tagBDSMAn Act of Restraint

An Act of Restraint


I suppose your average person would have rushed inside, all concerned. Maybe called the police for help.

Course, an average person probably would have been working and not have shown up early. Nor would an average person have an OCD complex about trash and walked all the way across the yard to pick up a small piece of garbage that the wind must have deposited there.

I'm lucky in the sense that I have a job with some flexibility. Basically it works out that if I feel that I've gotten my work finished I can take time off. As a general rule, my work is more than done. If it weren't for the need to watch over my subordinates, I could probably take all of next week off if I wanted and still have a cushion of work done. All I did today though is leave at lunch. It's Friday and I'm hanging out with a friend for the next couple of days, thought I could start the weekend five hours early.

I did mean to call and say I was on the way sooner than expected, but there were a few calls from the office regarding the mundane before I could. By the time I was done with those, the trip was halfway through and I was lost in my own world of dealing with idiots. So I didn't call. It might have turned out differently if I had. Hell, knowing her as I do, I never would have had an inkling.

By the time I arrived in town, I was thinking about a couple of restaurants to visit, even a walk I wanted to take. It's different here. I'm different here. And I'm aware that so is she. We accept each other as is with no reservation. Schedules were never made during the few times we get together. If one had plans, the other could care less and went about their business. More often or not, we'd end up just hanging out, laughing, and sometimes talking into the wee hours of the morning about absolutely nothing.

She's already here. I pull in behind her car and turn off the engine, glancing at the house. She's probably already hit the store and stocked up on food and drink, maybe even unpacked in her room. I have to smile to myself as I grab my phone and planner. It's been like this forever it seems, we each have our own room. We've fallen asleep together, curled up and cuddled together ... but it was always fully clothed, the friendship never tilted either way for anything else to happen.

I had gotten out of the car and was going to get my bag from the trunk when I saw the cup. Not even a red Solo cup; this was one of those Styrofoam things for coffee. One of those unnecessary evils, I can't stand them. So, instead of getting my bag and heading into the house, I cross the lawn to pick up the offending hazardous waste on my lawn. Which is why I'm now standing here, weighing my options.

The views of the windows on this side of the house are blocked from the street and neighbors by the trees. It's spring now, the leaves on the trees are tiny pale green and filling in. I admit I probably wouldn't have looked in the house windows if I hadn't stopped for a moment to stand and take a look at the new spring foliage. Smell the roses so to say. Taking in deep breaths, can't say I feel the stress melting away ... but it's nice here. Looking up in the trees, I turn and look at the house. Might as well make sure everything is ok with the exterior, check that nothing has to be done after the severe winter we had. And that's when I see her.

From where I'm standing I can see the doors leading into the study from the hall. The entrance to the room is large, pocket doors normally shut have been pushed back into the walls leaving the area wide open ... and she's standing in the center of the doorway. Standing isn't quite accurate. Hanging might be a better word, but I won't know until I get a closer look. The only thing keeping me from responding to my initial sense of alarm and rushing in are what look like two clear blocks hanging from what might be a bracket that hangs down from the doorframe to where her hands are attached. Her head has fallen back, I can't really see it from here, but that's easily remedied.

Removing my phone from my pocket, I almost call her cell, but decide to dial the house instead. I want to make sure she hears the message that I leave to give me an advantage. No, I'm not sure what advantage I need ... but if I'm right, I suddenly very much want one. I can feel myself actually getting pissed off and as odd as it might seem, I'm almost hoping that someone else has put her in this position. The machine is on the desk near the window and I can see the light turn on with the incoming call. At the first ring of the phone on the desk, she turns her head and I can see the blindfold covering her eyes and the gag that's twisting her lips. She's not panicking, just seems to be listening. That's reassuring in itself, but the phone call is twofold though. It's going to give me a better idea of what's going on and let me know if anyone else is in the house. After four rings, no one else moves and the answering machine picks up and I speak in an easygoing tone.

"Hey Chickie, are you there? Pick up."

Of course she isn't going to pick up, but she doesn't struggle against her bonds either. She stiffens, her head coming up, turning towards the phone as if she's listening. This is becoming more interesting.

