Amanda - Tied Up With Tights
What you are about to read is a sequel to the second episode in my Long Time Bound compendium of short stories. However, it is presented in this collection as it doesn’t fit the criteria for the Long Time Bound series, which all involve me being tied up and kept helpless by and/or with various female companions. This tale, as the title suggests, concerns my attempts to initiate the willingly submissive Amanda into the joys of tights (and tape) bondage.
Those of you familiar with Long Time Bound 2 will recall that, at the very beginning of the story - indeed the catalyst for the strange little adventure that I and my female colleagues embarked upon - Amanda’s asserted - totally out of the blue and, at the time completely falsely - that “he ties us up with tights”. It was a throw-away remark and spoken in jest, but sowed the seeds of what was to follow. You may also remember that, at the conclusion, when I suggested that she might like to experience the joys of being tied up for herself, Amanda had replied with a smile, “You know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer....sometime.” And thus were the foundations of what I’m about to relate laid down.
It was about two weeks after the incidents detailed in Long Time Bound 2 had occurred, that the next episode in our little saga evolved. And this time, the only participants in our strange drama were Amanda and me.
I’d been trying to get my three work colleagues interested in a repeat performance of the events that had unfolded in the light of the revelations regarding my bondage and spandex obsessions, but to date had been unable to get any of them to commit to a third such venture; there always seemed to be other engagements in their calendars that excused them as being too busy. In truth, I think they’d gone a bit cold on the idea, and that they were finding reasons not to get involved in what they perceived as a rather weird and perverted pastime.
At least that was the vibe I was getting from Jackie and Louise. Amanda, on the other hand, was a bit of an enigma. For although the subject hadn’t been broached openly since then, I felt, from the occasional hint and knowing look that passed between us, that she was still inquisitive about the subject, and not averse to delving deeper into the world of strict bondage. And the fact that she’d not completely rejected the idea that she might like to experiment with the other side of things - i.e. to be trussed up herself - made me desperate to see if I could cajole her into taking this whole tie-up fantasy to another level. I just needed to find the appropriate moment to bring the topic to the fore again.
So when, on a Thursday afternoon, Amanda once again brought up her on-going theme of being “tied up with tights” I was overjoyed. I can’t remember the exact context in which she used the phrase, but I do know that only she and I were present at the time, and that the implication was that she once again wanted to discuss the matter.
As I’d done before, I reiterated the fact that, as tights were manufactured from stretch material, they would be no real substitute for ropes and handcuffs as a medium for binding anyone’s arms or legs, as they’d have to be pulled so ultra-tightly to stop the person escaping, that they would bite deeply and dangerously into flesh, with the possibility that circulation and muscle function could be adversely affected. But I’d been secretly hoping this situation would arise again, and hadn’t been idle in putting much thought into coming up with an alternative plan.
“However, I think I know of another way we could use hosiery to keep you from moving around.”
Amanda looked at me and grinned.
“Very mysterious! I’ll look forward to finding out what it is you have in mind.”
“Ok,” I told her “I’ll try to get something organised.”
On my way home that evening, I popped into the local Sainsbury’s superstore and bought all I’d need to bring my scheme to fruition. As well as purchasing two large reels of grey duct tape - each fifty metres in length - I also picked up several pairs of tights from the store’s own “Tu” range, in various colours, sizes and denier ratings (N.B. other hosiery brands are also available).
No firm date and time had been set for what I hoped would be a bondage extravaganza , but that night, as I finalised my intended course of action, I made up my mind that there was no time like the present, and that tomorrow would be the day that Amanda received her initiation into the world of inescapable restraints. I therefore travelled into work on that Friday morning with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation coursing through my veins. Once again, Amanda and I were to be the only ones on duty in our office, and I decided that, although I planned to take my co-worker out of commission from a work perspective, covering for her, with all the extra workload that this would entail, would be well worth the effort. My reward, of course, would be the sight of my female colleague all bound, gagged and helpless.
“Wait a minute.” I hear the slightly perplexed reader say. “Surely you weren’t planning to tie Amanda up in the workplace, were you?”
