Binding Contract

by ariel emms (if you enjoy this story, please feel free to let me know or to distribute it to others)

The four had realised for months that something drastic was necessary.  Weeks ago the broad outline had been clear; days ago the details had been clear, and yesterday they had drawn lots.  Now, only the hours of preparation remained.

Jade stood outdoors, the sun already beginning to warm the flagstones beneath her feet.  The day would be a fine one, bright and hot, just as required.  She removed her clothes and then watched, silently, as the others took long strips of cotton from the tub of water beside her, and began to wrap, the cloth, cold in its wetness, being stretched around her hips, her buttocks, and her thighs.  They wrapped slowly, carefully, lovingly, overlapping the layers, pulling each new row as tight as they could, the wetness making the strips conform closely to the contours of her shape.  She felt the change in body temperature as her mid-region was enveloped, entrapped, enrobed in this restricting layer.  Her thighs, pressed together, created the subtlest of pressures, reminding her of how she could press her legs together in this fashion, tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing, feeling the pleasure those changes brought.  She squeezed her thighs now, to recreate that sensation for a moment, and discovered that the relaxing was of less effect, since the bindings held her legs nearly as tightly when she relaxed as when she tensed.

Occupied with these thoughts, she was surprised to find the others helping her to sit down on the small stool, the wrappings from mid-thigh to hip already complete and already limiting her ability to move.  She would be unable to stand before the end, and so the stool was necessary.

The others produced the white silk hood they had all agreed on before at that stage, and put it over Jade’s head.  She found herself both regretting and delighting in the fact that they had done this so early - regretting that she could no longer see what they did to her, but delighting in using her other senses to absorb the process.

As she sat, motionless, breathing yogically, slowing her pulse and calming her thoughts, she felt the others lift first one arm, then the other, the strips of cloth going over and under her shoulders, layered on the hood, securing it as part of her cocoon.  The wet cloth wrapped around her shoulders, then beginning down her arms, across her breasts, her back.  It was like being swallowed head first by a snake, the thought came to her, as the immobility spread further down her body.  In her upper arms she felt the bindings most keenly as they pressed into her biceps, pulling her arms in and sloping her shoulders down.  She felt her breasts flatten, her nipples erect, fighting against this levelling, stiff and hard, whether from the cold of the water or from the excitement of this containment she could not fully tell.  Below her breasts, she felt her ribs contract, the others pulling so tightly as they wrapped that her breath of necessity became shorter and shallower.  As the cloth strips reached her elbows, she felt the pressure not in her arms but in her sides, her joints pressing uncomfortably inward.  This was the point, she realised, at which her posture began to be an unnatural one, began to take on the pose forced by her mummification.

Her first moment, not of panic, but of the slightest doubt, came shortly thereafter.  Her arms below the elbow rested on her lap - where they were to be bound.  She had not moved them since sitting down, but the thought forced its way into her mind that she could have moved them had she wanted to.  To sit still was one thing...that was merely to be calm.  To have been wrapped sitting still was no real restriction...until this point.  Once her forearms were immobilized she really would be restricted, the stillness would no longer be by her choice.  As she spoke those words in her mind...not by her choice...the doubt washed away and contentment enveloped her as fully as her wrappings eventually would.  She felt, not her doubt, but a mounting sense of bliss grow within her, as her arms were strapped to her legs, the bindings spreading further and further down, until eventually even her ability to wriggle her fingers - an ability she threw away from herself before it was removed - was gone. 

Someone was stroking her legs, the as-yet-unconcealed parts, she realised, stroking them lovingly.  She felt her contentment spread, felt her legs relax even more, give themselves up to the winding cloths which now began to force her knees into contact, the bones pressing against one another.  Her legs, crossed delicately like a queen’s, were wrapped, calf collapsing onto shin, ankle bound to ankle, strips of cloth pulled as tightly as possible all the way down her legs. She felt the breeze, the warm air, less and less, now only on her feet, then ceasing to be there around her heels and across the soles of her feet.  Eventually she could feel the world outside her soft shell only through the wafts of air over her toes, until, shortly, that too was gone and she was isolated in her own, small, tight, tightening world.

