The Initiation
Everything was pretty much perfect between Susan and I until a Thursday evening
two and a half months ago. I came home from work a little over an hour early on
that particular day having decided, after all the overtime I'd been putting in,
that I deserved an early night with the woman of my dreams.
I let myself into the apartment and dumped my briefcase on the floor beside the
door. Looking up, I started to say something like "I know, it's a miracle, I'm
home early", but I only got as far as opening my mouth.
Susan was writhing naked on the floor in front of the couch. Her beautiful face
had been covered by a black silk hood, and she had been brutally bound with
yards upon yards of midnight blue rope. Even from where I was standing I could
see that her elbows had been crushed together with yards upon yards of cinched
rope and that her hands were bound in the traditional palm-to-palm fashion. Her
long slim legs were bound at the ankles, knees and upper thighs - all in the
same looped then cinched manner. The brutal part, however, was in the way more
of the rope had been wrapped around her hooded face at mouth level and then
pulled back to be tied to her two big toes. This had the effect of arching her
body like a taughtly strung bow, and made it impossible for her to move more
than a few inches in any direction.
"Susan?" I finally managed to utter.
I took a few tentative steps toward her - my mind not quite grasping what I was
seeing. Susan and I were no strangers to bondage, of course. In fact, it was a
very common element of our love making. Scarves, ropes, cuffs, blindfolds, gags
- I'd used them all on her. Sometimes, we'd even sit down and work out a
scenario to role play together.
Those were my favourite times with her. At least in a sexual sense.
It was also no secret to me that Susan liked to engage in the occasional self
bondage. The way she explained it, she usually did so as a way to vent her
sexual frustration at my long working hours, and not-so-infrequent business
trips away. Then there were those times that she'd tie herself up as a present
to me. I'd walk in and find her hands cuffed behind her back, her legs spread
and tied to the bottom of the bed, and her mouth filled with a silk scarf.
But never like this. Not so stringently. Not naked on the cold polished wood of
the floor. Not so she was whimpering quietly as she lay in her bondage.
And besides, how could she have managed to tie herself like this? It just wasn't
possible.
That thought was confirmed a few steps later when I saw her thumbs had been tied
together with thin twine and further attached to her two big toes. Hurrying
forward, I knelt beside Susan and told her in a loud voice that I was here and
she'd be alright now. She stiffened as I spoke, and began to rock on her stomach
from side to side, moaning madly into whatever it was gagging her beneath the
hood.
"It's okay. Calm down. I'll have you lose in a minute."
Despite my reassurance, she continued to shake and moan as my fingers went to
work on the rope holding her head back to her ankles. It took a short while -
the knots were tied beyond my level of expertise - but I eventually worked it
lose, and eased Susan's upper body to the floor. I pulled the hood away from her
sweat stained features and saw that her lips were hidden beneath three wide
strips of black tape. She tried to say something, but little more than an
indignant grunt came out. I looked up and saw that her eyes were narrowed at me
angrily.
"What? I'm moving as fast as I can!"
Slightly confused, I picked away at a corner of the tape before pulling it from
her lips. A swell of red material immediately became apparent between her teeth,
so I hooked a finger into the sodden cloth and prised it lose. But before it had
even fallen to the floor, Susan was expelling a second wad of the red material
from her mouth, this time with her own tongue. It was only then that I noted
with surprise that the wads were actually two pairs of her more racy panties.
But I was in for an even bigger surprise.
Susan coughed once and then rasped at me: "Just what the FUCK do you think
you're doing?"
I pulled away from her in shock. "I-I'm untying you. What does it look like?"
"Yeah? Well who the hell told you to do that?"
I was literally at a loss for words. The venom in her voice was incredible! I'd
never heard her so angry.
"Oh for Crisaakes Vic, just finish untying me. It's pointless now anyway."
I finally found my voice. "You mean someone didn't bind you like this?"
She craned her neck to look up at me and then spoke very slowly. "No Vic,
someone didn't. I was practicing some self bondage and I'd almost reached my
record time. But that's ruined now isn't it?" She twisted in her bonds
impatiently. "Would you just get on with it."
It was bullshit. Anyone who'd ever tied a knot before could see that. She'd been
tied by someone else and was trying to hide it from me. The question was why?
And was she sleeping with him?
Oh God, was Susan cheating on me?
Angry now myself, I finished untying my girlfriend in stony silence. It took me
the best part of five minutes to fetch scissors, cut away the twine binding her
digits, and then loosen the midnight blue knots around her wrists and elbows.
After that, she angrily shrugged me away and proceeded to free her own legs.