"Things are moving along faster than usual. So ... ah, I'll be out of here about an hour earlier than we talked about. Call me if you can."

I can see her unmoving, head still turned towards the phone. For a second I regret my choice of words, I should have said when you can instead of 'if'. We play with words, seeing if the other can pick up on small innuendos. It's a game, usually in with a sexual slant to see if we can get a rise out of each other. Mainly a way to joke and at this stage of our lives we're pretty good at it. I wait, wondering if she's caught it, in my mind's eye I can imagine her laughing at my choice of words. Then her head falls back again and she seems to relax. I turn off the phone and put it back in my pocket, forcing myself to calm down as I watch and waiting. After a couple of minutes she hasn't moved and I haven't seen any other movement, now I smile to myself. If only she realized. Instead of being there at 7, I've told her 6. It's now around two. Taking one more look at her from the outside, I decide the door on the other side of the house would be the quietest way to enter. Walking around, I try to weigh my options, wicked thoughts dancing around in my head. In the end though, I know that I'm not going to break her trust in our friendship.

Well ... not much.

The door isn't locked ... not a good thing for her but it does open silently, closing with a quiet push of air and a soft click. My annoyance increases ... unsupervised and stupidity? The odds are slim, but any Tom, Dick or Harry could have come in off the street. The house is silent, no movement, and no acknowledgment of my arrival. Removing my coat and hanging it quietly over the back of a chair, I opt for stocking foot on the wood floors. I nudge my shoes off and head for the front of the house through the living room as quietly as I can.

The front entrance to the living room opens up to the hall, directly across from the den. A quick look at her hanging there confirms what I already suspected. She did this to herself. My dear friend is into self-bondage.

The first instinctive emotion I allowed myself to feel outside was anger. As far as I'm concerned, bondage should be supervised. Self-bondage can be dangerous, not to be fooled around with lightly or by amateurs. I have a good mind to take her down, bend her over and paddle some sense into her, friend or not. And as much as I enjoy giving a good spanking, I'm pretty sure the one I'd give her wouldn't be enjoyable for either of us. I'm actually surprised at myself at the impulse and have to mentally stop myself and calm down for a moment before I get closer.

My next emotion as I step forward to examine the rig she has would be disappointment. Not in what she was using, but in the fact that she never told me about this. It's obvious as I look over what she's using that this isn't just a passing fancy. We may not have spoken about it in depth, but she's aware of my personal activities. She's never once mentioned her interest in passing, let alone in depth in conversation.

And lastly ... I'm impressed. Somewhat reluctantly, but I am impressed. I was going to growl at her, scare the hell out of her for being stupid ... but after a quick look over, this initially seems to be well thought out. Right down to the waterproof lipped circle thing she has on the floor beneath her feet. Perhaps I should hold off on saying anything and see how this plays out. After arguing with myself for a moment, I decide, that's the best course of action for now and start examining her and the equipment she's using. After all, I've got the weekend with her to ... discuss ... the topic she's presented.

First of all, she's fully dressed. Light colored jeans and a white collared shirt. Barefoot, no belt, sleeves rolled up to almost her elbows and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Pretty much what she wears each time we get together. The shirt is untucked and because of her stance, I can see a little of the skin of her stomach. Drawing in a quiet breath, I refrain from the temptation of touching that small area of skin with my fingertips and move to look at her from the side.

Another note I make to myself is the ... kiddy pool she's standing it. It's not quite a kiddy pool, but some form of vinyl with a lip around it. About 48 inches around, it's another sign that this isn't her first rodeo. It obviously would fold up quickly, similar to those round baskets that collapse in upon themselves and be able to be tucked away without much trouble. The vinyl catches the water that drips from above and I turn my attention to the rigging above her head.

I finally get to examine the hanging clear blocks I saw through the window. As I suspected, they're made of ice, string looped inside each block and a key hanging at the end of each string. As the ice melts, the string slowly comes free and straightens, allowing the key to drop to where she would be able to reach it. One block is slightly bigger than the other; the purpose would be taking a little more time to melt but would still drop a key. Kind of a backup plan to be released it would seem.

