The Restraint Model

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP

Katija rolled over in her bed, her arm flailing out in the general direction of the alarm clock. She overestimated the distance between her and it, however, sending the screaming appliance clattering to the floor. It continued to beep, with increasing volume and frequency. Cursing her inability to just roll over and go back to sleep, Kat grabbed the clock’s power cord and yanked it from the wall socket, enjoying a few seconds of blissful silence before knowing she had to get up.

Katija tossed off her blanket and half-stumbled to the adjacent shower, drenching herself in cool water in an attempt to dispel the morning grogginess. Stepping out of the shower a few minutes later, refreshed and focused, Kat began preparing herself for another day at the office.

Towelling off her face, she took a few seconds to exam herself in the mirror. Katija was a second-generation immigrant from Malaysia; her soft skin was a light brown tone. She stood about 5’4” and weighed a little more than a hundred pounds. She had dark green eyes and pearl white teeth, which she began to thoroughly brush. Her hair was jet black in color; she kept it tied back in a ponytail that stopped about halfway down her back. She had lithe legs and kept good posture, although a few bad relationships in the past meant she wasn’t looking to be with anyone at the moment.

Concluding her morning hygiene regimen, Kat walked back to her bedroom; sliding open the door to her closet and pondering today’s wardrobe choices. Deciding on a skirt suit after a few seconds, Katija pulled a few articles out and laid them out on her unmade bed, as she always did. Kat unhooked her bra and slid into a tight-fitting white tube top, although nobody would see that. Katija then slipped on a nondescript black skirt that stopped a few inches above the knee and a matching business jacket. Katija buttoned up the jacket and looked at herself in her full-length mirror, confirming that nobody could actually see her tube top. Sitting down, she than put on her four inch high heeled shoes, strapped each one onto her feet with a small buckle. Picking up the small black purse she used on workdays, Kat decided to skip breakfast and just head to work.

Katija Rahim was currently twenty-six years old, single, and working as a marketer for Tactical Restraint Solutions Limited, a Phoenix-based manufacturer of police and military restraining equipment, mostly things like handcuffs, shackles and other equipment to manage prisoners. Katija spent most of her days looking for buyers for TRS’s products, a task she’d been delegated due to her linguistic proficiency. Katija had something of a knack for languages, having learned both English and Spanish in the American school system, as well as her parent’s native Malay and, while getting her BSc from Arizona State University, French. While it wasn’t the most glamorous job – and definitely not what she wanted to spend the rest of her life doing – it paid surprisingly well and Katija was good enough at what she did that she was satisfied for the time being. The Company rented her a car on a month-to-month basis for next-to-nothing, and there was enough vacation time and health care benefits to keep her placated for a while.

Kat pulled into the parking lot at 7:58 AM, two minutes before they started paying her. Kat gathered up her purse and a few marketing documents scattered in the back seat of the Toyota Camry, then prepared for the morning ritual of actually getting into the building.

“Morning, Kat,” greeted Larry, one of the company’s security guards, as she entered the building’s lobby on the outskirts of Phoenix.

“Morning, Larry,” replied Kat, politely enough. A metal detector rested in the middle of the lobby, which everyone had to pass through every time they wanted to enter. TRS was surprisingly paranoid about security, probably because any incident within the company would badly damage their reputation.

Wordlessly, Kat handed Larry her purse, and he quickly ruffled through it before putting it in a plastic bin and sending it into the adjacent x-ray machine. Although normally security x-ray machines cost tens of thousands of dollars, TSR actually made them, and simply used one of their unsold prototypes for internal security. Kat then unbuckled her high heels and unbuttoned her jacket, letting both of those pass through the x-ray’s gaze, too. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a short skirt and a tube top, Kat passed through the metal detector. No beeping alarms or red lights anywhere, which was always pleasant. It was always a hassle if there were.