Well the answer to that question is both yes and no.
Yes, insofar as the building in which I intended to incarcerate her was our place of employment. But no, not in full view of every other member of staff who happened to come into the office that day. Instead, I knew of a secret cupboard that would double up very nicely as a prison cell, and one where we - or indeed Amanda once she was tied up and abandoned – wouldn’t be disturbed.
I entered the office at around eight thirty that morning. As usual, Amanda was in before me; totally oblivious to the fact that her working day was to be cut short. After exchanging the usual greetings and pleasantries, I took a deep breath, pulled open the rucksack that I carried with me, and allowed her to view the contents.
“I’ve brought a few gifts for you. I thought you might like to try them on today.”
Amanda gazed into the bag. When she saw the multiple pairs of tights – still in their packaging - she gasped audibly.
“You want to tie me up tonight?”
“Not tonight. Now.”
She met my eye with a look that said “Are you being serious?”, but didn’t immediately rule the possibility out. This was a good sign, I felt. So feeling encouraged, I began to outline the way I envisioned the day’s events enfolding, finishing with a line I hoped would clinch matters, if she’d had any doubts up to now.
“And I’ll be taking on your workload in the meantime, so you can relax and enjoy yourself while I have to go through all the usual mundane Friday drudgery.”
Luckily, however, I believe Amanda was already sold on the idea long before I reached this point, with the incentive of getting out of a day’s hard graft being simply the icing on the cake, and not a major factor in the decision making process . For I perceived, as I made my speech, that she was smiling, nodding her head, and generally appeared quite keen - or at times extremely enthusiastic - to sample what I had in mind.
The cupboard to which we retreated, hereafter thought of by me as ‘the dungeon’, was in actual fact the finance office records store, in which was stashed box after box of paperwork that covered several years accounts, invoices and other documents, piled from floor to ceiling on wooden shelves that ran all the way around the room. There was also a metal lockable cupboard which housed more sensitive material. The room - approximately twenty feet square, at a guess - boasted no window, and was lit by a single neon strip light.
“This should be the ideal place for our little experiment.” I announced as I unlocked the door and entered.
Amanda, following closely behind me, gave no indication that she was in any way unhappy with the location, although it occurred to me at that moment that I’d not actually placed any precise time constraints on her maiden bondage encounter, and therefore wasn’t certain whether the prospect of several hours here would appeal or not. I chose, however, not to bring this issue up at present, figuring that once I had her tied and helpless she would no doubt be won over to the joys of bondage and be happy to remain my willing prisoner for as long as I desired.
I locked the door behind us, just to ensure that nobody came in and disturbed our secret assignation. Amanda stood facing me, a look of expectation offset by a touch of nervousness etched on her face. With an anxious smile, she turned and placed her hands behind her back. But there was something I needed to ask of her first; a subject that I was slightly edgy about broaching.
“Erm, you’ll need to take your blouse off before we start.” I blurted out sheepishly.
I’d explained a couple of weeks ago, when the girls had first seen me in my spandex cat-suit, about baggy clothing not being conducive to any good bondage session, and I reiterated this now, emphasising that folds and creases only got in the way when tying someone up. And it was with a sigh of relief that Amanda seemed to take my reasoning on board, and began unbuttoning the silk top she wore. Once this had been discarded, and she presented herself to me naked above the waist save for her bra, the realisation that she was a fine looking female hit me, and it took all my self control to remember that she was a married woman, and that I had to reign myself in. We were here to see if she enjoyed being tied up - nothing more, nothing less - I had to keep reiterating to myself. Calming my racing pulse, I pulled one of the giant spools of duct tape from my bag. A look of consternation came across Amanda’s face, however.
“I thought you were going to tie me up with tights?”
Turning her around and gently drawing her hands behind her back, I explained that, while tights were indeed going to be the main binding medium, a little preliminary work needed to be carried out first. As I spoke, I held her wrists together, palm to palm, then wrapped three or four ultra-tight circuits of tape around the narrowest section of her arms and smoothed it down.
