New Straitjacket Tech for '63 Pt. 01

It was a Wednesday, I think, when my boss asked if he could tie me up.

Oh get your mind out of the gutter! It wasn't anything like that, nothing kinky, untoward, or inappropriate. See, I work as a secretary for Globe Publishing, the premiere publisher of detective, real-bondage, and escapology magazines for the contemporary, 1963 newsstand market. We don't publish any "under the counter" trash, like those rags with that Betty Page tramp in her underwear pretending to whip other girls who are chained up. Our work is on the up-and-up, family-oriented, wholesome.

Our magazines are sold right out in the open on mainstream newsstands, next to Life, Newsweek, and the Ladies Home Journal. We pride ourselves on the informative, educational material in them, showing people the sad, sordid side of reality. It can be scary to think about all of the terrible burglars and criminals who'll take advantage of a woman alone, who'll break into their apartments and tie-up and gag them in their underwear, leaving them helpless and struggling, "mmmph-ing" into gags and unable to cry for help!

Since I started working here I've thought a lot about what I'd do if someone broke in and tied & gagged me before stealing all of my things. What would I do if I wriggled and struggled for hours, unable to cry for help and couldn't get loose? How long before my boss, Mr. Jacoby, realized I'd not come into work and called the police to rescue me? Even worse, what if it was Friday? Would I have to be there, tied, gagged, and struggling all weekend?

Well it was like he was reading my mind that fateful day when he came up and asked if he could tie me up, lil ol' me who answered his phone, typed his memos, and made his appointments. What in the world could I do, a 30-something spinster, that the pretty girls he hired as cover models couldn't.

"We're launching a new pub specifically dedicated to tales of girls who've found themselves involuntarily committed, and tied-up in straitjackets, for long periods of time," he said. "It's evidently an intense, frightening, and somewhat traumatic experience for them. And for this first issue," he added, "we'd like to get a perspective from a regular girl on what it can be like to have that happen!"

"So," he continued, "we'd like to get you secured in one of Mid-State Asylum's Complete Bodily Restraint Systems, let you settle into it for a bit, then write up an article telling us your thoughts and feelings on its comfort and security."

"And," he added, "we'll probably take some photos to use inside, maybe even on the cover."

You could have knocked me over with a feather! I was going to not only get tied up and have some time to experience it, but I was also going to be a published writer. And pictures of me could even be on the cover! I didn't know how to process my feelings, or even what to say.

"Th-th-thank you sir!" I said. "I'd be honored to do this for the company. When will it happen?"

"Tomorrow," he responded, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. Reading from it, he continued, "According to this you should wear something nice but comfortable. No makeup, no 'restrictive controlling undergaments', stockings are fine but no pantyhose. Oh and no elaborate hairstyles. 'Just put it up naturally' it says." Looking up he added, "I guess that means no hairspray or any of that other stuff."

He paused, looking me over. "So, are we good?"

"Yes sir!" I responded, masking my nervousness, and more than a bit overwhelmed that such a significant event would be happening so soon, so quickly. But I was determined to make Mr. Jacoby, and the company, proud.

========

The next day I showed up wearing a simple crewneck top with mid-length sleeves paired with a pencil "A" skirt that had never been quite as snug as I wanted. As instructed I'd worn only a bra and panties, along with a garter belt and stockings. My hair is long and curly so putting it up with a few bobbie pins left it looking as if I'd been out in a windstorm. That and the lack of makeup made me feel very self-conscious as I rode in on the subway, looking almost like the hippie girl who got on when I was halfway to work. They hadn't specified but I'd worn my most sensible pumps, with only a one-inch, very chunky, heel.

It was business as usual until right around 10:30 when two men arrived, one of them carrying a large suitcase. The first, the supervisor I supposed, was a bit rotund, slouchy, and balding. The other was thinner with dark hair and a small beard, of the sort the beatniks wore.

"Hey missy," the supervisor smiled, leaning over with his fists on my desk, "buzz your boss and tell him Jackson from M.S.A. is here."

"Of course Mr. Jackson," I said, pressing the intercom button.

"No, no 'mister'. Just 'Jackson,'" he winked. His grin was lascivious but sincere. I could tell he was a man used to getting what he wanted. I returned his smile with my most innocuous one, hoping he wouldn't be that interested in me.

