## Leather and Lace

Post by sarobah » Sun May 03, 2009 7:51 am

The Tie-up Chronicles
8. Leather and Lace
In my first days at university I found myself lost and alone. Leaving oneâ€™s home, family and childhood friends is, of course, one of the rites of passage; but for me the pain of separation from my high school soul mate Rachel and a spiteful breakup with my boyfriend Matt (who had not reacted well when I told him I was going away) left me feeling empty and aimless. I roamed the vast, crowded campus like a wandering hermit seeking enlightenment but finding only mystery and bewilderment. Nevertheless, I quickly found my bearings and once I knew my way around and adapted to the rhythms of campus life, it all seemed so familiar and friendly. Now in my fifth year, I canâ€™t imagine being anywhere else, and I owe a lot of this to my flatmate Kate.
In addition to several residential colleges and dormitories, students have access to subsidized off-campus accommodation in a sprawling complex of small twin-share apartments known to its denizens as the village. This is where I lived. Though far from luxurious our home was cosy, and Kate was fun to be with. She was a more outrageous version of Rachel, at once a wild child and a woman of the world. We were together for only my freshman year, but she helped pull me out of my funk.
The first time we really connected was just before Easter. The village was holding one of its biggest parties of the semester, and the theme was, naturally, Playboys and Bunnies. Despite (or due to) my indifferent Catholic upbringing, I remain perplexed about how the Messiah metamorphosed into the Easter Bunny, which morphed into the Playboy Bunny; but I shall leave that question to the theologians and move on to the revels. Kate and I made ourselves cute little outfits, from black one-piece bandeau swimsuits to which we attached the requisite cottontail. It was a crazy night, with thumping music, gyrating bodies and free-flowing beer. People spilled out of the ground floor apartments and onto the footpath. Although Easter was early that year (the end of March), it was not the best weather for being outdoors in our tiny Bunny costumes; but I danced away the cold and Kate found other ways of keeping herself warm. Being a light drinker, I stayed sober and appointed myself guardian of my flatmateâ€™s virtue.
When we woke the following morning â€“ late, but still ante meridiem â€“ Kate was feeling remorseful as well as queasy. She apologized for ruining my night, and I reassured her that I had my own faults and foibles. This got us into a heart-to-heart which lasted most of the rest of the day. We shared each otherâ€™s secrets and described our fantasies in tantalizing detail. That is when I told her of my long history of tie-up games. Given what she had revealed about herself, I knew she wouldnâ€™t be too shocked, but I was nonetheless surprised by her response. Without missing a beat she said: â€œWell, Sarah dear, I think I have just the right guy for you.â€
Now I wasnâ€™t particularly interested in a new boyfriend at this stage; and when a few days later Kate blithely announced that she had set me up with a blind date, I couldnâ€™t hide my displeasure. She just laughed it off and promised that sheâ€™d made suitable arrangements â€“ a crowded place, under bright lights, with plenty of exits. In fact, everything turned out fine. I knew Jack from seeing him around the village. He was two years older than me and an engineering student (but I didnâ€™t hold that against him). He was intelligent, handsome and athletic, charming and courteous, with a wry sense of humour. We hit it off so well that he asked me out again the following night. Unfortunately, I was studying and working hard, and when the time came, I was struck with a blinding headache. Not wanting to spoil our evening, I didnâ€™t cancel; but as a result I drank a little too much wine. Afterwards, as he walked me home, the night air cleared my head of both my lingering headache and the alcohol buzz, but I was in a giddy state of mind.
I didnâ€™t intend to bring up the subject of tie-up games, but I said something foolish like, â€œIf you kidnap me right here, right now, no one would ever know.â€ He just laughed, scolded me that I really shouldnâ€™t say stuff like that, then added that I would make a beautiful hostage. I giggled and he chuckled, and we both fell into an awkward silence; but just at that moment a few spots of rain descended upon us. It was a timely circuit breaker, and we raced each other the rest of the way to Kateâ€™s and my apartment.
The roomie was nowhere to be found. I made coffee, and Jack and I sat and chatted for maybe an hour as we dried out (we hadnâ€™t got very wet). Having broached the subject of tie-up games, and the difference between them and bondage, I talked about my experiences. Jack added little to the conversation, allowing me to prattle on as he listened politely and diligently. The rain never let up, so when it was finally time to retire I offered him the couch to sleep on. I never hinted at anything else and he showed no expectation of something more than a place to lay his head. Nevertheless, when I retired to the bedroom, I impulsively put on a slinky, baby-doll negligÃ©e. Honestly, I wasnâ€™t planning a thing, but when Iâ€™m in such a mood the exquisite embrace of satin and lace enchants my sleep with the most pleasant of dreams.
Yet not long afterwards, the effects of the wine and coffee inevitably took their toll. To get to the bathroom, I had to go through the living room. I crept past Jack apparently asleep in the darkness; but when I returned the light was on and he was sitting up. He had put on his shirt and trousers, as if preparing to leave, but his shoes and jacket were still where heâ€™d left them.
Feeling suddenly exposed in my flimsy nightdress, I cringed and crossed my arms over my bosom, while he looked me over. Then I turned away, already betrayed by my instant of hesitation. I went into my room, but I could hear the floorboards creak as he followed me. I felt my heart begin to beat faster, with apprehension and excitement.
I did not close the door behind me. I sat on the edge of my bed, my hands at my side, knees pressed together. Jack said nothing as he loomed in the doorway, silhouetted against the cheery glow from the living room. I could not see his face, but I could hear his breathing, deep and slow. He hit the light switch and then just stood there with his arms folded, leaning against the door frame, silently watching me. I started to feel squirmy, my hands began to fidget, and my eyes flitted about. I couldnâ€™t look at him, but it was impossible to look away.