When you first introduce someone to bondage, there’s always a chance that they’ll lose their nerve, and that the moment that you’ve fixed the first restraint in place, they’ll take fright, decide that this form of pleasure is not for them, and ask you to release them immediately. Fortunately, this wasn’t the case with Amanda. For although I noticed her give a little tug on her arms, as if trying to part them, a cheeky grin suddenly appeared on her face.
“Wow, that is tight.”
I informed her that this was just the start, and if she thought that was restrictive, she hadn’t seen anything yet. And to my great delight, the prospects of more of the same seemed to intrigue and excite her.
Extracting the first pair of tights from their packaging – black, opaque, forty denier - I stretched out one leg and held it up to show Amanda the tunnel into which I planned to insert her arms. A look of enlightenment suddenly lit up her face, as she seemed to get the gist of where this was going, and she turned again to offer her taped arms for entry into the constrictive mesh cul-de-sac. Easing the strong yet pliable fabric up over her elbows, I pulled the now severely stretched waistband around her shoulders, leaving her limbs encased in a makeshift mitten from which she wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of again. Wrapping the unused leg around her upper arms and securing the toe end to the gusset with a strict knot, I once more picked up the reel of tape. Although Amanda had cottoned on to the concept of tights encasement early on, the notion of more tape being utilised at this time - both over the original circuits at her wrists and further up around her elbows - seemed to come as a surprise, although not – judging by the soft peals of laughter that frequently emanated from her throat - an unpleasant one. So what was I to do next? Well, seeing as how she seemed to have no problems with this method of restraint, I repeated the process all over again, with a second layer of tights accompanied by a further stratum of tape. That would keep her arms secure for the time being. So now it was time to move on to her legs.
Having already asked her to take off her blouse, and having this request willingly granted, I’m not sure why I was so nervous about getting Amanda to consent to the removal of her skirt. Perhaps it was the fact that this time I would be the one having to deal with the disrobing process which made me so unsure as to whether she would show willingness to comply. But my apprehension proved unfounded, as without hesitation she granted me permission to remove said obstacle, and seconds later I was unzipping her from the knee-length garment and allowing it to slip to the floor. Immediately she stepped out of the now discarded circle of fabric and waited, with a look of expectation on her face. It was the first time I’d seen her like this, and the curve of her hips and thighs in her taupe tights, which shimmered and glistened in the artificial light every time she moved, had me spellbound for a second or two, and it took a great effort to shake myself out of this reverie and concentrate on the matter in hand.
“Ok, it’s probably best if you sit down on the floor for this next bit.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and helped her to the ground. Removing her shoes, I placed her feet together side by side, and began a process comparable to that employed on her wrists of winding circuit after circuit of the strong adhesive tape around her ankles, then following this up with similar bindings both just below and just above her knees.
“You really are going to make sure that I can’t get away, aren’t you?”
Her voice had a sense of teasing mirth to it, which suggested that she was almost goading me to restrain her to the highest degree possible. And I had every intention of fulfilling - indeed exceeding - her expectations on this front. To this end, I now set about encasing both Amanda’s legs into one single avenue of nylon/lycra cladding, having selected one of the larger pairs of tights from yesterday’s shopping spree for the process. And to maintain the symmetry with her upper limbs, I again doubled up on the layers, adding more tape between each diaphanous sheath, to ensure a tight feel to her increasingly hindered and helpless state. Amanda helped me out as best she could as I went about this labour-of-love, lifting her legs from the floor when necessary, and raising her buttocks and pelvis high above the ground when I needed to ease the softly gliding fabric over her thighs and up to her waist.
Once this phase of the operation was concluded, Amanda lay back on the floor and stretched her lithe body to its fullest extent, pulling as hard as she could on the tape and tights cocoon that now ensnared her. After a few seconds, however, she relaxed and her whole body became limp. At this point, she exercised her toes and feet gently, which, I mused, gave her legs a striking resemblance to the tail of a trussed up mermaid.