As they walked in, the bearded one stopped and gave me a close look. "You must be our girl for today, no? To wear the C.B.R.S?" he asked, speaking in an accent I couldn't place.

"I... I... yes. I think so. I am, I guess?" I said. "How did you know?"

"You are only one here who does not look like painted automaton," he said, glancing around. "Plus your general demeanor will make excellent you for our purposes."

As he walked in, he added, "Your boss man would appear to have excellent understanding of girls."

========

After about a half-hour the three of them came out, Mr. Jacoby pulling on his overcoat and hat. "We're going to lunch. Be back in an hour!" he said.

Two hours later I was called down to one of the small photo studios on the 15th floor. The three of them were there, smelling more than a bit like a distillery. The bearded one (whose name I discovered was Serj) looked me over, touched my hair, and asked an unseemly amount of questions about what I was wearing. I was awfully embarrassed but Mr. Jacoby was there and wanted me to answer, plus I had agreed to do this, so what was I to do?

Serj went into his suitcase and pulled out the main article, the straitjacket. It looked heavy and intimidating, with the long arms, straps and buckles everywhere. I admit that I was more than a little bit frightened.

Holding it open, Serj said, "You will hold your arms out in front."

Obediently I held them out and he slid the sleeves and jacket over them. I have to say that I was shocked at how comfortable it was. Sure it was a heavy canvas, but it was so soft and supple, not at all what I expected. I felt suddenly very relaxed, that this wouldn't be anywhere near as bad as I had expected.

He buckled the five straps in the back, then had me cross my arms under my breasts. It took me a minute to decide which arm I wanted on top, ultimately deciding on my left into my right. As he buckled them behind me he yanked them hard, pulling them extra tight. It felt like I was giving myself a hug and was somehow very comforting.

"This feels very secure," I said.

"Yes," replied Serj, "and this is where most places say is enough. But we add extra layers of security with C.B.R.S."

With that he adjusted more straps on the sides, making the entire jacket snugger and closer to my body, more form fitting. I'm embarrassed to say that my vanity approved of this, as the jacket was no longer shapeless and showed off my figure better. Although each strap he tightened made it that much harder for me to move my arms.

Next he pulled out another wide leather strap, threaded it through two loops on the jacket's upper arms, wrapping it around my body, and pulled it tight, buckling it behind my back. He repeated this with an identical strap lower down my arms, buckling it equally tight. As he closed each buckle there was a slight click that I felt more than heard.

Talking to Mr. Jacoby he said, "See how arm strap now looser? So we bring in snug again." As he said that he tightened up the strap to the sleeves my arms were in. I didn't think it was possible to hug myself tighter, but I was evidently wrong. I almost lost my balance at one point, and was told to step out of my shoes.

Standing flat-footed in my stocking feet, all the straps were secured except for two which hung from the bottom of the jacket. I gathered that they were to go between the legs, making it extra secure while leaving the inmate's private parts free for necessaries. But since I was wearing a skirt I assumed they wouldn't use those. How could they?

"Next comes gag," said Serj.

"Oh this part is very important," Jackson said. "Noisy girls can disturb our attendants, so we want to keep them quiet. And believe me, they can make a lot of noise!" he laughed.

"Hah, I know what you mean," responded Mr. Jacoby. "Can I get one of these for my wife?" I flushed as they all laughed.

The gag itself was a sort of leather cup which fit across the bottom portion of my face, going under my chin and over my mouth. There was a leather ball attached to the upper portion which went into my mouth, filling it rather thoroughly. There were straps, one of which went behind my head, another over top of it which attached to that one, and even one that went from under my chin and looped around my neck. As he buckled each strap there was a tiny, almost imperceptible click.

"How does that feel?" asked Serj.

"It feels very interesting and secure," I wanted to say. But all that came out was, "Mmm mmm mmrf!" I couldn't move my mouth or my tongue at all. I had been rendered speechless and it was more than a bit scary. What if I needed to tell them something? I was reassured by reminding myself that these men were professionals and knew exactly what they were doing. If I couldn't speak it was because I didn't need to.

It was about that there was a knock on the door and Pete came in with his camera bag. "What did I miss? Am I too late? Whoah!" he said, taken aback by the sight of me.