We maintained the... I suppose it was a standoff... for what must have been several minutes. I didnâ€™t invite him into my room and he was not going to invade. He hardly moved so much as a muscle, and his gaze shifted only the length and breadth of my body. Self-conscious again, I tugged furtively at the hem of my nightie to draw it over more of me, and when our eyes briefly met I flashed him a coy smile. With that, he raised one hand, pointed towards me and the bed, and made a twirling gesture with two fingers.
Without a sound, I crawled up fully onto the mattress and lay flat on my stomach. I had my arms stretched out, but when nothing more seemed to happen, I put my hands behind my back and crossed my wrists. It was my signal to proceed, and I could hear him moving about. He seemed to be taking his time and there were shuffling noises, but I did not turn or lift my head to see. I donâ€™t really care for surprises, but I wanted to discover what he had in store for me one moment at a time.
I felt the innersprings rise and sag as he sat or knelt beside me on the bed. He placed his hand on the top of my head, fondling my hair before running his fingers down the back of my neck and across my shoulder blades. As he did so, he pressed his nails into my bare skin, just enough to make the flesh tingle. He played with the halter-strap of my negligÃ©e. He caressed my arms with long, tender strokes. Our fingers entwined and I squeezed his hand to let him know I was ready.
He began carefully weaving something around my wrists. I couldnâ€™t tell what he was using to bind me, but there was a familiar, soothing quality about its soft, supple texture. In his manner, Jack was genteel yet strict, permitting no resistance but not forcing anything. My body quivered. I couldnâ€™t help myself as a wave of sheer delight swept over me. This man had talent which could only have come from years of experience and practice, educing the most intense response from the simple act of tying my hands.
When it was done, our fingers interlocked again, and his played with mine, teasing me with the freedom his hands enjoyed but which my bonds denied me. Then they resumed their journey southwards, traversing my derriÃ¨re, pausing briefly to explore the swells and crevices before gliding along my thighs, over the boundary of my hemline and down my legs, along my calves to my heels. By the time heâ€™d reached my ankles and was tying them, I was gasping into my pillow.
My heart was racing now, my flesh was clammy, my breathing had turned rapid and shallow. Though I tried to keep still, I was trembling and starting to wriggle as I felt the telltale, tickling thrill inside me. I tried desperately to suppress my arousal, or at least to not show it. I wasnâ€™t really sure how far I wanted this to go.
Skilfully and tactfully, gently but firmly, he eased my tension, grazing his fingernails along my arms and legs, massaging my calf and shoulder muscles, toying with whatever it was that bound my wrists and ankles, then asserting his control by seizing my head with one hand on my brow and the other under my chin, compelling me to stare straight ahead, towards the base of the headboard. The mattress rebounded as he alighted from the bed. A minute passed while I heard him moving about again. Then a hand closed over my mouth and I felt something fuzzy and roundish being forced between my lips. I clamped my jaws for a second, then surrendered. Whatever filled my mouth was spongy, with a cottony taste, and it took just a moment to realize my gag was a couple of balled-up socks.
â€œDonâ€™t bite down on it,â€ he said. So far as I recall, it was the first word either of us had spoken since he entered my bedroom. â€œYou will just push it into your throat.â€ To secure it, he used a pair of pantyhose that he must have taken from the dressing table. The material he had used to tie my hands and feet didnâ€™t feel like nylon, but I had my suspicion of what it was.
He said to me, â€œIf youâ€™re okay with this, clench and unclench your fists.â€
I did so and awaited his next move.
He blindfolded me with another pair of my pantyhose that he had to wrap around my head several times to shut out the light. Finally, he bent up my legs to tie my wrists to my ankles. I couldnâ€™t hold back a faint moan as I was bound into my most cherished position.
Jack remained on the bed beside me for a long time, mostly just looking at me. Sometimes his hand would wander over my arms and shoulders, play with my hair, tickle my feet. I suppose he was thinking how much further he should take this. But when he slid his hand up my thigh, I flinched. It was more a shock reaction to the unexpected touch of his cold fingers under the edge of my nightie, but he quickly pulled back and the moment passed. It was probably a good thing. There would always be a next time.
Maybe as punishment, perhaps as reward, he left me hog-tied for the rest of the night. He made it loose enough that I was comfortable and could with no great difficulty have untangled the knots; but I didnâ€™t and I donâ€™t really know why. I knew there would be discomfort later on, and it wasnâ€™t that I feared he would come in and check up on me. I think I wanted to keep something of his with me as I slept. He did remove my gag. (I would have made a fuss if he hadnâ€™t.) He drew a sheet and blanket over me and left me alone with my dreams.
When I awoke, I was still hog-tied and blindfolded. I could tell it was morning because the warm sunlight was streaming into the room and splaying across my legs. During my sleep, I had somehow tossed about enough to slough off my covers. I was dying to stretch my arm and leg muscles. I tried to sit up but couldnâ€™t. I heard the door opening, and a voice. It was Kate. She made a couple of jokes at my expense, and I discovered what Jack had used to bind me, some of my bras. (Iâ€™m not sure why, but I find it incredibly sexy to be tied up with your own undies... something to do with the intimacy, I suppose.)
Kate started to untie me. However, Jack came in and insisted that I remain blindfolded and my hands stay bound behind my back. They led me out to the kitchen, where my roommate and my new playmate had already made breakfast. They took turns feeding me toast and dosing me with much-needed caffeine.