“You know something? I don’t think I’m going to be able to get out of this.”
I reminded her that inescapability was the whole point of bondage, before letting her know that my quest to keep her as my prisoner was nowhere close to completion yet...not by a long way.
Taking another pair of tights from the wrapper, instead of stretching the mesh to its limits and getting them ready to apply to her limbs, I scrunched this pair - twenty denier, soft and smooth - up into a compact ball.
“Are you going to gag me with those?”
It was a rhetorical question, and one that she already knew the answer to, as she’d seen me gagged in identical circumstances only a couple of weeks before.
“Of course I am.” I told her. “Being tied up and gagged is an indivisible harmonious coupling that should never be broken. Bondage without a gag to complement it is like fish without chips, or Laurel without Hardy. Put bluntly, it’s just plain wrong. It throws the whole balance of yin and yang out of alignment.”
Amanda started to ask what the hell I was talking about, so I backed up my words with actions; stuffing the tights deep into her not totally unsuspecting mouth. And seconds later, it was her utterances that were incomprehensible rather than mine. Just to add insult to injury, I quickly wound several circuits of duct tape over her mouth and around her lower head, making it impossible to spit the gag out again.
Even though she was now helpless and speechless, there were still a few extra flourishes that I had in mind to make Amanda’s time in detention nice and cosy. Or, depending on your point of view, maybe stifling would be a better word.
Firstly, I picked out another pair of relatively thin, flesh coloured tights and deftly pulled one leg over Amanda’s head, so that the waistband and the top part of the leg were crumpled up around her neck. Taking both the surplus from the toe end of this leg, plus its unused counterpart, I wrapped these around her head three times at eye level, then knotted the two together on the bridge of her nose; forming, in the process, a makeshift blindfold. And finally, with Amanda surely thinking that there was very little more I could do to make escape more of a challenge, I retrieved from my bag two final pairs of finest hosiery. Like the pairs encasing her legs, these had been manufactured with the larger woman in mind. In other words, they were much bigger than the normal, standard size, and far too large for Amanda to have ever contemplated wearing in everyday mode. Taking the first of these XXL garments, I pulled the waistband down over her head, as I’d done with the blindfolding pair. This time, however, I didn’t stop at the neck, but stretched the leg over my submissively docile colleague’s shoulders, and slowly manoeuvred the now taut mesh over her breasts and down as far as the material would allow, which was roughly to the level of her waist. Wrapping the redundant leg around her torso and tying off the end, I supplemented this by strapping more tape around her body, from shoulder to abdomen, in an effort to make certain that these oversized hose stayed where I’d positioned them, and in the process lashing her arms to her back. I then repeated the entire operation again, so that my prisoner’s upper torso was doubly encased.
Finally, with my work at an end – for the time being, at any rate - I stood up and admired my creation.
“There you go Mand. Now you know what being ‘tied up with tights’ feels like...or at least my take on the matter. I do hope you find it a worthwhile experience, and that you get as much pleasure out of being stuck like this as I did in encasing you. I don’t think you’ll be getting out of there any time soon.”
I turned to leave.
“Oh, by the way, just so that no one comes in to disturb your quality time, I’m going to lock you in here. Don’t worry though, I’ll be back every so often to check up on you.”
I checked my watch.
“Now I really must be getting back to work. As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re a bit short staffed today, and there’s just so much to do. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks where you are; say you had to go home or something like that. If anyone rings I’ll tell them that you can’t come to the phone...as you’re a bit tied up at the moment”
Amanda gave a slight grunt at this last remark, which I wasn’t certain was supposed to be a laugh, or maybe a groan at my attempted corny pun. But whatever the case, she showed no signs of distress at my imminent departure, so I opened the door to the dungeon a few inches, checked that there was nobody around in the corridor outside, then made my exit. As promised, I secured the door before returning to the office, and with it the tedium of everyday business.