"No, you're right on time," answered Mr. Jacoby. "Things are just starting to get interesting."

"I'll say!" replied Pete. "Wow, that's a pretty elaborate get-up, just the thing for Halloween," he added as he pulled out his camera, put it to his eye and began clicking away.

"Is not costume," responded Serj. "Is important professional equipment for restraining dangerous girls."

"Yes, of course it is," replied Pete, winking at Mr. Jacoby, who winked back as if enjoying a private joke. "Dangerous. Like she's so dangerous!" he laughed.

"Now gag is not just for not talking," continued Serj, "but for volume as well. Girls must not make too much noise even if is gibberish. Observe."

As he said that he reached over, grabbed my skirt, and pulled it down, managing to also remove my slip, garter belt, and stockings with one swift movement. Suddenly they were all piled up at my feet. I shrieked at the top of my lungs.

Or at least I wanted to. All that the gag let through was a pathetic "Mmmp".

"Phew!" Pete said, continuing to click away as I stood there, bare-legged and bare-footed as Serj had me step out of my skirt and stockings. I wanted to tell him to stop, to insist that I have my clothing back, to tell Pete to stop taking pictures, but I couldn't say anything other than "Mmmm mmm mmm!" which nobody seemed to be paying attention to.

Serj slapped my legs, saying, "Open please. Spread wide."

What did he mean? Things were moving so quickly, I wanted to say slow down or even stop, but I couldn't speak! I looked at Jackson, Mr. Jacoby, even Pete, but they all seemed much more interested in the activity than in my reactions to it. So I did what he asked.

Reaching between my legs, Serj grabbed the two straps in the front and pulled them up snugly on either side of my womanhood, buckling them very tightly behind me. It had the effect of pushing my nethers outward in a fashion I was not entirely comfortable with, and exposed my panties in a rather distressing fashion.

He pulled more straps out of his case, securing two of them snugly above and below my knees, and a third around my ankles. The latter had a little pad which went between them so they wouldn't rub together uncomfortably, which I very much appreciated.

He stood back and appraised his work for a moment, then said, "Hmmm... needs small adjustment" as he knelt down and began adjusting the upper knee strap. As he unbuckled it he laid his hand flat for a moment and there was another almost inaudible clicking sound.

"That sound," said Mr. Jacoby. "Do those buckles have locks on them?"

"Yes," replied Serj. "Very small, key is on ring," he said holding his hand up.

"We've found that the girls can be very determined when they're left tied up," Jackson said. "They're like monkeys in a zoo. They keep working at a strap and somehow manage to get it loose. So we came up with these tiny locks for an extra bit of security."

"Hunh," replied Mr. Jacoby. "I suppose you never can be too careful. I mean, the girls could hurt themselves, right?"

"Absolutely," replied Jackson. "The safety of the girls is our utmost concern."

After tightening the knee strap I thought Serj was done. How could I possibly be any more tied up? But he had one more trick up his sleeve.

"Please hold," he said gesturing to Jackson. "Ah yes, of course," he responded. He wrapped his arms tightly around my torso, put his shoe behind my heels, and leaned me backwards. His right hand found my breast and gave it a squeeze as he said, "Don't worry honey, I've got you". His face was close to mine and I could smell whiskey on his breath, Canadian Club I thought.

Serj got down on one knee and hooked a thin strap to the ankle bindings. Attached to its length were two more straps, one which wrapped around my feet, the other around my big toes, keeping them together very snugly.

"Why in the world are you tying up her feet like that?" asked Mr. Jacoby.

"Is amazing how much girl can do with just feet," answered Serj as he secured the straps, each having a tiny click. "We learn there is much mischief she can make, much trouble. So we learn we have to tie feet." Pete got down on one knee, getting a good shot of the unusual bindings. "Nice nail polish," he said, dropping the camera and giving me a wink that was more cute than lascivious.

As Jackson leaned me back onto my feet I suddenly felt terribly unbalanced, as if I was trying to stand on a ball. But as he stepped back I quickly regained my equilibrium, tentatively at least. Bending my knees and leaning forward slightly seemed to help immensely.

"And there you have it," Jackson said with a flourish. "Mid-State Asylum's Complete Bodily Restraint System!"

