Having It All (2 page)

Ellen often talked about her sudden blossoming chest and the story was consistent to the point where it obviously had to be true, although again, office rumor had it that she had simply gone on vacation and gotten a great boob job.

From what Patty could see Ellen’s breastworks were no boob job. The leather body suit, with its tightly laced closures on arms, legs and waist, exposed more than it covered and Ellen’s breasts rode high and firm in the open front and deep neckline of the suit. The edges of the suit’s front zipper appeared to be within a fraction of an inch of revealing the nipples. Patty noticed for the first time the hard, rounded outlines of rings through each slightly hidden nip. The hips and ass were, as far as Patty was concerned, nicely done as well, so if plastic surgery was the source, it must have been frighteningly expensive.

The legs of the suit were tucked neatly into brown leather riding boots with, Patty also noted with some shock, silver spurs strapped on each heel. Around Ellen’s neck was a matching leather collar with several bright metal D rings and on her wrists were matching leather cuffs. The collar was locked with a chromed padlock at the back closure.

Patty’s head spun with what she was seeing and feeling. Ellen’s hands on her body made her feel strange and her inability to talk or free herself made it even stranger.

“How about a drink, Patty? You’ve been there for a while. You must be thirsty,” Ellen said, walking into the darkened area of the basement and coming back with a hiker’s aluminum water flask. “Want some lemonade?” Ellen said, offering the flask to Patty.

“HUMMUN,” said Patty, nodding vigorously and moving her head towards the outstretched hand.

“Fine. You get a drink, but you are also going to have to settle down and cooperate with Frank and me,” Ellen crooned, the water bottle still extended. “Do we have a deal?”

Patty rolled her eyes and seemed to be asking what the deal was, but realized that she really had no choice. So she hummed again and nodded. Ellen unfastened the tape over Patty’s stretched open mouth, pulled out the soaked wad of cloth and offered the open flask.

“Kan eye haff my hands free,” Patty sputtered through dry lips, trying to form the words and make sense of all of this.

“What?” asked Ellen, laughing and retracting the bottle-holding hand.

“Please,” Patty tried again. “May I have my hands free?”

“We’ll see. We’ll take a vote, maybe. But meanwhile, take a drink.”

Patty opened her mouth and Ellen poured in a swig of the cool lemonade. Patty swallowed it greedily and motioned for more. Ellen obliged.

“Now, Patty,” said Ellen amicably as she put the flask down. “Let’s make a deal.”

“Okay. What do you want? Why am I chained up here? What’s going on?”

Patty fired the three questions so fast that Ellen just held up her hand and said, “Stop, stop. One thing at a time. We wanted you to join us this weekend because we think you will enjoy our style of entertainment. We did some research and found out, for example, that you tap into some interesting web sites. You seem to get rope burns on your wrists and arms now and then and have, shall we say, other interests that we know about.”

Patty looked at Ellen in amazement. How could she know?

“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t look so surprised. You belong to some of the same on-line sites as we do and you occasionally leave your office PC connected to a few interesting places, like the ‘Girls for Tying’ site, or ‘Kidnapped for Fun’, for example. Your on-line history reveals even more. You should be more careful.”

Stunned, Patty looked away. She had not even considered that anyone she knew would be able to check her web surfing history.

“So, to help get you started in reality, instead of just on the PC screen, we set this weekend up. The coffee was spiked and you were tired anyway, so you made it easy for us. We got you down here a few hours ago, waited until you were almost awake and then hung you up so you’d wake up with a new perspective on your life.”

“You drugged me?” Patty shouted. “How could you? What did I ever do to you?”

“Not a thing, Honey. Except not wanting to see you waste that great looking bod of yours and wanting to help you stop being a dull, boring, work buddy who keeps dating clods who are also dull and boring. You are far too yummy, honey, to be rotting away in an ordinary life, non-BDSM life. We wanted to give you some new resources for enjoyment and pleasure.”