I had intended to wait an hour before going back to check on my strictly taped and mummified captive; to see if she’d made any progress in her bid to escape. However, today I found work very difficult to concentrate on for some reason. As a lover of tight, stretch clothing, I nearly always wear a pair of tights under my trousers, simply because of the way they feel against my skin. Today, however, their presence took on an added significance, and every time I moved and felt the sensual gliding of the mesh against my skin, I found myself wondering how Amanda must be feeling in her cocooned paradise; so irreversibly enveloped; so totally caressed from head to toe in gossamer threads; so inescapably trapped. I have to admit, I envied her so much.
So after around forty five minutes I once more found myself approaching the dungeon. I listened at the door for a few seconds, but no sound permeated through the wooden panel to indicate that anything out of the ordinary was going on within. Inserting the key in the lock, I entered the room and closed the door behind me. Amanda lay on the floor, face up, as she had been when I left her. She was motionless now, but from the heaving of her breasts, and the sharp breathing sounds that emanated from her nostrils, I deduced that she’d been involved in strenuous activity only recently; my arrival probably being the catalyst that had caused her to desist in her struggles. But any thought that Amanda was unhappy with her predicament, and that her efforts had been a genuine attempt to break free of her bonds, were soon put to rest.
“Are you ok in there?”
A giggling sound, muffled and barely audible, told me that her endeavours were of a playful nature, that she was really getting into the whole bondage ethos, and that she seemed intent on maximising the enjoyment that tight encasement can instigate.
Gently, I rolled her onto her side, then onto her stomach; running my hand over the drum-like nature of her casing as I did so. This produced more laughter from deep within the cocoon. Even through several layers of tights, I could see straightaway that Amanda’s hands were as closely bonded to each other as when I’d first taped her wrists, and it was obvious that she’d made little or no headway in releasing her arms from either the tape or the improvised duo of single-sleeve arm-binders. This was as it should be.
Rolling this willingly mummified female onto her back again, I decided to announce my intentions...and her destiny.
“One thing I forgot to mention at the outset. The rules of this game state that, if, when I come back to check on you, you haven’t managed to escape, I’m allowed to then immerse you in an extra layer or two of tights and tape. Hope you don’t mind.”
A shrill noise that seemed to indicate surprise emanated from somewhere beneath the multi-layered head end of the prone package on the floor. But there was no obvious sign of grief or misery in this strange sound, and no resistance to the idea was forthcoming, either verbal or physical, which I took as the green light to show Amanda that this was no idle threat.
Two more pairs of tights, one enmeshing the tips of her toes up to her waist, and the other starting from the opposite direction at the top of her head, and meeting the first close to her belly button, further enhanced Amanda’s resemblance to a caterpillar in a silky cocoon, which shimmered with every movement due to the Lycra content of the weave. Circles of tape, placed at strategic points between ankles and shoulders, prohibited slippage of these latest additions to the encasement process.
I sighed in mock resignation.
“If I thought that I was about to witness some great Houdini act in the next few minutes, I might just hang around to watch. But as I know that you can’t get out, however much you writhe and struggle, I suppose I might as well go back and get on with something more important. I’ll be back in an hour or so, when I may be forced to add to your bonds again...which I’m sure you’re already looking forward to.”
A muffled sound of indeterminate sentiment accompanied the locking of the dungeon door.
Much less than an hour later I was back; my urge to see Amanda in all her bound up finery ensuring that staying away was never an option. On entering the room this time, however, I found that she’d not been idle. For instead of lying flat out on the floor, somehow – with a great effort I had to assume considering her circumstances – she’d managed to drag herself over to the side of the room, get herself into a sitting position with the corner of the metal cupboard at her back, and had been busily trying to release the uppermost layer of tape with the friction caused by rubbing her arms against this stationary piece of furniture. She’d failed to make any headway, however, as the metal was too smooth to in any way break industrial strength tape that was designed to hold firm under the most extreme of conditions. My initial reaction was that something must be wrong; indeed that she was desperate to get out of her bonds by any means available to her. It soon turned out that this was not the case however, as it became obvious, from the muffled laughter and accompanying barely intelligible explanation, that Amanda had simply been experimenting, both for her own amusement and to pass the time; my enquiry as to whether she really wanted out being answered with a firm shake of the head. This was a great sign, for it meant that my new recruit was truly becoming enthralled by this whole bondage scene.