For all her extroverted, sophisticated persona, I think that Kate had been just a little shocked at seeing me lying on the bed bound and blindfolded with my own underwear. She talked about it, in private, for days afterward, and though she never once said â€œWhatâ€™s it like?â€ I knew the question was there on her lips, waiting to be asked. But it never was, and I never got round to tying her up.
However, thatâ€™s not the end of it. About six months later, Kate got her taste of tie-up games.
There is a town a couple of hoursâ€™ drive from where I live which has a reputation for â€œalternativeâ€ lifestyles. I wonâ€™t name it because recently the community has been trying to clean up its image of drugs, drop-outs and dreadlocks. Needless to say, it is a magnet for hippies, punks, goths, stoners, grungies, freaks, ferals, utopians, new-agers, tree-changers and backpackers. Each year, in September, they all come together for the Springfest, a combination of country fair, fun carnival and arts-music festival. Jack and I decided to go and we took along Kate. Her boyfriend had meant to join us but cancelled at the last minute.
We spent much of Saturday in the flea-market. Jack dutifully trudged along behind his womenfolk, suffering in silence and fulfilling his role of patient, tenacious beast of burden as we pushed on relentlessly from one handicraft stall to the next. He finally came to life in the leather goods section, where he spotted a rack of swimwear. I was not very impressed when he recommended Kate and I indulge ourselves. Iâ€™d always thought leather might chafe in the most sensitive places; but these were made of beautifully soft lamb skin chamois. So I bought a bikini and Kate a little playsuit. That evening in our hotel room, when we tried on our new acquisitions (donâ€™t worry, we washed them first), I had to admit that as well as looking superbly sexy, the leather felt wonderful.
Jack casually nodded his approval. Then he left us to wander down to the nearest pub for a couple of beers and advice on a good, cheap restaurant. When he returned, he was carrying a paper bag that he put away without comment. After diner, we donned our tie-dyes, beads and sandals for the evening festivities. The highlight was a young woman fire dancer who juggled flaming torches bare-breasted. You wouldnâ€™t want to miss a beat was all I could think.
Since this is turning into an epic, I shall cut to the main event. The following morning I wasnâ€™t surprised when Jack suggested I wear my leather bikini; and Kate didnâ€™t need much convincing to put on her new outfit. But then he brought out his mysterious paper bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Again I wasnâ€™t really surprised. Out onto the tabletop tumbled two leather collars and a number of long leather straps â€“ you may detect a theme here.
Kate gave me a quizzical look as I picked up one of the collars, studied it for a moment and then put it around my neck and buckled it in place. She stared at its partner, frowned at Jack, grimaced, then shrugged and put hers on as well. Jack attached two of the straps to our new fashion accessories to make leashes. And thatâ€™s how we went to the fair. It says much of the nature of Springfest that we received only a few second glances from passers-by as Jack led us about all morning on our tethers. Kate remained dubious about the whole business, and of course she could have released herself at any time; but she played along like the jolly good sport she was.
Once we had toured all the exhibits and revisited the market stalls, Jack veered off in the direction of the ubiquitous beer tent. He found us a small space in one corner, and before he went to the bar to get our drinks he tied the ends of our leashes to one of the tent poles.
If this was to show us who was boss, I knew I had to set him straight. So when a couple of likely lads â€“ stereotypical urban cowboys in broad-brimmed Stetsons, enormous belt buckles and fancy boots that would never have trodden in a cow pat â€“ began to chat up Kate and me, I decided that a little flirting would be the ticket.
When Jack returned, one of the guys asked if he wanted to sell his pets.
â€œSorry, mate, not for sale.â€
Pets indeed, I thought. But before I could even start my drink, Jack took it away from me and set it down on a nearby bench. He whispered to the fellow (Steve, his name was) whoâ€™d offered to buy me and pulled something out of his pocket. It was one of the leather straps, which he handed over. Steve took hold of my wrists and brought my hands together, prayer position. Jack, ever so helpful, intervened. â€œNo, the other way.â€ So Steve tied my hands behind my back.
The friend was already in possession of the final strip of leather. â€œFront or back?â€ he asked Kate politely.
â€œFront please,â€ she answered.
We had by now started to attract the interest of some of the other patrons, and I was sort of glad Jack had no more straps to pass around. After that, I finally got my drink, albeit with the invaluable assistance of Kate. Jack satisfied himself with a brace of beers and we set off again. However, when I had to go to the toilet he freed our hands. Still, we remained on our leashes for the rest of the day. I had hoped that he might blindfold us and lead us about like that for a while â€“ it would have been interesting. But he didnâ€™t think of it and I didnâ€™t suggest it, mainly because of Kate.
We left Springfest around three oâ€™clock. Kate drove because Jack had managed to fit in several more beers before departure. He let Kate keep her collar. That was nice of him. I donâ€™t know if she ever wore it again.
Jack and I were together for about a year. He eventually fell for another girl, but I didnâ€™t hold a grudge. Weâ€™d had a lot of fun together, even if our relationship had never really progressed. He often tied me up, but while the Springfest weekend came close, nothing ever equalled that marvellous very first time. In fact, I sometimes wonder if perhaps weâ€™d moved too fast. I had given in to instinct and impulse, and perhaps that took away some of the magic. What do you do for an encore? Where do you go when youâ€™ve already been to paradise? Well, there was sex, but thatâ€™s not what weâ€™re talking about here.
As for Kate, we moved on. In my second year at uni, I checked out of the village and into an official student residence on-campus. It was not as entertaining, but less hectic and thus more conducive to study. She has since graduated with a law degree, a gorgeous fiancÃ© and hopefully some fond memories of her kinky little flatmate.

