It was barely daybreak when the cook found me sleeping outside the kitchen door, and not
knowing who was beneath the cape, ran to get the head housekeeper. Once identified, I was
helped into the house, and another servant was sent for Lady Barriston. They unzipped and
peeled the rubber casing off me, and at last, the silencing mask.
"Are you all right, Mr. Cairns ?" Lady Barriston asked.
"Yes, just stiff," I answered, at the moment too relieved at being able to straighten my arms to
think about embarrassment. Reluctantly I explained how I'd been tricked into that rubber prison.
Lady Barriston made no comment, but I saw her face grow thoughtful and determined.
"I'll have the maid draw you a hot bath," she said grimly. Take as much time as you like. Then
a nice big breakfast will await you when you're ready." She smiled at me apologetically, then
grew stern again as she left the kitchen.
I wondered if she were planning on having words with her niece, but I was too tired to think
about that right then. The hot bath was wonderful, and rather than come down for breakfast after,
I hit the bed and didn't awake until afternoon.
There was no sign of Tara as I descended, nor as I was served lunch, though my mind was
going over what I would say to her when our paths did cross. She was a wicked little bitch, there
was no question of that, but how did one handle someone so magnetically beautiful! I realized I
was hopelessly intrigued, enough to compensate for my humiliation. Intrigued, and I'll admit,
turned on.
After eating I went to the library and perused old books, looking for family history. In the
process I found a photo album.
It was mostly a wedding, and judging from clothing styles sometime in the forties or fifties.
The bride was a charming looking young woman in a long white sheath type gown, fitting
closely about her legs clear to the ground, with a long attached train at the waist. A sheer veil
descended completely over her, flowers were around her head, and she stood demurely with her
long-sleeved arms at her sides, her gloved hands folded one over the other in front. The
bridesmaids, four of them, were also in long narrow gowns, their hands tucked into little muffs.
The gowns were so close fitting it was a wonder any could walk.
Subsequent photos showed different groups of people with the bride and groom, and I made a
mental note to find out who they were. In each picture, however, the bride's arms were in the
same position, whether sitting or standing. Even in a photo of her kissing the groom, her arms
were down while he wrapped his about her, though her hands reached as though they might try
to take hold of him. I realized, looking at the tension lines on her dress, that her sleeves were
sewn down!
And in a close-up, her face became familiar. This was none other than Lady Barriston!
I could question her about her dress, of course, but I love a mystery and wanted to unravel this
myself. Especially as the bridesmaids also appeared to participate in being bound, at least
secretly, as in none of the pictures were their hands ever out of their muffs, even in more casual
photos taken between poses. In one picture a young man held a glass of champagne to one of
the bridesmaid's lips; like the rest, her hands still in her muff, obviously fastened in.
Supper that night was cheerful, with Lady Barriston in an especially good mood. Tara,
however, never did show up, and I asked about her. "Oh, I'm certain she's occupied with
something," came the answer with a smile.
When we rose I stretched my neck, still feeling stiff. Lady Barriston suggested I use the
exercise room, which had a sauna and other facilities. To this I agreed readily, and I followed a
maid downstairs to a lower level room. Clarisse was her name, and she was a trim little thing, her
shape nicely delineated by her tight uniform, an old fashioned satin affair with a hem nearly at
the ankles, slowing her considerably on the stairs. I asked her if her skirt wasn't hard to work in.
"Not only that " she answered , stopping and pulling up her hem. I saw that below the knees
was a pink fetter, a pretty thing adorned with bows, joining one seamed-stockinged leg to the
other. "I got in a hurry and tore one once, so now I have to have my legs tied together. Every
time my boyfriend sees it he says, "into bondage again, eh Clare'?' But he's the one as made me
wear it on a night out," she added with a coy smile as she dropped the hem and wiggled the rest
of the way down.
"This is a converted bomb shelter," Clarisse explained, opening a heavy door. 'They fixed it up
in World War II. You can make all the noise you want and you won't bother anyone. There are
exercise suits in the lockers on the left. When you're done, just ring the bell and I'll come down
and let you out. This safety door doesn't open from inside. Old wartime precaution. Have fun!"
And she shut me in.
I examined the door more closely, and yes it resembled the way Tara's bedroom was set up. It
made me nervous, but at least it wasn't Tara I had to rely on.
I looked around the room. There were weight machines, chinning and parallel bars, a punching
bag, a bike machine, and a bench press. The floor was covered in a mat. On the left were two
curtained areas, one labeled "gentlemen," the other 'ladies."