“A non what life?” Patty responded petulantly, swinging slightly on her chain, trying to keep eye contact with Ellen. She felt her breasts swing in follow-through as she hung from the chains. The feeling wasn’t bad, but it made her self-conscious, imagining the image of her large and braless mammaries slowly bouncing and swinging from side to side. “If you think hanging me up by my wrists and drugging me is giving me pleasure, I give up,” Patty said angrily. “Now let me down and I’ll consider this all in fun and forget about it.”

“Why forget about it? And, FYI, BDSM is short for Buddy, Don’t Screw with Me, or something like that,” Ellen said with a wide grin.

“Because otherwise you’ll be charged with kidnapping me, not to mention invasion of my on-line privacy, that’s why. Let me down!”

“Or maybe it stands for Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism,” said Ellen, seemingly preoccupied with the twin swinging boobs in front of her while ignoring Patty’s pleas. “I really can’t keep these terms straight,” Ellen mused. “But you certainly need a little discipline. And, Miss Smart Ass, I have already figured you out. Coming from Boston, where young women work hard at looking as dull as possible, you began professional life with a disadvantage. You’re also a nice, quiet little masochist who lets people walk all over her most of the time, wears stupid, poorly fitted clothes and dumpy, department store underwear so that no one gets the idea to rape you on the way to the bus stop and then goes home and plays with herself while watching Jeopardy on TV.” Patty blushed bright red.

“Let me down. Now.”

“Oh dear, I think not, Patty. If you’re going to be a Boston bitch about this, you’ll just have to spend the night as you are, or maybe in some different position. Maybe in a few days, you’ll see the light.” Ellen reached over and started to shove the wet rags back into Patty’s mouth, but the chained girl shut her mouth, turned her head and locked her jaw, keeping the gag out.

“Oh,” said Ellen, smiling again. “You want to play that game? Sure enough, let’s play ‘open your mouth, Patty’. I’m familiar with that one. Let’s see what I’ve got to entice you…” Ellen wandered off again into the dimly lit recesses of the basement and came back with what looked like a handful of thin leather shoelaces or straps and something in her hand. But Patty wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes kept closing and she seemed to be dozing off. She opened her eyes once more and then fell back asleep.

“Great lemonade,” said Ellen as she took a handful of the unconscious girl’s hair and pulled her head back so that she was facing the ceiling, pulled her slack jaw down and jammed a large, rubber, pear-shaped gag into the open mouth. It fit nicely in Patty’s sleeping mouth and Ellen pushed it in until her teeth closed over the fat end of the pear. The mass of straps was slowly unraveled and fitted around and over Patty’s limp head, with the wider, prime strap pulling the gag deeper and going around her head and buckling snugly in back, at the base of her neck. This single prime strap was more than sufficient to hold the pear gag in place, but the rest of the complex head harness added additional restraint, put pressure on some key and erotically sensitive points in the head and neck and, as Ellen knew well from the many times she had worn it and other gags like it, the feeling of confinement and servitude was greatly enhanced by the head-enclosing web of flat, thin leather.

This harness was the usual, standard configuration, as Ellen and Frank had named it. A split strap, called the OTH, or over-the-head strap, led from the sides of the mouth, around the sides of her nose, up to the space between her eyes where the two straps merged into one and then went over the forehead and the crown of the skull, then down the back and connected with buckles to the prime. From the sides of the mouth, two longer extensions of the split, OTH straps went downward, around the sides of the chin, crossed underneath the chin and then went around the neck and connected with the other ends of the OTH straps. Another dual set led for the sides of the mouth up and back over the top of each ear and joined with the OTH strap at the back of the head. A final set of straps came up from the collar, along the sides of her head and met at the top center, or crown. When all were fitted properly and tightened, they formed a snug web of containment, submission and servitude on the wearer.