### Re: Leather and Lace

Post by bondagefan » Sun May 03, 2009 9:48 am

your stories a great would love to pics of you bound.

### Re: Leather and Lace

Post by mcsproot » Sun May 03, 2009 11:44 am

Well written, very descriptive and eloborate, hope to see more whenever you write again
23 year old guy from the UK.
Send me a private message on the board if you want to add me to your MSN, Yahoo, or anything else.

### Re: Leather and Lace

Post by bound-black-girl lover » Wed Jun 03, 2009 6:13 pm

Yep, two (2) SEXY elements: binding a woman's wrists with her onw bra and putting her on a tether rope!

### Re: Leather and Lace

Post by Qarl » Wed Mar 24, 2010 1:51 am

> sarah the non-theologian wrote:Despite (or due to) my indifferent Catholic upbringing, I remain perplexed about how the Messiah metamorphosed into the Easter Bunny, which morphed into the Playboy Bunny

If you are kept for a time (and unbound, the sadists!) in purgatory to pay for the sin of writing this heresy, I shall only too gladly keep you company for the sin of snorting when I read it!

### Re: Leather and Lace

Post by Boundgal08 » Wed Mar 24, 2010 2:19 am

Well written sarah
Lovely story
Cheers,
BG
BOUNDGIRL!
Probably the kinkiest woman you will ever meet!
I am a switch, I like to put a man in ropes and also have a man put me in ropes!
I am the 'Queen of bondage'