I went to the gentlemen's area and found a bench and a row of lockers, three of which were
labeled for guests. One had a sweat suit which fitted well, and I put this on. There was also a
rack of tennis shoes, all brand new, a pair of which also fitted perfectly. Lady Barriston was not
lacking for funds. .
Before proceeding to the bike machine, I decided, out of my usual curiosity, to see what they
had provided for the ladies. Their area consisted of one wide closet and several chairs, daintier
and with flowered designs, the showers through another door. I opened the closet and looked
through their garments.
They seemed to consist mostly of spaniel outfits, like unitards, and I almost passed them over
until I noticed very few of them had two legs. Nor was there a hole for the other leg, both legs
simply slipped together into one stocking, which stretched adequately to contain them both. The
top part had sleeves, but the ends were closed off, forming a kind of thumb less mitten. There
were several like this, of different bright colors and patterns, all fastening at the back of the neck,
with loops at the end of the single foot and each mitten. Were they for tying to something?
But that wasn't all. I found three leotards that had no openings whatever for arms, a stack of
one-legged spaniel stockings, some of them sheer, that could be attached to the leotard, and two
more leotards where the arms went into a single rear sleeve. The lady in those would scarcely be
able to move!
There was more, including some sheer nylon things, some unusual looking sweat suits, and
some rubber garments, but I was already in a sweat and hadn't even begun to exercise. Who used
these things? Lady Barriston? Guests? The maids?
Tara?
Still in a state of amazement I went back out to the gym. What sort of exercise could be done
in those stockings? Weight machines, perhaps parallel bars, maybe floor exercises... then I
noticed the other door. It was on the far side of the room. I went over and tried to open it, but it
was locked. But the key was still in it. I turned the latch, and the door opened easily.
I was in another exercise room, or what looked almost like a cross between a dungeon, a
psychiatric hospital, and an exercise room. It was padded on the floor and walls and contained
two steam cabinets, a hot tub with a cover through which two hooded head holes were provided, a
massage table with straps, a large suspended sack with a zipper entrance labeled "punching bag"
and other equipment including a framework from which a net and some ropes were suspended.
But I noticed little of this, for in the center, attached to a padded post, was a female body.
A gorgeously curvaceous female body, facing away from me, completely encased in thin
stretchy black rubber, snugly surrounding both legs like the spaniel garments, going over the
buttocks, in some way wrapping up the arms, then up over the head. It was attached to the post
from somewhere in the front by two leashes: one pulling down so that if the wearer, and I had a
good idea who that was, tried to stand straight it pulled her shoulders down, and another leash
attached upward such that she couldn't get low enough to kneel. She was squirming and
struggling, and I found myself holding my breath as I watched her buttocks and thighs wiggle
and writhe against the rubber that confined them. I had never seen anything so wonderful.
I went around front, examining how her arms were in a kind of tight pouch at her chest, the
leashes attached one over and the other beneath it. Her face was completely covered except for
two little holes at her nose. She had gotten tired and was just hanging by the upper leash. I
reached out and touched a trapped arm.
She jumped and mewed through the rubber. She had been completely unaware of me. She
stood in the bowed position, waiting.
"Well, Miss Winthrop" I said, "we meet again. I think I like these circumstances better" A lot
better, I added mentally, feasting my eyes.
I heard a muffed grunt. She wriggled her arms, which were folded up rather severely, and
jerked on her line, then let her breath out and hung once more.
"Suppose you explain your nasty little stunt last night."
She gave no reply, which didn't surprise me. I looked for a way to release her mouth, but the
hood had no such openings. The only way in and out of the garment was by a long zipper,
closing down to the feet, well out of her limited reach. So if I wanted to talk with her, I had to let
her out of her "exercise suit." It seemed a shame.
But I found as I unzipped her that her feet were still enclosed together in a single sheer nylon
stocking, the tough shiny kind worn with leotards. I continued to undo her, till at last she wiggled
free of the rubber, which had clung to her with her own sweat, and sank to the floor. She glared
at me as she pushed the matted hair from her face, across which a thin rubber mask was
stretched, sealing off her mouth, and as I well knew, stifling any speech. Her sheer stocking
didn't stop at her legs, but encased her clear to her neck, then down her arms, which she held
protectively over her breasts, in sleeves which extended well beyond her hands and narrowed to a
point, making it impossible to get fingers out. A G-string covered her privates. Barely.
"Very impressive outfit," I said. "But now aren't you going to thank me? After all, last night
you weren't nearly so courteous with me."
I caught sight of a lovely pair of breasts as she used her arms to get herself to her feet, a
difficult task with the legs imprisoned so tightly. Not bothering to remove her face mask, she
turned and began toward the door with the tiny steps allowed by the stretch of the stocking. Her
buttocks, left bare by the G-string, wiggled provocatively. I was mesmerized with delight.