Wrapping Jade was not the longest task to be performed.  It had to be done first, though, completed before the sun reached its zenith, so that those warm rays would have hours to dry those cloths, dry them, shrink them, cause them to harden, making her immobility that much more restrictive, confined, and inevitable.

Tiger was already naked, and so did not need to remove any clothes before lying on her back on the table indoors.  Her mind burned with anticipation - she felt fortunate in her draw.  The other two spread a variety of candles around her nude form, lighting them all.

She closed her eyes, so that the first burning splash would come as a surprise, would shock her, would draw out a hiss from her mind which she would refuse to vocalize.  It hit the fold of her leg, soft sensitive skin, and she silently said thank you to whichever of her sisters had christened her with this pain. 

Candle wax was not terribly hot - she had become nearly impervious to its charms long ago.  But candle wax would never trap her on this table, she would have known that had she really struggled, really tried, she could easily break free.  She would not have done so, but the knowledge she could would spoil everything.  No, candle wax would not do.  Sealing wax, stiff, hard, meant to show an unbreakable bond, sealing wax, with its higher melting point, its greater capacity to absorb, to hold, and then to transfer heat...that was what her sisters dripped onto her skin now.

It was a slow process - an arduous, long torture by near-branding.  Her sisters held the sticks of sealing wax high, to let it cool as much as possible in falling, hoping merely to encase Tiger, not to sear her.  Especially they did this near her groin, making sure her legs were pressed together, and dropping the wax from a great height from fear of doing permanent damage to her.  Tiger often unconsciously thrust her body upwards, especially her breasts, trying to catch the wax that much more quickly, to seize its heat, its excitement, from the air. 

Her body began to be dotted with red - large splotches, small ones, irregular shapes that splattered outward.  Her sisters took the red silk hood that had been chosen and placed it over her head, beginning to drop wax to join it to her skin.  Tiger’s body became a canvas on which some pointillist painter worked, transforming it all to one colour.  The drops began to approach one another, to overlap, to form a thicker layer.  Her sisters laid their hands on her, stroking her, calming her, urging her to lie more still, not to rush upward to the falling flames, so that they could begin to form her shell.

Gradually she ceased to be naked skin with drips of wax, and began to be interlocking areas of wax with isolated patches of skin showing.  The hard layer covered more and more of her body, and dripped down in places, before cooling, to bond with the table below her.

Her sisters had wandered largely at random with the wax, but not entirely.  Tiger was almost encased, the layers three or four drops thick in many places, and her mind burned with sensation far more than her body did, though that did so greatly.  But although her sisters had turned Tiger’s breasts into hard red mounds, they were still untopped, her nipples still visible.  She sensed this, began anticipating when that sweet delight would be given to her, her mind shrinking to anticipate this sensation. 

She was still occupied with this thought as her sisters complete her entombment, the wax now so thick, so secure to the table, that no movement was possible at all.  And then Tiger felt, on first one nipple, then the other, a gentle kiss, a probing tongue, and soft sucking lips.  She felt her nipples stiffen, felt teeth envelop them, pull them, harden them, bite them, till they poked out as clearly and as firmly as they were capable of.  Waiting, then, hoping, hoping, her every desire was fulfilled as hot, hot! wax fell, fell from almost no height, leaping onto her sensitized skin, the heat, the pain so great that Tiger could not decide whether she had only imagined hearing a hissing, searing sound, whether it was only in her mind, or whether it was genuinely in her flesh.  Occupied with the exquisite memory of her final encasing, Tiger waited.

They returned to check on Jade.  She would not respond, of course - they had agreed that no one, once bound, could speak, but they told her to try, gently, to bend at the waist.  Jade was stirred from her meditative calm - she had not heard them approach.  Earlier, while being wrapped, her other senses had been heightened when her vision became of no use to her.  Now, her restricted ability to breath had conspired with her desire to disappear into a contemplative oblivion to cause her to become neglectful of her other senses.  They conveyed no more information to her than did her eyes, covered and blind in her mask.  She did try, though, to lean forward slightly, finding that her bindings exerted enough pressure to make her lose interest in doing so before she had any success.  The others touched her shoulders, the wrappings around her, bending her body ever so slightly, and finding a slight moistness remaining in the layers surrounding her.  She was not yet as fully bound as she would be.