Of course, I had to keep my word and add more layers to her pantyhosed packaging now, and went about my task with some glee, as my captive purred with satisfaction at her continually worsening –or maybe she viewed it as improving? – plight. Having applied another two ethereal layers of hosiery, followed by more tape than was strictly necessary, for a few minutes I stood over my conquest, delighting in what I’d achieved this morning. With five or six strata of mesh covering her face – to be honest, I’d lost count of the exact number at this point! – Amanda’s features were now virtually indistinguishable beneath her multi-layered mask, and it was with mixed emotions that I once more departed the dungeon and left her to her own devices; happy that she was so content with her predicament, yet sad that I couldn’t simply stay and watch her luxuriating in her helplessness. For however tedious the work, I still had a finance office to run.
Once back in the office, I checked on the stash of unused tights. And to my great chagrin, I found that I’d made a major miscalculation. Ok, so there were still quite a few pairs left in their boxes and wrappers, but most of these were just normal sized; ideal as arm binders perhaps, but not large enough for use as mummification devices for both legs or the torso and arms of my intended victim. In fact, only two pairs in the extra large size remained. And I definitely hadn’t finished cocooning Amanda to the degree that I had in mind yet. So what should I do?
Briefly, I considered slipping out to the supermarket at lunchtime to purchase a few extra pairs of the larger variety. But then I had a brainwave. I may have run out of the bigger sizes of female leg-wear, but I still had more than enough duct tape left. In fact, although I seemed to have used quite a bit in my efforts to secure Amanda in her stifling encasement, I still had one complete reel, plus at least half of the one that I’d been utilising. In other words, there remained at least seventy five metres of unused tape at my disposal. And this, I gauged, would be more than ample for my requirements.
I waited for the best part of an hour, running over in my head the next dastardly layer of movement-stifling bondage that I was going to inflict on my helpless yet surprisingly uncomplaining prey. When I did return to the scene of her internment, I caught Amanda gently slinking and slithering in her drum-tight seclusion; as if experimenting to see how pleasurable this complete lack of mobility could be.
“Still ok in there?”
An affirmative “aha”, plus a slight nod of the head, informed me that I’d read the situation correctly. It was time, therefore, to implement the next stage of the process.
“That’s good, because I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you now. This is where things start getting really tight.”
Grabbing Amanda’s well insulated feet, I began wrapping layers of tape around her ankles as tightly as I could. On this occasion, however, I didn’t stop with simply three or four over-layered circuits, but began making sure that each circumnavigation, although overlapping its predecessor, was placed slightly further up her calves, thus, slowly but surely, covering every square inch of her tights-cocooned legs. Up past her knees I continued, ensuring that no space remained through which the layered hosiery could be spied. Over her thighs, around her hips and ever onwards to her waist the strongly bonding strip continued, until the first reel was finally exhausted just below her breasts. But if Amanda thought that this was a slight hiccup in my planning (not that she could see what was happening, of course, but there was, of necessity, a slight hiatus while I readied the second spool), she soon found to the contrary, as the process of hiding her and her pantyhose encasement from view continued until I’d reached the vicinity of her neck. Finishing the procedure with several diagonal passes over each shoulder, which criss-crossed her breasts, wound around her torso and wended their way back to the starting point, I finally tore the tape from the spool and smoothed the end down somewhere between her shoulder blades. And just for good measure, as this was supposed to be – above all else – about being tied up in tights, and because I don’t like to waste readily available resources, I slipped the two final large pairs over Amanda’s packaged form in the same manner as I’d done with those now hidden earlier pairs.
I stood up to admire my work of art. And I have to say, I was impressed with my binding skills. For lying before me now was the outline of a woman in an unbroken sea of grey tape, with only her tights-sheathed head poking out at one end, and similarly mesh-layered feet protruding at the other.