Both of these blocks of ice were attached to points of a hinged clamp that rested above the door frame. It almost looks like ice tongs, or the clamp that used to come with one of those kids bouncy seats that you'd hook up to the doorframe. Definitely modified, the clamp ends itself are padded, guessing that is so there are no marks left on the wall or frame. That comes down to the first bend in the arm of the clamp where the ice blocks are attached. Both arms curve inwards to hinges that have an adjustment screw to lock them in position, then to a pivot point crisscrossing on a then back out to about a 10" spread where her wrists are cuffed. A turnbuckle and rods seem to hold the clamp apart firmly, fastened by bolts to the steel of the clamp.

The cuffs are soft leather, padded. Her arms are extended comfortably over her head, fingers probably a few inches from her hair when her head is held upright. There is enough room inside the cuffs for her to twist slightly, but not pull out. Each cuff is buckled closed over her wrists, a small padlock on each to keep her from stretching her fingers and unbuckling herself until the keys are available. I can't see any other way for her to get out of those cuffs than with a key.

Her head is leaning back now; I can look at her profile and the headgear that she's chosen. The blindfold is leather, almost a cat's eye design. I'm guessing that its fur lined as I try to peek at the edges, the fur keeping her from opening her eyes behind the leather.

Suddenly she turns her head towards me, stiffening in her bonds. Frozen, I try not to breathe ... realizing that her other senses must be heightened after the time of losing her sight. Did she hear me or did I accidently breathe on her. It does though give me a good look at the gag that twists her mouth. Silicone bit gag, forcing her jaw apart and keeping her lips open. As much as I enjoy a variety of gags in my playmate's mouth, I'm pleased to see she chose this one. A ball gag would be the one most see and would try, but I'd be concerned about her breathing if anything happened since she's alone. This allows for a good amount of air in and out. I have to give her points for that choice.

Her head moves slightly, almost as if she's turning it to catch the slightest sound. Standing less than two feet from her, I don't dare move and keep my breath shallow ... I really don't want her to know I'm here just yet. It takes a little over 12 minutes, but she must have decided that it was her mind playing tricks on her as she relaxes, her head falling back again. I'm not stupid though and very carefully and quietly move back into the center of the hallway to draw in a silent breath. That's when I see the timers on the hall table. Digital, one has 17 minutes left on it, the other 45. This is another sign that she's done this before. I'm assuming that she's timed the blocks of ice and their melt rate. The smaller block to her left hand would be the 17 and the larger one to her right would be the 45. And I'm not supposed to be here for another three and half hours. At least according to the message I left her.

And by the time I arrived, there would be no trace of the equipment to be seen. I'm fairly sure of that now and take a look at the timers again. She has two release mechanisms, the ice blocks. Generally if those fail, there's a safety back up. Something that the person doesn't want to do or someone they don't want to explain to. I catch myself from chuckling out loud, knowing she'll recognize my laugh. I'm not longer angry after coming to the conclusion that I'm the safety back up. If for some reason the two ice blocks don't work, she'll be there for a few more hours. Uncomfortable, but unharmed and embarrassed as I would come upon her like this. And she'd have to explain ... knowing it might change the dynamics of our friendship.

My attention returns to her, again wondering why she didn't tell me. I'm flattered that she'd trust me to be her safety back up, but I wish I knew about this and her desires. She's strong willed, capable, generally in control. My first assumption would be that she wasn't one to be tied up, but would have expected her to be on my side of the bondage. She is the person in control, the one who takes control. But ... even in this situation, she's in control of her loss of control.

Perhaps that's it and I'm just overthinking it. She needs a loss of control, even if it's in a controlled setting. Maybe she needs to be pushed just that little bit further. I might have to think about offering her a safe way to do that. It's something that I'd enjoy doing ... just would have to offer her it. Heck, with the thought that's just starting in my head ... I might be able to help her now and still not even touch her.