They returned then to Tiger, to see her state.  Surrender can take many forms.  Where Jade had allowed her immobility to wash over her, to consume her and become her, Tiger had demanded for herself proof.  Once alone, she had tried to lift her shoulders, without success.  She had raised her legs to the ceiling, first one, then the other, without in fact the slightest movement in them.  Her hips had tried to buck upward, with no more success than any other part of her body.  Her fingers, even, welded to her hips, could not be flexed, or wiggled, or moved in any way.  There was - barely - enough space for her to breath, if she did so shallowly, but no more.  Even flexing the muscles in her arms was denied to her, since her bonds not only held her tight, held her immobile, they literally held her motionless, encased in a cage, in a prison, whose inner dimension matched to the millimetre her outer dimension.  Tiger fought for her freedom, and gloried in finding it denied to her.

Ayla was next, and if surrender for Jade had been a nothingness, and for Tiger had been a wonderful struggle, for Ayla it was to be a blissful, consuming distraction.  Ayla, quickly stripping her clothes off, stood next to the wooden rack, an inverted Y shape with metal hooks running along its outer edges.  She leaned backward onto it.  The rack was not angled so greatly that she was not virtually standing, but it leaned just enough that she would not have been able to remain upright if it were not there.

Kiki picked up a large bag from the floor next to the rack and began to empty it.  She pulled out a variety of pieces of leather, some of them thin cords, some belt-like, a few larger sheets, all with metal rings sewn into them.  She smiled to herself, thinking how in fact she had drawn this confinement but had agreed to trade with Ayla.

Ayla felt a stiff leather hood pulled down over her head, tucked behind her back and then left at the front to rest on her chest.  She breathed in deeply, the comforting, sensual scent one that she never tired of.  She could hear and feel the activity around her, feel something being hooked to the frame beside her torso, then feel a large sheet of leather being stretched across her body, each of her breasts lifted in turn to rest above this corseting.  She felt the leather pulled, stretched, felt it press against her skin, pulled as tightly as it could be pulled - then, just a touch more - then yet another fraction of an inch - till finally it was hooked to the other side of the frame, holding her snug - much more than snug - against it.

She felt the same process repeated at her legs now, thick sheets stretched across each thigh, pulled taut, pressing her legs into the wood of the frame.  She felt her thighs flatten against the rack, the wrapping pulled tight enough that the space inside seemed smaller than was actually possible if it was to contain her upper legs.  The pressure was spread evenly for the most part, though she could feel her flesh above and below stretched, feel her captivity there especially as the edges nearly cut into her flesh.

She felt smaller straps wrapped around her now, some a few inches wide, like the strap that ran above her breasts but under her arms, pulling her shoulders firmly back against the rack, some thin, no more than strips, like the thin strings that secured her ankles separately to the bottom of the Y. 

Many of the straps simply stretched straight across the frame, some angled up or down, but some wrapped her body more intricately.  One strap, relatively wide, began beside the middle of her right breast, looped below it, then went between her breasts to be secured - oh, secured so tightly! - above her opposite shoulder.  The same had been done beginning on the left, pushing her breasts together and into the air, holding her ponderous breasts high, squeezing the straps between the amazing cleavage they created.  This effect was enhanced when straps were attached to her wrists and those straps were pulled between her legs, which forced her arms up under her breasts, lifting them still further.  Ayla winced a little as a broad strap was then stretched above her breasts and pulled down on either side, squeezing her large bosom outward like a shelf.  The blood forced into them made her nipples stiffen to an almost alarming degree.

The strapping of Ayla’s arms had had a consequence beyond holding her breasts up.  Her hands - her fingers - were now pulled into position directly between her legs, poised above that soft tender flesh.  They ceased to be “poised above” when a further strap was stretched taut across her body, below her hips, pressing her hands down onto and into that most sensitive region.  Ayla thought to herself what a lucky chance this was - chance, she thought, since she had been unable to see Kiki’s sly smile as it occurred. 

Ayla felt that much of her body had been covered with straps now.  She could feel her flesh stretched out around them in many places, where they came close to cutting into her skin, but she was not entirely covered.  Still, she was immobilised, held firmly against the frame.  She could not imagine the straps being tighter - and yet she knew that in a moment that would be the case.

