were about three inches apart, her self-control seemed to snap and she squirmed and fought wildly to release herself. I'm sure she tried to scream, but not the least sound penetrated her smiling mask. I secured the rope as soon as she started struggling, feeling that the violent motion would help her tendons stretch and allow her arms to settle into the proper position. After a few minutes, she stopped fighting and hung, more or less relaxed. I took this as a signal and threading a wide strap through her elbows, I pulled it tight; her elbows came together more easily than I expected. Then, a second strap around her wrists held her arms anchored behind her back, completely rigid, the forearms touching from wrist to elbow. Then, I took off the ropes that ran up to the lacing bar.
Nicki seemed weak in the knees, so I put her gently on a couch and told her to rest a few minutes while her arms adjusted themselves; meanwhile, I'd go and rejoin her father.
As I left the room, I was impressed with the fact that even with her arms behind her, she could lie flat on her back. Her elbows fitted neatly into the arch of her back made by her stiff, straight-fronted corset.
About ten minutes later, she came mincing into the living room, apparently quite comfortable, silken thighs whispering together at each tiny step. She was quite a sight. From the front, she appeared to have no arms, while the way her shoulders were racked into a steep rearward arch, made her amazingly high bosom thrust forward in an incredible manner.
There was an air of pride and arrogance about her helplessness that was delightful.
"Wow?" was all I could say.
Episode 30 (2 images)
The next few moments were devoted by Dick and myself, to telling Nicki how delightful she looked. While she minced proudly around in front of us, displaying her pretty "face," amazing figure and stringently bound arms from every angle, Dick was most impressed with the position of her arms, remarking,
"That is, without a doubt, the best possible position for a girl's arm. Escape is impossible -even the slightest movement is out of the question. She's quite helpless, yet, at the same time, forced to make the best display of herself. I'll start Vicki on that position tomorrow."
Then he rang the bell for Fifi, explaining,
"I thought we could have dinner in here; the girls can serve us."
In a second, Fifi appeared in the door. Her elbow-strap had been removed and in its place she wore the harem belt with wrist-chains long enough to give her a good deal of freedom, yet short enough to keep her hands from getting at the mouth -bit. Dick told her to serve dinner, and she beckoned Nicki to follow her. There was a wait of several minutes, which my host filled by setting himself in a big armchair, telling me to do the same. I couldn't see how we were going to get dinner, but was ready to find out.
Then Vicki entered the room, her daughter close behind her. The older woman's steel restraint had been removed and her arms were now anchored behind her back by irons at the elbows and wrists.
Both she and Nicki had a steel belt around their waists. Metal arms from the sides of the belts came forward and down to support a fair-sized tray in front of each charming waitress. The first course of what turned out to be an elaborate meal was set on each tray.
In enforced silence they came to our chairs, Vicki to Dick and Nicki to me. To bring the trays conveniently close, they had to stay in front of us to serve.
I never enjoyed a nicer meal, or one more prettily served. As we finished each course, our waitresses minced out into the hall, where, to judge by the sounds, Fifi was waiting with the necessary apparatus for the next course.
When, at last, we reached the last part of the dinner, Fifi released her two charges from the belts that held the trays and brought the brandy and coffee herself. Nicki came over to me and indicated she would like to sit with me in the big chair. I was more than willing. Poor rigid Vicki, unable to bend even a little bit, was forced to stand in front of Dick's chair, where he and I could admire her pretty figure.
With Nicki nestled cosily beside me, I was able to appreciate how utterly and charmingly helpless she was and what wonders the position of her arms and shoulders did for her lush figure.
The time, I decided, had come. Turning to my host, I said, "Dick, known your daughter about twenty-four hours. That's been more than enough to convince me I love her. I'd like to marry her. How about it?"
My lovely companion squirmed with silent excitement.
"Well," Dick nodded, "I can't say this is a surprise. A father doesn't have to see his daughter's face or hear her voice to know what's in her heart. I think it's a fine idea. Go ahead."
Nicki offered her smiling mask for a kiss, but before I took her up, I produced the thing I had had the jeweller make. It was a diamond engagement ring with a spring clamp fitted in the band. I clipped it on the septum of Nicki's nose.
"You can't wear it on your finger, for your arms will be behind you almost all the time, so I think a diamond nose-ring is a neat substitute, don't you?"
She nodded and offered her mask again. This time I obliged and Nicki and I were engaged.
What happened after that, our wedding, honeymoon and so on, is another story and I intend to continue the rest of my story in a second book to be published later on.
END OF BOOK ONE