Bound in Leather

Bound in Leather
Author:	Unknown

Bound in Leather
Author:	Unknown

Book One

Episode 1   (2 images)

At first glance, she appeared to be about twenty. At second glance, maybe
twenty-five. The more you looked, the less able you were to decide. But one
thing you could be sure of-she was completely feminine, feminine in the
old-fashioned sense of the word, a woman who was glad to be a woman, and to make
the most of all those things that set her apart from a man.

You could never picture her in a sloppy sweater and a pair of blue jeans. This
girl would always be dressed in the most feminine of garments, or if she did
wear something masculine, like a pair of slacks, she would, by her very
womanliness, make them look ultra feminine.

These were my thoughts as I settled myself in an aisle seat and glanced at my
lovely neighbour. We were both attending one of New York's hit straight
comedies, and seats were so hard to get that I counted myself lucky in having
found a single.

There were still a few minutes before the curtain went up on the first act, and
I filled in most of the time by taking as much stock of my neighbour as I could
without being too obvious about it. She knew what I was up to, and did not seem
upset about it. But then, she was well worth looking at.

About medium height, very slim in the waist, with a very full bust, which she
carried delightfully high; midnight black hair, cut short, and dressed in a
curling mass of ringlets all over her head. Her face, while pretty to begin
with, was made positively striking by her very elaborate makeup.

She looked almost as though she could have been up on the stge herself. Her skin
was made up so pale as to be almost white, against which her brilliant red
lipstick, outlining a very pretty wide mouth, and her green eyes, dramatically
accented with heavy green eye-shadow, black, curling artificial lashes, and high
arching, painted black eyebrows.

Her costume was conservative, and all the most striking by reason of its very
conservatism. She was clothed in clinging black satin, from a high,
close-fitting collar, right down to a rather full, floor-length skirt. While it
was in no sense tight, the shining black material was so subtly draped that it
showed the lovely figure beneath it very clearly. The long sleeves were full to
the elbow and then fitted snugly down to the wrists, where they gave way to
obviously extremely tight black kid gloves. Long gold and ruby drop earrings, a
close fitting necklace of the same design, and a single gold ring, worn outside
her right glove, completed the effect.

Very striking she was, too, and I was by no means the only one looking at her.
Something else that intrigued me was the way she sat. She held herself very
upright, hands in her lap, knees modestly together, and, save for the occasional
movements of her head and eyes, she sat as still as a statue.

She did not seem to be with the party of four next to her, and so I assumed she
was alone, and began thinking furiously of ways to make her acquaintance. She
certainly wasn't the type to whom you simply said, "Hey, how about a drink after
the show?" The approach had to be subtler than that.


Episode 2   (2 images)

Suddenly I had an idea. I have always had some skill with a pencil, so, making
sure that she could not see exactly what I was doing, I began sketching her
boots on the margin of my program.

In a few moments I paused thoughtfully. To my surprise she leaned toward me and
murmured,

"May I see it?"

"See what?" I asked, in feigned astonishment.

"The picture of me."

"How do you know it's of you?"

"If it isn't, I've been wasting a lot of time posing," she dimpled.

Naturally, I handed it over. I flatter myself that it was good too, save that it
was not finished.

"May I do that part?" she asked. "I draw a little, too."

"Why sure," I answered eagerly, handing over the pencil.

She added some deft strokes, though I could see that the tightness of her gloves
made it quite hard to hold the pencil.

"Oops! 'fraid I've dropped your pencil."

"I'll get it," I said, diving down for it.

"It's right around my feet somewhere," she said, raising her long skirt
helpfully.

"See anything?" she asked.

"Er-yes. A good deal," I floundered, then added, hopefully, "Not quite enough,
though."

Obligingly, the concealing skirt was raised several inches higher.

"That better?"

"Oh, much better," I assured her. I had already snared the pencil, but I saw no
reason to cut short this lovely display.

"It's a good thing you could get that pencil, I couldn't lean down that far."

"Why not?" I asked, with a sudden feeling of excitement.

"You think of the simplest, and oldest-fashioned reason, and you'll be right,"
she assured me.

Suddenly the reason for her very upright carriage, slim waist and high bust
became clear.

"As stiff as that, eh?" I murmured, careful to keep my voice down.

"Even stiffer," she returned in an equally guarded tone. "My spine might just as
well be made of steel. Does that interest you especially?"

"You're darn right it does." I crammed as much meaning into my answer as I
could.

By this time the curtain was going up again, so we had to give our attention to
the play. The high point of this act, and the real reason I had come at all, was
a kidnapping scene. The action of this part of the show took place in a
nightclub, run, naturally, by gangsters. The heroine, the heiress to a large
fortune, naturally, was working there, for some typical comedy reason, as a
cigarette girl. The chief gangster's girl was also working at the club in the
same capacity.

The chief gangster, as you would expect, falls heavily for the heroine, and
decides her money would come in handy, too. So her lures her into his office,
ties her hands behind her, gags her with a knotted handkerchief, and, to prevent
her from seeing where he is going to take her, he pulls a black sack over her
head and down to her hips. He then gets a phone call, and has to leave.


Episode 3   (3 images)

With her pretty legs, in the mesh stockings of her calling, being all of her
that was showing, I thought the heroine looked most attractive.

Suddenly the hero, who has been working at the club as a bartender, appears and
frees the heroine, explaining that he sent the fake phone call.

Her and heroine are just about to leave when the other girl busts in, looking
for her gangster-boyfriend. With one accord, hero and heroine jump on her, tie
and gag her in the same way that the heroine had been treated, pull the sack
down over her head and body in the same way and leave.

Gangster's moll does some very pretty struggling and squirming, trying to
escape, and also showing her very pretty legs. Gangster returns, breathing
threats against whoever sent the phone call. He begins to tell the helpless
occupant of the bag, whom he naturally assumes is still the heroine, just how he
proposes to treat her, up at his little hide-away in the country. Much to his
surprise, the legs show every indication of liking the things he suggests. (Of
course, Moll has been trying to get him to do these things to her for years.)
Considering the actress had only her legs with which to express emotion, she did
an amazing job. The more he threatened, the more she strutted, and posed, and
expressed pleasure. At first, he was flattered, and began thinking he might have
considerable appeal after all. So he begins embroidering his threats, and her
legs begin to show a series of terrific bumps and grinds.

That tears it. Gangster realises that the heroine couldn't know how to do a bump
or grind, but his girl had been in burlesque for years. To make sure, he tears
the sack off the girl, sees who it is and storms out, saying, "Even without the
sack, you're still an old bag!" This throws the silent and helpless girl into a
perfect transport of rage. Fruitlessly she tries to open the door, but can't do
it. She puts her high heel through the window with the idea of calling for help,
but can't make a sound; finally she goes to the phone, knocks the instrument off
the cradle, and as the curtain comes down, we see her trying to dial for help
with her nose.

The theatre then rocked with laughter and applause.


Episode 4   (2 images) 

As the house lights came up, I turned to my companion and remarked, "I thought
that was terrific, didn't you?"

"It was pretty funny, alright, but I would have liked it better if that had been
a real gag," she answered.

"What do you say we go over to the bar and have a drink, instead of sitting in
this hot theatre?" I asked.

She made me very happy by agreeing.

The waiter captain at the bar knows me, but he knew my companion even better.

"Good evening, Mrs. Roberts," he said, bowing. Then he led her to a booth; I
followed along behind, feeling considerably dashed by the knowledge that she was
married. But then I cheered up. Maybe she had been divorced.

As we sat down, I said, "So you're Mrs. Roberts?"

"That's right. Mrs. Richard Roberts, happily married and the mother of a
daughter."

"Is that right?" I asked.

She started talking about her husband.

"My husband insists on high heels for my carriage, corsets for my figure,
bondage to make me helpless, and a gag to assure that silence which is a
guarantee of assent."

"How about your daughter? Is she being brought up the same way?"

"Being brought up? She won't have it any other way. At times she insists on such
severe treatment that we're afraid she will do herself permanent injury. But she
just laughs, or would, if she could make a sound, and wants her gag and bonds
pulled tighter."

"She sounds like a thoroughly delightful girl," I said, wistfully.

"Oh, she is, she just lives for bondage and figure training."

She paused and I waited. This was the moment.

"Would you like to meet her?" asked my pretty companion.

Restraining a strong, but I think natural, desire to yell "Yes!" at the top of
my voice, I answered, "If she's anything like you, I'd be delighted."

"Well, I suggest we finish our drinks and then go home."

"Sounds like an excellent idea."

For her pat she told me her name was Victoria, Vicki for short. Her daughter was
Nicole, or Nicki. Her husband, Dick, who ran a brokerage house, was away for a
couple of days on business; that was why she had come to the theatre alone.

We were soon in a cab heading for an address uptown.

When we arrived at the address Vicki had given me, I was impressed to see it was
a private house, rather than an apartment.

"I don't know what your daughter may look like, but you look utterly charming.
I've never seen such a figure-that tiny waist and full bust."

"Oh, this figure?" she answered me in an oddly detached tone. "This is just the
figure I wear in public-can't stop traffic, you know. But wait till we get
inside."

"Would you unlock the door, please? My gloves are so tight that it's very
difficult for me. Use the big fat key."

I soon had the door swinging open and she stepped inside. I followed. I heard a
pleasant, slightly French accented voice begin speaking as I followed her in.

"Madame is back so soon, surely, the play cannot be over? But of course not;
madame didn't stay beyond the second act, that is when the interest ceases."

"Fifi, this is a new friend of mine. You may be seeing a good deal of him. His
name is Mr. Walk."

Fifi looked at me, giving me a warm, inviting smile. Meanwhile, I was looking at
her, well, maybe staring was a better word.

Believe me, this Fifi was worth a long stare any day. Actually about medium
height, she appeared to be tall, by reason of the slim six-inch heels on her
pretty ankle-strap sandals, of black patent leather, shackled at wrists and
ankles with dainty cuffs and chains.

"Show Mr. Ted into the living room, Fifi. Then come upstairs and help me. I'm
going to slip into something more comfortable."

Fifi watched her mount the stairs to where they turned at a landing, then she
turned to me and breathed, "Madame is so lovely. But then, Mamselle Nicki is
lovely, too . . .

Then she waited.

"You're lovely, too, Fifi," I assured her.

"Thank you, monsieur, I was beginning to think you would not say it."

She opened the door with a grand gesture, ushered me through.

"This is the living room, monsieur," she informed me.

She was interrupted by Nicki's voice, calling from above.

"Fifi! Stop flirting, come up here and tend to your job!"


Episode 5   (3 images)

Left alone, I turned and inspected the living room for the first time. Money,
and plenty of it, was obvious in the furnishings. But it was money controlled by
quiet good taste. One of the most striking features of the room was the number
of photographs. Some were hung on the walls, some were placed on the tables and
occasional pieces.

One picture in particular caught my eye; at first I thought it was an oil
painting in tones of sepia, in a very low key. It was just a girl's head, in an
old-fashioned travelling hood, against a dark background. As I looked more
closely, I saw that the girl was Vicki, or somebody that looked very like her.
And the pose was modelled on the famous sequence in "Jamaica Inn," and the
subject was gagged, although the fact was not too obvious at first because of
the shadow that the cloak cast on the face. Unlike Maureen O'Hara, in the
original, this girl was really gagged. Her mouth was almost wide open, and very
tightly packed with a large pad of cloth, while the band that crossed the face
and circled the head, keeping the pad in place, went between the parted teeth,
and was obviously pulled very taut. The subject's wide open eyes, with a tear
trembling in the corner of one, looked at the observer with a mixture of fright
and desire that was extremely interesting.

Another photograph nearby was just a pair of bound hands. Clearly, they were
crossed and bound behind the owner's back; they were tightly gloved in
glistening black kid, which contrasted very sharply with the almost white cord
that imprisoned them. The cord, by the way, it sank into the flesh, was drawn
very tightly. There was a tremendous sense of tension in the rigidly held,
almost claw-like fingers.

Over the rather modern looking fireplace was a very large photographic
enlargement, done in the manner of the time-honoured family portrait. At first
glance it was exactly like hundreds of other family works. The subject, who was
presumably Vicki, was seated stiffly upright, in a rather ornate straight chair,
the figure three-quarters to the camera, the face looking straight at the
viewer. She wore a light coloured evening dress and appeared to be so tiny in
the waist and so full in the bust that it seemed obvious that a retoucher had
been at work.

But as you looked more closely, several things became apparent. To start with,
Vicki's arms were drawn over the back of the chair, and seemed to be secured
behind her back in some manner; so far were they drawn back, in fact that the
elbows must have been very close together, or actually in contact.

That accounted, at least in part, for the stiffness of the pose and the way the
high, huge bust was thrust forward. The evening gown was transparent, allowing
the figure to show through in pretty semi-visibility. It also showed that the
legs were tightly laced into thigh-high boots carrying heels at least seven
inches high. Further, the pretty ankles were strapped together and loops ran
from the ankle bondage to each of the front legs of the chair.

But it was the face that worried me most. Partly, around the eyes and upper part
of the face, it looked exactly like Vicki; but the lower part of the face, from
the nose down, did not. It looked rather stiff, somehow, with rather too much
distance from nose to chin, and a pair of flat-looking, unnatural lips. They
seemed painted on. Then I got it. Vicki was wearing a concealed gag. The upper
part of her face was free, but her mouth was apparently packed with a pad that
held her jaws about an inch apart. Then, from the root of the nose to the base
of the chin her face was smoothly covered with something concealed, and sealed
the mouth. It seemed to be smoothed well out onto each cheek, and may have gone
all around the head; it was so skilfully done that one could not tell from the
picture. Finally, a pair of lips was painted in the proper position.

All in all, it was a picture to delight a bondage-lover's heart.


Episode 6   (2 images)

There was another photograph that fascinated me. It was in colour, and was
obviously based on an old master. Which one it was had me baffled until, in one
corner of the frame I saw the words, "After Goya." Then I placed it. It was the
famous "Naked Maja." The couch, the pose, the lighting, all were carefully
reproduced. But in this picture the subject who was, quite obviously, Vicki,
wore a pair of marvellously fitting over-knee boots in flesh-coloured leather,
with heels that I guessed to be not less than eight inches in height. From
boot-tops to waist she wore a pair of nude elastic mesh tights, and from the
waist to just below the jutting bust, a tiny waisted, stiffly boned corset of
leather to match the boots.

Her arms, which in the original are held languorously behind the head, were in
the same pose. But in tight flesh-coloured leather gloves, which were actually
joined to each other in such a manner that each hand was clasped around the
opposite elbow. Thus, she was actually in capable of defending her self, though,
to judge by her attitude, defence was the last thing she had in mind.

Her mouth was drawn far back at the corners into a sort of fixed grin by a
narrow band of the same leather drawn very tightly between her teeth, and
presumably buckled behind her head. A certain appearance of pressure about her
mouth showed clearly that though it was forced into invisibility, her mouth was
packed with some sort of silencing pad.

The sexy quality of the boots, the helpless arms and the tight gag all combined
into an effect of charming willingness that was quite indescribable.

There were numerous other pictures in the room, some just costume studies, some
stressing bondage, too. All were interesting, but there is no point in
describing them here.

I had just completed my examination of all of them, when I heard Vicki's voice
in the hall, calling:

"Will you open the door please?"

"Sure, ' I answered, hastening to oblige, wondering, as I did, why she could not
open it for herself; after all, it wasn't locked or anything, just closed.

I opened it and she minced past me into the room, holding herself very upright
and taking very small steps, even allowing for her high heels. As she passed, I
saw the reason for the upright pose. Her arms were held behind her back in a "Y"
shaped glove of black kid. It reached almost to the armpits and the two separate
arms joined into one at the elbows, which were held in actual contact in the
small of her back. From there, down to the tips of her fingers, it was a single
glove, holding her forearms, hands, and even fingers rigidly together.

Arrived in the middle of the room she turned and faced me.

"Well?" she smiled, "how do I look?"

>From a very low-cut bustline almost down to her toes, she was wearing a
skin-tight gown of what I took to be raspberry red velvet. It was quite plain,
save for a crisp white edging around the sleeveless top and outlining a small
slit in the front of the skirt. It fitted, literally, like a skin. The bones of
her corset, the tops and lacing of her boots were all clearly outlined. The area
from the bottom of the corset to the tops of the boots was especially clearly
shown. The skirt could not have been more revealing had it been pasted to her
body; not a line, not a muscle of her pretty hips and curving bottom was
concealed.

Suddenly I realised her bosom, incredibly high and full, must tape well over
forty inches, while her wasp waist could not have been any more than eighteen
inches.

"Well?" she pouted. "Aren't you going to say anything'?"


Episode 7   (2 images)

"So that's what you meant by the figure you wear in public!" I exclaimed.

"What? Oh. Oh, yes. I can hardly show my real figure when I'm outside. It really
would stop traffic, don't you think?"

"I'll say!" I agreed heartily, "Just what do you do when you go out?"

"Well, for one thing, I wear a sort of padded vest around my waist, that adds a
few inches. I like to look slim, you understand, but no slimmer than a girl with
a naturally small waist; about twenty-three, twenty-four inches."

"But how about the-umm-upper works? The way you stand out now, compared to-"

"Different brassiered," she explained, "they anchor to the top of my corset, of
course. When I want to go out, I wear one that sort of minimises things. But
here at home I wear one that is really designed to make the most of a naturally
full bust, aided by a very tight corset."

"Sounds kind of complicated. Wouldn't it be easier simply to leave your corset
off when you go out?"

"What?" she exclaimed, "For one thing, after years of corset wearing, I feel
like I'm going to fall apart if I take it off even for a few minutes. For
another, I've been training for a small waist for too many years to let it
expand even for a matter of hours."

Turning away from me, she strutted over to a straight chair or rather I should
say an upright chair with arms and back of plain wood no upholstery.

As she moved, her hips, thanks to the stiff corset above and high heels below,
undulated most enticingly.

Arrived at the chair, she turned to stand with her body in profile, smiling at
me over her shoulder, as she asked

"Aren't you going to say that I look pretty? After all, it isn't every day that
a girl gets herself up in a costume like this, and then has her arms so rigidly
restrained, just so as to look appealing."

"Well, frankly," I replied, "I've never seen anybody like you before. I've heard
that there were girls who liked to corset and wear high heels and thigh boots;
I'd even read of some that enjoyed bondage. But I never expected to meet one,
especially one who obviously gets such whole hearted pleasure out of it. Believe
me, you are the loveliest, most desirable creature I've ever seen."

"Thank you," she smiled. "That's what my husband tells me. But I like hearing it
from somebody else, too."

"There's just one thing. . " I murmured.

"What's that?" she asked, in obvious concern.

"Your legs. It's a pity to hide them under that long skirt."

"Well?" she challenged.

"Huh?" I gasped.

"Well, with my arms behind me like this, I can't very well stop you. After all,
that's what a skirt like this is for-to be pulled up."

In a second, I was beside her and had grasped the material to begin raising it,
when I said,

"Hey, what goes on? This stuff feels like rubber."

"That's what it is, red sheet rubber, cut and draped into a gown. That's what
makes it cling so wonderfully."

In a second I had the skirt gathered and looped up to her hips. Gracefully, she
sank into the chair, sitting far enough back in the seat so that her gloved
hands, which hung so rigidly over her bottom, slipped over the back of the seat,
so that she could sat upright.

Then, as I stepped back to look at her, she crossed her booted legs in the
approved pin-up manner and smiled,

"Well?"

The picture she presented, the beautifully fitting, skin-tight, high heeled
boots, the red rubber gown, suggestively gathered about the hips and hugging the
tiny waist and incredible bust, the back-arched shoulders and back-gloved,
helpless arms, and finally the pretty, warmly smiling face made me admire her
immensely.

"Great God in Heaven!" was all I could say.

Then I stared some more, while she obviously basked in my pop eyed admiration.
Finally, I managed to murmur,

"How do you get this dress off?" I asked, "It doesn't seem to have any
fastening."

 It doesn't. It's rubber, remember? It just rolls down like a stocking."

It took me a second to get the roll started around the close-fitting top; but
after that it was almost like peeling a banana. In a very brief time the dress
was just a red doughnut on the floor, and she was stepping away from it. I
tossed it on a chair and turned to inspect my lovely companion.


Episode 8   (2 images)

>From heels to the tops of her legs she wore, as I had seen, the most perfectly
fitting thigh-high boots imaginable. They were of black kid, highly polished and
seemingly almost buttery in softness. At the top of each leg, on the outside, a
tightly drawn strap ran up to the leather corset that stretched from rather
below the hip-bones, up past the tiny waist, to the base of the jutting bust.
Above this and fastened to the corset in some way, was the brassiere that had
started the discussion. This was shaped into two half cups, obviously shaped and
boned rigidly to hold the proper shape. The breasts rested in and welled out of
these supports.

Then, my eye caught something else that I had more or less skipped over before.
Her pants. Not that much showed between them and the bottom of the corset and
the top of the boots, but what did was black and fitted like a skin, literally
like a skin.

Following the direction of my eye, Vicki rolled her hips slowly and asked,

"Admiring the pants?"

"Darn right. How can you get them to fit that way?"

"Feel," she invited, turning in profile.

"I get it. Rubber?"

"Why the rubber pants-especially when everything else is leather?' I asked.

"Because in this house the pants have to fit perfectly, if they are worn at all.
Of course, Nicki and I often wear matching leather pants, to go with the rest of
whatever costume we may be wearing. But when they're put on, laced to fit
properly, we can sit down. So, since I could hardly go to the theatre without
sitting, I wore rubber."