She sensed Kiki walking behind the frame.  She heard the felt scraping of metal on metal as Kiki inserted the bar into the first slot.  She felt the ratchet begin to move slightly, pulling the hooks slightly further to the back of the frame with each new tooth passed.  She felt the cords, the straps, the sheets, press into and onto her even more firmly, threatening to cut into her skin, to bond with her, to crush her into the frame.  And then, finally, the hooks could be pulled no further.

Ayla was held securely - escape was beyond imagining, almost all movement impossible, but unlike Jade or Tiger, not literally all movement was denied her.  Her feet were strapped in, but she could wiggle her toes.  More usefully, though her hands were pressed tightly into her sex, to wiggle her fingers was not completely impossible - and as she was held, was very tempting.

If only it had not been the smell of the leather, she thought.  If only she had not heard that glorious cree–ee–eak of the leather straps as they had been stretched, pulled to their limit, made taut around her body - she could have resisted touching herself then.  But, she knew, it was not fair to the others, it was not true to the spirit of her captivity if she were to make herself cum.  And yet already she was so close!  A finger here, a touch of pressure, just - there - then there - and she would be over the edge.  But she couldn’t - she couldn’t.  Yet if she knew she could not cum, that thought itself excited her more, driving her even closer to the edge.  She forced herself to stillness, dropping away from the edge, but soon found her fingers exploiting the small freedom allowed to them again.  And so Ayla’s captivity continued, in perpetual almost-thereness, neither abandoned nor completed.  Her surrender came from giving herself to that nether state.

Kiki hurried to complete her own enrobement.  Fortunately all had been prepared earlier, for she was not certain how much time remained.  Kiki looked quickly under the table, to be certain that all the weights were firmly attached to the canvas strings that hung from the net spread on top.  Certain that all several hundred pounds were attached, Kiki took off her clothes, then crawled underneath the webbing.  Crouched down, she fitted her lower legs, knees and ankles, into the straps that would hold them parallel to the table.  She sat back on her heels, then crossed her arms across her stomach as she leaned forward, trapping her arms in the flattened S her body had become.  From this position, she was just able to reach the string and pull, causing the air mattress below her table to begin slowly to deflate. 

As the air rushed out of the mattress, Kiki felt the weights resting on it begin to sink toward the floor, pulling the netting down more tightly over her body.  At first it was only a gentle pressure, one she felt most keenly in her spine, bending her over.  Then she began to feel her ribs, to feel them press into her arms, trapped below them.  As her body was flattened more and more, the strain entered her legs, her tendons stretched more than they should be as her legs bent more than they ever had before.

Eventually, though, it was her back, her shoulders, her buttocks, that felt her captivity most closely.  The weight was so much, the netting so thin, that she could feel each strand begin to etch itself into her flesh.  She did not discover whether she could move, since she dared not - she feared that any movement would actually make the strings cut right into her.  Every inch of her flesh tingled, not with fear, but with that perfect threat.  For Kiki, surrender was constant wariness, a continual inescapable reminder that she could not change her position a millimetre.

And so they stayed, for as long as necessary.  They could not know how long that would be, and they did not care - that was part of the purpose.

Eventually, however, those who could still hear detected a slight sound.  A majestic figure, clothed  in white, walked confidently into the room.  If she was surprised to find four mysteriously bound figures in the room, nothing in her expression betrayed that.  A slight curiousity, perhaps, could be seen in those eyes, but nothing altered that air of command.

She wandered over to the white-wrapped figure, her hand running across the stiff lines of Jade’s shoulders as she lingered a moment, admiring the work.  She ran her fingertips along the stiff shell encasing Tiger, tapping her lacquered nails against the similarly coloured surface.  With a small smile, she wandered slowly to Ayla’s bound figure, the backs of her fingers grazing casually across those firm nipples. Then finally she walked to Kiki, and stood beside her, stroking her hair gently.

Finally she spoke.  “Girls” she said pleasantly “how sweet of you to remember my birthday.”  “Now”, she said, a bright smile lighting up her features “what shall I unwrap first?”