Suddenly she hopped quickly to the door. I realized the key was still in the other side, and she
could lock me in. I leapt to catch up to her and almost had her waist, but she was so slippery in
her stocking that I lost my grip and fell forward. She nearly pulled the door shut, but I got my
hand on the knob and caught it just in time. I braced myself and pulled. Gradually the door came
my way as her stockinged feet slid. I grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back to my side,
catching her before she tumbled to the floor. But then to my surprise she scooted back to the
door, pushed it shut, then inserted the key and locked it. I hadn't noticed she had taken the key
out of the other side. Removing it again, she held onto it until she got to her feet. Holding one
arm over her breasts, she extended her other toward me, dangling the key fetchingly.
I reached for it, but she pulled it back and slid it instead into the neck of her body stocking,
where it was pressed to her chest by the tight nylon. Then looking at me dispassionately, she
dropped her arms to her sides and standing there in her near nakedness began to undulate.
And I mean undulate. Slowly, deliberately, her shoulders began to circle, her chest heave, her
belly and hips move forward and back and side to side, her knees push and strain against the
confines of her stocking. Gaping like a schoolboy I watched as the key, coaxed by the motion,
crept oh so slowly downward, at last slipping into her cleavage and becoming trapped in the soft
clutches of her breasts. Not once through this process did her eyes leave me.
But she wasn't done, for next she began bouncing her breasts, slowly at first, then faster,
forcing the key through to her stomach. Then it was more undulations, the hips and thighs
sliding and swaying in their nylon restraint, working the key grudgingly across her belly. But
just when it looked like it would fall between her legs, she felt down for her G- string and
through the stocking pulled it open, and the key fell into her mons.
I was a wreck. I couldn't even speak.
I suppose another man might have just let out a whoop and gone for her, but that performance
paralyzed my brain. I really didn't know what to do. All my cockiness went out the window. She
had me by the balls again, and she knew it.
The only thing I could focus on was getting the key. Her idea may well have been to get me to
let her out of her body stocking. Then maybe she'd figure I still wouldn't dare go for her snatch,
and she'd get to the door and lock me in. But I had no options, so I started toward her.
But to my surprise she hopped away. Damn, I thought, and abandoning caution tackled her,
bringing her to the floor. She struggled, trying to push me away, forcing me to take hold of her,
her soft slippery buttocks and breasts wriggling against me, her imprisoned legs slithering
between mine. It was more than I could stand, and dizzy with desire I suddenly pinned her arms
and kissed her hard, right through her thin rubber mask, which scarcely concealed her full lips.
For a fraction of a second she seemed overcome by it, and her struggles paused, but then she
pulled away and started again, harder than before.
But by then I'd had about enough, so I rolled her on her stomach, and grabbing the trailing
ends of her stocking sleeves crossed her arms behind her back, then rolled her back again and
tied them tightly in front. She pulled and struggled but the stocking held fast. Finally she
stopped and glared at me, unable to utter a word. It was very satisfying. But man, she was a
tempting parcel. Once more I thought how it was too bad I'd have to let her out.
I rolled her back over to see how the stocking had been fastened. Evidently it had been
stretched over her feet then up her body to the neck, where it was secured like a blouse with a
keyhole type closure. But instead of just a button or hook and eye, two reinforced holes were
joined with a tiny but sturdy lock. I sighed, and at that moment regained my sense of humor.
"Well, Miss Winthrop," I said, "when you put something on, you mean it to stay. I don't
suppose you have the key to this"
She made a noise in her gag and wriggled, then shook her head smugly.
"Then I'm sorry, but I'll have to tear it." I took hold of either side of the opening and tugged.
But pull as I would, I could not get one thread to snap. I tried grabbing other parts of the
stocking, but similarly had no luck. The thing was incredibly tough. I heard a muffled sound.
She was laughing at me.
I looked around the room for something I might use to cut it. But in that whole weird room
there weren't even sharp corners or edges. I had no choice but to try and get the key out the way
it got in.
She was sitting up when I got back to her. "Sorry about this, Miss Winthrop", I said, and
pushing her back down, began to pull at the pouch of her G-string. She gave a muffled yell into
her mask and began to wriggle and kick like a wildcat in a sack. But I had her well-tied, and
straddled her while I worked the G-string down, exposing her privates. It was no easy task,
though I can't say I minded it overly. At last the key shook loose.
But suddenly she brought her knees up and knocked me on the chest. While I tried to recover
my wind she squirmed from under me and shoved me away with her feet. Like a snake she
wiggled along the floor. By the time I caught her again her G-string was around her knees, and
the key, it was at the bottom of the stocking, next to her feet. How was I to get it now?