Everyone stepped back so that Pete could walk around me and take pictures, his camera's shutter whirring and clicking. I tried to strike a pose interesting enough to be used on the cover, even as I was terrified at the thought of appearing there half-naked. I did my best to struggle and look scared while at the same time not losing my balance and falling over.

"From the waist up she's all covered," Mr. Jacoby said, "but from the waist down she's not wearing much more than the straps. Is there a reason for that?"

"Uhm, sanitary reasons, for necessities," Jackson replied, crossing his arms and putting his right hand on his chin. "I mean, we can't have to let them loose every time they have to go to the bathroom right? It'd be a never ending job!" he said, laughing.

"Of course!" Mr Jacoby answered, also laughing. "So what do you think sweetie? Is it secure enough for you?"

I nodded and replied, "Yes Mr. Jacoby, it's very secure," but all that came out was more "Mmm mmm mmm," which made them all laugh so more.

"Well damn," he said, "I may just have to get one of these for the missus for when it's 'That Time of The Month,'" which led to another round of laughter.

Pete had stopped taking pictures and was looking me over. "I think you may be onto something," he said. "Where can I get one?"

"Oh no, is very expensive," replied Serj. "And is only for medical institute and use by skilled professional. And only on most dangerous girls."

"And I'll add," said Jackson, winking "that a lot of our institute's girls have 'dangerous' on their charts. I think the interns and guards have figured out that it makes their job much easier!"

"I'll bet," replied Mr. Jacoby, winking back.

Pete grimaced briefly at both of them before taking a few more photos. "Let her hair down. It will photograph better then how she has it up," he said. Serj removed the bobbie pins and my admittedly luxurious locks fell around my face, over my shoulders, and down my back.

Finishing up, he said, "I'm famished. What say we all go get lunch while we let our little lady experience your restraint system?" Of course, he didn't realize they'd already had lunch.

Still, Serj replied "Yes, is very good idea. Is designed for long-term so she will need time to understand it for article."

Wait, what? They were going to leave me alone like this? I shook my head, tried to say I wasn't sure I wanted that, but was stopped by the gag. I struggled and wriggled, trying to keep my balance and escape as they made their way to the door. But they weren't paying me any attention.

As they filed out I let out a pathetic "Mmm", unable to believe that this was happening.

"You just enjoy yourself sweetie. We'll be back in a few hours," Jackson said as he looked back at me, winking, before closing the door behind him.

The cry I let out at that moment would probably have been described as pitieous if there'd been anyone else in the room.

========

I stood there, motionless, incredulous, for several minutes. What was going on? How could they leave me alone like this, half-naked and entirely helpless? I tugged on the straps, hoping that it was somehow a big joke, that if I pulled hard enough the entire thing would come loose and fall off, that they'd all come back in laughing at how seriously I'd taken things.

But everything held fast. I started struggling harder, thrashing left, then right, then left again. I shrugged my shoulders hoping it would get looser, but that simply made it tighter between my legs. I slid my legs forward and backwards, but the straps held fast.

Frightened, I thrashed even harder, and lost my balance. I helplessly bounced forward on my bound bare feet and toes, desperately hoping to not fall. After three little hops I managed to regain my balance. Relieved, I took a deep breath and suddenly was falling forward again, my hair flowing across my face so I couldn't see. I frantically bounced more and was thankfully stopped short as I thudded into a wall.

Leaning on my right shoulder, feet digging into the carpet, I did my best to shake my hair out of my face, to minimal success. It stubbornly clung there, resisting any and all efforts to move anywhere but in front of my eyes. Breathing heavily through my nose I did my best to calm myself, to assess my circumstances and determine what exactly I could do.

After a few minutes I regained my composure. Feeling well braced between the wall and the floor I made yet another futile attempt to shake my hair out of my way before redoubling my escape efforts, all to no avail. I wriggled, struggled, and thrashed for several minutes, shuffling/hopping backwards and forward a few feet as I continued to lean on the wall. Suddenly I was stopped short as I felt a sharp stabbing in my right hip, followed by a horrible ripping sound.

Bouncing away from the wall I felt my panties stretch out before tearing loose and snapping back. There was a nail protruding from the wall. I had been barely scratched by it, but I could feel that my poor undies were much the worse for the wear, hanging by little more than their all-too-narrow waistband. What would I do if they came loose entirely?