Life Imitates Art
Pete followed Carol down the stairs to his basement. She took a seat on the couch, leaned back and crossed her legs. “Like I told you on the phone, I really enjoyed last week, but it left me wanting more; more as in greater intensity. I leave the details to your imagination, since you have the expertise to keep me safe from harm. I’ll add I’m willing to agree to more, umm, demanding conditions.”
Pete sat down across from her. “Be careful about handing out blank checks to someone like me. As it happens, I do have an idea you might find appealing. Ever hear the phrase ‘life imitates art’, as in the ways movies influence us?”
Carol grimaced. “I hope you’re not referring to those slasher movies. If it involves a chainsaw, count me out.”
Pete laughed. “No, nothing quite so messy. I’m thinking more along the lines of what’s called the psychological thriller. And no, I don’t mean that shower scene from Hitchcock’s Psycho. Nothing but shadows on a shower curtain, and water spiraling down a drain, but even today it stands out as perhaps the most terrifying movie scene ever filmed. My little excerpt from a particular movie is tame in comparison, though for the bondage aficionado it can be stimulating. Fair warning, for what I have in mind it isn’t for the beginner.”
Carol was convinced Pete wouldn’t subject her to lasting physical harm. So why the warning? She pondered the question for a long moment. “No permanent marks or damage? I’ll still have the same number of arms, legs, fingers and toes tomorrow morning?”
Pete shook his head. “Of course, nothing so dramatic. In fact, the objective will be to ensure there is no chance of injury, intentional or accidental. The warning has more to do with my stipulations before we begin. You may not be so eager after hearing them.”
Either I trust him or I have no business being here, she told herself. “Okay, how about you do your best to scare me off, and I’ll either run away or reserve judgement until after the fact.”
“I can live with that. Okay, first thing, the obvious: you are the submissive victim and I am the crazed, power mad villain. You will obey me, no matter what I demand from you. I could always resort to brute strength, but that gets complicated and wastes time that could be put to better use. In general, physical force isn’t my thing. There’s a time and place for it, but not tonight.”
The “no matter what” gave Carol pause. That was a blank check, being essentially consent for him to do with her as he pleased. I’m going to be helpless anyway, does it change anything? “Agreed. I settled that decision by showing up last week. You’re in charge.”
Pete nodded. “It gets more difficult with this next one. Once we start, it doesn’t stop until I say so. Whatever happens, you must see it through to the end, like it or not.” He tapped the side of his head. “That’s a mind game, the uncertainty. You can’t resort to convincing yourself with ‘oh, there’s only five more minutes to go’ or ‘I can always end it when I want’ tactics in order to indirectly control what happens.
“The mental part is important to me. It’s a way I can extend control into your brain. I have secret knowledge you want but can’t have, because I choose to deny it. I know, sounds creepy, but that’s how I’m wired.”
Carol frowned. “Let me think about it for a minute.” Maybe not creepy per se, but certainly odd. Did she want him poking around inside her subconscious? Her immediate reaction was a resounding no, except she had to stop and reconsider. She was here precisely to experience Pete imposing his will on her. It was only bondage, yet the “only” part covered a wide field. If she could accept his being in physical control, what was that if not a mental game too? To Pete’s credit, he was being transparent about his aims.
“To be clear, we’re not talking days, weeks or months? As long as I get back home within a reasonable amount of time then I can be patient. It’s up to you to call a halt.”
Pete tilted his head to one side, studying Carol. “I do have a certain fondness for the extended play, long duration session. If and when we ever reach that point, I promise you’ll be informed in advance. For tonight it won’t go for more than….” His voice trailed off, followed by a big grin. Carol got it; he wasn’t going to finish.
“There’s just one more item I’ll have to insist on. It’s another one of my mind games. The session tonight will be without clothing. On your part, not mine. There’s a practical reason, which will be obvious. I also want to instill a mindset where you visualize yourself at a disadvantage. I’ve found women are particularly sensitive to being forced to strip before a man. It leaves you off balance, self-conscious, and all the more susceptible to manipulation on my part. I’m not revealing a secret here; it works even if you know in advance.”
Carol had come prepared for this eventuality last week. Her internal arguing had concluded with the determination to strip down if he ordered it, despite the amazingly accurate effect on her Pete had mentioned. She reached for the top button on her blouse…
“Not yet,” Pete snapped. “I’ll tell you when. Don’t anticipate me; I don’t like that.”
Criminally Insane
Carol’s eyes went wide when she followed Pete into the adjoining room. His collection of restraints still hung on the walls, but what caught her attention was the medical table in the center of the room, and the equipment piled on top of it.
He began with a little back story. “I regret to inform you, Patient Carol, that Dr. Pete has concluded your cannibalistic, serial killer personality traits are not medically treatable. The best we can do for you is to arrange transportation to a special facility equipped to handle your violent, uncontrollable tendencies.”