“Spread-eagle, Kat,” said Larry, walking around the x-ray machine. Katija sighed, spreading her legs and raising her arms to shoulder-level. Larry systematically ran his hand through her hair, then up and down her back before moving to her legs. Larry’s hands slid up and down her bare thighs, probing the areas veiled by her skirt. He slipped his hands around to her buttocks, as he always did, before standing back up. “Alright, you’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” said Kat, slipping her shoes and jacket back on.

“Don’t mention it.”

Kat took the stairs to her fourth-floor office, booting up her PC and checking her agenda for the day. She had a meeting with the Colombians in an hour and a half, and they were likely to be her biggest buyers of the month. From what she understood there’d been problems down in Colombia with their supplier, something about a critical shortage of security equipment when the government was launching another crackdown. Rather than wait for everything to get sorted out with their usual supplier, representatives from the Colombian Ministry of Justice had flown out to find a more reliable American exporter, and they were meeting with TRS to discuss the potentially lucrative contract.

Katija killed the next hour, knowing there wasn’t much she could do until the meeting started. She phoned a few of her co-workers to make sure all the equipment was ready for the demonstration, and then idly watched CNN en Español to make sure her skills were up to scratch.

As the clock ticked towards 9:30 Katija headed down to the main conference room, where they would be holding the discussion. The room was almost desolate, apart for a large black conference table in the middle and seating for thirty-odd people. Katija was just straightening out the chairs when she heard a voice speaking heavily-accented English from down the hall. Propping the door open, Kat went to greet their hopefully soon-to-be-buyers.

“Ah, you must be Ms. Rahim,” said the apparent head of the delegation, a large South American man who looked like he was in his late-forties. “We spoke earlier on the phone.”

“Si, Señor,” greeted Kat, shaking the man’s hand. “Señor Lopez?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said Mr. Lopez, walking into the conference room.

“You’re English is very good, sir,” complimented Katija. It was basic marketing strategy that people were more likely to buy from you if they liked you, and from their past phone calls it was pretty clear that Mr. Lopez liked her.

“Thank you. I have been practising.”

The rest of the Colombian delegation began filing into the room. It looked like there were about eight or ten negotiators and probably four or five aides, along with a handful of marketers and export-advisors from TRS. Katija was just preparing to settle in herself when she saw Irene silently but urgently gesturing her to come outside.

“What’s the problem?” demanded Katija. People were still getting seated, but she was leading this presentation and she didn’t want to keep them waiting.

“It’s the demonstrator, Paul,” answered Irene, sounding out-of-breath.

“What happened to him?”

“I think he broke a leg, or something. He got into a fight with Carlos, the janitor, and it looks like he fell down some stairs. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

“What? Shit,” cursed Katija, under her breath. “He was the guy who was supposed to demonstrate all the restraints.”

“I know, I know,” replied Irene. “But he can’t. And none of the other demonstrators are here right now. We could call up David, but he’s-”

“In Mesa. It’d probably take him an hour to get here. Fuck.”

“Ms. Rahim,” said Roger White, the company’s Vice President, “I think we’re all good in here.”

Cursing her luck, Katija ducked back into the conference room, closing the door behind her. She walked over to Mr. White and spoke into his ear.

“Sir, our model, Paul McGregor, he just broke his leg and can’t demonstrate.”

“What?” hissed White, trying to keep his composure. “There’s no way the Colombians will buy this on good faith. We need a demo-man.”

“Nobody’s here, sir. I could call our fall-back man, but he’s in Mesa and it’ll take him-”

“Too long,” interrupted Mr. White. He contemplated his options for a few seconds. “Alright, we’ll use you then.”

“Sir?” said Kat, more of a declaration of surprise than an actual question.

“You’re familiar with the procedure and techniques and everything, right?”

“Well, yes sir, but-”

“Just run with it,” said White. He brushed her off before she could protest any further, indicating the matter was closed.

“Gentlemen, it’s an honour to have representatives from the government of Colombia here today. I trust the flight wasn’t too taxing?”