"Sounds like a delightful idea. But tell me, how long can you go without sitting
down?"

"Oh, all day. All evening too, if Dick decides he wants us to. For instance, if
I had a pair of leather pants on now, I'd just have to keep standing up till
somebody decided to take them off. I certainly couldn't do it for myself, could
I?" she asked, moving her bound arms slightly.

"I guess not," I admitted, rather startled. "But couldn't you ask for help, or a
little rest?"

"When we're dressed in that sort of a formal rig, we don't ask for anything,"
she assured me, firmly.

Then strolling back to the same chair she had sat in before, she perched on it
prettily, with one leg resting along the arm, the other resting on the floor.
Putting her head attractively on one side, she asked,

"Will you do me a favour?"

"Sure. Anything you want."

"Will you tie me up?"

"But-but-" I sputtered, "you are tied up already."

"Oh, only my arms. I want to feel really helpless."

"You bet I'll tie you up. I'll tie you right into that chair. But what can I tie
you with?"

"Just pull the bell," she nodded to a bell-pull by the fireplace. "Pull it three
times. Fifi will understand."

It was only a matter of seconds after I pulled it that Fifi was opening the door
and remarking,

"Mon dieu! Fifi was beginning to think that madame would never ring."

In her hands she carried a big silver tray. On it was coiled a selection of
ropes, numerous straps of various lengths and widths, as well as a couple of
pairs of handcuffs, an ankle-chain, and some other things I was too interested
to notice at the moment.

She put the tray down on an end table, then moved the table over near the chair
where we were standing, being careful to face away from me, so that as she
leaned over and moved the table, she gave me a very interesting view. Then she
straightened up, faced around and, putting her hands behind her, asked,

"Would you care to have me help you, monsieur?"

"Why no, I don't think so, thank you, Fifi," I answered, smiling at her.

"Fifi is very good at tying up, monsieur-or being tied up," she added hopefully.

"Well, maybe some day soon I'll have the pleasure of tying you."

"Fifi hopes so, monsieur Ted. Any time at all. But I must warn you. Fifi
struggles and must be tied very tightly."

"All right, Fifi break it up." There was a distinct edge to Vicki's voice
Obviously, she was the one who was going to be tied and she didn't want the maid
horning in on it.

Slightly abashed the pretty maid started to mince out, when her mistress
stopped her with,

"Fifi, where's Miss Nicki?"

"She spent most of the day in the darkroom, madame, working on those last
pictures. But then, about five, she came out and told me that she had been very
clumsy. Her high heel had turned and she had spilled some solution. She wanted
to be punished."


Episode 9   (2 images)

Vicki nodded as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Then she
asked,

"How did you punish her?"

"I lock her in the trunk, madame."

"Good. Well, in about ten minutes, bring her up here. I want her to meet Mr.
Walk."

"Oui, madame. Still in the trunk?"

"I don't see why not. Maybe Mr. Walk would like taking her out."

This was all Greek to me; but I resolved not to say anything. If they wanted to
regard this punishing of girls by putting them in trunks as a natural thing to
do, I wasn't going to be different.

Instead, I stepped up to the tray and picked out a tong piece of rather heavy
rope.

With a final glance at us to see if there was anything else, Fifi minced over to
the door and departed. From the way she switched her hips and closed the door
rather firmly behind her, I got the impression that she was annoyed with me for
not letting her help. Well, that was too bad. But I didn't get a chance like
this every day, and I wasn't going to share it with anybody.

I beckoned my willing victim over; passed the rope once around her pretty little
waist and tied it firmly at the back, with two long ends equal and trailing
almost to the floor. Then I helped her to sit in the chair, well back in the
seat, with her gloved arms over the back. Bringing the two ends of the rope
forward, one around each side. Then I passed them back under her body, not
without some smothered protest on her part, as I handled her in the process.
Next I tied a shorter rope, figure of eight wise, several times around her upper
arms, just above the elbows. Then I brought the two ends of the rope from under
her body up, through the arm rope and pulled it as tight as I could. Then I
knotted it. The result was to pull her shoulders back and down, make her arch
her back as much as her stiff corset would allow, and apply some very
interesting tension to the tendons at the tops of her legs.

"Ooh!" she gasped softly, as the rope drew tight, "That feels wonderful, I can
see I'm going to enjoy this, I love it."

I had considered tying her legs together, but decided I could make her more
helpless and more uncomfortable by securing them another way. I tied a short
rope to each pretty ankle, passed the ropes outside the front legs of the chair
and back underneath to her gloved wrists. Pulling these short ropes very tight,
I forced her legs wide apart in front then, bent steeply at the knees, with the
toes well clear of the floor, back under the seat. Then I secured the ropes
around her wrists.

"Have you ever done this sort of thing before?" asked Vicki.

"Well, once or twice and only in fun." I admitted.

"I must say you seem to have a natural knack for it, then. I feel delightfully
helpless and of course escape is out of the question."

Feeling highly complimented, I continued securing her. I passed a long strap,
figure of eight wise around her upper body and the back of the chair and pulled
it extremely tight across her chest, above and below her bosom.

"Umm " she sighed, "you're even making it hard to breathe."

Two more shorter straps went around each knee, anchoring them securely to the
front legs of the chair.

"All right," I said, "now wriggle."

She tried, but aside from a little writhing, she couldn't move at all, except
for her hair, of course, which I hadn't planned to do anything to.

"You know your business, boy. I feel like a trussed chicken," she smiled

"Oooh! Ummm!" she sighed "that feels so wonderful."

"More wonderful than if I were doing it, say, in the back seat of a car on a
dark road somewhere?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, yes, yes! A tight, stiff corset makes any experience much more exciting;
then being tied up and unable to do anything to stop you makes it still more
thrilling.'

I continued my ministrations for several minutes, while she sighed and moaned
her appreciation.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. We both jumped. Fifi's voice, out in
the hall, spoke.

"Here is Miss Nicki, madame."

I don't know just what I expected to see, maybe Fifi pushing a large trunk on a
little wheelbarrow of some sort. But instead, when the door opened, I saw quite
a small dark green trunk, more of a foot-locker, up on one end, supported by a
pair of singularly lovely legs in dark brown thigh-boots.


Episode 10   (2 images)

Guided by Fifi, this vision strutted into the room, taking ,steps not much over
six inches long. The reason for the short steps was evident. The extremely thin
heels on the boots were over eight inches high. But each pace, though tiny, was
perfect, not a trace of a tremor at the ankles. The knees quite straight and
firm the rounded toes of the beautifully fitting boots being pointed so far down
that the walk was entirely on the toes, the heels touching the ground only when
the occupant of the boots stood still. The walk was light as thistledown and
very reminiscent of a ballet dancer, moving on tiptoe.

The trunk was just large enough to enclose a girl from the top of her head to
the fork of her legs, allowing just enough width for her shoulders. There was no
trace of an opening in the lid, which, of course, faced front, so the occupant
was quite blind.

But she gave no sign of it. Fifi sort of aimed her in the general direction of
Vicki's chair and gave her a slight push. She minced forward, stopping,
seemingly by instinct, a few feet in front of the chair.

"Nicki dear, can you hear me?" Vicki asked.

The trunk bowed slightly.

"I have to ask her," Vicki explained in an aside to me. "Sometimes she wears a
discipline helmet with heavy padding over the ears and she can't quite hear a
sound" Then she turned back to the trunk.

"Did Fifi tell you what I did tonight?"

The trunk pivoted back and forth in what was obviously a movement of 'no'

"Well, you know I went to the theatre?"

"Yes," bowed the trunk.

"While I was there, I sat next to a very nice young man, I made an excuse to
borrow his pencil and drop it. He looked like he might be interested in girls
like us. So when he dived for the pencil. I pulled up my skirt and showed him my
boots. As a result, he not only came back to the house to meet you, but he's got
me tied to this chair and he's looking at you as though he'd love to eat you. If
you want to say 'hello,' he's just to the right of me here.'

The trunk turned in my direction and the legs did a very nice curtsey.

"Hello, I'm Ted Walk," I introduced myself. "If the rest of you is one tenth as
pretty as those boots, well-wow!"

At this point Fifi who had been standing rather proudly in the background,
stepped forward and asked,

"May Fifi make a suggestion, madame?"

"Certainly, Fifi, what is it?" asked Vicki.

"Perhaps you and Monsieur Ted would like some coffee? Miss Nicki would make a
lovely coffee table."

Casually, she took a corner of the trunk and manoeuvred Nicki around so that she
stood sideways to Vicki, four or five feet to her right. Then she tapped the
trunk and ordered,

"Rigid Mam'selle." Turning to me she suggested,

"Perhaps Monsieur Ted fill lay her flat on her back? My corset is too tight for
me to take the weight."

So I stepped behind Nicki, put my hands on the trunk and pulled her gently
backward. She came toward me, holding her legs quite stiff, so that it was a
simple matter to lay the trunk on its bottom on the floor, with Nicki's pretty
legs sticking out of it, off to the right.

Fifi bustled out to get the tray, and I took a moment to look at the trunk. The
lock side was toward Vicki and the clasps and lock were securely closed. The
girl inside had not a chance of escaping. Her legs, which thrust through two
holes cut in the right-hand end were absolutely perfect and set off by the skin
fitting brown boots that laced very tightly from toe-cap to the top of the leg.
The heels came down to bases smaller than a dime, while the bearing part of the
sole was not much over an inch, allowing no more than the first joints of the
toes to touch the ground. Since the pretty, high-arched feet were by no means
large to begin with, some such arrangement was necessary to carry heels of such
extreme height.

The pretty maid came back with the tray, making a very pretty picture in her own
right, with her lovely corseted figure in gleaming black satin contrasting so
sharply with the mesh-covered legs and sandalled feet on their six-inch spindle
heels. She put the tray on a side table produced a lace cloth, spread it
carefully over the trunk and then put the tray on it. Then she hurried out
again, murmuring something about "firing Mam'selle's legs."


Episode 11   (3 images)

I poured two cups of coffee and added sugar and cream for Vicki, as she
requested. By this time Fifi returned, carrying a nickel-plated metal bar, about
four feet long, with an ankle locked in the cuffs, her legs spread incredibly
wide apart. Fifi had to use a little force to get the bar in place.

"I know how impatient you are to unlock that trunk," Vicki smiled suddenly. "I
guess you'd better begin the Grand Opening by taking the coffee things off the
trunk."

Eagerly, I did as she told me and then she advised,

"Better unlock that Leg Stretcher and take it off next. You'd have a tough job
getting her out of the trunk with that in place, since she couldn't help you."

Again I obeyed. The pretty legs began moving and twisting about, gently at
first, then more freely.

"Getting the kinks out," Vicki explained, in answer to my enquiring glance.
"That position gets very uncomfortable in just a few minutes."

Using the other key, I unlocked the main clasp of the trunk and opened the ones
at each end. Then, my heart beating with excitement, I threw back the lid.

Instinctively, I suppose, one looks first at the face under conditions like
these. But instead of a face, I saw a mask, a beautifully made mask, in
flesh-coloured suede. It was obviously skin-tight and fitted the contours
beneath it without a wrinkle. The eyeholes were little more than narrow slits,
interestingly turned up at the outer corners and fringed with long artificial
lashes of black. Thin brows of black arched above them and the eye-lid area was
even shadowed in green and there was touches of rouge, or an imitation, on the 
high, prominent cheek-bones. The hair was represented by a wig of stiffened silk 
fringe, in a brassy blonde shade and set in a mass of curling ringlets all over 
the head. The faintly smiling lips, in deep red, were simply made of a piece of 
coloured kid, sewn in the proper place.

The arms, tightly gloved in gleaming black kid, right up to the shoulders, where
they were met by very brief but wide sleeves on the blouse, were folded and
tightly strapped to rest in the corseted arch of the small of the back.


Episode 12   (2 images)

"But-but-" I fumbled, in my amazement, "Nicki must be an utter and complete
bondage enthusiast."

"Oh, she is," Vicki agreed. "I'm pretty strong in that line myself. I like
nothing better than being dressed and bound like you see me now-or even more
stringently if my husband is around. But Nicki wears costumes, insists on
bondage and silencers that would make me a wreck."

Quickly, I bent over and began unfastening the straps that held her so tightly
bound in the trunk, starting with the one around her head and working down.

When I had unfastened the last one, I asked, "How do I get her legs clear of the
end of the trunk here? Those holes are a pretty tight ft around her thighs."

"That upper part of the end there slides up and out. Works sort of like a
pillory " Vicki explained.

In a second, I had the part mentioned pulled up and free. Since the trunk was
such a tight fit and her costume so stiff anyway, I puzzled for a moment as to
how to get her out. Then I remembered how I had laid her down, trunk and all,
and simply decided to reverse the process. Telling her to hold herself rigid, I
lifted behind her wigged head with my left hand and when she was clear of the
trunk, I slipped my other one behind her waist and continued lifting. In a
second, she was upright, poised on the tips of her toes and her towering heels.

In a moment she stepped back a little, spun lightly on her heels and presented
her rigidly strapped arms

"What does she want now?" I asked, "to have me unstrap her arms?"

"Probably, under the circumstances. But you'd better ask her" Vicki answered.
"It's quite possible that she simply wants the straps tightened."

"Well?" I asked the intriguing figure in front of me, "Should I take the straps
off?"

She nodded moving even closer to me.

It was quite a tussle to get the straps off, because they had been pulled so
tightly. I was sure that even after they were off, it would be sometime before
she could use her arms. After all when they have been held rigidly in one
position for a number of hours, and by very tightly adjusted bonds, it stands to
reason that they would be completely numb.

So I was greatly astonished to see that she had full use of them immediately.
Turning to face me and stepping back a foot or two, she placed her gloved hands
on her tiny waist, put her feet together, and posed for my approval. She looked
utterly delightful.


Episode 13   (2 images)

Then she minced, with surprising quickness and grace, considering the height of
her towering heels, over to the tray of bondage material. She picked up a big
wad of absorbent cotton and a roll of adhesive tape; then she started for where
her mother sat, helplessly tied to her chair. The latter saw her coming and
stated, with an attempt to command,

"Nicole, I will not allow you to gag me. Put that stuff back immediately?"

It was just as though she had not spoken, for all the attention her daughter
paid. As she neared her mother, she beckoned to me. Glad to assist, I hurried to
her side.

"Ted," pleaded Vicki, "you'll listen to me, won't you? You won't let her gag me,
will you?"

"You're damn right I will!" I grinned, heartily, "your lovely daughter has
impressed me so much with her charming silence that I'm convinced that, lovely
as you are, you'll be lovelier yet with a gag in your mouth."

"Well, try to get it in!" snapped the helpless woman, writhing fruitlessly in
her chair and she clamped her jaws tight together.

To my mind, this would have presented quite a problem, since the jaw muscles are
enormously strong and if she didn't want to open her mouth, it would be tough
making her do it.

But her daughter was serenely confident, she passed behind the other woman's
chair, beckoned me to stand in front and gave me the wad of cotton, gesturing
that I should compress it as small as possible. Eagerly, I did so.

Nicki placed her thumbs against her mother's cheeks, just about opposite the
hinges of the jaw; then she placed her first fingers, one against each nostril
and pressed gently. Result, no air through the nose.

In a few seconds, Vicki countered by parting her lips in a sort of grin,
breathing between her clenched teeth. The tightly gloved hands met this
challenge by closing over the mouth, while keeping the nostrils closed.

Vicki squirmed and fought for a few seconds, but she had no chance, she had to
give in and open her mouth. Immediately, her daughter removed her fingers but
thrust in very powerfully with her thumbs so that her victim could not close her
mouth without biting her cheeks. After letting her draw a couple of gasping
breaths, she nodded to me.

I surmised, quite rightly, that I was to pack the cotton in place. This was a
delightful job. I'd never gagged a woman before, but could see that I had been
missing a treat. She fought me with her tongue at first, thrusting the padding
out as fast as I tried to push it in. But a warning pressure by Nicki on her
nostrils was enough to make her behave. Her tongue lay passively in the bottom
of her mouth as I poked and pushed the big wad of cotton in. It was quite a
tussle, too, since there was so much. When I had her mouth packed about as full
as I thought it could go, I paused and asked the silent figure behind our
victim,

"Isn't that enough?"

Nicki shook her head.

"Well, how much more? Surely not all of it?"

She nodded. Even though she could not see her, her helpless victim sensed her
answer and moaned faintly.

Eager to oblige, I went back to work and finally got all the cotton stuffed into
my subject's gaping mouth. While I was on the latter stages, Nicki was tearing
off a piece of adhesive tape a little over two feet long. As soon as I was
through, she placed the centre of the tape on the cotton as it bulged between
her victim's teeth brought the ends back along her cheeks and got ready to pull
them tight. But the way she did it startled me, she actually placed a knee
against the back of her mother's neck and pulled with all her might.

Poor Vicki writhed convulsively and her eyes flew open in anguish; I saw her
strain to make a sound of protest, but so tight was the gag that not the least
sound emerged.

By now, the cotton was well inside her teeth and the latter, due to the pressure
on the hinges of her jaw, was actually forced to bite down on it very
definitely. The pressure must have been terrific.

Quickly Nicki removed her knee and lapped the ends. Then she took the roll of
tape and passed the adhesive three times completely around her head and through
her mouth, to make sure the gag could not slip even the slightest; then she
tore off the tape and smoothed the end.

She stepped back and put her leather-covered head on one side as she admired her
handiwork. Her mother's face was a study; her eyes were wide open, in a fixed
stare that I later learned was the "Gag-Look" and a tear was running from the
corner of each eye, while her lips were drawn away from her teeth in a mirthless
grin. But in spite of the obvious pain, there was also a look of very definite
excitement on her face.

Apparently satisfied, Nicki walked around and stood a few feet away from and
squarely in front of her mother.

"Hmm, looks like your mother doesn't wholly approve," I grinned.


Episode 14   (3 images)

Nicki nodded. Suddenly she stepped back and signalled "wait."

With positively fairy-like steps that her towering heels enforced, she hurried
out of the room, her pretty hips rolling with a delightful crispness at each
tiny pace.

At this point, Nicki bustled back into the room and came mincing over. In her
hands she had some vague black leather shape. She gave it to me and gestured
toward our miserable victim.

A glance showed me that it was a discipline helmet.

"You want me to put it on?" I asked.

My pretty companion nodded.

"This," I announced, "will be a pleasure. Read about these things, but I never
thought I'd have the pleasure of lacing one into place."

It took me a moment or two to figure out how it went on, then I stepped toward
the helpless figure in the chair. As soon as she saw me coming, she began
shaking her head again.

"What's the matter? Ropes not tight enough?" I asked.

That did it. She stopped immediately and made no effort to hinder me as I
slipped the helmet into place over her head and face. As I did so, I noticed
that it was very heavily padded over the ears.

So, as I began to lace it down the back, I asked Nicki,

"Is this the helmet that cuts off your hearing?"

She nodded.

"In other words, when I'm through, our willing subject here will be deaf, dumb
and blind?"

"Yes," she signalled.

I continued lacing the helmet into place, smoothing the wrinkles as I did so.
The helmet was a beautiful piece of work, fitting the wearer's head like skin.
The only openings in the front were the nostrils in the well shaped nose, so the
wearer would have no difficulty in breathing. The neck part continued down in
the form of quite a high, stiff collar, shaped to be higher in the front than in
the back, for wearer to hold chin high.

Finally, I got the lace pulled tight and tied the ends in a bow. There was still
about an inch opening in the lace at the back, but I decided that that was
intentional, just as many corsets are made to have a slight opening in the
lacing, even when fully pulled in.

"Okay?" I asked Nicki.

To my surprise, she shook her head and came over. She began smoothing and
working the helmet all over her mother's helpless head, aiming always at the
lacing. Her pretty little hands in their tight brown gloves formed a lovely
contrast to the glistening black kid.

In a little while, she pantomimed at me to work on the lace again, while she
continued to smooth the leather into place.

I tried to stop her a couple of times, being afraid that the lace would break,
or we would do her mother some permanent damage. But she wouldn't hear of it.

When she finally stepped back, satisfied, the lace was closed from top to bottom
and the tightly stretched leather gleamed like satin. Vicki's silent, helpless
head looked almost like a portrait head in ebony.

One thing that had puzzled me slightly was a metal eyelet sewn to the exact top
of the head. I understood the use of this when Nicki went to the supply of
bondage material and selected a length of rope. She brought it back and
signalled to me to tie it around Vicki's ankles. I did so. Then she took the
other end and passed it through the eyelet and began pulling. I could see that
Vicki was fighting her, but it was useless, slowly, inexorably, her head was
drawn back and back until I thought her neck must break. When Nicki tied the
rope, had her mother been able to see straight forward from her eye sockets, she
would have not looked straight up into the air, but considerably behind her.

With a pretty gesture, Nicki stepped back and made a feint of dusting her gloved
hands off.


Episode 15   (3 images)

It seemed to me that it was about time for me to make some sort of contribution
to the proceedings, so I pointed to the trunk lying open on the floor and
suggested,

"It seems a shame to leave that empty. Do you think that we could squeeze Fifi
into it?" ".

Nicki nodded and clapped her tightly gloved hands in eager agreement. Then she
minced quickly to the tray of bondage materials and selected what was obviously
a gag, consisting of a wide leather strap, about eighteen inches long. At about
the middle it was much narrower for an inch or two, on this was strung a leather
egg, about two inches in diameter and three inches long.