Once she had this leather web in place on Patty’s head, Ellen went to the wall where there was what looked like a fuse box. She opened it and threw a switch that activated the hoist in the ceiling, lowering Patty to the floor. Ellen did not use a key to unlock the heavy cuffs on Patty’s wrists and ankles because these cuffs were not originally intended to be restraints. They were obtained from a nautical hardware distributor and were intended to be used as zinc anodes for the propeller drive shafts of boats. A heavy zinc alloy was molded into half hemispheres and connected with two or more bolts. So, to unfasten Patty’s wrists and ankles, Ellen used a small, compact wireless screwdriver/drill from a drawer in the nearby file cabinet. She inserted the Allen-headed bit into the side of the cuffs. The drill whirled in reverse and quickly removed a threaded, Allen-headed bolt from first one side and then from the other of the wide, heavy cuff, revealing that the cuffs were really two matching hemispheres with imbedded rings where the chains were attached. Each hemisphere weighed at least two pounds and when they were bolted together; they formed a secure and unique cuff that could not be removed unless the captive just happened to have a matching Allen wrench and considerable manual dexterity.

Ellen brought the girl’s arms around behind her, relocking the wrist cuffs directly to each other with only a single padlock between them. The locks fitted neatly into one set of imbedded rings in the hemispheres and allowed little or no slack. She released both ankles from the spreader bar and brought these cuffs together in the same close connection as the wrists. Ellen took a short length of chain and locked one end to one of the hand cuffs, pulled it around Patty’s hip and under her body, bringing it up and locking it tightly to the other wrist, thus holding the girl’s hands and arms close to her body. As she was gathering a handful of inch-wide leather straps from a cabinet nearby, Ellen heard a bell ringing from the room above. She stopped and listened, then quickly took a single strap, looped it through the space between the ankle cuffs and again through the wrist cuffs, bringing Patty’s cuffed ankles in close contact with her wrists, hogtying the girl. To finish the position, Ellen attached a short chain between the hogtied wrists and ankles and a D ring at the top of Patty’s head/gag harness. This forced Patty’s head back and the position effectively prevented almost any movement. Patty’s temporary restraint accomplished, Ellen hurried out of the basement room, went up the stairs and locked the door at the head of the stairway.

Ellen went quickly to the small kitchen and then to what looked like a cupboard. Sitting at the kitchen counter was a tall young man in a camouflage parka, with a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand. Resting on the counter in front of him was a long barrel, automatic 12 gauge Mossberg shotgun. His left hand rested on the stock, but he removed it as soon as Ellen walked into the room.

“Cold out there,” the man said, nodding at Ellen and raising his coffee cup to her.

“Shit, Max, you scared the hell out of me. When did you come in?”

“Just five minutes ago. Was checking the lines and was freezing, even with this L.L. Bean Arctic Parka.” He laughed, knowing the jokes about how real country folk considered Bean as their high end fashion supplier and Carhartt as the source for true work clothes.

“Yeah, it’s even a bit chilly in the cellar. Cold enough to pop the nipples out of a witch….or something like that,” grinned Ellen. “I just got a ring from the storeroom, so I’m headed down there. Frank’s got some gripe, I suppose.”

“Need a hand?”

“I hope not. See you in a bit,” Ellen said as she opened the cupboard door. There were shelves with food cans and packages, cooking utensils, some pots and pans and other household things. Ellen picked up a sauté pan, moved it to a lower shelf and then removed a can of tomato soup and put it in the pan. There was a faint click and the entire panel with shelves and contents swung inward, revealing a small room that had more shelves full of dry goods and supplies. She stepped into the room, closed the cupboard panel behind her and reached for what looked like a knot hole in the pine paneling. This hole turned out to be a release for another panel in the side wall of the small room. Now she turned on a light and went quickly down the flight of circular stairs to the bottom where she was in what was clearly a wine cellar. Hundreds of bottles of wine filled the bins. Each bin was marked and dated and identified the contents. Ellen went to the bin marked “Boxbottle, Franken.” This label was a private joke between Ellen, Frank and Don Andrews, a long time friend who often visited the camp and always brought great wines. Don was known for his German wine preferences and he had introduced E&F to the Franken wines from Germany’s Franconia region, which was sold in flask-shaped bottles, known as Bocksbeutel. Don had jokingly told them to spell it “boxbottle” and the esoteric pun had stick. Don also thought it was funny that it was a Franconia wine and often talked about Frank’s wines, meaning the Franken, of course.