“Not at all,” replied a man seated next to Mr. Lopez.

“Very good. Now, I’ll try to keep this brief, and we can move through this article-by-article as quickly as possible. You have all the technical details and pricing information in the folders in front of you.”

A few of the delegates began leafing through portfolios placed in front of each seat, although they were basically just advertising.

“Shall we start with, say, TRS’s award-winning speed-cuffs?” There was a murmur of agreement. Mr. White ducked under the table and lifted a large cardboard box onto his seat, one that rustled with the sounds of cuffs and chains. “There’s been a brief change of plans, and Katija will now be substituting for our regular model. I hope this is fine with you?” There was another murmur of approval.

“The TSR X-30 speed-cuff,” began Katija, reciting her prepared speech, “was recently ranked the most secure handcuff model in the United States, and will likely be adopted nation-wide by Q2 2010.” Mr. White pulled out the handcuffs. “As you can see, there is no chain connecting the cuffs, as research indicates that this is the weakest point in most designs. Furthermore, handcuff chains have posed security risks in the past, as they have been used for strangulation. Our model also uses a non-conventional keyhole, making it next-to-impossible to pick with conventional criminal equipment.”

Mr. White smiled as he held up the handcuffs, and gestured with his head for Katija to face the wall. Katija turned her back to the delegates and placed her hands behind her back, palms facing outward. Mr. White then snapped the handcuffs on each wrist, tightening them until they pinched her skin.

“As you can see,” continued Katija, trying to sound completely normal, "the design is very secure. We’ve reinforced the structurally weaker points with titanium, making them extremely difficult to break using brute force. Furthermore, when properly applied, the keyhole is positioned in such a way that it is impossible for prisoners to release the handcuffs themselves, even if they come into the possession of a key.” Mr. White handed Kat a key, and she demonstrated how unlocking the cuffs was geometrically impossible. “Furthermore, our pricing is 20% cheaper than the next biggest supplier.”

The delegates took notes in various notebooks and on a few laptops. Their expressions were promising, and Katija smiled. She really didn’t mind be handcuffed and displayed, as she’d probably get a nice bonus once the deal closed.

“Now, we’re aware you’re looking for much more than just handcuffs, though,” said Mr. White. He pulled out a long chain. “All TRS products are designed to interface with each other smoothly, which makes them ideal for prison environments, when speed, security and ease of application are all critical. The X-30 is only a small part of our Full Body Restraint System, which we’ll move onto now.”

“This next article is a security chain, which is designed to pin multiple restraining devices together,” said Katija. Mr. White stepped behind her and brought the thin chain around her hips.

“All X-30 handcuffs have a small knob on them, which can be used to clip into the FBRS. No extra keys are needed to attach the cuffs to the chain, and they are automatically disconnected if the handcuffs are released.” Katija felt her arms being pressed against her back. Properly secured, she turned her back to them again. “As you can see, it is now impossible for me to move my hands away from my hips.” She tried pulling them away, although the chain was tightly fastened to her hips, preventing any kind of movement.

“The next article is the X-18 shackles,” continued Mr. White, pulling out something that did not look too much like a pair of shackles. “Again, we at TRS have moved away from connector chains. In this case, the chain that normally connects the two ankle cuffs has been replaced by a telescopic bar.”

“Security guards can collapse or expand the bar, depending on how much manoeuvrability they want to give their subjects, although in all cases, prisoners are forced to shuffle, and are incapable of even jogging.”

Mr. White ducked down, and Katija felt cuffs being tightened around her ankles, just above the straps of her high heeled shoes. The telescopic bar was completely collapsed, effectively turning them into a pair of handcuffs around her ankles. Once secured, Katija walked around the side of the table to give the delegates a view.