By means of pantomime, she showed me what I was to do and what she would do. (In
spite of her enforced silence and total lack of expression, provided her hands
were free, I was to find that Nicki could express herself with amazing clarity.)

So I took my place to one side of the door; and she, after ringing the bell,
slipped to the other.

In a few seconds we heard the crisp tap of Fifi's high heels outside. The door
opened.

"Did mam'selle-ulb!" was all she managed to say as I slipped in back of her,
grabbed her elbows and pinned them behind her, the chain between her wrists
drawing taut and securing her hands.

Nicki slapped the gag hard enough against her lips to make her open her mouth
automatically. The egg was so big, she had to push hard to force it between her
squirming victim's teeth. But she got it in and quickly drew the strap as tight
as she could, stretching the corners of Fifi's mouth back in a sort of fixed
grin.

The expression on Fifi's face was a blend of surprise, pain and excitement.

At a nod from Nicki, I forced the struggling French girl over to the table of
bondage material. My silent companion selected a long strap and wound it a
couple of times through Fifi's elbows and pulled it as tight as possible. Then
she released the chain that ran from wrist-chain to collar, passed it under the
maid's body and pulled it up and fastened it to the strap around her elbows.

Finally, she took a soft strap about three inches wide, which had a row of
lace-holes at each end, passed it around Fifi's head and across her gaping mouth
and laced it closed at the back of her head. The effect was to force the egg
even further into her mouth and make the gag yet more effective. Fifi's eyes
were wide open and filled with tears, and it was easy to see she was desperately
trying to talk to beg her young mistress not to pull the lace so tight. But not
the faintest sound emerged.

The binding and silencing complete, Nicki stepped back and for a moment we
watched our captive as she squirmed and writhed against her bonds.

Then Nicki signalled to me that I was to put the captive in the trunk while she
went to get something.

She strutted out and I went to work with a will. Since Fifi was a bit larger in
the body than Nicki, I had quite a lot of pleasant difficulty in wedging her
into the trunk. Her pretty legs kicked and failed delightfully as I pulled the
anchoring straps as tight as I could, so that from the hips up she had not the
least power of movement.

As I closed the lid, I took a last long look at her lovely helpless figure,
silent face and eloquent eyes as she begged mutely for relief.

The lid closed and locked, I sat on it and admired the writhing, mesh-stockinged
legs and pretty high-heeled feet as I waited for Nicki to return.


Episode 16   (3 images)

Nicki returned, and I was impressed all over again with the ease in which she
moved her eight-inch heels. She minced over to me as I sat on the trunk,
carrying a very odd-looking pair of booties over her arm. She also had a
notebook and pencil in one tightly gloved hand. She handed me the notebook and I
read, "Fifi kept me in that trunk for six hours. Three would have been plenty.
I'm going to teach her a lesson."

"Seems like a good idea," I agreed, adding, "Girls like Fifi need lots of
lessons. What are you going to do?"

Putting the note-book and pencil on a convenient table, Nicki signalled me to
up-end the trunk, making it clear by her gestures that the luckless maid was to
end up upside down. I couldn't follow what she was up to, but was glad to oblige
and in a second, Fifi was on her head, her lovely mesh-covered legs waving
protestingly in the air. But an unusually powerful kick nearly upset the trunk,
so she quieted down.

Quickly, Nicki removed one of the pretty high-heeled sandals and started to
force one of the booties on in its place. Obviously, it was a terribly tight fit
and Nicki, hampered by her crushingly tight corset, unable even to take a deep
breath through her mouth, was soon panting through the nostrils of her mask. Her
lovely out thrust bosom rose and fell quickly with the shallow breaths she was
compelled to take. I offered to help, but she shook her leather-covered head.
Obviously, she was going to take her revenge personally.

After a while, she had one bootie on and started on the other. They were shaped
like ballet toe-slippers, with apparently, a steel bone running up the sole of
the foot, around the heel and up to the top of the boot. When they were laced
on, the wearer had no choice but to remain poised, right on the tips of her
toes. In addition, the steel bone was shaped to force the foot into an extremely
steep arch.

The lacing complete, Nicki signalled that I should stand Fifi on her feet or
rather toes. I did so, with some difficulty. It was obvious that the silent
occupant of the trunk found the boots far from comfortable.

Even when she was balanced, she showed a distinct inclination to fall over. But
Nicki fixed that by standing behind her and giving her unprotected thigh a very
painful pinch at each loss of balance.

In a short while, the trunk was standing with apparent pride. Standing is a bad
word, since the most practised of ballet dancers cannot remain balanced on the
tips of their toes. They have to shift the weight almost continuously from foot
to foot, moving back and forth or from side to side, to hold their balance. That
was what Fifi was doing.

Taking a hank of rope from the table, Nicki pantomimed that I was to attach it
to the heavy chandelier that hung from the ceiling. I missed a couple of times,
but soon had a slipknot around the fixture chain.

With my help, Nicki mounted a chair and attached the rope to the handle of the
trunk. But to my surprise, she left a good deal of slack. Then I guessed why.
With this arrangement, if she did fall, the trunk would not go too far and she
could regain her balance. But, on the other hand, she had to maintain her own
equilibrium and would have to concentrate on it all the time.

The rope in place and the chair removed, Nicki, gloved hands on hips, booted
feet tom-boyishly apart, watched her victim for some time. Even without speech
or facial expression, her pride and triumph were evident.

After a few moments, she took the notebook and wrote, "Do you have a car?"

"Why, yes, "I answered, surprised. "It's just near here."

I was startled by her next message:


Episode 17   (3 images)

Well, you don't need a second invitation in a case like that. As I agreed, Nicki
handed me another note, saying that she would be getting ready while I got the
car.

I was back with my convertible in about fifteen minutes. The top was up to start
with, but I had other ideas for later on. As I walked up the front steps, the
door opened and my silent companion ushered me in.

She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a floor length, skin-tight gown
of dark grey velvety rubber. It had a very high, tight collar, a bold cutout
over the imposing bosom, and a slit in the left side from waist to hem. At the
moment this slit was opened on the side so that the eight-inch heeled
thigh-boots were fully displayed. Also, she was now wearing the ankle chain,
which had previously adorned Fifi's trim legs.

On a side table was a short, full fur jacket and in her gloved hands she held
what looked like a pair of long slim bags, in black kid, which terminated in
long leather straps, one of which had a buckle and the other a row of holes at
the end. Nicki held out her hands for me to slip the bags on and buckle them
around her wrists. Then she doubled her arms at the elbows and held them close
to her sides. It took me a minute to figure out what she wanted. But I finally
drew the straps back over her shoulder, crossed them, drew them through her
elbows and buckled them in front as tight as I could pull them. Her arms were
now quite motionless, but when I put the cloak around her shoulders and fastened
the catch in front, there was nothing to show that she was bound. With the hood
pulled up around her masked face, it was sufficiently shadowed to look natural
to any casual observer. Then I unfastened the snap that held her skirt open in
front; it closed, leaving her looking like any smartly dressed young lady, on
her way to a late nightspot. There was no sign of the tiny waisted corset, the
bound arms, the towering heeled boots or the tight gag.

Telling her to wait a moment, I went out to the car and brought in a large brief
case, into which I dumped the whole tray of bondage material that Fifi had
brought in.

As I ushered my lovely charge to the car, a smartly dressed man strolled by. He
looked at Nicki in obvious admiration; the slim hips and legs that emerged in
the clinging grey rubber from beneath the fur cloak were well worth a look. Her
queenly carriage was also highly attractive. As I say, he looked and passed on.
He had not the faintest idea that she held herself so upright because she
couldn't hold herself any other way, or that she took such small, slow paces so
that her ankle chain would not jingle revealingly.

I helped Nicki seat her self on the front seat of the car and then got a long
length of rope from the brief case. I fastened one end to the middle of her
ankle-chain, brought it back under the seat; up between the back of the seat and
the seat itself, tied it around her tiny waist, then back out again, up the back
of the seat and around her neck. Having tied it, I still had two or three feet
left, so I bound her knees together.

Now, save that she could turn her head slightly, Nicki was absolutely
motionless. I closed the door on her side of the car, slid in behind the wheel
on my side and drove off.

Within an hour, we were well out beyond the suburbs and the streetlights. I
stopped long enough to let the top of the convertible down. I also removed
Nicki's hood, leaving her leather mask and brassy blonde wig fully displayed. I
figured that since people could only see her in the glow of passing head-lamps,
they could not see very much.

I think she wanted to object. At least, she shook her head as much as she could.
But I tightened the rope that held her to the seat a couple of times and that
put a stop to any nonsense about objections.

About half an hour further out in the country, where things were really quiet, I
turned to my silent companion and asked,

"Remember you asked, `How about a drive?"'

She nodded.


Episode 18   (3 images)

"All right, can you drive a car?"

A nod.

"Okay, you're going to have to drive this one and do it blindfolded."

She raised her head inquiringly.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll show you how it can be done. First, we've got to get you
settled behind the wheel."

Pulling the car off the road, I untied the rope around Nicki's neck and from her
ankle chain, but left it around her waist. Then I pulled the rope around so the
knot was in front. Removing her cloak and strap-gloves, I made her stand up and
pull her skirt high around her hips, untied her knees, passed the two ends of
the cord back under body and as she slid in behind the wheel I threaded the ends
between the seat itself and the back. Pulling them very tight so she was forced
against the back of the seat, I brought them up and around her neck, knotting
them tightly, anchoring her rigidly behind the wheel. From the brief case I
produced a pair of wrist cuffs joined by about eighteen inches of chain.
Snapping the cuffs about her wrists I fastened the centre of the chain to the
steering column. This gave her enough liberty to hold the wheel and manipulate
the transmission lever, but that was about all. I also attached her ankle chain
to the lower part of the steering wheel column, so she could work the pedals
with her feet.

As it was, she would have been able to drive the car quite easily, but not the
way I had in mind. I tore off two small pieces of flesh-coloured adhesive tape
from a roll in the briefcase and placed them over the eye-holes in her mask,
blindfolding her completely.

"As I understand it," I inquired, "you don't want to take off that mask?"

She nodded very definitely.

"All right, but I find I'll have to make certain changes in it," I said.

The ever-ready brief case furnished me with something I had been thinking about
for some time, a black rubber ball with a hold in it, through which went a steel
rod, about eight inches long. There was a ring on each end of the rod. Looking
from ball to mask, I made some mental calculations and then, with a pencil I
drew a sort of diamond-shape on the mask, over the mouth and out onto the
cheeks, in line with the jaw. Then I took off the wig and began to unlace the
lower part of the mask. Nicki tried to stop me, but her chained hands could not
reach her face and she was too tightly bound to struggle effectively.

When the part over her jaw and mouth was loose enough I rolled it upward,
disclosing the gag. This was several layers of wide adhesive tape covering the
mouth. Peeling it off, I found another narrow band of tape around her head and
through her mouth holding a big pad of cotton tightly in her mouth.

I pulled some of the padding out but left most of it in place smoothed the mask
down again so her mouth showed through the opening, forced the ball into her
mouth with the bar bit-wise between her teeth and pulled the lace tight again.
As the fastening grew tight, I was glad to see that the tension on her chin and
jaw forced her to clamp down on the ball

"All right try to force that ball out of your mouth," I ordered, as I replaced
her wig.

I could see her lips and jaw work as she tried to obey, but she couldn't even
begin to open her mouth.

"That's fine, " I said as I tied the ends of a long cord to each of the
bit-rings and sank into the seat behind her. "Gee up, motor-pony!" and I drew
the reins tight.

It took her a second to realise what I meant then she slowly put the car in gear
and stepped on the gas. A pull on the left rein and she turned the wheel that
way and we were back on the road a pull to the right and we were straight. A
jerk on the bit and she shifted speed.

In about five minutes' time I was enjoying a delightful pony drive.


Episode 19   (2 images)

I hadn't bothered to tell Nicki, but I was taking her out to a little sort of
week-end cabin I had in the woods, some distance from the city. Of course, one
of the advantages of a gag in a pretty companion's mouth is that you don't have
to explain everything. You go ahead with your plans and since she cannot demand
explanations and object to them when given, she goes along with becoming
docility. Much better all around.

Since the cabin is situated on what you might call a back road off a back road,
it is pleasantly secluded, but it represented quite a problem in fancy pony
driving along the twisting single lane road that made up the last half mile. But
by driving slowly and a firm hand on the reins, we made it.

As soon as the car was in the little clearing by the side of the house, I
unfastened the cord from the bit-rings and then used most of it running from one
end of the bit-bar to the other, around the back of her head. I pulled it so
tight that she fairly squirmed her hands, still chained to the car-wheel, making
futile grabbing motions toward her face. When I was through, the ball was almost
entirely inside her teeth and the bar pulled the corners of her mouth back in an
exaggerated mirthless grin.

Then I removed the bonds holding her in the car and helped her out. She tried to
get her hands to her mouth, but I was too quick; I had a strap ready and in a
second her elbows were in firm contact in the middle of her back. The wrist
chain was still in place, so I attached a cord to the middle of it, took it down
and under her body and up to the strap around her elbows, so that her arms were
quite helpless. Of course, I had to tuck the long skirt in back to make this
possible, so I rolled it up at the sides, too, gave it to her to hold, remarking
that "Satan finds work for idle hands."

Taking the long end of the rope that trailed down from the' bit-cord, I passed
it between her legs and used it as a lead-rein. My blind and bitted leather
girl-pony followed as pretty as you please, her ankle-chain jingling musically
at each tiny step.

I led her around the side of the house and up the steps onto the little front
porch.

I had intended to take her directly inside. But then I thought it might be a
good thing to let her rest and meditate for a while outside, while I fixed
things inside.

Unfastening the cord that ran to the centre of the wrist chain and taking off
the chain itself, I used the cord to tie her wrists together behind her back and
fastened them to a cord around her waist, so that her elbows stuck out sharply
behind.

Then I laid her down on her stomach on the floor of the porch, looped the long
end of the cord from the back of her head around her ankle chain and pulled. I
kept pulling until her head and her heels were only about a foot apart. Again,
the advantage of the gag became apparent; had her mouth been free, I'm sure she
would have objected, perhaps loudly, even shrilly. But as it was, she accepted
my ministrations if not with approval at least in silence.

Of course, she was bound in a manner very similar to the old French military
punishment known as "La Crapaudine," save that they didn't bother to put the
head under tension.

I was going to leave her on the floor, but then I got another idea. I picked her
up, sat her sort of astride the railing of the porch. Of course, she was bent so
far back that her wigged head also rested on the rail.

If she had wanted to fall off, I suppose she could have done it. But I figured
that as long as she kept her knees close together, she could hold herself in
place, just like riding horseback. Even if she couldn't ride, now was a good
time to learn.

Then I went inside to fix things up a bit.

A couple of times I poked my head out to ask if she was quite comfortable. As
she didn't answer, I assumed she was.

In about half an hour, I had a fire going in the big fireplace, as it gets cold
late at night in my neck of the woods-and a big couch drawn up in front of it. I
had a table with some drinks for me and so on.


Episode 20   (2 images)

I had even let the big wagon-wheel, which hangs in the middle of the ceiling
with light-fixtures on it, down and dusted it thoroughly. After all, you want
things to be neat for your guests.

Then I went out to the car and brought in the brief-case of bondage material.

After everything else was ready, I went out and released Nicki. Of course, I did
it bit by bit, as she seemed to be pretty badly cramped for some reason. I even
took off the cord that held the bar-bit so far back in her mouth. But I knew I
was safe, because the chin part of her mask kept her from opening her mouth wide
enough to get the ball out. As a final touch I took the tape off the eyeholes of
the mask.

Bringing her into the living room, I told her she could take off the long-grey
rubber dress and lie down on the couch and rest for half an hour. Gratefully,
she did so.

I spent the time in a little sort of workshop I have down in the cellar. I took
a piece of quarter-inch iron rod and bent it into a ring two inches across,
being careful to smooth the ends where they came together. Then I went upstairs
again.

She had probably been asleep, but as soon as she heard me enter the room she sat
up and folded her arms behind her back. I told her she could go into the other
room, loosen her helmet enough to get the ball and padding out of her mouth.
Then she could take a drink and return.

In a few minutes she was back with her mask once more in place and her arms
behind her back.

"Well?" she asked, posing just inside the door

"Why do you hold your arms like that?" I asked.

"To show you that even when they're not bound, they're ready to be."

"I get it. A very nice idea," I commented. "Now come over here and let me tie
your arms."

"Oh good," she cried, "It's much more fun when I'm helpless."

Quickly I tied her arms so they were high behind her back, in the same position
they were while she was in the trunk.

"That feels wonderful. I don't know of any position that makes a girl feel more
helpless-or more willing to be helpless," she breathed, as I drew the cords as
tight as I could.

"Now come over here on the couch," I instructed. As she did so, I made her kneel
on the seat with her legs doubled under her and strapped them in that position.

"Aren't you going to gag me?" she pouted.

"In a way," I answered. "Do you know what this is?" I showed her the ring. She
shook her head.

"Well, let's try it," Nicki smiled.

I took off the wig, loosened the lace of the mask again and made her open her
mouth wide. Then I slipped the ring into her mouth side-ways, then stood it up
and pulled it forward, so that it was wedged between her teeth, with her jaws
stretched wide. Then the helmet was tightened and the wig went back.

Later, I plugged her mouth tightly by packing cotton in through the ring. She
couldn't get it out again and was once more delightfully silent.

I let the wagon wheel down and bound her to it by the wrists and ankles. Then I
pulled it up so it hung about a foot above the couch.


Episode 21   (2 images)

Then I sat down on the couch, near my silent subject as she hung, swaying
slightly on the chandelier. I poured myself a drink and gestured towards her as
I said,

"To the loveliest creature I've ever seen. May your waist measure ever grow less
and your heels higher."

Her only answer was a faint creak of leather as she tried, perhaps
unconsciously, to ease her strained position.

During the next few minutes I enjoyed the warmth of the fire, the flavour of my
drink, and, after I had given the wheel a turn, the sight of my companion
revolving slowly first one way, then the other, l like the circular pendulum of
a four hundred day clock.

I noticed that as she swung to and fro, her eyes, or as much of them as I could
see through the narrow slits of her leather mask, seemed to fix themselves on my
drink. That reminded me that she must have been gagged in one way or another,
for a good many thirst-making hours, so I asked, "Thirsty?"

In spite of the tight cord around her throat, she managed a faint and, it
seemed, eager, nod. So I got another glass, mixed a good stiff drink and then
held it against the cotton packed in her mouth, tilting it slowly as the liquid
soaked into the absorbent material.

"All right," I said, "try swallowing some of that." I could see the muscles of
her jaw and throat working, then she shook her head.

"What's the matter? Not getting any?"

Another head shake.

"Why, cord around your throat to tight to let you swallow?"

A nod.

"Well, I guess we'll have to change things around a little," I remarked, getting
up and beginning by letting the wheel down so that she rested on the couch
again. Then, I began untying her as I continued,

"Of course, it's the rope from your wrists that runs up around your neck that
causes the trouble. We'l1 have to take it off. It's a pity, though, because your
arms are in such a fine position." She nodded. Then I had an idea.

"I got it!" I cried. "First, we'll put your grey rubber gown and strap gloves
back on again. Then, we can force your arms into an even better position than
they're in now."

It took a few minutes. Before long, she was once more in the floor length skirt
and full-length gloves. Then, I bent her arms up behind her, so her hands, palm
to palm, were between her shoulder blades. Next, I passed the straps over her
shoulders, crossed them in front just below her neck, brought them around,
crossed them in back again outside her arms and finally buckled them at her
waist in front. Her arms were now held in a high double hammerlock, with her
elbows only about six inches apart in the small of her back, the strained
position making her pull her shoulders back, arch her spine and thrust her bosom
forward delightfully.

"Now," I smiled, "let's put the legs on view, too."

"Okay, come and get your drink," I said, seating myself on the couch once more.
Proud as a peacock, Nicki minced over, a study in helpless arrogance and perched
on my knee. I held the glass to her gaping lips. Little by little, because
swallowing with her mouth so tightly stretched was still difficult, she drained
the glass.

Suddenly we both froze. A car had driven up outside and stopped. Nicki jumped to
her feet and I instinctively followed, as we heard footsteps outside; first on
the walk, then up the steps and finally across the cabin porch. There were two
sets of steps; the slow, heavy; pace of a man and the quick, light tapping of a
woman's high heels. 


Episode 22   (3 images)

Then two figures appeared in the doorway, a woman in a long cloak in front and 
a tall, grey-haired man of about fifty just behind.  For a moment we all stared 
at each other.

The man, I had never seen before. The woman, at first, I thought was Vicki. Then
I decided she wasn't, because her hair was a deep red and wore it dressed in a
long, flowing, pageboy effect. Besides, though the eyes looked like hers, the
lower part of her face was quite different being very long from nose to chin,
with oddly high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. I could tell nothing about the
rest of her because of the concealing cloak.

In a second, the man stepped forward, smiled, and offered his hand.

"You're Ted Walk, aren't you?"

"Why, uh, yes, I am," I foundered.

"Thought you must be. Had enough trouble to find you. I'm Dick Roberts. Husband
of Vicki, here, and father of that leather and rubber-covered bondage lover over
there," and he nodded to Nicki, who pertly curtsied an acknowledgement.

"But she doesn't look like Vicki!" I protested, nodding toward the red-haired
vision that stood stiffly in the doorway.

"Well, a red wig, a horse-face gag and a thin rubber mask can change a face
completely. Here, take a look," he answered, stepping over to her.

