Protective Custody on Campus 2 (M/F)

Postby Snidley » Sun Dec 30, 2012 11:54 pm

So there we were, driving out of the campus carpark; me trying to keep my eyes on the road and away from the pretty girl sitting handcuffed in my passenger seat. She was focused on the cuffs, still trying to get used to the new reality.

“These are on too tight,” she said. “Any chance of loosening them just a bit? I'm not going anywhere.” She sounded sincere, so I looked for a place to stop.

I pulled over the side of the road and inspected her wrists. The handcuffs were on securely, where all the 'teeth' were inside the opposite arm of the cuff on both sides. Her wrists were free of marks. Nevertheless I felt a bit sorry for her, it was her first time in restraints, so using my key I loosened them a few notches, taking the opportunity to roll up her sleeves again just so her lovely hands and arms were in better view.
“Much better, thanks,” she said, holding up her hands rubbing her wrists. The cuffs fell lower on her arms now.

We drove off again, down the road to the dirt-road turnoff to my house (I often had advance warning of any approaching 'assassin' by the dust cloud they made). After about two hundred metres the first gate hove into view and I hopped out to open it. When I got back into the car I was immediately suspicious, and I quickly realised Margaret's sleeves were down again, in fact pulled right over her hands. Despite her protests, I grabbed her and rolled them up again to find she had almost, almost wriggled one wrist out of its metal cuff. Now she struggled against in vain and protesting, as with her hands still (just) cuffed together the seat-belt held her in place.

“Tsk, tsk, how disappointing you abused my better nature,” I said as I pressed on both cuffs again, closing them tighter than before. “I should know better: No Mr Nice guy in a Murder Game.” Margaret just stared ahead saying nothing, angry she'd been thwarted. It was a close call; if she'd succeeded she could have driven off in a cloud of exhaust with me red-faced standing at the gate, then driven back with a water pistol to hunt me down. My house was locked, and she would have my keys: I'd have to come back eventually with no where else to go and she would be waiting for me there at the door. Game over.

We pulled into the yard of my house. It stood alone in a field. As I mentioned before it was an old dairyman's cottage, now rented out by the local farmer each year to a new crop of students. I walked around the car, opened the door, unbuckled Margaret, helped her out and then unlocked a wrist. She probably thought I was taking it easy on her again until I swung her hands behind her back and cuffed them there, as tight as before.
“C'mon. Really necessary?!” she complained grimacing. “I'm not a dangerous criminal or something.”
“For all intents and purposes you are,” I said. “If you read the law (in the USA, I added quickly) a person under Protective Custody is treated the same as a fugitive or hardened felon. In any case it's all for your own safety.”
'And mine,' I thought to myself.
Firmly holding her upper arm, I led her through the garden gate and up to the front door.

Once inside I pushed her onto the sofa and revealed the real reason for my cuffing her behind her back. From underneath I pulled out a short length of chain and with two padlocks chained her legs (over her jeans). These days I would used proper leg-cuffs in the same situation, but back then just handcuffs were hard enough to come by. However a quick trip to the hardware store earlier that day provided me with just as an effective, although perhaps less elegant, solution.

“You have to be joking,”she said as she tried to kick me away, but using my body weight and with her hands out of action, she couldn't prevent the chains locking on. I stood back and she immediately got up, and quickly realised with the 30cm of chain between her padlocked ankles she wouldn't be winning any track and field events any time soon.

“Let me go, right now!” She was mad, twisting her body to and fro in a determined attempt to escape. It was her first time in handcuffs and like all first-timers, she refused to believe there was no way out. This was an experience you just don't encounter in normal day-to-day life, unless of course you are someone used to arrest.

My answer was to gently push on her belt buckle, so that without support or balance she plopped right back onto the sofa. I had the situation under control now, me and about twenty unforgiving links of chain. I had almost messed it all up back in the car; I had forgotten she was a rival and even handcuffed was still ruthlessly playing the Murder Game. It was the reason she was in the final five or six! And everyone knows $900 is far superior than $450.