Cannibals, criminally insane…then the name of the movie clicked in Carol’s head. “Can I take my fava beans with me, Doctor?” she asked innocently. Pete had to look away to avoid bursting out in a laughing fit. The movie was Silence of the Lambs, and she was going to play a female Hannibal Lector; this could be promising.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Pete answered, in character. “I’m sure you understand we must take some precautions. You might have a weapon cleverly concealed in your clothing. You must disrobe; use that corner,” he told her, pointing. “Skirt and blouse on the hanger, everything else in the cardboard box. That includes jewelry. You may keep your panties on.”
Pete discreetly turned his back as she undressed. Always the gentleman, despite what he is about to do to me. Carol did appreciate his little courtesies.
When she returned to the table Pete was holding up a canvas jacket. The arms were too long, and ended in leather mitts sewn onto the ends. She recognized it immediately. It was a medical straitjacket, a real one, not the kind rigged for stage magicians. Without any hesitation she slid her arms into the jacket sleeves. Her fingers brushed against the leather ends.
Pete quickly pulled the jacket closed and began on the straps running down the back. It was a snug fit but not so tight as to interfere with her breathing. The last two straps, dangling down from the front, he slipped between her legs before tightening them with buckles in the back. That explained the panties; she did need some padding in that tender area.
There was an open panel stitched into the front, large enough to accommodate both sleeves. “You are going to lose the use of your arms and hands. Escape artists try to slip one arm over their head to get out.” He guided the sleeves through the front panel, crossed arms resting under her breasts. In back he pulled both sleeves tight, immobilizing her arms as he had warned. “This prevents any attempts to free an arm.”
After running through the tension on all the straps one more time, he spun her around. “There you go. Check how well it fits. I believe you’ll find you don’t have any practical movement for hands or arms.”
Carol shifted back and forth. She bent over, struggling to slip an arm out of the grip of the jacket. He was right about the panel sewn in front. With her elbows and forearms pressed close against her body there was no realistic way to wiggle an arm up or down. “Sorry, Doctor, I can’t seem to get this thing off.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” Pete assured her. “It’s there for your own protection.” Carol made a face. He’d used that same line last week with the handcuffs. The only thing being protected was his power over her.
“There’s just one more item,” Pee continued. He held up the leather posture collar, the one he’d used last week with the restraint chair. He pushed aside the high collar of the jacket, still open, and slipped the posture collar around her neck. She felt him do something to close it in the back. Once in place he pulled up the canvas jacket neckline and used the security strap to hold it against the posture collar.
Carol knew what to expect this time. The straitjacket now extended its reach up to clamp her head in place too. She could still bend or turn from the waist, though Carol was positive Pete would soon deal with that oversight as well.
At the Movies
“I have a special surprise for you. Turn around and face the wall. No peeking. This is custom made.” With her head in the vise-like grip of the posture collar she wasn’t about to attempt a glance over her shoulder.
Carol heard him open a drawer in one of the tables lining the room, under the wall display. What could it be? She tried to think back to the movie, but whatever it was didn’t come to mind.
“Dr. Pete knows you mean well, Carol. But after all those incidents with the staff I have no alternative but to do what I can to keep your guards safe from injury.” She felt some kind of wide, plastic object press tight against her face. Pete pulled tight the dual straps behind her head before she had a chance to react.
“What is this?” Carol asked. She tried to stick out her tongue but it collided with metal posts at her lips. If it was a gag then it wasn’t a very good one; she could still talk.
“Let me show you,” Pete replied. He held up a hand mirror.
There it was, a replica of the muzzle used in the movie. A broad, flexible, plastic panel covered her lower face. There was a cutout for her mouth, with vertical metal bars molded in across the opening. The mask extended from under her chin, up and over her nose, across her cheeks, and finally ending close to her ears. It gave her a grotesque look, as if she wore a mask to hide a hideous disfigurement.
“Dr. Pete doesn’t want any of those biting episodes, Patient Carol,” he admonished.
“No, Doctor,” she replied in a meek, subdued voice. “Does this mean I won’t get my fava beans?” It was a bad joke, but she couldn’t resist.
Pete stood there, grimacing and shaking his head. “Sorry, you’ll have to skip lunch today. We’re only half done, the upper half.”
With that he suddenly bent down and scooped Carol up in his arms, under her back and knees. He gently placed her on the table, on top of what looked to be an open sleeping bag.
“This is what’s called a sleep sack. Think of it as a bondage version of a cocoon. Again, it’s for your protection.” Carol was getting tired of hearing that phony assurance. It must be for his benefit, maybe he likes the sound of it. She couldn’t criticize if he indulged in a few guilty pleasures, especially after all he was doing for her.
He closed the bag using the built-in heavy-duty zipper which ran from her toes all the way up to her neck. The bag felt loose, which disappointed Carol. It didn’t seem to be up to the same quality of restraint efficiency as Pete’s other gear.
Her opinion changed when he began cinching the straps around the bag. She wasn’t sure how many there were, but she definitely felt the ones at her ankles, mid-calf, above and below her knees, mid-thigh, waist, and even a loose one across her breasts. That’s also when she realized she was lying on a hard surface, perhaps a back board. The straps were attached to the board underneath, and through D-rings on either side of the bag. One final belt, of leather, wrapped loosely around her neck passing through a D-ring sewn into the front of the posture collar. She wouldn’t strangle herself, but she wasn’t able to lift her head either.