In a second he pulled off the wig, unzipped the back of the mask, which covered
her whole head and peeled it off.

I recognised Vicki immediately, chiefly by her curling black hair, now once more
revealed, and her wide green eyes stretched wide open in the typical "Gag
Look"-and well they might be.

Her mouth was obviously stretched wide open and packed very tightly I couldn't
see what was used for packing, since the lower part of her face was completely
covered with strips of adhesive tape. It was the pressure of this tape, which
had given the mask the hollow cheeks and high cheekbones.

"I can see why you call it a `horse-face' gag," I remarked, as he prepared to
remove her cloak, " the great length from nose to chin gives her a very
horse-jawed look. Must be very uncomfortable to wear, though."

"Oh I don't know," he grinned. "I don't hear any complaints."

At this point the cloak came off from high neck to waist, Vicki wore a skin
fitting, white lace blouse, through which her dark corset and brassiere showed
very interestingly. From her tiny wasp waist, encircled by a wide patent leather
belt just to the tops of her thigh high boots she wore a skirt of black silk
fringe, which played peek-a-boo at every slight movement. Her arms were anchored
behind her back, with each hand cupped around the opposite elbow by means of a
tightly laced black sheath, extending from one armpit to the other, like a long
single glove.

For some reason, I felt impelled to say,

"Well, it looks like we're all here but Fifi. Why didn't you bring her?"

"Oh, but I did " he answered surprisingly. "She's down in the car. Good as gold
and quiet as a mouse. Why don't you look?"

You can understand I didn't need a further invitation. I was out of the door and
going down the steps in a second. I heard the tap of high heels behind me, but
was too intent to turn and see which girl it was.

I found a large and opulent imported limousine parked next to my rather humble
domestic product. I looked in both the front and back seat, but saw no one. I
was wondering whether Dick was having some sort of joke at my expense when I
felt somebody nudge me. I looked around to see Nicki. Signalling with her masked
head for me to follow she led me to the back of the car, pointing with a pretty
high heeled foot toward the trunk compartment.


Episode 23   (2 images)

It took me a moment to figure out the catch, then I swung the lid open. Inside,
hunched over in a curious manner, I saw the short-skirted, mesh-stockinged form
of the French maid.

I spoke to her and then invited her to get out, but the only answer I got was a
strange squirming motion. Obviously, she was secured in some manner. In the
faint fight from the open cabin door, it took me a while to figure it out. There
was a steel bar, about three feet long. At the lower end was a pair of ankle
cuffs which were clamped tightly around her slim ankles. Higher up, another pair
encircled her knees; a third pair held her wrists tightly against the bar. At
the upper end, a steel hoop went around her head in such a manner that a large
hard rubber ball, which was fastened to the end of the rod, was forced deep into
her mouth, acting as a very powerful egg. As a final touch, her elbows were
strapped tightly to her tiny waist.

Each of the clamps was held closed by a wing nut. Thus, though the luckless
wearer of the device could not remove it, anybody else could. I soon had her
free of the device, but poor Fifi was so cramped that it was several minutes
before she could move freely or mumble creakily,

"Thank you, M'sieur Ted."

I was wondering whether to try to lift her out and carry her up to the cabin or
what, when Dick leaned over the rail and called down to me.

"Leave her there, Ted. She'l1 come up as soon as she gets the kinks out."

Nicki was standing close beside me, so, with my arms around her rigid waist I
went back up the steps and into the living room.

Dick had occupied the time while we were away by tying Vicki to a straight
chair, but in a rather unusual manner. He had stood her with her back against
the back of the chair, binding her ankles to the back legs; other cords went
around her legs and the chair above and below the knees. While her thighs were
corded separately to the top rail of the chair. Then he had wound a cord several
times around her head and over her gagged and taped mouth.

The free end of this went back over the front of the seat and down to the cross
rail; it was pulled so tightly that Vicki was bent steeply backward like a
strung bow and was virtually without power of movement.

As soon as Nicki appeared, mincing along by my side, her father beckoned her
over to a low table, saying,

"Let's fix you up, too, then the men can have a quiet talk."

Working with the skill of long practice, Dick seated Nicki on the low coffee
table with her legs crossed, tailor fashion. Then he bound them in that position
with each pretty foot tightly corded to the opposite knee. With her arms already
so tightly and helplessly secured behind her back, Nicki was now just about as
powerless as her mother.

With the assist from me, Dick placed the two girls, one on either side of the
big couch, so they could easily be seen and admired by anyone sitting there. He
was must murmuring,

"Fifi ought to be able to navigate under her own steam along about now," when he
was struck with an idea. Stepping to the door, he called,

"Fifi, before you come up, look in the glove compartment of the car and bring up
that choke-pear you'l1 find in there."

"A choke-pear!" I exclaimed. "That's certainly an unusual thing to find in a
car."

Dick laughed and pointed to the two silent and helpless girls and said, "We're a
very unusual family."

At this point Fifi entered. Obviously, she had taken the opportunity to set her
uniform to rights, because she looked quite crisp and fresh. Her very brief
black latex lace underpants were displayed because she carried something in her
skirt, the hem of which she held daintily in her fingers.


Episode 24   (3 images)

"This ees not the proper way for a maid to present somesing to the mastair,
monsieur. But eet ees the best Fifi can do. So 'as no silver tray," she
remarked, posing in the doorway, knowing perfectly well what a delightful
picture she presented.

"Is that the choke-pear Fifi?" Dick asked.

 . . . Oui, monsieur," she sighed and, after a glance at Nicki and Vicki, both
of whom were already tightly gagged she moaned.

"An' one does not 'have to be a mind-reader to guess 'oo ees going to 'have to
wear eet."

"Well you can comfort yourself with the thought of how pretty it makes you look.
Now come over here and let me fix you up a bit," her master ordered from the
table carrying the briefcases full of bondage supplies.

With obvious unwillingness she crossed over to him. Dick passed a fist belt of
chrome-plated steel around her waist, pulled it tight and snapped the catch in
the back. From either side just over the hipbone, there hung a plated steel
cuff, on the end of about eight inches of matching chain. In a second, the cuffs
were snapped around her wrists. He explained to me,

"This is known as a Harem-Belt. Gives the wearer enough freedom to wait on
somebody else, but it keeps her hands away from her mouth."

Then he turned to Fifi, who still held her skirt between her finger-' tips and
ordered, "Go over and ask Mr. Ted to put that pear in your mouth."

Obediently, but with obvious unwillingness, she minced over.

"Monsieur Ted," she breathed, "would you be kind enough to gag Fifi?"

"Why, I'd be glad to, Fifi!" I exclaimed, taking the pear from her skirt. It was
made apparently, from ebony, about three inches long and two in diameter at the
largest part. There was a hinge at the small end and a press-catch at the large
one.

I brought it up to her mouth, which opened unwillingly to receive it. I pressed
it between her teeth, but it wouldn't go all the way in.

"Say Roberts," I exclaimed, "The gag's too big. It won't go between her teeth."

"Push harder," he said. "No, no. Brace your hand behind her head and REALLY
push."


Episode 25   (2 images)

A final shove on my part and the pear popped into her mouth.

"Now what, Dick? How do I make it open?" I asked.

"Just press that little button on the end there."

I did so and the two halves of the pear flew apart, impelled by a powerful
spring between them. As a result, poor Fifi's mouth was jacked wide open, with
her jaws at their fullest stretch. She jumped as though she had been stung and I
could see her throat swell n an attempted scream; but not the faintest sound
emerged. At the same time, her hands released her skirt and flew upward in a
reflex action, sharply checked by the chains attached to her Harem-Belt.

As I stepped back, her gloved fingers still made futile clutching gestures
toward her face.

"Fifi!" said her master in a warning tone.

With frantic haste, the dainty fingers dropped away from her mouth.

"Now let's just fix her like an occasional table and we'll be set for out talk,"
remarked Dick. "Do you have a couple of little trays?"

I happened to have a half dozen little snack trays in a closet; he took two of
them. On each, he placed a drink, a pack of cigarettes, matches, and an ashtray.
He stood Fifi facing the centre of the couch and about three feet from it, with
one tray balanced on the outspread fingers of each hand.

"All right let's sit and talk a while," he said, sitting on the side of the
couch near his silent and helpless wife.

"Oops! Nearly forgot something."

As I took my place on the other side, he got some cord and bound Fifi's legs
together as tightly as he could, above and below, the knees, at the ankles and
even around the high-arched insteps.

"First," I said, after we had each taken a pull at our drinks and lit a
cigarette from our lovely human table, "how did you find Nicki and me way up
here in the country?"

"Oh, it wasn't too hard," he grinned. `We knew your address you had told
Vicki-so we drove over and I managed to convince your building manager that I
wanted to see you. (A few dollars helped, of course.) He knew that you had this
place here, so it was a worthwhile risk to drive up and see if this was where
you had come."

"But how did you find it? When I give my friends full directions of how to get
here in daylight they usually get lost."

"Oh, oddly enough we have a place of our own not far from here."

That rung a bell, so I exclaimed,

"Wait a minute! You must be the Richard Roberts that owns that big place about
two miles north of here."

"That's me-or rather us," he agreed.

We talked for an hour or more, enjoying the appealing helplessness and silence
of the three girls.

Then Dick said,

"Well, it's getting late, I'd better get the girls back to town."

Regretfully, I helped him get the girls ready. Fifi, we simply carried down as
she was and packed her in the trunk. We released Nicki from the table, doubled
her legs at the knees and strapped them there and laid her on the floor of the
car at the back, with a rug over her. Vicki, her legs freed, but with the mask,
wig and cloak once more in place, looked quite natural, if very stiff as she sat
beside Dick in the front seat. Just before they pulled away, Dick said,

"Why don't you come and have dinner with us in town tomorrow? Say around seven?"

That invitation was a great relief; I wanted to see Nicki again and again and
again- more than I had ever wanted anything.


Episode 26   (4 images)

Early next morning I was in a jewellery store. The owner objected at first that
he did not have time to make up what I wanted. But I finally talked him into
having it ready by six.

Right on the dot of seven I was ringing the doorbell at the Roberts' house.

In a second, Fifi opened the door, ushered me in, closed the door and then
preened herself for my approval. She was worth approving too. The main part of
her uniform was a full-length set of black mesh tights, reaching from high about
her neck to her toes, which were well displayed because she was shod with the
lightest of black patent sandals with the usual six inch heels. She wore a
little frill of white lace at the collar, cuffs, and on top of her high-piled
black hair. Her tiny waist stringently an almost invisible flesh-coloured
corset, was set off by a four-inch wide belt of black patent, shaped to the
corset beneath. A very frilly, crisp white apron came down in front.

She was, of course, restrained. She wore the usual ankle chain to curb her
stride, while her elbows were strapped together behind her back making her pull
her shoulders back and thrust her bosom forward arrogantly. Her hands were free,
so she could do a good many things, like opening doors, etc.

"Good evening, Fifi," I smiled. "You look pretty enough to kiss." She drew back
and said,

"Un moment, monsieur. Madame thought you might care to put ze bit in my mouth
before you kees me." "Bit? What bit, Fifi?" "Ze Flirtation Bit,' monsieur. Eet
make Fi i-'ow you say more kissable."

She pointed, having to turn slightly to do so, to a silver tray on the
slide-table. On fit was a metal device like a square-bottomed "U"; the bottom
being rather thicker than the arms. These latter were bent steeply outward at
the top and had little rings attached, on these were the two ends of a narrow
black strap.

The method of application was obvious. As I picked it up, Fifi's mouth opened
eagerly to receive it. Slipping it in, I buckled the strap tightly behind her
head, so the thick bar at the back of her mouth pressed against the hinge of the
jaw. Her mouth was forced to remain submissively open, with her teeth invitingly
parted. As I adjusted it, her dark eyes encouraged me tremendously and heeded
the invitation on her lips, smiling around the bit and gave her a kiss full on
the lips.

She was quite right. She was amazingly kissable. 


Episode 27   (2 images)

Fifi and I were surprised when a cool voice behind us spoke. 
"Well, greeting the French maid in the traditional manner, I see." 
Startled, I pulled away from Fifi and looked around. Vicki was smiling at us 
from the foot of the stairs. I'll admit I stared at her; but I believe with good 
reason. 

>From her toes right up to her bustline, she was poured into a single leather  
garment, which combined boots and tights. The rigidity of her pose, the 
fullness of her bust and the wasplike proportions of her waist indicated that 
she wore a severe corset beneath it, though the latter failed to show at all, 
or to mark the skin-like fit of the boot-tights. Her arms were moulded, right 
up to the shoulders, in matching black kid gloves; while a helmet of the same 
leather covered her whole head, save for the face.

Her arms were stretched straight outward from the shoulders by a steel bar
fitted with cuffs, encircling the arms at wrists, elbows and shoulders. The bar
was held rigidly horizontal because it was attached to a steel upright, which
extended from a tight metal hoop around her waist up to the top of her head. A
wide steel collar attached to it forced her to carry her chin very proudly,
while she was prevented from turning her head, even slightly, by a "U" shaped
steel bar coming forward from the bar along her cheeks at jaw level ending in an
eyelet about an inch back of the corners of her mouth. To look to the side, she
had to turn her whole body.

"Well, how do I look?" she asked, parading stiffly, like a mechanical figurine
front of me.

"Utterly delightful," I answered, then asked, "But isn't that very tiring to
wear?"

"Extremely."

"How do you get any rest? Can you manage to sit down?"

"Absolutely impossible. I can't even take a long step. Until somebody takes pity
on me and releases me or lays me flat on my back, I have to stay like this. It's
exhausting, but thrilling." 

Dick appeared on the upper landing and as he came down the stairs, he ordered, 
"Tell Ted what happens if you make any complaints."
"I-I end up behind the Eight-Ball, Ted," murmured Vicki softly.

"Behind the Eight-Ball? What does that mean?" I asked, purposely dense.

"Let's show him, shall we, Vicki dear?" suggested her husband going over to her.

"Of course, Dick, anything you say," she sighed miserably. "But please, it's so
early, you won't make me wear it all evening, will you? It makes my jaw feel
like it's breaking." 

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Missing from the story on your site:
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"I wasn't going to, but since you've made a fuss about it, I'm afraid you'll wear 
it a very long time.  If you give me any more trouble, you'll wear it all night.  
Open your mouth."

With a look that would melt a heart of steel, Vicki complied.

Dick produced a big piece of red rubber sponge from his pocket and stuffed it as 
far back in her gaping mouth as he could.  Next, hebrought out a standard "8-Ball," 
held it against her teeth with the fingers of one hand and struck it sharply with 
the palm of his other hand.  It popped in, holding her mouth incredibly wide open.

"That's a full-sized ball, Ted." he remarked, as he produced a six-inch steel rod.
"It's so big she couldn't force it out again.  But I make doubly sure by having a 
hole drilled in the ball.  Then I push this rod through one of these eyelets, 
through the ball and into the other eyelet."

Vicki's eyes were wide and tear-filled, but she was unable to make the faintest 
sound.

>From a closet, Dick produced a big bowl-type lamp, fastened it to the top of the 
steel rod and plugged it in, saying proudly, "My latest invention - human electric 
light fixture.  No home complete without one."

********************************************************************************


Episode 28   (2 images)

A few minutes later, Dick and I were seated in the living
room, having a before-dinner drink. Suddenly, from the direction of the open
door behind me, I heard one of the most attractive sounds in the world -the
whisper of one opera-hosed thigh against another.

I turned my chair to see Nicki approaching. She was not recognisable directly,
but from the costume and restraint it couldn't be anybody else.

Her high-arched insteps were stretched past the vertical by the thin seven-inch
heels on her black kid ankle-strap sandals. Her legs were delightfully displayed
for their full-length by a single black suspender on the outside of the thigh.
The major part of her costume was of the "peasant" style; the ultra-short skirt,
which came just to the tops of her legs in front, was stiffened at the sides and
stuck out so that the high-pulled tops of her stockings were easily visible.
Above this, was a rigid black leather bodice displaying the tiny waist and
extending up to the base of the bust. This latter welled out of a froth of white
lace, which left the arms and shoulder bare. The arms themselves were covered
for their full length by tight flesh-coloured kid gloves. These latter were
unusual because they had no fingers, ending instead in a closed, mitten like
bag. Thus, while she could, say, open a door by using both hands, she could not
use a key, pencil, or untie a knot. The head, face and neck were covered by a
skin-fitting helmet of flesh-coloured kid, to match the gloves. The only
openings were two nostrils and a tiny round opening in front of each eye.

As I rose, this startling vision minced up to me, as light as thistledown on her
towering heels, placed her useless hands behind her and offered her mask for a
kiss.

Then she pushed me gently back into my chair and sat gratefully on my knee,
indicating that I should finish my drink. During the next few minutes she
displayed her lovely figure, crossing one knee I lightly over the other, folding
her gloved arms behind her back and so on.

My drink finished, she stood up, started for the door and beckoned me
mysteriously to follow.

"What's the idea, Dick?" I asked. "What does she want?"

"Probably wants you to give her a face," he answered.

"To do WHAT?"

"Why don't you go with her and see?"

Actually of course, I was more than eager to follow. She led me across the hall
past the rigid and silent human lamp, up the stairs. As I went up the stairs
behind her, I marvelled afresh at the utter perfection of her legs and feet and
the easy grace with which she moved on those ultra-high, spindle heels.

In the upper hall, she led me to a cross between a dressing room and a beauty
parlour. Three walls were lined with closets, the fourth was mostly a dressing
table. On it were lined up a whole row of wig stands, each with a different
colour and style of female wig. In the centre was a large, glass-covered,
shallow box. In it were rows of feminine lips apparently in rubber, full,
narrow, smiling, pouting all expressions, all shades. Above them were pairs of
eyes, complete with lashes, whites, irises-but the pupils were openings. Some
eyes were wide open in surprise, others were sleepily half closed. Every
imaginable expression was here and above each pair was a pair of eyebrows to
match.

In the centre of the floor stood a steel upright, with a short, narrow bar
sticking out for the subject to sit on and clamps for her arms neck and ankles.
In a second, I had Nicki rigidly locked in place, legs far apart, her full
weight resting on the narrow bar.

Then I turned to the display of features, trying to decide how I wanted my
silent subject's face to look. 


Episode 29   (2 images)

I found the features were delightfully easy to apply. They were all backed with
a permanent adhesive, all you had to do was peel them off the backing and smooth 
them into the proper place on the smooth leather mask. By turns I made her look 
surprised, laughing and frightened; adding what seemed to be the appropriate wig 
for each face. I finally settled on a sultry, faintly smiling expression, with 
high arching brows, sleepily half-closed eyes and a generous, full-lipped mouth 
with the corners slightly turned up. For hair, I chose an almost white blonde 
wig with the hair in a mass of very short, tight curls.

Stepping back to admire my handiwork, I was very pleased. Save for the charming
fixity of her expression, Nicki looked amazingly normal, like a girl who is
lovely, knows it and expects to get kissed.

As I was releasing her from the post, I had an idea.

"Hey, you know the way I got your arms up behind your back the last time? Well,
let's try to get them a little higher, so your elbows actually touch."

Rather hesitantly, she nodded. I could see she liked the idea, but was afraid it
would hurt.

I had noticed a lacing-bar hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room
and at my request, Nicki showed me a whole drawer full of straps, cords, and
bondage material.

In a very short while, my subject's arms were high up behind her back, with a
separate cord from each wrist to the bar. As I pulled it upward, her hands were
forced higher and higher between her shoulder blades, while her elbows came
closer behind her back. Soon she rose on the tips of her toes; still I kept
pulling. Finally, when her elbows were about three inches apart, her
self-control seemed to snap and she squirmed and fought wildly to release
herself. I'm sure she tried to scream, but not the least sound penetrated her
smiling mask. I secured the rope as soon as she started struggling, feeling that
the violent motion would help her tendons stretch and allow her arms to settle
into the proper position. After a few minutes, she stopped fighting and hung,
more or less relaxed. I took this as a signal and threading a wide strap through
her elbows, I pulled it tight; her elbows came together more easily than I
expected. Then, a second strap around her wrists held her arms anchored behind
her back, completely rigid, the forearms touching from wrist to elbow. Then, I
took off the ropes that ran up to the lacing bar.

Nicki seemed weak in the knees, so I put her gently on a couch and told her to
rest a few minutes while her arms adjusted themselves; meanwhile, I'd go and
rejoin her father.

As I left the room, I was impressed with the fact that even with her arms behind
her, she could lie flat on her back. Her elbows fitted neatly into the arch of
her back made by her stiff, straight-fronted corset.

About ten minutes later, she came mincing into the living room, apparently quite
comfortable, silken thighs whispering together at each tiny step. She was quite
a sight. From the front, she appeared to have no arms, while the way her
shoulders were racked into a steep rearward arch, made her amazingly high bosom
thrust forward in an incredible manner.

There was an air of pride and arrogance about her helplessness that was
delightful.

"Wow?" was all I could say. 


Episode 30   (2 images)

The next few moments were devoted by Dick and myself, to telling Nicki how 
delightful she looked. While she minced proudly around in front of us, 
displaying her pretty "face," amazing figure and stringently bound arms 
from every angle, Dick was most impressed with the position of her arms, remarking,

"That is, without a doubt, the best possible position for a girl's arm. Escape
is impossible -even the slightest movement is out of the question. She's quite
helpless, yet, at the same time, forced to make the best display of herself.
I'll start Vicki on that position tomorrow."