Calmly I removed the paper from my pocket and smoothed it out on the coffee table. She watched me, fuming.
“Is this your signature?” I asked.
“Yes, but I never signed up for....”
“...necessary restraints,” I coolly read. “Did you sign a document, this document in fact, where that was mentioned?”
“Yes...but these aren't necessary.” She leant back and jangled her chained legs angrily.
“Did you not try to escape Protective Custody within the last half hour? Maybe plan to return later with a loaded water pistol and get one person closer to that $900 prize?” That punctured her self-rightousness.
“Not at all, I just wanted to see if I could get loose,” she said with guilty look. She was a formidable opponent, but lying was not one of her suits. She changed tack. Her face grew soulum and she gave me the big brown eyed-look. “Won't you let me go? Just my legs. I'll be good.”
From anger to entreaty in sixty seconds. I wasn't having any of it.

“Now you get comfortable (I couldn't resist the sarcasm) and I'll fix us some dinner. If you behave I might even think about having your hands cuffed in front again.”
She bit off an angry retort, collected herself, gave a weak smile, then nodded. Arguing with me, especially after the car incident, was the same as arguing with her chains, and she knew now the futility of taking them on head to head.

I left her alone while I prepared a Thai stir fry in my wok (I had prepared the ingredients earlier). She was very quiet in there, but I wasn't worried. The doors were all dead-locked, she wouldn't be climbing through any windows in her condition, and even if she escaped she could only shuffle at about 2km/hr down the road. I would catch her at a brisk stroll even if she had half an hour's start on me. She knew that too, and she was still sitting, demurely now, when I returned with the steaming dish, plates, cutlery and two glasses of red wine on a tray. She watched me set up on the coffee table.

“That smells wonderful, thank you. And I've been very good, sitting here waiting for such an amazing looking dinner. So....about these hands?” She held her cuffed wrists to one side of her body for me to see.
I speared a small piece of chicken, noodle and capsicum with a fork and held it up for her. “Let's see how you do over dinner. Open up.”
Her mouth popped open, and not to take the morsel. This was really hard for Margaret. She was a strong willed woman, I remembered it well when we dated.
“You want to feed me?”
“I don't really have much choice do I?” I replied calmly. “How else are you going to eat?”
I had to hand it to her. She only looked away for an instant, emotions flashing over her face, then turned back with her mouth open.
And that's how we ate dinner; spoon feeding with an intermittent gulp of wine. Me feeding her and enjoying myself immensely.. Margaret forgot about her humiliation for a while while she concentrated hard on eating without making a spectacle of herself: no-one remembers what it's like to be fed like an infant; it's not easy, especially the drinking part.

We finished and I wiped her mouth with a napkin; she'd done remarkably well. Looking at her, it was almost like she'd almost forgotten her situation.
“And now for the second course.” I said.
“You've got to be....” a flash of anger that pierced her bubble of self restraint. She laughed stiffly when she realised I was joking.
“Turn around then, you've behaved yourself.” I unlocked one cuff, and as she turned back I cuffed her hands together again.
“No chance of having them off for a while then?”
My answer was the final click of ratchet mechanism. Nice and tight. She was just fishing, she knew me and didn't expect any inch of freedom yet. I was going to make her work for it.

We spent the evening sitting on the sofa together talking with music in the background. It was like old times, very enjoyable and a lot of laughs. It came as a slight shock every now and then when Margaret brought her wine glass to her mouth to drink and I suddenly caught sight of her handcuffs. Otherwise her hands were in her lap out of eye-shot, and there was only the slight occasional metallic chime was she shifted her body and caused her leg chains to clink. As the evening became old we were becoming more intimate as well, with half a bottle of wine inside and as if by magic we were closer together than at the start.

She leaned over and kissed me.
“Is that allowed?" she asked. "I'm under your protective custody, so are there any rules against you being kissed by your prisoner?”

TBC
Attachments
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Re: Protective Custody on Campus 2 (M/F)

Postby randomentity » Wed Jan 02, 2013 6:46 am

Really looking forward to the next part! :)

Re: Protective Custody on Campus 2 (M/F)

Postby icedteacool » Thu Jan 03, 2013 10:39 pm

great story so far! please continue!
Kik me @ IcedTeaCool :)

Re: Protective Custody on Campus 2 (M/F)

Postby Snidley » Thu Jan 03, 2013 11:13 pm

Part 3 on Monday.

Re: Protective Custody on Campus 2 (M/F)

Postby tags1023 » Mon Jan 14, 2013 7:46 pm

I can't wait for part 3!!! :)