I had deliberately remained silent while I’d toiled away on these finishing touches, and Amanda had made very little sound either as her woes increased. But now I wanted to find out how she perceived this latest affront to her freedom.
“How does that feel?”
Knowing that articulating her feelings was beyond her, Amanda replied in the only way she could; by demonstrating the level of her abilities in order for me to judge the answer for myself. And the sight that met my gaze left me in no doubt that she was now far less capable of moving around than before. For whereas only minutes ago the capacity to bend at both the knees and the waist had been well within her grasp, now the power to do either had been severely curtailed, almost to the point of impossibility.
This almost shouted remark seemed to suggest that even Amanda was surprised at the scale of her abject state, and I even thought I detected a slight hint of disquiet creeping into her tone. Or was this just my imagination? I decided to assume the latter.
“Right, I think I’ve gone about as far as I can now. And as the work keeps building up, I’ve decided that I can’t really afford the time to come back every hour. So I’ll let you deal with this situation on your own until about four o’clock. That’s...”
I checked my watched.
“...about four and a half hours from now.”
Before Amanda had a chance to remonstrate, I had left the room and locked the door; my words still presumably reverberating around in her head.
Look, let’s get one thing straight here. I’m no sadist. In fact, if Amanda really had been in distress, I’d have cut her out of her bondage without hesitation. But the fact that she didn’t start to scream and shout as I left her, meant that my conscience was clear on that score... or relatively so. Or it could have been, I suppose, that my hasty departure had taken her by surprise, and that she hadn’t been given a chance to process the information about her upcoming long stretch of incarceration before the door had slammed shut, and therefore hadn’t been given time enough to begin her protests. And with the storeroom almost soundproof (at least, I hoped so), and being located in a seldom frequented section of the building anyway, I felt secure in the knowledge that nobody would be particularly likely to discover her in my secret den.
This may seem a harsh thing to do to someone who I classed as a friend, but I’m sure any bondage-lover will recognise and understand my point of view. Just having someone tied up, and knowing that they’re yours and can’t get out no matter how hard they try, is a most uplifting feeling. Viewing them as they struggle is a thing of great beauty, and the memory of them doing so, or even simply imagining that they’re beavering away at searching – unsuccessfully - for a way out, is really rather a pleasant pastime. And for me, having a female under my control is the greatest feeling of all. It doesn’t matter too much if you can’t have this particular muse sexually. Amanda is a happily married woman after all, and I wouldn’t dream of breaking up a family (I’m a bit old fashioned in that respect). And besides, I was still fixated on Zuzana, our lovely receptionist with whom I’d shared a terrific bondage experience only a couple of weeks before.
What I could do instead, however, was have some rather devious fun at my captive’s expense; tease her into thinking that I wasn’t going to let her out for a day or two.
Let me explain.
You see, earlier in the week, Amanda had mentioned in passing - quite innocently I believe - that her husband was going to be away from Friday to Sunday this week, as he was off to Edinburgh with a load of his mates on a stag weekend. In other words, Amanda would be living alone for a few days. Which meant, of course, that if she disappeared for a day or two, she wouldn’t be missed (I figured that her husband wouldn’t be likely to ring her, as he’d be otherwise occupied with getting drunk all night, then sleeping it off most of the following day).
Let me make it clear that I actually had no intention of keeping her all bound up for two whole days. But the pretence that I was going to keep her thus imprisoned was something that I could use to torment and tease her for a few hours. And now, as I returned to my desk and it became clear that I couldn’t possibly get all the work allocated to me, plus Amanda’s duties as well, completed in a normal nine to five day, I’d have to work late. And if I had to burn the midnight oil to get finished, then why not make Amanda stay too?
I’m usually the sort of guy who likes to leave for home on time; to get away from the workplace as soon as it’s possible to do so. But today, with the thought in my head that the longer I worked the longer I could keep Amanda tied up in tights, the more I found myself going slower and dragging tasks out; finding other things to do that could, in all honesty, have been put off until Monday.