Then he rang the bell for Fifi, explaining,

"I thought we could have dinner in here; the girls can serve us."

In a second, Fifi appeared in the door. Her elbow-strap had been removed and in
its place she wore the harem belt with wrist-chains long enough to give her a
good deal of freedom, yet short enough to keep her hands from getting at the
mouth -bit. Dick told her to serve dinner, and she beckoned Nicki to follow her.
There was a wait of several minutes, which my host filled by setting himself in
a big armchair, telling me to do the same. I couldn't see how we were going to
get dinner, but was ready to find out.

Then Vicki entered the room, her daughter close behind her. The older woman's
steel restraint had been removed and her arms were now anchored behind her back
by irons at the elbows and wrists.

Both she and Nicki had a steel belt around their waists. Metal arms from the
sides of the belts came forward and down to support a fair-sized tray in front
of each charming waitress. The first course of what turned out to be an
elaborate meal was set on each tray.

In enforced silence they came to our chairs, Vicki to Dick and Nicki to me. To
bring the trays conveniently close, they had to stay in front of us to serve.

I never enjoyed a nicer meal, or one more prettily served. As we finished each
course, our waitresses minced out into the hall, where, to judge by the sounds,
Fifi was waiting with the necessary apparatus for the next course.

When, at last, we reached the last part of the dinner, Fifi released her two
charges from the belts that held the trays and brought the brandy and coffee
herself. Nicki came over to me and indicated she would like to sit with me in
the big chair. I was more than willing. Poor rigid Vicki, unable to bend even a
little bit, was forced to stand in front of Dick's chair, where he and I could
admire her pretty figure.

With Nicki nestled cosily beside me, I was able to appreciate how utterly and
charmingly helpless she was and what wonders the position of her arms and
shoulders did for her lush figure.

The time, I decided, had come. Turning to my host, I said, "Dick, known your
daughter about twenty-four hours. That's been more than enough to convince me I
love her. I'd like to marry her. How about it?"

My lovely companion squirmed with silent excitement.

"Well," Dick nodded, "I can't say this is a surprise. A father doesn't have to
see his daughter's face or hear her voice to know what's in her heart. I think
it's a fine idea. Go ahead."

Nicki offered her smiling mask for a kiss, but before I took her up, I produced
the thing I had had the jeweller make. It was a diamond engagement ring with a
spring clamp fitted in the band. I clipped it on the septum of Nicki's nose.

"You can't wear it on your finger, for your arms will be behind you almost all
the time, so I think a diamond nose-ring is a neat substitute, don't you?"

She nodded and offered her mask again. This time I obliged and Nicki and I were
engaged.

What happened after that, our wedding, honeymoon and so on, is another story and
I intend to continue the rest of my story in a second book to be published later
on.

END OF BOOK ONE

Bound in Leather

Book Two

Episode 1   (2 images)

Of course, I called my Bride-to-be early the morning after our engagement took
place, assuming, of course, that now, at any rate, she would be ready to talk to
me and let me see what she looked like. I was very disappointed when Fifi's
lilting French accent told me, "Fifi ees sorree, monsieur, but mam'selle ees
out. Zere are so many arrangements to be made now. But she asks you to come to
dinnaire tonight at 'alf past seven."

You can be sure I rang the bell of the house on Sutton Place at exactly seven
thirty. As the door swung open, I believe my mouth did, too. Instead of Fifi's
flirtatious smile and boldly displayed figure, I found myself looking at the
strangest maid I had ever dreamed of. She had one body and two arms in the usual
manner, but she had two heads and three legs. Further, the two heads which arose
from the twin collars of the skin-fitting, black tunic, were smoothly covered by
black kid discipline helmets, with very narrow eye-slits, and a perky cap of
crisp, white lace on top of each gleaming head. The two outer, single legs were
laced into conventional black kid thigh-boots, but the inner double leg was
laced into a matching boot of the same leather, but made wide enough to contain
two legs. Around the ankle of this special boot was a wide steel cuff, from each
side of which extended an eight-inch length of chain to matching cuffs about the
free legs, thus keeping the stride smartly regulated-not that it would have been
very long in any case since these boots were ballet-style, that is, they held
the foot stiffly vertical, without a heel-as-such, at all. A similar chain about
two feet long joined matching cuffs about the two wrists.

It was startling to watch this double being move as though regulated by a single
brain. She-or should I say "they"?-closed the door, then, placing the double leg
prettily forward and holding the very brief skirt out to the sides, bowed
stiffly from the hips. (It was obvious what must have been a single corset was
so stiff that any movement from the waist was impossible.) Then she gestured for
me to give her my hat, placed it on a table and preceded me to the living room.
She moved with stilted grace, but perfect ease on the tips of her toes, in the
usual three-legged race manner, the double leg moving forward first, then the
two free outer legs taking the next pace. At each pace the ankle chains clinked
musically. Opening the living room door, the double maid gestured me in. Dick
was waiting for me inside, grinning at my amazement like a Cheshire cat.

"What-what on earth's the idea of that?" I asked, gesturing toward the door.
"This is Thursday, old boy. Maid's night out. Fifi's off, so Nicki and Vicki
have pooled their resources to try and replace her. Cute, don't you think?"

"Darn right," I agreed, but continued, "You know, now that we're engaged and
all, I was looking forward to seeing what my prospective bride looks like."
"Umm-hmm. We thought you'd feel that way. But Nicki has other ideas. You're not
to see her face until the ceremonies are over and the honeymoon has begun."
"But... "No buts about it. Nicki's very obstinate in some ways. Still want to go
through with it?" "Of course I do." At this point, the double maid returned with
cocktails. As they bent forward to offer me the tray, Dick said, "Let's see if
you can spot your future wife. Which half is Nicki?"

It was quite a problem. The pair stood impassive and expressionless as I stared
from one half to the other. The two figures were identical in height and in
every other way. Suddenly, I got a brain wave. Getting to my feet, I kissed the
one on the left, full on her gagged mouth. I could feel the hard ball that
stretched her jaws wide open. She trembled, but returned the pressure on her
already severe gag. "The one on the left is Nicki," I said, "No doubt of it."
"Is he right, girls?" Dick had to ask them. "I'm darned if I can tell." They
nodded. "Good. Now let's go and have dinner," he remarked. Until I left, almost
at midnight, the double maid continued on her pretty toes, mincing about
,waiting on us; or standing rigid, double leg thrust forward, skirt gathered at
the sides, where we could admire her.


Episode 2   (2 images)

Nothing important happened the next couple of days, .while I was getting the
license. Dick acted as spokesman for his masked and silent daughter, and when I
inquired about which church the wedding was to take place in-assuming that, like
all girls, she would want a church wedding, even if a very small one-he said,
"No church. Justice of the Peace; special one I know. Very old and almost blind.
He'll be ideal. The wedding itself will be the smallest part of this marriage.
The big ceremonies come later." "Ceremonies?" I asked, bewildered. "Some sort of
reception?" "A reception is part of it. You'll just have to wait and see, Ted.
Nicki's going to nin this thing her way. It will be fun, though." On Saturday,
we were to drive out to the Justice of the Peace. I arrived, prompt to time, at
noon. Fifi opened the door for me; for once, she was not restrained in any way.
She was dressed for the street. Vicki came downstairs, also dressed to go out.
Her skirt was tighter and shorter than is usually worn, and she wore a short fur
cape. In addition, she had on a small hat and a black, mesh veil.

A few moments later Nicki came down, accompanied by her father. She was dressed
almost exactly like her mother, in a short, very tight skirt-so tight, Dick had
to help her down the stairs. At first glance, she looked quite normal. But a
longer look showed that beneath the veil, which hid more than it seemed to, she
wore the flesh-coloured kid mask and adhesive features I had seen before.
Further, she carried her arms very stiffly by her sides. I found that this was
because a wide band of black leather was laced, corset-like, around her upper
arms and body, just below the bosom. The fur cape concealed the fact that to her
elbows her arms were pinned to her sides.

We went out and got into the car. Fifi had a little difficulty because of her
tight skirt; Vicki had to raise hers quite a bit, while Nicki had to have me
slip hers up almost half way up her thighs before she could make it. On the way
up to the country, we stopped at a drive-in for a little lunch. Dick and I ate
well; Fifi ate a little, because of the tight corset under her easy-fitting
dress; Nicki, of course, had nothing, nor her mother, oddly enough. That was
because her veil was part of an elastic stocking, anchored to her corset. We
arrived at the Justice of the Peace. Dick went in first to "make the last-minute
arrangements"-in other words, to fluster the old boy by a lot of loud talk, a
very generous fee and finally, by knocking his glasses to the floor and
"accidentally" stepping on them.

When the girls and I walked in, poor Mr. Nathaniel N. Nivins didn't know if he
was coming or going. But he knew the ceremony by heart and raced through it.
When the time came for Nicki to say "I do," her mother, who was right behind
her, whispered it for he and the old gentleman never knew the difference.
Getting back into the car again, I was feeling pretty possessive, so I pulled my
wife's skirt up. Dick, who was driving, produced a pair of straps from somewhere
and handed them to me. They were just the right length to anchor her wrists to
her thighs. The other three all rode in the front seat. Very considerate.

Back at the house, Dick and I were shooed into the library and told to wait
while Vicki and Fifi "turned Nicki into a puppet for the ceremony." 

I looked at Dick; he looked at me and shrugged. "Search me. Let's go get a drink."


Episode 3   (2 images)

Dick and I had time for more than one drink. It was well over an hour before
Fifi tapped at the library door and opened it to announce,

"M'sieur Ted, your puppet ees waiting for you."

Fifi was most attractively dressed as a musical-comedy `artist' with black
patent, ultra high-heeled pumps, black mesh tights and a powdered blue linen
smock, which was cut very full, tightly belted around her wasp-waist and came
just to the tops of her legs. On her dark curling hair was a blue velvet
artist's cap. All in all, a delightful picture-especially as she preceded us up
the stairs, her lovely betighted hips swaying arrogantly at each step.

Vicki was waiting for us at the top, dressed in a similar outfit, save that her
smock was pink and her beret black.

"What's the idea of the artists' outfits?" I asked, as they led us along the
upper half to what I knew was called the "dressing room".

"We've been very busy making Nicki into something usually only seen in an
artist's studio," Vicki explained. "There-isn't she cute?"

Again, I felt my jaw sagging foolishly. In the dressing room, leaning lightly
against the dressing table, was what looked exactly like a life-sized artist's
figure-save that it had no arms. Aside from a pair of high-heeled, gold kid
mules that arched her insteps part the vertical, her figure in a light-coloured
latex "skin" that covered her completely from head to toe, but which, by its
very perfection of fit, managed to display her figure.

Probably the most startling single feature was her lack of arms. I assumed, for
a second, they were fastened behind her in some way, perhaps with her hands
between her shoulder-blades as I had once strapped them. But as soon as I
entered the room, the figure began moving toward me, taking the tiniest of
paces, turning to display herself from all angles. There was no sign, whatever,
of her arms; she looked a little broad in the shoulders and her waist was no
smaller than a girl's uncorseted waist. The implication of utter
defence-lessness was delightful. "Allright, what have you done with 'em? Her
arms, I mean," I asked.

"She's wearing a Venus-corset," her mother explained proudly. "It goes from just
above her shoulder-blades to a little way below her waist. It holds her upper
arms squeezed against her sides and her forearms folded against the soft part of
her body in front, just under the ribs. Lace a Venus corset tight enough and the
arms just have to disappear." "So I see," I murmured. "She's gagged, of course?"
"So tight, I don't see how she can stand it. I couldn't." "Can she see?" "A
little-through the meshes of the material. Enough to keep from walking into a
closed door; but not enough to, say, recognise faces." "She looks absolutely
delightful. But what can I do to help?"

"Fifi and I thought you might care to dress her a little. Here, put these
stockings on for her," and she handed me a pair of black nylons.

"Black? For a bride?" I asked, setting happily, as my wife leaned against a
table and held out one shapely leg. "For this one, anyway. Black's the colour of
love and surrender. If all wives wore long, black stockings and displayed them
for their husbands, there would be far fewer divorces. Besides, these are the
"something old" that brides have to wear. They were my first pair of nylon
operas, Dick liked them so much I saved them for my daughter to be married in."
By this time, I had the stockings on and smoothed into place, seams exactly
straight and centred. Fifi handed me a pair of eight-inch heeled black patent
leather sandals, saying, "These are mine, M'sieur. They are for the "somesing
borrowed."

As I stood up, after pulling the ankle-straps as tight as I could, Vicki put on
Nicki a black elastic, opera-hose supporter with three short suspenders for each
stocking. As she hooked the belt around the rigidly corseted figure and adjusted
the suspenders as short as possible to pull the stockings really tight, I
noticed each of the clips was decorated with a tiny rosette of blue satin. This
was "something blue." As I stepped back to admire the effect, the two dainty
`artists' came forward with a pair of loosely stuffed `arms,' ending in gloved
`hands' with wide-spread fingers. Holding them against the armless shoulders,
they asked me: "Do you think the imitation arms add to the artificial effect?"

"They certainly do," I agreed. "That flexible rag-doll look they give her is
most attractive." So they began sewing them directly to the `skin' of her
shoulders.

At this point, Dick remarked, "Okay, Ted. It's about time for you to go change
your clothes. The guests will be arriving soon." "Guests?" I exclaimed, "what
kind of guests?" "You'l1 see," he grinned.


Episode 4   (2 images)

Fifi led me to the Guest Room to change my clothes.

It was several minutes before I could persuade her to leave . . . and to do that
I had to tie her hands behind her and gag her with a guest towel so that her
mouth was so wide open she couldn't kiss any more. Fifi takes her job as the
French maid so seriously-and gets so much simple pleasure out of it.

As I was dressing, I heard sounds of voices downstairs as the guests arrived and
Dick let them in-had had to, since both Vicki and Fn fi were busy elsewhere.

I noticed, more or less subconsciously as I listened, the voices all seemed to
be masculine. "Why no girls' voices?" I wondered idly as I tied my tie.

The solution was obvious, as soon as I came downstairs and saw the twenty-five
or thirty guests who had assembled. All the girls were gagged into silence and
had their arms helplessly bound; mostly, they had enough leg room to move around
on their super high heels. That was lucky, because it gave them full opportunity
to show off their tiny waists, bosoms, and lavishly displayed legs.

One girl, for instance, had on black, patent knee-boots, buttoned to the tops,
black stockings which disappeared under the edge of her very short, full, black
velvet skirt; this fitted in the typical "princess" line, skin tight over the
body and up to a collar that was so high it came right to the base of her nose,
covering her mouth completely. Her arms were doubled at the elbows and laced
into "short-arm" gloves that held them in that position.

Another one was in a sort of harem outfit, of very high-heeled Eastern slippers
with turned-up toes, transparent baggy pants (under which could be seen tightly
suspendered dark stockings), a short coatee that hugged the wasp-like waist
which was open at the top to display a cloth-of-gold brassiere. Her wrists were
circled by gold cuffs which were attached to short chains which went under her
body and up to a gold belt around her waist. Her Eastern veil, which half
concealed her face below the eyes, was thin enough to allow a pair of smiling
lips to be seen. Only on second glance did you see that the lips were actually
painted on; the entire lower part of her face being tightly but smoothly covered
with adhesive tape.

"Wow!" I said to Dick, as he prepared to take me around and introduce me. `Who
are all these charmingly helpless creatures?"

"Oh Members of the Society "he answered airily.

"Social Register Society?" I acquired doubtfully.

"Oh no. Another kind of society altogether where a tiny waist counts for more
than family history, pretty legs take the social place position, and a tight gag
is the passport to complete acceptance."

At this moment somewhere, a piano started to play "The Wedding March."


Episode 5   (2 images)

As the music began, Dick took my elbow and hurried me over to one side of the
big hall, where a low dais, banked with flowers, had been prepared. Hearing a
masculine murmur of appreciation behind me, I turned to see the bridal
procession slowly descending the stairs. First, by herself, came my human
puppet. She was quite a sight. Instead of a conventional wedding gown, she wore
a skirt and halter bra arrangement. But the skirt, of pale grey satin, while
very full, was less than ten inches long, so that it came near the tops of her
pink latex legs and allowed a startling display of her black stockings. The
halter was made of strings of large imitation pearls in a wheel design over each
breast. You might say it was an unusual bra. Her head and face were covered, at
the moment, by a rather heavy veil in white, kept on by a chaplet of orange
blossoms. The dark wig beneath could be seen, but that was about all. Her
artificial arms were pinned up in such a manner that they seemed to be holding a
bouquet of obviously artificial roses, with grey satin blossoms. (A rather
subtle piece of symbolism, I though.)

Behind her came a page, dressed from high, rigid collar to toes in one-piece
tights of a deep wine colour which were made to look like a uniform by a row of
gold buttons all the way down the front and gold piping sewn on to indicate the
edge of the jacket, pockets etc. Her feet were in high-heeled, black kid pumps
and a matching discipline helmet enclosed the head. A round pill-box hat was
perched rakishly over one narrow eye-slit. The arms were secured with the straps
at the elbows and wrists. In front of the page was a little tray, suspended from
straps around the neck. This, I realised, must be Fifi.

Back of her, came four bridesmaids, two by two. They were all alike in a form of
Maid's costume, in pale pink. From the bosoms down to the severely corseted
waists, the satin fitted like it was sprayed on. Below this, the skirts which
were just long enough to reach the tops of the legs when the wearers stood
still, sprang out till they were a good three feet across. The hems were
stiffened with wire hoops and so swayed interestingly at each tiny step, so that
the super tight stockings were frequently displayed. The stockings, rather less
than full "opera" in length, were of a pale beige tint and, in spite of very
tight light blue suspenders, allowed an intriguing band of pale thigh to show.

The feet were in pale blue suede pumps with seven inch heels while matching
shoulder-length gloves covered the arms. The hands were pulled as high up the
back as the wearers could stand and anchored by straps which ran up to high,
stiff, suede collars about the; necks. The four pretty "maids" wore little white
aprons, which were now pinned up in such a manner as to hold the bouquet of
artificial blue roses that the girls couldn't carry in their arms in the usual
manner. To keep them fashionably silent, each girl's mouth was stretched wide
open, probably by a choke-pear, then covered by a wide, smooth band of
flesh-coloured suede, right around the head. A pair of full smiling lips was
stuck in the proper position, but the happy expression was belied by the staring
eyes, wide open in the smart "gag look."

As I watched this lovely procession approach, I found myself wondering, "But
where is Vicki?" 


Episode 6   (2 images)

The procession slowly crossed the hall to where Dick and I were waiting by the 
dais. As my bride arrived beside me, I turned, so we were both facing the 
flower-banked platform. At this moment a figure appeared from behind the flowers 
at one side and minced slowly to the centre, where she turned to face us.

>From her toes to about half way between knee and thigh, she wore black, patent
knee-boots, with eight-inch heels. Her legs were covered, apparently up to the
waist by the mistiest of black nylon tights. The corseted body was covered to
just below the bust by a brief, skin-fitting leotard which was a solid mass of
silver sequins; the legs were cut so high at the sides as almost to reach the
waist. From the bosom, right up to a high neck, she wore the same black nylon
which covered her legs, the centre of each bosom being decorated with a rosette
of rhinestones. The head was covered by a sort of helmet of black patent, which
came down in front to form a domino eye-mask, and also covered the neck and
ears, though it left the mouth uncovered. From the shoulders hung a long
cape-like garment of black lace which was caught around the waist by a narrow
rhinestone belt, but arranged to hang so far open in front that neither the
bosom or legs were concealed. Perhaps the strangest part of the costume was the
huge, black lace collar, in the form of a scallop shell; the wearer's
black-gloved arms were made of part of the lower frame, so subtly, you didn't
realise she was helpless, or indeed what had been done to get rid of them.
Obviously, this was Vicki. You couldn't tell directly, but it could not be
anyone else.

Glancing over the assemblage, then down to her daughter, she began:

"Subjects and gentlemen, we are gathered here this evening to witness the formal
acceptance of this Human Puppet before me by the young man beside her."

Speaking to me, she asked solemnly: "Do you, Edward Walk, take this puppet to be
your property, to lace and to corset, to gag and to bind, in satin and in silk,
in leather and in steel, from this day forth?"

"I do," I answered, my heart pounding with excitement. "Very well. Remove her
veil and signify your acceptance by making her a face."

Eagerly, I swept the concealing vefi7 back from Nicki's long, black curling wig
and blank face. At the same time the page stepped forward; on the tray hung from
her neck were some various coloured grease-pencils. I'll admit I'm a pretty fair
amateur artist; and in a very few minutes I had drawn her a very pretty
cartoon-style face; the expression was one of pleased surprise, with big,
wide-open eyes, arching brows and a full, smiling mouth.

The job complete, the page melted away and Nicki and I turned once more to the
High Priestess.

"Do you, Puppet Nicole," she asked in measured tones, "give yourself,
wholeheartedly and completely ,to this man, with no thought but to make him
happy?"

The rigid figure nodded her silent head.

"And do you further promise to love him implicitly, honour him completely, and
obey him abjectly?"

Another nod.

"And do you further promise to accept the most stringent bondage and severest of
silencers to make yourself more desirable to him?"

Again a nod.

"Very well. Accept from your owner the symbol of his domination."

There was a faint sound from behind me. I turned to see the page had returned On
her tray was a pair of gold-plated ankle cuffs, joined by a short chain,
Kneeling, I snapped the cuffs about the trim ankles as the pretty legs moved far
enough apart to draw the chain tight. The Priestess spoke again.