“Now, security guards can adjust the length at any time with the key, as Mr. White will now demonstrate,” said Katija. Mr. White turned the key in the bar, and then expanded it to over two feet in width. Katija was forced to spread her legs wide, causing her already-short skirt to ride up even higher. She found it difficult to balance in her high heeled shoes, but managed to do so, somehow.

“Fully expanded,” continued Katija, “this position is ideal for keeping prisoners secure, or for searching them. Mr. White proceeded to run his hands up her bare legs, giving her a pat-down. “This position is much more secure than the alternatives, at it is impossible to prisoners to kick guards, or even reach for weapons they may have hidden in their pants, socks, or shoes.”

Mr. White finished patting her down, and then collapsed the bar to a little less than a foot in length. While than was roughly the normal length of the chain on a shackle, since it was an unmoveable bar Katija remained very immobile. She waddled back to the front, which was only possible by gyrating her hips.

“Again, the shackles can be connected to the waist chain through a standard interface chain,” said Katija, as Mr. White connected a chain from the middle of the bar to her hips. Katija was now quite immobile, and her skirt was riding up a fair amount. Most of her thighs were visible, and couldn’t help notice the looks coming her way.

“For added security and prisoner control,” said Mr. White, “we also have the X-31 Management Collar.” Katija perked up more at that.

“Come on, do we really need to-”

“Chin up, Kat,” said Mr. White, interrupting her whispered protests. “Studies show that collars have a powerful psychological impact on those forced to wear them. Research indicates prisoners become significantly more compliant when securely collared.”

Mr. White had the collar in his hands. It was basically just a large cuff with a D-ring in front, from which a short connector chain dangled. Mr. White snapped the collar around Katija’s neck and tightened it, then picked up the metal chain that was roughly a foot long that dangled from the D-ring collar.

“This chain is extremely useful for prisoner management,” continued Mr. White, giving it a yank. “For uncooperative prisoners, it can be a highly effective method of convincing them to move somewhere.” Mr. White tugged on the chain, and Katija awkwardly stumbled a foot forward, barely able to remain upright. “Furthermore, the X-31 collar is the lynchpin of the Full Body Restraint System. Although the collar may look like solid steel, it is partially hollow on the inside, allowing us to fill it with electronic goodies.

“The most notable of this is a GPS tracking system. The collar can be set to broadcast an omnidirectional signal that can be picked up by most satellites, while it also broadcasts a signal that can be picked up by a properly-attuned radio. Our research has shown that even with a full machine shop, it still takes prisoners no less than thirty minutes to remove and disable the collar, giving vital information to law enforcement agencies.”

There was a murmur of approval from the delegates. Katija tried to get up, by Mr. White was still holding the chain/leash, forcing her head down.

“Furthermore, the collar can be programmed to deliver an electrical shock to subjects through computers or handheld remote control units.” Mr. White pulled out something that looked like a compact TV remote control. “These remotes can be configured to give a variety of shock levels, ranging from mildly irritating to powerful enough to knock unconscious. This is a very effective method of riot control, as hundreds of prisoners can be incapacitated at the press of a button.”

Mr. White tapped the button, and immediately an electric current raced around Katija’s neck. She let out an involuntary yelp and fell to her knees, the shock bringing tears to her eyes.

“That was on one of the lower settings, as we obviously don’t want to subject Kat here to anything too rough,” said Mr. White, eliciting a small round of chuckles from the delegates. Mr. White yanked Katija’s leash, pulling her forcibly to her feet.

“The final component of the FBRS is the Control Headgear. These components can work independently or together, depending on the

situation.” Katija shuffled a little, are of the stares she was receiving. “Kat, why don’t you introduce this next piece.” Katija glared at him momentarily, then sucked in her lip and spoke.

“This next article is the X-11 Communication Control Mouthpiece,” said Kat, as Mr. White pulled out what was basically a ballgag. “Uncooperative prisoners have been known to shout and make noise, or perhaps conspire with other prisoners. The X-11 is designed to, effectively, inhibit conventional dialogue. The ‘ball’ of this gag is also bright pink in color, as humiliation has also shown to be an effective method of psychological control.”