Impulsively I tried to grab the key through the stocking, but she mewed into her mask and
wriggled violently. Evidently those smooth and pampered feet, with their pretty little painted toes,
were very ticklish. But that wasn't going to bother me a bit. Straddling her soft near-naked
buttocks I took hold of her feet and bent her legs toward me. The key was too worn and smooth
to abrade the tough nylon, but I took hold of it and twisted and tugged anyway, her feet curling
and kicking in their confinement, her muffled protests loud considering the way she was stifled.
Though I knew I wasn't getting anywhere I was reluctant to quit, but I did when I heard her
breathing hard through her nose. Her eyes were watering. Realizing tears could obstruct the
nasal passages, I thought I'd better remove her mask. In any case, I was ready for some answers.
The mask was hardly thicker than a rubber balloon, which gave it an airtight seal on the mouth
when stretched on. It went beneath the nose and cupped the chin, then laced at the back of the
neck, stiffened by a stay to help it keep its shape. A clever device, thought up no doubt by the
reincarnation of a corset designer. I picked at the knot till it came loose, then pushed the mask
down about her neck. With considerable relief she breathed deeply through her mouth.
I sat her up with her back to the post and dabbed her eyes with my sleeve. She turned her head
to avoid me and pulled her knees up to cover herself.
"How dare you come in here and molest me like this?" she said icily.
"Oh so that's how it is, is it? I let you out of your rubber case and you try to lock me in here.
That's molesting?"
"That was my sauna suit. It's part of my exercise routine. You had no right to unzip me."
"An exercise routine? How interesting. Are you always zipped in a bag, tied to a post, and
locked in a room when you exercise?"
"You had no business coming in here."
"Lady Barriston said I could go anywhere I liked."
"That was a mistake. The least you could do now is untie my arms. The way you've bound me
is uncomfortable and I can't even preserve what little modesty I have left. No gentleman would
grab a lady and tie her when she's in nothing but her nylons."
But might otherwise? But I said, "Those are the most remarkable nylons I've ever seen on a
woman. I think I've come to like them, in spite of the trouble they've caused. But I think it's time I
got that key out of them." And I grabbed her feet and held them up, shaking the key down to her
buttocks.
"Let go of me! What do you think you're doing?"
Next I scooped her up by her knees. This wasn't easy, as she was slippery and struggled like
crazy. She almost caught the key in her buns, but her own struggling worked it loose, and it
started down her back.
Then I slung her over my shoulder. "Nice tush," I told her, patting her fanny. "Ooh," she
raged, wriggling harder. Once she almost slid off. But with patience I was able to work the key
down past her arms, where I could reach it through the neck opening. At last, I thought as I
slipped it in my pocket. I set her back down. She strained futile at her sleeves.
"You have what you want. The least you could do is loosen my arms.
I looked at her, lying on her side on the floor, her gorgeous body still in its casing of nylon.
Did I have what I wanted? Wasn't there still something I would throw away the key for? She
looked at me silently, her mouth parted in a pout. The urge to just take her was overwhelming. I
could carry her back to the other room, find something from my pants pocket to cut her stoking,
maybe only let her legs out, and... but it was still impossible to be sure what she was thinking.
She looked like she wanted to be taken, but her eyes, though seductive, were inscrutable, held yet
in pride and defiance. I reached down to untie her arms...
Then wrapped them around again in front of her and retied them tightly. Then I went to
unhook her rubber case from the post where it still hung. Her eyes looked at me in alarm. "Don't
you dare put that on me."
"Why not? You were objecting to my having taken it off." I came over with the suit.
"No! No, please. I don't want to go back in there. I've been in it all day."
"Really? You exercise for that long?"
"I was just forgotten." I set the suit down and reached to pull up her mask.
"All right, I was punished for locking you out. Now please, you want me, don't you? The key
to this oversized pantyhose is in the locker room. You let me out and I'll do whatever you
Mmmphl"
"Now I see why you have to wear this mask. Something has to keep the lies from coming
out."
She kicked and struggled angrily, but the stocking held as I pulled the rubber casing over her
head, fitting the arms in the front pouch, then giving her butt a tweak before zipping the entire
thing shut down to her feet, sealing her inside. Her struggling ceased after that, no doubt it was
too hot in there for much activity. I lifted her and hooked her back up to the post.
I looked at her once more before leaving the room, a long look. It was hard to shut the door on
that splendid picture. But it wasn't just sexual desire, I also had pangs of doubt. She might never
speak to me again.
But then, I had an inkling she would.
I had better have another mask ready.