Turning the thought over in my head, I give most of my attention back to her. From previous trials with other women, I'm guessing being blindfolded heightens her experience and I can't help but find myself wondering how she'd respond to being touched. Yeah, I'm not going to break her trust in me ... but that doesn't mean I'm not going to have some delicious images of her and the things I'd like to do to her.

Right now I should finish examining her setup. She flexes where she stands up on her tiptoes and dances slightly, then her feet are still. Then she simply seems to stretch her body from her toes all the way up to her fingers. It's almost as if I was watching a cat stretch slowly up her body, then back down. As she finishes, I can hear a deep breath being drawn in and slowly, calmly released. Her body relaxes and her head lounges back again.

It can be tiring being in the same position for extended periods of time, not to mention standing. Plus her legs are being held apart by a spreader bar connected at her ankles, she doesn't have much room for movement. Kneeling down, I take a closer look at the hardware and have to admit ... I'm a little intrigued by the spreader bar. Again, it's something that I'm guessing she's created and again I'm impressed. It looks as if she's connected two pieces of half inch threaded rod one 12", the other 18" with a coupling nut, then some form of rod end bearings at each end. Padded Velcro straps are attached to each hole, then wrapped firmly around each of her ankles. These can come off easily, unlike her wrist cuffs that require a key. The catch is that her hands would have to do it. I'm not positive, but the overall length of the bar is close to 36". That will put some strain on leg and back muscles. And as firm as the makeshift bar looks, it's again designed to completely break down. And this once again reminds me that there would most likely be no signs of any of this when I supposedly was going to arrive.

Looking up at her from where I kneel, that seems to be about it. I can't see anything else other than these basic things that she's set up unless there's something beneath her clothing. And I'm not going to pat her down. Appraising the straps around her ankles again, I realize that the delicate chain which normally encircles her left ankle is missing. Quietly rising, I have to look her over again and note that she isn't wearing any of her normal jewelry. Not even her rings. Personally, I prefer what adorns her right now ... I love looking at a bound woman, her mouth distorted by a gag and body contoured by its restraints. I wouldn't be human if I didn't admit she's sexy on a regular basis and I've entertained thoughts of more with her in the past, but to see her like this I have much darker images of her in my mind right now.

Her breath is calm and slow, almost as if she's meditating. My mind's eye sees something else. I can see her panting against that bit gag, her skin flushed as she's forced to rise on her tiptoes to support herself. The moans she would utter would be delicious; I can even see rigging up stronger supports to hang her from, perhaps putting a hook in front of her or behind her so that I can bring her feet up in either direction to twist her body.

What has she tried? How far has she gone with what she can do to herself? Is this a simple exercise in restraint or does she also have a sexual bend to her needs? Does she include other things ... things that would cause her to moan as they pinch, clamp, vibrate. Has she been able to fasten her arms behind her, trapping herself in an arched position? Does she play with temperatures, what extremes has she tried ... or desires to try?

Stepping back from her I cross my arms over my chest, debating pointlessly with myself if she's been tied with her arms at her sides and legs shut. There's something about a female helpless ... whose arms are strapped to her sides or behind her and her legs pinned tightly together, a strap or belt fastened firmly around her thighs as she's bent onto a table or over a sofa arm. I have to admit, her hair is long enough to take ahold of, wrap around my fist to twist her head so she can look at me. I can see weaving a strip of leather into a braid to mobilize her head. Attach it to one of the hooks, perhaps a plug ... even a rope that's drawn down between her legs and up her front. Something that constantly reminds her it's there. Closing my eyes, I'm now the one who draws in a slow silent breath in an attempt to erase the images my mind sees. She's still my friend. One who trusts me?

The buzzer startles me, I jump but manage to keep quiet. I must have really been lost in my own thoughts for seventeen minutes to pass unnoticed. But here is what I wanted to see. She stirs before me, again flexing in that catlike way of stretching. Then her left arm shifts as her hand bends back, fingers extend as she reaches upwards and touches the first of the release keys. The ice has melted enough for her to curl her fingers around the metal and I'm guessing the string will snap if she gives it a good tug. For now she releases it and continues her flexing of muscles before settling back into her stance.

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