“I think I’ll take it from here,” said Mr. White, earning a few laughs. “Open wide, Kat.” Kat obligingly dropped her jaw, and her eyes bulging a little as the oversized ball was shoved into her mouth, prying her jaws open and puffing up her cheeks.

“The straps are made of a chemically-treated leather, and can be fastened tightly behind the head with a secure lock.” Kat felt the buckle being pulled tight, the ball being forced deeper into her mouth. She started to drool. “Come on, Kat, try to say something.”

“Mm-mm-uh-nuh-cuh,” replied Katija, comically. Several delegates laughed at this.

“Finally, there is the X-19 Optical Reduction Visor – the blindfold. Although these are common throughout the world, the X-19 uses patented latex-like material that is next to impossible to remove without the proper key. The blindfold is so tight that prisoners cannot remove the blindfold by hooking it on something, or otherwise lifting it up.”

Kat closed her eyes as the blindfold was slipped over her head. The material was, true to the advertising, extremely tight, enveloping Katija in darkness. Like the ball gag, the blindfold could be locked on, and Mr. White took advantage of that feature.

“Gentlemen,” declared Mr. White, somewhere to her left, “I present to you the Full Body Restraint System.”

There was a round of applause from the delegates, and despite her situation – handcuffed, shackled, collared, gagged and blindfolded – Katija took a bow.

“Mr. White, I believe we can get this deal underway immediately,” said Mr. Lopez, once the applause died down. “I say we will purchase 40,000 of these Restraint Systems now, give them a six-month trial period, and then move for nation-wide adoption if the trial period is successful.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. White. “We can have them on a plane to Bogota by the end of the week, if you want.”

“That sounds like a very good idea,” agreed Mr. Lopez.

“Mm-mm-hum,” said Katija, her voice muffled by the ballgag.

“Hah, right, we can’t forget about our model here now, can we?” asked Mr. White, rhetorically. “Alright, I’ve think we’ve tied you up long enough, eh?”

Katija turned around, indicating she wanted the handcuffs removed from her wrists first. They were very tight, and she was already fantasizing about rubbing her wrists.

“Alright now, just-”

There was clink sound from below, and a few seconds silence.

“Mm-mm!” pleaded Katija, bouncing a little.

“Uh, Katija, there wouldn’t happen to be any other keys nearby, would there?” asked Mr. White, innocently.

“Mm?”

“The one here kind of... fell down the vent in the floor.”

“Mm-huh!”

Katija inwardly moaned. For security purposes, the Engineering Department had only given her one key for the presentation. The last thing they wanted was a whole number of keys falling into untrustworthy hands. To get another, they needed to find one of technicians and then sign out a key, something that would be problematic, as the only technician with the authorization to handle the keys didn't get in until noon.

“Well, look, Kat, I’ve got to close this deal here. I’ll send someone to find someone with the key once I can get around to it.”

“Mm! Mm-mm-mm!”

“Just sit tight, Kat. I just need an hour or two to close the deal, and then I can call up Engineering and authorize them to release another key.”

“Mm-mmh!”

“Well, see you in a bit!”

There was the sound of shuffling out of the conference room, with a few of the delegates giving her a compliment on her presentation or patting her on the shoulder. Once she heard the door close, Katija waddled over to a nearest chair, managing to find one without bumping into the table. She managed to awkwardly sit down, legs spread, unable to speak, unable to scratch the itch in her upper back, the collar still tight around her neck.

She better be getting a serious bonus for this.

END

This story was written by Arielle. I wrote this piece in a few hours, so it might not be my best work. I am open to feedback - criticism, compliments - anything! If you would like to contact me arielle.hush.com I am open to story requests. My area of expertease is soft bondage, and if you have any ideas/requests in that field I will probably be happy to write it up for (ideas are the hardest part, anyways).