Teeth marks in my bottom lip, I sat back as Susan tossed the last of the ropes
aside and stood up. "I'm going for a shower," she said coldly before cautiously
limping in the bathroom's direction. The blood had evidently yet to fully return
to her limbs.
I decided to wait and confront her with my "suspicions" when she came out of the
shower. Maybe she'd feel more like talking when she'd had a chance to wash away
the sweat and tend to the numerous rope marks mapping her body.
The door to the shower slammed closed. I shook my head. Exactly why was she so
angry? I was the one who should have been bouncing off the fucking walls. It
just didn't make any sense . . .
The buzzer for the intercom rang.
Co-incidence? I think not.
I leapt up and hastily made my way over to the intercom. "Yes?" I said quietly,
having stabbed the 'Send' button.
There was silence for a few moments before a rich, deep voice filtered up to me.
"My apologies, I was searching for a Ms. Alissa. I have evidently pressed the
wrong button."
Bingo.
"No, not at all. Ms. Alissa lives here." I smiled through gritted teeth. If this
guy was who I thought he was . . . "She's currently indisposed, however. Can I
say who's calling?"
Another long pause. "No, thank you. I believe I'll return when she's not
otherwise engaged."
"No, please. Why don't you come up and wait for her." I decided to let him off
the hook - anything to get him within arm's reach. "She'll be out of the shower
in a few minutes."
"To whom am I speaking please?"
"I think that's something I should be asking, don't you?"
This time the pause was almost ominous, and when the voice spoke again it had
lost all of its former pleasantness. "My name is Mr. Chaswell. And you will
leave this message for Ms. Alissa: 'Six weeks to go'."
With that, the line went dead.
I was tempted for a moment to make a mad dash for the elevator. To ride it down,
and charge out into the foyer - ready to confront this 'Mr. Chaswell'. But I
knew it would be pointless. He'd be long gone even before the elevator had even
responded to my call.
But he'd left behind more questions than ever, and I was determined to find the
answer to each and every one of them. No matter what it took.
Even if it meant my relationship with Susan.
*****
The night had ended in a huge fight. I'd confronted Susan with Mr. Chaswell's
message and she'd flown completely off the handle, telling me it was none of my
business and that I had no right to interfere with her life. Then she'd stormed
out.
She'd been beside me the next morning when I woke up, however, and that had
eased some of my paranoia. But it was still another week before we had a proper
conversation, and a further four days before we sat down to talk about that
night.
Susan explained that she'd been tying herself up more regularly of late because
she'd stumbled across a copy of a self bondage guide at some alternative second
hand book-store. She showed me the book, and I had to admit it was pretty
impressive. It was called "Self-Bondage for the Serious Practitioner" and
detailed 50 different positions - with one of those being exactly the position
I'd found Susan in when I'd come home that night. I didn't recognise the
publisher ("BC Initiatives"), but then that was hardly surprising given that my
entire bondage library consisted of "The Story of O".
And Mr. Chaswell? Well, apparently he was the proprietor of the aforementioned
book-store, and had stopped by to inform Susan that the next shipment of related
books was six weeks away.
All in all, it made sense. Perfect sense, really - especially once the book had
been produced as proof. By the time Susan was finished I'd felt about six inches
tall. We'd been through two weeks of fighting over nothing more than my own
severe sense of paranoia.
So I'd made it up to her. Flowers. Chocolates. Dinner at a five star restaurant.
The works.
When we finally arrived home, I took Susan by the hand and smiled at her. "So
you're pretty good at tying yourself up now. But I bet you could still learn a
thing or two from me." She'd giggled and I'd set about proving my point. Wrists
crossed and tied behind her back; then drawn up to be attached to an overhanging
beam. Bent over now, a two foot spreader bar attached between her ankles. Rope
wrapped lovingly above, below and between her breasts in an intricate bra like
fashion. A silken scarf for a blindfold, and a white ball gag strapped behind
her teeth. Her body helpless and her cries muted as I took her from behind . . .
I remember it now as the last truly happy moment of my life.
*****
Believe it or not, I may have lost the Angels tracking me. That's three days
without any sign of them. I'm actually starting to wonder if I may even get to
finish this story before they catch up to me. It's a long shot, but I can hope
right?
Keep your fingers crossed for me.
But even more importantly, keep reading. Because the more you read, the better
chance there is that something will be triggered in your memory. A description
of a place, a particular person's speech pattern, a mannerism I've noted.
Anything. And then . . . well that's up to you. Learn from my mistakes as I
write them though. Be smarter than me. Don't try and do everything yourself.
Talk to someone you trust. I mean REALLY trust.
More soon.