Sometime after four o’clock, I finally succumbed to my desire to view my handiwork again; to see how Amanda was coping with her prolonged period of isolation. As I pushed open the door, I saw the top end of my encapsulated package move slightly, as if turning her head towards the first interruption to her solitude she’d experienced in several hours. This was accompanied by what I could only describe as a muffled yawning sound. Her feet, too, moved in a circular motion, as if my captive had been immobile for some time and was now just stretching her limbs. To all intents and purposes, it appeared that I’d disturbed her from a peaceful sleep.
“Hi Mand. Thought I’d just look in on you before I went home.” I lied.
There followed a moment or two of silence, as Amanda seemed to process the implications inherent in these words and weigh up whether I was serious or not. When she did eventually get around to articulating her thoughts, it seemed from her muffled enquiry that she wasn’t sure if I was winding her up or not.
“Really? You’re going to just leave me here like this?”
It was time to have some fun. I informed her that, as her husband was away, I could see no conceivable reason why she needed to be set free until Sunday.
“I thought I’d give you what I call the ‘Complete Bondage Experience’ rather than some watered down version. No point in wasting good bondage time, is there? After all, you’ve already been here more than seven hours, so another forty or so shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for you.”
I opened the door and stepped into the corridor. As I closed it again, the penny seemed to finally drop that this was for real.
“No! You can’t!”
This was all of her stymied protest I heard, as I slammed the door hard and made as much commotion as I could rattling the key in the lock, in order to let her know I’d really gone.
Back in the office, I tried to imagine what Amanda must be going through right now. Did she really think I was going to leave her there for the weekend? Or were her protests, which I construed as being half-hearted anyway, just role play? Had I pushed things a bit too far and freaked her out? Or was she, as she had been throughout the day, actually pretty content with her lot? Only time would tell.
It was nearly quarter past seven when I could finally say that the day’s work was truly finished. For a few minutes, I desperately tried to think of other things that needed doing (loose ends that needed tying up, if you’ll pardon the pun).
Finally, however, I could put it off no longer. Time to let Amanda out of her bonds...on the proviso that she agreed to a proposition that I had all worked out for her.
As I entered the dungeon, Amanda let out what could only be described as a sigh of relief. Without a word, I began the release process. I could have let her out of her hermetically sealed world layer by layer if I’d wanted to, but it was getting late, and the restless way she squirmed as soon as she realised that I’d returned, left me with the impression that perhaps tantalising, teasing and tormenting her any longer might be a bridge too far. Instead, therefore, I took a pair of blunt-ended scissors, and began – carefully, to ensure I didn’t injure her - cutting into the thick cocoon, commencing with her head.
After a minute or two of snipping carefully at the taut mesh hood, Amanda’s face appeared unmasked for the first time in ten hours. Gently prising the tape from her cheeks, I removed the gag.
Amanda gulped air into her lungs and looked at me sternly, and at first I thought she was going to berate and scold me for keeping her in such dire straits for so long. But she couldn’t pull off this deception for more than a few seconds, and soon a broad smile lit up her face.
“So you enjoyed today, did you?” I tentatively asked.
From the beginning, I’d always hoped that I’d get at least some sort of positive feedback from today’s events. But the gushing, joyous commendation and approval that spouted forth from Amanda’s mouth now was something I could never have expected in my wildest dreams. Put bluntly, she’d loved it, and was now a convert to the strange and exclusive world of inescapable bondage. Words such as “awesome” “amazing” and “mind blowing” were bandied about with genuine enthusiasm and affection for what she’d been through. However, she did mention that, much as she’d enjoyed herself, all good things had to come to an end at some point, and that she’d really like to be set free now. And I was happy to consent to this request...on one condition.
“Next time Mand, I’d like you to reciprocate and cocoon me in the same way that I’ve packaged and taped you up today. Do we have a deal?”
As I made the first incision into the chrysalis of obstinately bonded tape and layers of debilitating hosiery, with a gleam in her eyes Amanda readily accepted this offer.
“It’ll be a pleasure...just as long as, after that, it will be my turn again!”