"By the authority vested in me by this Society, I now declare you Owner and
Property. '

Nicki turned toward me and I locked her in a crushing embrace. From somewhere I
heard the Priestess say:

"Let the celebration commence."


Episode  7   (1 image)

Under Dick's guidance, my wife made a move across the room she taking very small
strides by reason of the short chain between her ankles-and formed part of a
Reception Line, together with the four helpless bridesmaids. (The page seemed to
have vanished.) In a few moments the Priestess joined us and Dick stood beside
her.

There was a special etiquette observed by all the delightfully helpless girls.
When a girl guest greeted a bridesmaid, or the bride, they bowed slightly from
the hips. But when a girl greeted a man, she curtsies-not a full, deep court
curtsey, which most of them were too stiffly restrained to manage anyway, but a
very definite curtsey, just the same. Even Nicki, as Guest of Honour, curtsied
to the gentlemen with the rest. Vicki, however, did not. I found out this was
because she was not gagged and so could greet them verbally.

When the actual receiving was over and it took quite a long time, since all the
men had to compliment Nicki on her delightful costume and the charming arrogance
with which she wore it. The bridesmaids, at a signal from Vicki, filed out.

Shortly afterward they returned, without their pinned-on bouquets, with their
aprons smoothed down in front. On the shoulders each had an arrangement similar
to an old-fashioned milkmaid's yoke. But instead of a pail hanging from each
side, there was a round tray. On some of the trays were glasses of champagne; on
others, little plates of sandwiches, etc. With practised ease, the pretty maids
slipped among the guests, supplying the men with refreshments. The poor bound
and gagged girls, of course, got nothing-except for Vicki; when the Bride's
health was proposed, Dick did hold his glass to her lips so she could take a sip
of champagne in her daughter's honour.

I was beginning to wonder about the wedding cake when it arrived, under its own
power. It was a huge one, about two and a half feet in height, and almost as
much in diameter. It was generally in the form of a cone, since the individual
layers got smaller as they got higher. It was very elaborately iced and
decorated, with a delightful little piece of sugar sculpture on top,
representing a man-obviously me-in a light rickshaw, driving a very smartly
harnessed human pony, which was, presumably Nicki, but her entire head was
enclosed in a gleaming black helmet. The oddest part of the cake, however, was
the fact that it had legs. Pretty high-heeled legs in black mesh stockings, legs
I recognised at once as Fifi's. The cake was largely hollow inside and was
arranged to fit over her like that giant pack of cigarettes fits over the dancer
on television.

It's quite surprising, but very pleasant to have a wedding cake come strutting
up to you. Somebody thrust a cake knife into my hand. I unfastened one of my
wife's limp, artificial arms from her bouquet and, holding the gloved "hand" in
mine, began cutting the cake. Dick had a stack of plates on a rolling table and
the bridesmaids cued up so he could put the filled plates on the trays that
swung from their rigid shoulders. In a very short time all the men were served,
then the girls went back to serving champagne.

As I replaced her arm, I asked my helpless, silent wife: "Happy, sweetheart?"

She nodded and nestled up against me as well as her unyielding corset would
permit. Her dark wigged head went back and she offered her dumb-painted lips for
a kiss. "Hey!" called a voice from across the room, "How about some dancing?
Ted, will you and your bride lead us off?"


Episode 8   (2 images)

I was wondering how Nicki could manage to dance with her ankles so closely
hobbled, when Dick slipped me a key, murmuring:

"For dancing, the bride's legs may be released."

In a second, I had one cuff removed and was about to take the other off, when I
had an idea. I snapped the first one on again, so both cuffs were on the left
leg, as a sort of symbol that the chain was removed only temporarily.

Then, I unpinned her limp arms and took off the bouquet of artificial roses as
well. I put one floppy arm on my shoulder and took the hand of the other in my
left and as somebody started a waltz on the phonograph, my puppet bride and I
took the floor.

The others stood and watched for a while, but they slowly joined in. Soon the
floor was full of dancing couples. Obviously, some such fairly slow number as a
waltz was necessary; the girls were alt so tightly laced and gagged that any
sort of exertion was out of the question.

There is a great thrill to dancing with anyone as helpless as Nicki; from the
hips up she was as rigid as a poker and though she pressed as close to me as she
could, her movements were still very stiff; then, too, the height of her heels
made her balance a matter of great delicacy and I found it easier to clasp her
very tightly around the waist, taking a good deal of her weight myself. You grow
so accustomed, in dancing, to feel the girl's left arm around you and to do a
good deal of your leading through your left and her right arms that it feels
very odd when they are not there. But you get a tremendous sense of utter
helplessness.

Toward the end of the number, I could feel her knees weakening and could sense
she was almost collapsing, so I steered her over to her mother and murmured, "I
think Nicki's about had it. She'd better rest a while."

Vicki nodded and agreed:

"It's not surprising. She insisted on being laced in until she fainted. Then she
made us gag her so tightly she could hardly breathe. But she ought to be
changing into her going-away outfit soon anyway. Oh, here comes Dick. He'll take
Nicki around through the kitchen and up the back stairs. Then, with the puppet
skin off and the gag loosened a little, she can rest a while before it's time to
get dressed again."

But even though she was swaying on her feet from exhaustion, my wife wouldn't
leave until I had put her ankle-chain back again.

For the next hour or more I had a fine time, cutting in and dancing with all the
charmingly helpless girls. Many of them managed to be quite flirtatious, in
spite of their rigid bondage and enforced silence. It's amazing how eloquent a
pair of made-up eyes can be when the mouth below is gagged.

Several times I looked for Fifi, but the Walking Wedding Cake had vanished.

Finally, Nicki reappeared at the head of the stairs in her going-away costume
and slowly descended. She still wore her Venus corset but no imitation arms.
Instead, she had on a tight-fitting, armless, green velvet jacket, with a little
round collar and a puff of yellow silk scarf around the neck. Two cut outs in
front of the jacket allowed her to thrust forward beneath a yellow blouse. Below
the waist, just to the tops of her very long brown kid, eight-inch heeled
thigh-boots, she wore an ultra light, brown velvet skirt. Her head was covered
with a discipline helmet of the same leather as the boots, though it seemed to
be in two parts, the area over the mouth and lower face being strapped on over
the crown of the head. Final touches were supplied by a green velvet beret on
the smooth leather head, and a narrow spray of pink orchids on the left
shoulder.

So easily and surely had she managed the stairs, that it was not until she stood
uncertainly at the bottom that we all realised her helmet had no eye-holes and
she was blind.

I didn't feel quite ready to go, so, with assistance, I stood her precariously
on four champagne bottles for forty-five minutes. She didn't dare move a muscle,
or she would have fallen and probably hurt herself.


Episode 9   (2 images)

When I was good and ready to leave, I lifted my charmingly defence-less bride
down off the bottles, and, guided by Dick and Vicki, led her through the back of
the house to the garage. Yes, this must be one fo the few houses left in the
city with a private garage, formerly coach-house, attached. Made it very handy
for getting tightly bound and strikingly costumed girls into and out of cars
without exciting interest in the wrong quarters.

Dick had the station wagon ready for us. It was packed with numerous suitcases
of Nicki's (and mine, which I had brought over earlier). There was a queer
arrangement like a folding door frame, whose use I couldn't guess. But, oddest
of all, was a large, vaguely pear-shaped leather bag, hung from a special hook
in the roof of the wagon. I couldn't figure it at all.

Right back of the front seat, convenient to hand, was a large chest of bondage
material. From it I took a long, fairly heavy cord and tied one end of it as
tightly around my wife's rigid waist as I could pull it. I helped her seat
herself on the front seat. Then I brought the rope up behind her and around the
bar on the back of the seat and pulled it so tight before knotting it, that
nearly all her weight rested on the rope. To keep her from leaning forward, I
ran another short rope around her leather neck and to the back of the seat. I
figured this arrangement would give her something to think about-especially
going over any bumps. As a final touch to complete her helplessness, I corded
her legs together as tightly as possible at ankles, insteps and above and below
her booted knees. Vicki gave me a warm kiss and Dick slipped an envelope into my
pocket as we shook hands, saying:

"Open it after you're out of the city. .. The best of luck, my boy and remember,
in marriage there's nothing that can't be settled by a smaller corset, a higher
heel, a tighter restraint or a more severe gag. So long."

I slipped behind the wheel as he opened the garage doors and away we went.

Naturally, we kept to the darker streets, but I still had ample light to admire
the lovely figure at my side. Silent, bound and corseted to utter helplessness,
Nicki was, to me, the acme of feminine desirability. For her part, I could feel,
from the faint but definite responses to my kisses that she, too, was more than
content with her condition. When we were some miles out in the country, I
stopped the car, turned on the map-fight and read the letter. It said:

		Dear Ted:

		Of course you'll want to spend your honeymoon at your cottage, but don't
forget that our place is just up the road. Make yourselves at home there. You'l1
have space, apparatus and privacy Vicki and I are sending Fifi along to help
you. She can do all the things, like housework that I'm sure you'l1 keep Nicki
too firmly restrained to do. When you want privacy, just add a blindfold to her
gag. Handle her just as strictly as you do Nicki; they both thrive on severity.
Oh, be sure and set up the portable lacing frame I let you have; neither girl is
strong enough to pull herself in without it. Happy honeymoon.

		Dick

So Fifi was with us! That was very generous of Vicki and Dick, but where was
she? Suddenly I realised what the contents of that swinging leather bag must be.
What a delightful way to pack her for shipment!

Soon we were pulling up outside the cottage. Of course, brides always have to be
carried over the threshold for the first time, so I lowered the tail of the
wagon and carried Nicki around to fix her properly. I secured a rope several
times around her armless shoulders and ran a cord from it back to the one around
her ankles, pulling it tight until she was bent backwards like a strung bow.
Then I took the cord that still retained its position under her body, up the
back and tied it to the lace of her helmet, drawing her head back to the utmost.
She was now in a beautiful Crapaudine position and utterly without the power of
movement. It was thus that I carried my bride into her new home. I left her in
that position while I went out, leisurely, to unpack the station wagon.


Episode 10   (2 images)

Naturally, I emptied the baggage and so forth out of the wagon first, including
the lacing-frame. I set that up in a little utility room behind the bedroom.
(How it works you'll see in a future chapter.)

Then I was ready for that interesting-looking leather bag which still hung from
the roof of the automobile. A little examination showed the bag was nothing but
a cover-that is, it took no weight. That part of it was handled by a metal loop
that emerged from the tied neck of the bag. Untying hte cord, I removed the bag,
disclosing Fifi, bound in a manner I had never se seen before. Since, owing to
the deep curve her body had been forced into, she could not wear a conventional
stiff corset, her sole clothing, aside from the usual stockings. was a
super-tight fitting, heavy, dark, rubber garment like a one-piece bathing suit.

To get her into the necessary position, she must have been made to sit, flat on
the ground, then her head and arms were forced forward and down, while her knees
were brought up until a bar, with securing straps at the ends, could be passed
under her knees and across the back of the shoulders. Her arms, which were now
on the underside of her thighs, were brought around the outside of them and
forced as far back as possible by means of cords from wrist to wrist across the
small of her back. Later I found out, when the subject is left in this position,
it is called "The Grasshopper," from the raised position of the knees. But in
Fifi's case, her feet were laced into soft boottees, without heels, the toes of
which were sewn to the ring by which she was suspended. Thus, the least movement
was impossible and escape, or even modification of the position, was out of the
question. Her discomfort was greatly increased and silence assured by a huge pad
of sponge rubber crammed into the gaping mouth and held in place by a narrow
strap, buckled as tightly as possible around her head.

Fifi's tear-filled eyes gazed at me in mute appeal as I slipped the bag off.
Knowing that release form a cramped position such as this can be very painful
unless done slowly, I carried her, still bound, into the utility room, placed
her gently on the floor, and removed her bonds. Then I left her to untangle
herself as fast as her stiffness allowed. Nearby I placed one of the suitcases
on which was stencilled her name. Then I went back to the living room and my
helpless bride.

I released her, too, at least as far as her bonds went. Then I led her to the
couch seating myself at one end and settling her so that her armless ,trunk
rested against me and her attractively booted legs extended along the seat. Even
though I couldn't hear it, I could feel her sigh and relax at least as much as
her rigid costume allowed.

I took off her beret and then unbuckled the lower part of her helmet, the part
over the lower face and jaw. This disclosed the obviously wide open mouth and
cheeks were covered by a smooth-fitting three-inch band of leather, which turned
out to be laced down the back of her head, over the helmet. This actually had a
triple function, to jam the mouthpiece of the gag all the way back in the mouth,
to seal the mouth completely, to present a smooth surface, so the part of the
helmet over the mouth could fit without the least crease or bulge. Under this
wide band when I unlaced it, I found the mouth packed wide open by the largest
possible leather egg which was held in place by a strap through fit and around
the back of the head, pulling the corners of the mouth far back.

At first, Nicki's mouth was so dry and stiff and cramped, she could say nothing.
Finally, she managed to ask for some water, which I gave her I was just
beginning to unlace the rest of the helmet when she begged:

"Please, master, not yet I want to look my best when you see my face. I've got
no makeup on and my face will be full of pressure-marks from the mask Let Fifi
fix me up as pretty as possible, then I'll be glad to show my face to you. I
hope you like me," she murmured anxiously.


Episode 11   (2 images)

It was more than an hour later I suppose (after all, who keeps track of minutes
at a time like that?) when Fifi knocked on the door of the living room.

Fifi was her usual dark Parisian self, from the crisp white cap on her dark hair
to the tips of her high-heeled, black patent toes. Her first words were:

"Fifi weeshes to thank Monsieur for putting up ze lacing frame. Wizzout eet, she
could not have lace' her corset. You theenk she looks nice, oui?"

She pirouetted for my approval. As a change from the usual black, she wore a
steel grey, satin uniform. It had a very high, stiff tight collar, which came up
in a fan of lace behind, almost to the top of her head. Over the shoulders,
bosom and hips, it fit like the skin on a frankfurter. It continued down, still
ultra tight, to about a few inches above her knees-far longer than her usual
skirts. Her stockings of ordinary length, were dark beige, and in spite of the
pull of the four tight suspenders to each leg, there was a band of bare flesh
between stocking top and skirt hem. Finishing touches were the white apron,
edged with lace and the wide lace cuffs on the full-length, tight sleeves.

"Very nice, Fifi," I told her, "but tell me, why no black stockings? I thought
French maids always wore them."

"Oui, monsieur, for ordinary occasions. But zees ees no ordinary occasion. Zee
only black stockings worn tonight will be on Mam'selle. Fifi would not dream of
offering, what you call, competeetion . . . Eef Monsieur weel permit, Fifi will
take ze bride, an' dress her in a pretty negligee, for ze bridal supper an'
prepare her face for ze great unveilfing."

I helped Nicki to her feet, and after a final kiss, she minced out, followed by
Fifi, who gave me one of her inviting smiles before closing the door.

There was quite a lengthy wait part of which I filled by getting out a bottle of
champagne and putting it in an ice-bucket.

Finally, I heard Nicki's slightly husky voice, outside the door, asking,

"Will you let me in please, boss?"

My first reaction was to tell her to open the door herself, since it wasn't
locked. Then I realised, happily, she was probably incapable of doing so. In two
strides, I was across the room and had the door open. My wife took two or three
tiny steps into the room and posed, awaiting my approval.

She was well worth approving. Her feet were shod in very low cut, black patent
pumps with the slimmest of seven-inch heels; her legs were displayed as Fifi
promised, in the finest gauge, black nylon operas, stretched as taut as possible
and beyond the tops of the legs at the sides by a single, wide, black suspenders
which were attached to the lower edge of the Venus corset which still enclosed
her trunk, compressing her arms into invisibility. Her undergarment was of black
lace, with a matching brassiere. The negligee which Fifi mentioned was made
without arms to fit over the corset, was of black tulle, buttoned closely down
the front to the waist; then it was steeply cut away to leave the legs fully
displayed. The most surprising part of the outfit was the thin, but opaque,
black satin hood, which was tied bag-like around her neck, completely concealing
her head and face. Eagerly, I led her to the couch and as I reached for the knot
of the draw-string, she cautioned me:

"Are you sure you want to see my face? I-I may not be at all what you expect."

"I'm not worried," I assured her, "though I'll admit to certain nagging doubts.
I'm sure you're lovely-and anyway, I can always keep you masked and gagged if I
feel like it." I undid the knot and slipped off the concealing hood. 


Episode 12   (2 images)

There was a long silence after I slipped the hood off Nicki's head, disclosing 
her face.  Finally, she murmured anxiously:

"What-what's the matter? Don't you like me?"

"Like you!" I exclaimed. "You're so lovely, you left me speechless."

Her resemblance to her beautiful mother was striking, with the same attractive,
wide-set eyes under carefully plucked, high arching, dark brows, a little
similar, slightly tip-tilted nose over the generous, beautifully shaped lips,
slightly parted to disclose the white, even teeth. Perhaps the most striking
difference was her hair, which instead of being dark, was so blonde, it was
almost white. She wore it in a sort of angel cut, a mass of short curls that
would have looked quite boyish if her features had not been so feminine. I found
out she wore it in this style because it was so practical with the wigs and
helmets she wore so much.

Her features were brilliantly made up, as though for a stage appearance, with
ultra long, artificial eyelashes, deep eye-shadow, pale skin with a touch of
rouge high on her cheek-bones and her pretty mouth outlined in the brightest
possible red lipstick.

As soon as I had reassured her, she glanced up at me flirtatiously through her
long lashes and murmured:

"How about a kiss?"

Eagerly I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms crushingly about her armless trunk;
as my mouth approached hers, her eyes closed langorously. Finally, while we were
taking a sort of breather, and I was trying to tell Nicki how much I loved her
and how delightful she looked, there was a gentle knock on the door. "Come in,"
I said, and Fifi minced in, murmuring:

"Eef Monsieur weel fix Fifi like ze Bridal Soubrette, she weel serve ze Bridal
Supper."

"What on earth is a Bridal Soubrette?" I asked. My wife explained, "She's sort
of a couple of steps beyond a French maid. Her job is to wait on a bride and
groom without interfering with their privacy. That means she cannot see, speak,
or release herself from her restraint. Bring the things in, Fifi, I'm sure my
husband is more than willing to fix you."

Fifi curtsied, minced out and returned with a tray on which were the necessary
materials. The first items were a pair of arm corsets, which were like
shoulder-length gloves, except that the; arm parts were heavily boned and laced
up like a corset, so that once on, Fifi could not bend her elbows. That means
she could use her hands, but could not get them near her face.

I laced these as tightly as I could, then put on the leather branks, which was
an arrangement of many bridle-like straps which went over her head and around
her face. The function of this, aside from its attractive appearance, was to
hold a padded leather patch over each eye, blinding her, and the biggest
possible leather pear as far back as possible in her gaping mouth, gagging her
completely. My helpless bride stood by my side, supervising the adjustment of
the straps and laces, insisting that everything be pulled as tightly as possible
without regard to the victim's feelings. Poor Fifi writhed and waved her
stiffened arms uselessly, as under Nicki's guidance I pulled the blindfold strap
a hole tighter or took up two more on the gag-strap. As a final perfecting touch
I buckled a narrow belt around her waist and ran a strap from the back of it to
a ring on the top of her branks. As Fifi couldn't see anyway, Nicki made me pull
this check rein up until I was afraid the wretched maid's neck would be
dislocated; but Nicki knew what she was doing. At last she said smiling sweetly,

"All right Fifi you may serve supper. And if you spill a drop of anything,
you'll spend the night pulled up like that."


Episode  13   (1 image)

The supper table was already laid out on a little glass-enclosed porch which is
nice and warm, even in the cool of the evening. The table is one of those
wrought-iron, glass-topped jobs, but only one place was set, since my armless
bride would have to be fed.

Arrived at the table I made her stand astride the chair, and with some cord I
had brought, I tied her trunk to the back of it. Then I doubled her legs at the
knees, cording her ankles to the side members of the chair, opposite her hips.
When I was through all she could move was her head. As I took my place beside
her, she smiled.

"It's always fun to be tied up, but it's especially delightful to be tied by
your husband."

Naturally, I kissed her. Several times. Then Fifi began serving the meal.
Incredibly, she managed the whole deal without spilling a drop of anything. She
was slow, yes-but who was in a hurry? She seemed to know almost by instinct
where the kitchen door was and how many steps she had to take from the door to
the table and so on. At one point, as she took a tray-load of dishes back to the
kitchen, walking through the door without even crashing it, her slow, stiff
movements reminding me of a mechanical figure, I asked Nicki how she managed it.

"Easy," I was told. "She does it by sound. She and mother and I, have all
learned to move around blindfolded by listening to the sounds we make being
reflected by walls and even big pieces of furniture." "Could you move around
blindfolded, as easily as she does?"

"Certainly. Even better. I've had more practice," Nicki asserted.

Well, that was a nice bit of information to file away for the future.

When the time came to serve the champagne, I got it out of the ice bucket,
loosened the cork and shook the bottle before making Fifi turn around. I flatter
myself that I scored a very good hit right where it would do the most good. Her
stiff arms flew back uselessly and I'm sure she tried to cry out, but no sound
penetrated the super-tight gag.

Filling one glass, I made Nicki take a sip for herself, then one for me which I
took from her lips. So we slowly killed most of the bottle-and I may say
champagne never tasted better than it did from my lovely wife's ruby lips.
Though Nicki drank her share of the wine, she ate almost nothing, explaining the
corset she was going to wear later wouldn't allow her to take more than couple
of mouthfuls. I didn't argue.