Don’t Get Board
Pete leaned over her, looking for any signs of distress. “Are you okay?” he asked. She could hear the overtone of genuine concern in his voice.
“I’m fine, Pete. This is, umm, I don’t know how to describe it. The restraint chair last week? That was just a warm-up exercise.” She tried to twist around inside the sack. “I’m as helpless as a newborn baby.”
He took a step back, kicked something under the table with his foot, and then started to wheel Carol towards the door. “How about we sit and talk for a while? I don’t want you to get bored, lying there with nothing to do.” She caught the grin that flashed across his face.
In the small basement living room he stopped, engaged the brake on the table, and then began to turn a crank. Carol felt herself slowly rising to a standing position. He stopped when she was at about a forty-five-degree angle.
Pete took a chair across from Carol. “If you remember the movie, Lector meets the Senator the same way, strapped to a backboard, at an angle. and with his face covered by the same muzzle. He was one of the big-name actors, so the audience had to see enough of his face during the dialog. I figure it would be awkward if we had a conversation while you stared at the ceiling.”
“I appreciate your allowing me to participate this way, sir.” There, she’d done it, used the “sir” like the stories online. The honorific was supposed to represent respect for authority, in her case the dominant male. She hoped he’d accept it in the spirit offered.
He stood up and came close, towering over her. Taking her head in his hands he leaned in, eye to eye. “From this moment on you will continue to address me as ‘sir’, in private. If you fail to do so you will be punished for misbehaving.”
The intensity of his abrupt command was overwhelming. It took Carol several seconds before she remembered to breathe again. Confused, at a loss for words, she had no reply. This was far beyond the reaction she anticipated.
Is this one of his mind games? If so, it was remarkably successful in penetrating deep inside her mind. There was an implied threat, but that wasn’t important. What did matter is the sudden, overpowering compulsion to obey him. Carol had never experienced anything like it in her life.
What had brought it on? She half expected him to either ignore her little addition, or make light of it. Instead, it felt as if the world had suddenly shifted underneath her feet.
“I apologize, sir. You caught me by surprise…”
Pete held up his hand. “Stop. Why don’t you lie back quietly and relax while I do the talking? Take the time to enjoy your enforced leisure.” He went back to his chair.
What have I gotten myself into? No question he was in her head now, and moving right along with setting up home there. Remember, I agreed to all this. He’s in charge, I’m supposed to do as he says. Except she hadn’t realized just how far her compliance would go.
“Boredom is always a risk when you find yourself in a… let’s say restrained situation. It helps to have someone to talk to, so you can partake of all the benefits of letting go of all that responsibility, while keeping occupied.”
He stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Carol started to add a reply but halted before a sound escaped. I don’t have permission, she suddenly remembered. He speaks; I listen. She looked around the room. Here I am, effectively paralyzed from the neck down, yet it all seems so normal. Even worse, there’s this stranger’s voice in my head, telling me what I can and can’t do. And that feels normal too.
“I’m going to share my thoughts and feelings with you tonight. I trust in your discretion; these are very personal.”
Carol tuned out everything but Pete’s voice. If necessary, she’d spend all night trussed up if it meant he would open up to her.
He stood up once more and came over to her side. With one hand he gently pushed aside a few strands of hair that had fallen into her face. He continued with a caress, using the back of his hand, passing across the mask over her cheek, then down to the posture collar. “When I first saw that muzzle, I didn’t like the appearance. It worked in the movie, but those were different circumstances. However, now that I’ve had time to study it, on you it is very attractive.
“The posture collar is one of my favorites, as you might guess. It is a tool to guarantee attention to details. Hold your head up straight, keep your eyes forward, do not look around. It enforces my will, regardless of your wishes.” He rested his hands on either side of her head. “See? You cannot pull away.”
He leaned in so close their noses were almost touching. “Look into my eyes. Do not blink, do not try to avoid me. Show me what’s behind those windows to your soul. Who is in there? I want to draw her out, to shape her to my desires.”
Carol was losing the ability to think coherently. His eyes bore into hers, bypassing all her inhibitions. Then it swept over her, a sexual orgasm so powerful she never believed it could exist in her. Her body shook, but the restraints held firm. All the while his eyes were there, locked to her own.
And then it was over. He let go of her head and stood up straight. Slowly he ran a hand down her body, over the straightjacket and sleep sack. “This is where you belong,” he whispered in her ear.
She wanted to cry out, to speak to him of her own emotions. Yet even as she tried to push out those words past the barrier over her mouth, the compulsion to obey him and remain silent was too strong to overcome.
Pete must have noticed the pleading in her expression, her open mouth trying to beg him to lift her order of silence. Please, let me talk, she struggled in vain to somehow communicate her need.
That was the moment Carol truly felt the full impact of being completely dominated, the consequence of power seized not given, the illusion of consent tossed aside. Pete did understand her unspoken plea. Slowly he leaned forward and spoke a single word.
“No.”