Supper over I carried my bride, her ankles still bound to her thighs, back to
the living room where we had coffee. She was warmed and relaxed by the
champagne, obviously glorying in her helpless attractiveness.

Along toward midnight she suggested:

"If you'd like to take Fifi's blindfold off, she could help me out of this Venus
corset and into the other one I mentioned. Then I could get ready for bed and we
could get rid of Fifi." "Sounds like a fine idea," I agreed heartily. 


Episode 14   (2 images)

Nicki and
Fifi, her sight now restored, were out of the room for so long, I had begun to
worry about what had happened to them, and was just going to go looking for them
when the door opened. Fifi entered first, looking much the same as before, save
that her leather branks seemed to have been pulled even tighter, the blindfold
replaced and her relatively long, tight skirt had been pulled up slightly at the
sides so the wrists of her rigid arms could be strapped to her thighs making her
arms useless. Just behind, and urging her along came my bride, wearing a
night-gown of sheerest, black nylon The night-gown was enclosed at the waist by
a very short, stiff, black patent corset, which pulled Nicki's wasp waist into
sixteen inches, smaller than I had ever seen it. The corset was unusual in
another way. It closed at the back and laced at the front-it was now standing
open about two inches. The night-gown, which reached the floor at the sides was
slit at back and front. There were two narrow straps in front of the corset,
fastened to the lower edge about six inches apart' they went down and up to
fasten to the corset in back. I found, they were called "Martingale" straps and
were intended to hold a short corset like this one from riding up uncomfortably;
they helped the figure in other ways, too. Her black opera hose were held up by
being rolled down a couple of inches to meet a fancy black lace garter on each
lovely leg. Finishing touches were supplied by ultra tight black gloves,
reaching to above the elbow and seven-inch heeled, black patent sandals.

"How do I look?" she smiled, posing for my pleasure.

"Without doubt, you are the most lovely and desirable creature the world has
ever seen," I declared firmly. She flashed me a teasing smile and then made
quite a production out of pulling up one sheer stocking and then the other. I
noticed her hands were so tightly gloved, she had quite a little difficulty in
closing her fingers. i "Tell me," I asked, "why the front lacing corset?"

"Well, I assume you're going to strap my arms up behind meat least, I hope you
are. And if the corset lace was at the back, under my arms how could you get it
closed?" "You mean you could stand being laced even smaller?" I gasped "Oh, yes.
I've had this corset closed to within one inch. But with my arms anchored behind
my back and maybe a nice tight gag in my mouth, I couldn't very well stop if you
decided to close it all the way, could I? Now," she said briskly, "how about
getting rid of Fifi for the night?" and she gestured toward Fifi, who was
standing stiff and still as a post beside her.

I got a heavy travelling rug and a long length of rope and some straps.

"Bring her out on the porch," I ordered. As she pushed her victim along, Nicki
explained:

"I've plugged her ears, so she's deaf as well as blind and dumb. That's why I
have to move her around this way." On the porch, I spread the rug, laid Fifi
down on it, strapped her legs together in several places and rolled her tightly
in the rug. Then I laced the cord around and around the silent, helpless bundle.


Episode 15   (2 images)

Nicki looked at me and smiled, "Would you strap my arms up, please?"

"It will be a pleasure," I assured her wholeheartedly, "if you will get the
straps."

Gracefully, she rose from the couch, and before going on her errand, she pulled
up her garters and smoothed out her black stockings.

In a few minutes, she was beside me on the couch again, wrists strapped together
between her shoulder-blades and elbows tightly in contact in the small of her
back. She sighed happily.

"Oh, if you only knew how wonderful and exciting it is to be dressed like this
and helpless in the bargain," she said.

Later on, I suggested, "Let's begin tightening your corset. I want to see it
closed all the way down the front."

"So do I," Nicki nodded, continuing, "Maybe you'd better gag me. Otherwise,
after about an inch, I might be trying to get you to stop pulling me in, instead
of leaving the decision up to you, the way it should be." "What kind of a gag do
you want, a choke-pear?" "Anything you please, master. Of course, a choke-pear
is a good silencer and it's nice and severe as well."

A moment or so later, my bride was mute, her jaws fully distended by the strong
spring of the leather-covered pear. Her eyes were also wide open in the pretty
"gag-look."

I undid the long lace that was wrapped around her corseted wrist and began
pulling. For three quarters of an inch it wasn't too tough. The next quarter was
a real fight. Nicki's lovely legs squirmed and she shook her head in a vain
attempt to make me stop. Obviously, the gag was a fine idea. I tied the lace and
let her rest a few minutes, while I told her all over again how lovely she
looked and how much I loved her.

Then I stood her up, fastened one end of the lace to a doorknob, and began
pulling at the other. As the lace slowly slipped through the holes, I had to
keep tying it and then working the lace down from the top and up from the bottom
of the corset. Then I would let her rest some more. It took over an hour before
the gap was closed from top to bottom. As I was knotting the lace, Nicki's knees
buckled and she started to fall. I picked her up and put her on the couch. I
think she fainted, but I knew enough not to loosen the lace and in a few minutes
her eyes were opened.

I let her rest, while her body adjusted itself to the strain, for about half an
hour. Then I asked if she wanted to have the gag taken out of her mouth. She
nodded. In a few minutes, she was able to whisper,

"You've got me laced to fourteen inches. I never thought I'd make it. I feel
like I'm cut in half. It's delicious. It's uncomfortable and wonderful at the
same time. Now if you'd strap a flirtation bit in my mouth, you can go to bed."

"I'll go to bed, but I've got something better than a flirtation bit to go in
your mouth. It's a copy of an old Spanish bridal bridle."

"A bridal bridle! It sounds interesting but exciting. What is it?"

"It's what many a high-born Spanish bride had to wear on her wedding night to
impress her with her new condition. I'll get it."


Episode 16   (2/3 images)

 I went down into my workshop and was up in a moment with the Spanish bridal
bridle. I showed it to my interested bride. It combined the finer points of a
branks, a human pony bit and a choke-pear. It was designed to hold the mouth
wide open, with the jaws at their fullest stretch, so that the wearer was in the
same condition as if she was wearing a flirtation bit, but much more so. In
addition, a plug hung from a short chain, so that if her owner desired silence,
he had but to insert the plug and the subject was tightly gagged.

"Well," said Nicki, "it certainly looks uncomfortable, but it looks exciting,
too. I won't give you any trouble with that in my mouth. Let's try it," and she
opened her mouth as wide as she could.

It was quite a tussle to get the bridle between her teeth, and she couldn't
restrain an "Aaaaoooh!" of protest, as I tightened the fastening behind her
head, forcing the device deeply into place. Experimentally, I put the plug in
place and her protests were silenced as though by magic.

Later, on the night-table, I saw a note leaning against the lamp I opened it and
read:

"When the time comes, please take off my high heels and put on my training-boots
to sleep in. You'l1 find them under the edge of the bed."

Your proud, helpless wife

I sat her down on the edge of the bed and fished for the boots. I found them and
put them on. Basically, they were like ballet toe slippers, save they had no
padded toe; in addition, a heavy steel strip ran backward from the toe, shaped
the arch of the foot very steeply and then straight back for about a foot. At
the end of it was a strap.

Obviously, this strap went around her leg, just below the knee and from the mark
where the buckle went, it was pulled very tight. The effect was to make her arch
her instep so far downward that the sole of her foot, her heel, and the calf of
her leg were in a straight line. I didn't see how she could even wear such an
arrangement, let alone sleep that way. But that was what she wanted, and I
certainly didn't think it my place to argue.

The boots in place, I lifted her carefully, because she was so severely
restrained, she was on the verge of fainting, and made her kneel in the middle
of the bed. Then I strapped her ankles to her things. I gave her a push and she
fell backward.

She was in a perfect "trussed chicken" attitude. Laced as tightly as she was,
she couldn't pull herself upright again, and with her arms and legs doubled up
and bound behind her, she was unable to even turn on her side.


Episode 17   (2 images)

 Of course, I relaxed the severity of my bride's bondage to a great extent. But
she still retained her training boots and while her hands came down from between
her shoulder-blades, I did keep her wrists strapped together behind her back.
Likewise, the bridal bridle came out, and was replaced by the far more
comfortable flirtation bit.

In the morning, the bridle went back and the bondage became more stringent for a
while.

After breakfast-which my bride had to make for me, since Fifi was still wrapped
up like a cocoon on the front porch-I went in to the nearby town to buy a
Ping-Pong ball and some coloured drawing inks. I had had an idea.

On my retum, I was met at the door of the cottage by two delightful-looking
maids in uniforms. These consisted of stiffly starched, blue linen tunics, very
tight-fitting from the ultra-high, stiff collars down to the wasp-waists. Below
this, the skirts sprang out very full and stiff, but were short, with narrow
lace ruffles around the tops of the legs. The stockings, of a champagne tint,
came right up under these skirts (I found out later that Nicki and the others
did not go in for the Can-Can style of a flash of bare thigh above the stockings
until late in the afternoon, ore more usually, early evening) and the shoes were
plain black pumps with six inch heels. To finish off the girls wore plain caps
and matching simple aprons and cuffs in white.

Perhaps the most striking thing about the outfits was the way the girls stuck
out in back. At first I thought they were wearing bustles, in the Gay Nineties
manner. Then I saw they were being forced, in some way, to bend their backs so
steeply that the upper spine and lower spine made almost a right-angle bend at
waist level. The effect was to make them thrust their bosoms forward in front
and rearward in back.

"Hi, boss! How do you think we look?" Nicki greeted me, turning in profile, to
give me the full effect.

"Like a couple of pretty pouter pigeons," I grinned, and asked, "How on earth do
you get that effect?"

My wife explained and demonstrated that they were wearing what she called
"German spine-benders," which were strips of steel an inch wide and a quarter of
an inch thick which ran from the top of the collar down the back, under the body
and up in front; where the steel emerged in front, it forked, and the two arms
of the fork continued up in front, following the line where the thigh joined the
body, almost to the waist. Since the steel was curved to fit against the body
all the way, and to force the spine into the curve desired, the wearer had no
choice but to conform to the exaggerated curve required. The steel was worn next
to the body, beneath the underclothing and corset, so that it was invisible.
Only the effect could be seen.

After the demonstration was complete, my wife smiled and said:

"Now if you'l1 limit our freedom and silence us, we'l1 get along with the
house-work."

The silencers came first. These were in the form of ball-gags of a special type
split in the middle with a hinge at the back of the mouth. After the ball was
forced into the mouth-a matter of some difficulty, because of its size-a metal
bar was passed, bit-wise, between the teeth, forcing the two halves of the ball
apart and the jaws wide open.

Most gags are secured as high behind the head as possible, as the wearer is
usually required to carry her head high. These ball-gags were different. The
bars were held in place by chains, the ends of which were locked together behind
the head, but as low around the base of the neck as possible. This, dragged the
lower jaw back and down and made the wearer tilt her head steeply forward,
enforcing a look of shyness that was most delightful.

an interesting refinement was the fact that a steel eye, attached to the spine
bender, emerged from the collar at the back, and the bit-chains were padlocked
to this. As a result, the victim was unable to turn or move her head in the
slightest, but was required to look at the ground in front of her feet, like a
shy school-girl.


Episode 18   (2 images)

To permit my pretty maids' freedom, yet allow them to do some work, they each
wore a separate cuff on each wrist. From each cuff, a long chain went back,
under the body and up to fasten to the ends of the bit that held the ball-gag in
place. The chains were of such a length that the wearer had a good deal of
freedom at waist height and below, but if she tried to get her hands to her
mouth the chains drew tight and applied pressure to the bit and hence to the
gag. Since their heels were only six inches high, I made each girl wear
ankle-cuffs, joined by about ten inches of chain, to keep her stride within
modest, feminine limits.

Their restraint complete, the two silent maids curtsied prettily started to
work. They emptied ash-trays, straightened magazines, one got the dust mop and
the other the floor-sweeper. They went to it with a will and as much speed as
their limited freedom permitted. But every move was planned to catch my eye.

As Nicki leaned forward to fluff up a sofa cushion, (and the steeply arched
rigidity of her spine forced her to do all the bending from the hips), she would
face away from me and place her legs tightly together, so that I would get the
full benefit of the dark seams of her stockings, running straight as a die up
the back of her lovely legs.

Both girls made the most of every opportunity of demonstrating the fact that the
neat short paces their ankle chains enforced should as they walked.

Fnally, when the rest of the place was straightened, the two maids headed for
the bedroom, and I chased Fifi into the kitchen and told her to start getting
lunch ready.

Nicki had to make the bed by herself. Then I released her hands and removed her
gag and told her she could rest a while before changing her clothes for lunch.

While she was resting, I strolled out to the kitchen to see how Fifi was coming
along with the lunch.


Episode 19   (2 images)

Just before lunch was ready, Nicki came swaying gracefully into the living room,
her carefully cultivated figure shown off in all its arrogant artificiality by
her costume. She still wore the same super-long stockings, but everything else
had changed. Her pretty feet were propped up by brilliantly polished, brown kid
pumps, with slim, seven inch heels and ankle straps to hold them snugly in
place. Above the stockings she wore shorts of brown rubber. Never have I seen
such snug-fitting pants; her stocking tops, the four short, ultra tight
suspenders to each leg everything beneath them showed through quite clearly. The
tiny stiff corseted waist was accented by a narrow brown leather belt, pulled in
as tightly as possible. Above the waist for contrast she wore a very
full-fitting, off the-shoulder blouse of heavy, white satin. The long sleeves
ended in tight cuffs, which showed that, for once Nicki wore no gloves.

"I don't think you've ever seen me in shorts have you boss?" Hands on slim hips,
she turned to display her figure from every angle.

While I told her how lovely she looked, she looked up at me and murmured:

"I don't know how you feel about it, chief, but I feel more attractive when I'm
helpless."

"Of course," I answered, "any girl is more attractive when she is helpless and
that seems to go double for you, since you get so much enjoyment out of it."

 "That's what I hoped you'd say," she smiled. "Just a second," and she bustled
out with a charming air of importance.

In a moment, she returned carrying an odd-looking garment in soft, brown
leather. She handed it to me, saying:

"'This is a new kind of straitjacket I just had made up. I haven't even tried it
on yet. Let's see how it fits."

Basically, it was cut like an Eton jacket, extending from a low collar to an
inch or two below the waist. It opened down the back and I held it while Nicki
slipped into it. Settling it around her figure, I pulled up the lace fastening
that ran down the back; it fit perfectly. The sleeves were about a foot longer
than her arms and tapered down into long straps, one of which ended in a buckle.

"How do these work?" I inquired, "cross the arms in front and then buckle the
ends of the straps in back?"

"What! That will make me hunch my shoulders forward awkwardly. Just the
opposite, chief. Cross the arms in back and buckle the strap in front."

Quickly, I placed her arms as required and pulled the strap tight.

"There! Isn't that better? Doesn't it make me hold myself nicely?" she inquired,
admiring herself in a nearby mirror.

"I'll say it does," I answered sincerely, then asked, `What is this strap
hanging down in front for?"

"Oh that goes underneath and up to a buckle at the back. Will you pull fit up,
please?"

I did, and Nicki looked adorable.


Episode 20   (2 images)

Nicki and I were just enjoying her straitjacketed helplessness when Fifi came
mincing in with a pre-lunch cocktail. As she came toward us, she looked like the
typical Victorian domestic; with her German spine-bender and ball-gag still in
place. Her head was tilted shyly forward, while she was forced to move with a
swaying of the hips. Her steel grey satin uniform extended from a high collar,
right down to the floor and the big leg-of mutton sleeves concealed the
arm-corsets which obviously made her elbows rigid. Her big apron, of white was
stiffly starched and crackled crisply as she moved.

"There!" she smiled proudly, "didn't I fix her up to look every inch the modest
servant of the 1890's?"

"You sure did."

"Umm-mm. Don't be too sure, boss," she grinned. "Turn around, Fifi."

Fifi revolved on her high heels and I got quite a shock, because those same
seven-inch heels, her dark opera-length hose and short skirt were displayed. The
skirt, while full-length in front, was cut to the knees at the back. The
contrast between the conservative front view and piquant rear view was quite
amazing.

In a moment, she turned to face me again, leaning forward stiffly from the hips
as she offered her tray. On it, in addition to a very large Manhattan cocktail,
was the blind-fold part of her leather branks.

"We thought you might care to be served lunch by a blind maid-especially as I'm
so helpless," Nicki explained.

"Good idea," I agreed, then inquired, "but why the blindfold? Why not one of
those leather discipline helmets?"

"Oh, because it's impossible to move around blindfolded if you have anything
over your ears. It's hard enough to hear echoes from furniture and things, but
it's out of the question with your ears stopped, even lightly."

"I get it, " I nodded, standing up. "Come here, Fifi, let us fix you."

With an air of shy unwillingness, the French girl came closer. In a very short
while, I had the straps and pads in place and pulled up to the point where my
silent victim squirmed uncomfortably. She had to be careful, however, as she
still held the cocktail tray and full glass.

When her blindfold was adjusted to my taste, I sat down again and made Fifi
stand beside me with her tray, so I could reach the glass easily.

The drink finished, I told Fifi to serve lunch, and my bride and I went out to
the glassed-in porch, where the table was prepared for us. On the way, I picked
up a length of rope and explained to Nicki I thought I would tie her to her
chair.

"Thank you," she smiled. "I was hoping you would. Of course, I knew you'd tie me
if I asked you to. But it's nicer not to have to ask."


Episode 21   (2 images)

A short while after finishing my drink, as my wife was tightly corded to her
chair, I took two more turns of the rope around her slender waist, then brought
the ends back under her body, around a bar in the chair-back, just at waist
level and up and around her back arched shoulders and the upper part of the
chair-back. Cutting off two shorter pieces of rope, I brought her legs back
along the outside of the chair and bound each slim ankle to the back legs of the
chair. As a result, she sat stiff and upright as a ramrod.

As our blind and silent maid served the soup, I asked:

"Nicki, darling, when you brought that straitjacket for me to put on you, you
remarked that you had just had it made up and never tried it on."

"Umm-hmm, that's right. It was only finished the day before we got married."

"That brings up a point that's been worrying me. You and your mother seem to
have an endless supply of boots, shoes, corsets, clothes, and so on. Where on
earth do they all come from?"

"Well, you see Dad and Mother have been going in for bondage, high heels, and so
on, ever since they were married. Over the years they've built up quite an
establishment-though, of course, since I've been old enough to have a share in
it, it has grown even more."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you've met Fifi; but Dad's payroll also includes an English dresser, a
French corsetiere, a French dressmaker, an Italian boot-maker, and an old,
German surgical instrument maker, who looks after things like spine-benders,
ankle-cuffs, harem belts, etc. Oh, I nearly forgot our Belgian glove maker, who
also does discipline helmets, this straitjacket, and the like."

"Sounds like the United Nations."

"Very much so-but they get along better. You see, nobody can make a shoe, or a
boot like a good Italian shoemaker. Same with the other items. So the result is,
no matter what Dad, Mother, or I-and now you-may think up, we can have it made
in a week at the very outside; usually less."

"The cost of all that must be staggering."

"It is. But Dad manages to get by-and have a little left over, as he puts it.
Then, as he says, it doesn't cost any more than running a yacht."

So the conversation ran while Fifi served us and I fed my pretty wife. Toward
the end of the meal she exclaimed:

"Say, boss, I've got an idea. Why don't we go up to our place I mean Dad's
place-this afternoon? Lots of interesting things there and plenty of room to try
them out on me."

"Sounds fine to me. Maybe you ought to show me how well you can get around there
blindfolded."

"Nothing easier. I'll be proud to demonstrate."

"Okay. I'll start by blindfolding you now. But after my own method."

I sent Fifi into the bedroom with orders to bring out a whole tray of cosmetic
material, a bottle of spirit gum and some adhesive tape. I also told her to
bring the Ping-Pong ball and coloured inks I had bought.

"What on earth is the Ping-Pong ball for?" asked Nicki, eagerly.

"You'll see-or rather you won't see, since you'll be blind," I; grinned.

When the maid brought the supplies, I started off by taping Nicki's eyes shut
with little strips of adhesive tape.

"Oh, this feels wonderful!" Nicki sighed happily. "What happens now? It's so
exciting wondering what you're going to do next and not being able to see."


Episode 22   (2 images)

My next step was to take the Ping-Pong ball and a sharp knife and cut two
elliptical pieces out of the ball, each about an inch wide. I coated the inside
of each, and the closed eyelids of my wife with spirit gum, and when the
adhesive was nearly dry, I pressed the pieces of celluloid into place over
Nicki's closed eyes. Then, with the coloured inks and a fine brush, I painted a
black "pupil" and a bright blue "iris" on each one; then I added exaggeratedly
long "lashes" in black to her eye-sockets above and below the celluloid. The
effect, of course, was to give her face a mask-like expression, with huge
staring eyes. As I went along, I explained to my bride what I was doing. When I
was through she asked, "How do I look?" "Like Surprise personified," I told her,
quite pleased with my work. "I wish I could see myself," she pouted, then
decided, "Well, maybe it's more fun this way. The mystery makes it exciting."

I released her from the chair she was bound to, and we were starting out on the
terrace for coffee when Nicki suggested, "I know! Let me call up Ching, at Dad's
place, and tell him we'll be over this afternoon to look around, and that we'll
stay for dinner." "Who's Ching?" "He's Dad's Chauffeur-Butler-Caretaker who
looks after us while we're there, and keeps the place up while we're not. His
brother Kai is gardener, and his daughter Anna acts as maid when we need her."
"Chinese?" "Chinese American. Dad likes them because they keep their mouths shut
about our business."

"Going up there sounds like a fine idea to me." I assented. "How about Fifi? Do
we take her or leave her here, maybe tied up in a closet?" Whatever pleases you,
boss. But I suggest we take her. I think she'll come in useful later. Besides,
we can keep her gagged and bound till we need her."

That made sense to me, so I placed the phone call, then held the phone to
Nicki's ear while she talked to Ching. Then we went out and waited while Fifi
served the coffee. At that point, I removed her arm-corsets and undid the
padlock that held the chain of the ball-gag in place. From that point on she
could release herself. Nicki told her to put on a "Gamine" costume and wait for
us in the car. She was to have a ball-gag, a leather helmet and plenty of cord
with her.

Coffee and kisses on the terrace was quite delightful. Deciding that her leather
straitjacket must have eased quite a bit by now, I tightened it quite a bit. Her
useless protests made the task even more pleasant. When we went out to the car,
Nicki strolling as casually by my side as though she could see perfectly, Fifi
was waiting. The "Gamine" costume turned out to be a skin-tight black sweater,
equally tight, very brief black shots, dark stockings and high heeled sandals.
Both the sweater and shorts were tom ornamentally in a couple of places. It took
only a second to tie her hands behind her. Then I forced the big ball into her
mouth and settled down to the always enjoyable task of lacing the discipline
helmet as tightly as possible.


Episode 23   (2 images)

The following move was to tie Fifi's hands with her wrists crossed about her
corseted waist, with the knot in the front and the ends trailing down. Taking
these ends back under her body I brought them up and made her put her bound
wrists over her head and as far down her back as she could. I took the ends of
the rope in my hand through the rope around her wrists and began pulling. Slowly
her back arched more and more steeply, slowly her wrists were pulled further and
further down her back. I took longer than I really had to; but my wife couldn't
see what I was doing, and I wanted each rope to be adjusted exactly right. I had
had enough experience with rope now to know when to stop pulling. Then I knotted
the rope.

Opening the tailboard of the station wagon, I bundled my silent and helpless
victim in on the floor. Tying her ankles together, I brought the rope from them
up to the one around her wrists and pulled until her ankles and wrists were
touching. She was now in a perfect "reverse hoop," a position I had seen
described, but had never seen in use before. It is supposed to be even more
trying than the Crepaudine. Then I closed the back of the wagon and helped my
sightless wife into the front seat beside me and we were off.

As we bowled along, I told her just how Fifi was secured. "Sounds like an
excellent arrangement," she smiled" an hour or two of that will do her a lot of
good. Take a lot of starch out of her. She needs it too. We haven't kept after
her enough." "Does that go for you?" I asked, "Do you need a little de-starching
as well?" "That's up to you, boss. During our recent ceremony I was an armless
and silent puppet who gave herself to you to do with as you please. The
decisions are up to you. I make suggestions and offer ideas. But how I'm
dressed, restrained and silenced is up to you. I'm your property, your proud and
willing victim."

When we got the car going again, Nicki proceeded to prove that she knew how to
navigate blindfold by describing just how to get to her parents' house.

She had me pull up outside the big garage (room I later found out, for six
cars), suggesting, "First maybe you'd like to have me show you around the
garden. Then we could have a game of golf." "Golf!" I exclaimed. "Surely you
don't have a private golf course here?" "Well," she dimpled, "not a full sized
one. But a chip-and-putt course, laid out through the garden designed to let
girls in high heels and tight corsets show their form. ' "Tell you what,' I
grinned eagerly, "Let's skip the guided tour and get right to the golf game. Oh
how about Fifi? Do we leave her?" "Oh, no. We need her to caddie."


Episode 24   (2 images)

Nicki suggested, "Tell you what, chief. I'll have to go up to the house and have
Anna put on my golfing costume for me. While we're doing that, you could be
taking Fifi into the -well, we call it the "Pro's Shop," because we keep all the
clubs and things in there-and fix her up as caddie, with the golf bag and so
on." "I'll be glad to, but I don't know what she's supposed to wear." "Oh,
that's easy. I took a picture of her one day last year. It's tacked up on the
wall in there."

That made it simple enough. While my wife minced off along the winding path to
the house, following each turn with an ease and certainty that belied her lack
of sight, I was heading for the station wagon and Fifi.

I freed her from the "Reverse Hoop" slowly, of course; release from a strained
position is always painful unless slow. I left her helmet on and led her to the
Pro Shop by a rope through her wrists, which I left bound in front of her.

The photograph made everything simple. There was a golf bag full of clubs
leaning against the wall and some straps nearby; I placed the bag across the
arching small of her back, brought her arms around and under it, and ran a strap
from one wrist to the other across her waist in front. Thus she carried the bag
at a convenient height for putting clubs in and taking them out again. A huge
imitation golf ball, split in two halves was waiting on a bench. This I placed
over her head there was an opening for her neck-and joined the halves, as I did
so I noticed it was heavily padded inside to deaden sound. A deaf, dumb and
blind caddie, with a golf ball for a head is a very interesting sight.

While waiting for Nicki, I idly examined the clubs; about half of them were
oddly short, with head and shaft, but no grip, just a short screw thread.

I heard feminine footsteps behind me and turned to see Nicki entering the shop.
She had the use of her eyes again and was wearing a very interesting golfing
outfit, consisting of a very soft suede shirt, with half length sleeves and a
low-cut front. She also wore a matching skirt of suede, to about six inches
below the tops of her legs, but so tight that it pulled at every tiny step. Her
feet were poised on seven-inch heels attached to brown kid oxfords, and she had
a matching belt of the same leather about her wasp waist. Her hands were in
special brown kid gloves which reached almost to the elbows, and which fused
into one at the hands, holding them curled into fists, her right hand ahead of
her left. Then I realised what the short-shafted clubs were for. They screwed
into a fitting on the end of the glove-arrangement, which obviously communicated
with a club grip permanently held in her gloved fists. Under one arm she carried
what looked like an overgrown version of the mitten like bag that serious
golfers use to protect the heads of their wooden clubs.

"Ready?" she smiled, "I'll explain the local rules on the way to the first tee."
"Just a minute. How do I guide our blind caddie? She's too deaf to follow us by
sound, and can't see anything, either." "Easy. Take a club, hook it between her
legs, and lead her. When you stop, she stops, and stands still till you hook on
again." Away we went.


Episode 25   (2 images)

As we walked, Nicki explained that the girl players on this particular course,
in addition to being unable to use their hands for anything except using
whatever club their partners attached for them were also blind and preferably
gagged as well. It was up to the man to pick the right club for her, attach it,
then line her up with the ball for her shot and tell her how to stroke it. She
was allowed four times as many strokes as he. If she lost, and she nearly always
did, she had to pay whatever forfeit her partner required

We were at the first tee by now. I had guessed the function of the soft leather
bag beneath her arm and took it from her. Inside I found a big piece of red
sponge rubber, which I forced into her willing mouth. It was held in place by an
imitation golf ball on a thin strap, which I buckled so tightly behind her head
that the ball was forced all the way into her mouth, in spite of the bulky
packing already in place. She squirmed, tried to protest in pantomime but to no
avail. Then I took the bulky but soft leather bag and pulled it down over her
head, pulling the draw-string very tightly around her neck.

The golf game was delightful. The fact hat she could play at all was
astonishing' but, provided I lined up her club-head properly her stokes were
amazingly accurate in direction but variable in distance. And always as we moved
around the short nine hole course, we were followed by our silent, deaf and
blind caddie who moved obediently at the end of my club or stood still as a
rock.

It's not surprising that I won the game. But then that was the idea. Before
going into the house for a pre-dinner drink I took the two girls onto a nice
patch of lawn released their hands, but left their gags fin place, and tied them
for a cock-fight. I made them squat down, passed a short-shafted club behind
their knees, crooked their elbows around it, outside the knees, and then bound
their wrists together. With their feet free, yet unable to rise higher than a
crouch, they could only move with a duck like waddle. On the word "go," each was
to try to knock the other over.

I allowed three falls, and Nicki won all of them, quickly barging her slower
opponent off balance. Once on her ride or back, of course, Fifi was as helpless
as a turtle that has been turned over, quite unable to regain her feet. "Okay,"
I stated on the third fall, "Nicki owes me a forfeit, Fifi owes Nicki a
forfeit." Then I released them and we headed for the house and a drink.


Episode 26   (2 images)

As we came around the front of the house and up to the front door, my wife
remarked:

"You haven't met Anna, have you?"

"Not yet," I answered, "but I'm looking forward to what I am sure will be a
pleasure."

As we reached the top of the steps, the front door opened, seemingly of its own
accord, and the little Chinese maid stepped forward to welcome us.

Like many Oriental girls, she was tiny, but with an arrestingly full figure,
truly beautiful legs and amazingly small feet. All these points of interest were
displayed by her Chinese-style outfit.

Her feet were poised right up on tiptoe by a variation of the block-toed, ballet
slipper, instead of coming up, slipper-like, to the heel and being held in place
by ribbons wound tightly about the ankle. These shoes came up only as far as the
ball of the foot, leaving the instep, sole of the foot, and ankle uncovered,
save for her long, mistily black stockings, which covered her lovely legs for
their full length, the tops disappearing under the hem of her extremely short,
ultra-tight, high-necked black satin tunic. This latter, which was decorated by
a brilliantly embroidered dragon, both back and front, displayed her stiffly
corseted wasp-waist and obviously artificially raised, but very full bosom. So
high was the stiff collar, she was forced to carry her chin very high, with a
charming air of arrogance. Her arms, in long, full sleeves that almost touched
the ground, were secured wrist to elbow behind her back. As I had come to
expect, she was gagged, her mouth filled and forced wide open by an ivory egg,
split length-wise and hinged at the back; the two halves were held wide apart in
front by an adjustable brace.

She minced back across the hall and pressed a small pedal or button in the
floor. The door closed again.

"I've got an idea, chief, " Nicki volunteered, "Suppose you release Anna's arms
for a while. Then she could help me get harnessed up as a `Parlour Pony' for the
rest of the evening. Okay?"

I was going to ask what a Parlour Pony was, but realised I was shortly going to
be shown. So I simply nodded and signalled to Anna to come and let me un-strap
her arms. As the three girls left, I told them to fix Fifi up nicely, too.

In about an hour, which had passed very pleasantly, thanks to a tray of drinks
by my side, Anna came strutting back for me to refasten her arms. (It was
interesting to note that in spite of the fact that her gag was obviously
extremely severe, she made no attempt to remove or even touch it when her hands
were free.) Helpless once more, she went and stood by the door, as though
waiting.

A moment or so later, my Parlour Pony minced proudly into the room. From waist
to toes she was poured into wrinkle-less gleaming black satin latex tights,
while her feet were propped up as high as possible in very tight, round-toed,
low-cut black patent pumps, with slim eight inch heels. From the waist up she
wore a flesh-coloured, Venus corset, concealing her arms completely and a black
brassiere, which showed quite distinctly through a very tight, black
elastic-lace blouse. Around her waist was a wide, red leather belt, with
Martingale straps, and a check rein ran up to the elaborate red leather bridle
strapped around her pretty head. A bit, consisting of a metal cylinder about two
and a half inches in diameter and four inches long, hung loosely by one of the
bit rings. Kneeling in front of me, she murmured enticingly:

"Will you bit your pony, please, and then tighten her harness and check-rein to
your pleasure?"

She was really tightly harnessed and bitted before I was satisfied too.

Then Anna indicated my dinner was ready. I followed her followed in turn by my
defenseless Parlour Pony.

The dining table, charmingly enough, turned out to be Fifi.


Episode 27   (1 image)

Nicki looked so lovely without arms, I decided she could remain that way until
further notice.

The following morning, after the corset came off long enough for a shower and so
on, it went back, tighter than ever, now that her body had had a chance to
adjust itself. The costume was completed by opera-length hose, seven inch heeled
sandals, a skin-fitting, no-sleeved sweater and a very tight knee-length skirt
in supple brown suede that kept riding up delightfully, especially when she was
sitting down.

We were sitting on the front porch of my place, and the conversation ranged from
Parlour Ponies to Work Ponies and Nicki remarked her father's coach-house had
two or three pony-carts. I expressed surprise, as I thought both she and her
mother refused to be a work-pony because the hard pulling and consequent deep
breathing would ruin a trained waist. Nicki, smilingly pointed out that there
was always Fifi. That was all I needed.

Early that afternoon a very light pony trap stood outside the coach-house, ready
to go. Fifi was harnessed between the shafts. From head to toe she was enclosed
in a one-piece "Pony-Skin" of satin latex, dappled in grey and black; her arms
were high up behind her back, elbows anchored tightly together. Around her slim
waist was a wide belt of gleaming black leather, pulled very tight and held in
place by straps up over her shoulders and Margingale straps underneath; at
either side a metal fitting engaged the shafts of the cart. Her feet were poised
tip-toe in special "hoof-boots" that held her insteps vertical. Her head was
enclosed in a helmet arrangement, complete with ears that were part of the skin;
there were generous openings for the mouth and eyes. These latter were made
useless by  wide blinder strap buckled very tightly to the black leather bridle,
which also held the severe bit designed to hold her jaws wide open, jammed as
far back as possible in her mouth. A check-rein ran from the top of the bridle
down under her body and up to a buckle on the front of the belt. It was pulled
up very tightly, to force her to arch her back, thrust her bosom forward
arrogantly and carry her head extremely high.

The trap, instead of a conventional seat, had a very narrow saddle, to which I
was strapping my wife. She wore her Venus-corset, a high-necked, no-sleeve
sweater in yellow, skin-fitting green rubber tights and eight inch heeled brown
knee boots. On her head was a brown leather, discipline helmet, with a very
narrow eye-hole for each eye and a green jockey cap cocked over one eye.

When I had her strapped to the saddle I placed a bar from one shaft to the
other, just behind her knees, so her booted legs hung free. Then I attached to
driving reins, one to each arching instep.

Thus, the driver, without arms, without voice and unable to leave her seat, was
almost as helpless as her blind, tightly harnessed pony. But she could control
her with the reins. Pulling back on both meant "go ahead," pulling one or the
other meant "turn to right or left" and slacking off meant "stop."

I told my two victims I was going to hide somewhere in the huge gardens As they
couldn't get loose until they found me, they better keep looking.

It took them three hours. Of course, I actually had them in sight virtually all
the time and only let myself be found when it was obvious that Fifi had really
"had it."

But they both said it was one of the most exciting afternoons they had ever had.


Episode 28   (2 images)

The next few days passed as pleasantly as the earlier ones, and our honeymoon
was drawing to a close. My wife, I noticed, had picked up a phrase from
somewhere that annoyed me. Everybody she approved of was a "living doll." When
Fifi looked particularly smart, Nicki called her a living doll; when I did
something that pleased her, I was a living doll.

On the morning of the day we were to go back to New York, I announced, "All
nght, since you're so fond of living dolls, you can turn into one yourself."

"How do you mean?" inquired Nicki, looking startled.

"You'll see," I assured her. "First, we need a really severe corset. How about
it, do you have one we haven't used yet?"

"Well uh-yes " she admitted hesitantly. "But it's meant to go with a pretty
extreme costume, and besides, it's so severe, I've never been able to stand it
adjusted really tight. It doesn't look right any other way."

"Sounds like just what we need. Now you go and tell Fifi to put it on and fasten
you to the lacing frame. When she has pulled you in to the point where you need
a gag, she's to call me. In the meantime I'm going to the village. I'l1 be back
by the time you're ready."

As a matter of fact, I had time to go and do my shopping-which was for a length
of black velvet, some plaster of Paris and some dry colour in red and yellow-and
have a drink after I got back, before Fifi came for me.

In the utility room, where the lacing frame had been set up, my wife presented
quite a sight. She was spread-eagled in the frame with her wrists strapped to
the upper corners and her ankles to the lower corners, her legs pulled wide
apart.

The corset, of gleaming black kid, was unusually long, extending from down over
the hip-bones at the sides up the armpits; in back it reached right up the neck,
which ended in a high, stiff collar and in front it came down well over the
abdomen, while the top was shaped into two half cups and was so high it raised
the bosom higher than I had ever seen it. The lacing stood open a good three
inches)at the waist and more above.

"How far is she laced in, Fifi?" I asked as I went in.

"Sixteen inches, M'sieur," she told me.

"This corset is supposed to get her down to thirteen inches? Good." Nicki tried
to interrupt me, but I went on, as though I hadn't heard her. "Living doll as
are famous for their small waists and high bosoms."

Then I sent Fifi for a rubber bathing cap, lots of absorbent cotton, water to
wet it, adhesive tape and a pool-ball. When she returned, I packed my subject's
mouth as full of cotton as I could, especially her cheeks, with the ball between
her jaws to hold her mouth as wide open as it would go. When I was through, the
stuffing was so tight she was unable to eject any of it, even though I was using
no tape to hold it in place. She was, of course, utterly silent.

Next, I turned my attention to the corset lace, started up the lacing capstain
and closed the gap to about one inch. The smelling salts became necessary at
this time, and to give her a rest, I had Fifi put the rubber cap on and smooth
the edges where the rubber joined her face with strips of adhesive tape.

Another half-inch more rest, more smelling salts. An hour later the lace was
closed. When we released Nicki, she began to collapse like a torn balloon. But
an hour's rest on the bed while her body adjusted itself was enough. Then I
really went to work.



Episode  29   (2 images)

While Nicki was still resting, I had Fifi put on a pair of the thinnest black
nylon operas, very tightly pulled up by the short suspenders on the corset, on
Nicki. On my instructions, she also added eight inch heeled, black patent pumps,
very low cut, with ankle straps (to make sure she couldn't get them off).

During that time, I was mixing a supply of dry plaster of Paris with the red and
yellow colours I had bought until I had a very good flesh-colour. Putting that
aside for a moment, I called Fiffi to assist me, and after doubling Nicki's arms
at the elbows, we taped them very tightly in that position. We also taped her
hands to the tops of her shoulders; the final effect was quite smooth and neat,
with Nicki's arms simply stopping at the elbow. The helplessness implicit in the
short-armed look was most attractive.

Then I went to work on her face with the adhesive tape. Using a great many
narrow pieces, I began by pulling her lips forward and together over the ball in
her wide-stretched mouth. When I was through her lips were held firmly pursed,
as through she were puckering for a kiss. By way of contrast, by the use of
narrow strips of tape radiating outward all around her eyes, I made her eyes
stretch wide open, in a fixed expression of ultra surprise.

As a final touch, I ran a strip of tape up the length of her nose, her forehead,
almost to the top of her head, pulling it very tight. When I had smoothed it
into place with some transverse strips, the tip of her nose was pulled up in an
extreme effect.

Mixing the plaster I had already prepared with water, I began smoothing it all
over her head and face. I worked it continuously, filling every wrinkle caused
by the pressure of the tape, as well as hiding the tape itself When it began to
set, I put Fifi to work on it with a hair-drier. In an hour it was not only
hard, but dry.

Then I went to work with the make-up. When I was through, my wife's head looked
exactly like an old-fashioned china doll's, with a tiny, brilliant red, rose-bud
mouth; full, puffed-out cheeks with plenty of rouge; tip-tilted nose and huge,
staring eyes, fringed with ultra long, artificial lashes under the thinnest of
high, arching black eyebrows, far above the normal line. Then, with Fifi
helping, I started to drape the black velvet "dress."


Episode 30   (1 image)

I'd never tried draping a costume on a figure before. But I flatter myself, the
effect wasn't half bad. I pinned the folds in place as I went, with Fifi
following behind with needle and thread, literally sewing the gown on the
wearer.

The top was in a cape-like effect, which allowed just the tips of her
"amputated" arms to show, while a fold of material around the neck concealed the
high, stiff collar of the corset. The bust line was very low, with the material
draped revealingly around the artificially raised and out-thrust bosom.
Naturally, the material was as tight around the tiny waist as I could pull it,
while below the skirt, in deep folds, came just to the top of the legs. It was
looped up at each side, almost to the waist, to show the tightly drawn
suspenders on the outside of the legs, pulling the tops of the ultra long
stockings into points.

The finishing touch was provided by a brassy, blonde wig, with long,
old-fashioned corkscrew curls. The final effect was most satisfactory.

Nicki looked exactly like an old-style, toy doll brought up to date. The
high-piled, blonde curls, huge staring eyes and pouting little mouth, typical of
the China doll of yesteryear, contrasted delightfully with the nicely displayed
legs and sophisticated high heels. The tiny waist and high raised, out-thrust
bosom between formed a sort of connecting link, while the shortened, useless
arms trumpeted Nicki's helplessness.

When I let her see herself in a full-length mirror, Nicki managed to show her
pleasure in her appearance, in spite of her lack of power of expression, of
speech and her very limited power of movement.

We returned to New York that night and had dinner with Dick and Vicki. As we
went into the library after dinner, my father-in-law made me happy by remarking,
"You know, Ted, my wife and I often wondered if we could ever find a husband for
Nicki, who would handle her the way she should be handled. I am glad to say
you've exceeded our fondest expectations."

Vicki could only nod because, out of compliment to me, her husband had dressed
her in the same all-leather outfit Nicki had worn the first time we met.

THE END

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