Take It to the Limit
She sat on the couch, provocatively crossing her long legs below her short skirt. I am old-fashioned in some ways so I didn’t approve, though being a slave to male instinct I kept my eyes on her anyway. She’d come to me with another one of her wild ideas. This one was, potentially, far more dangerous than the escapade of being half buried in the ground with the concrete slabs.
“Don’t say it, I know. A medical nerve block isn’t for entertainment purposes. I don’t care. I’m well aware you have sources, perhaps not the most legal and above board, for what I have in mind. That’s why I came to you. You understand this science stuff; you can figure out what works.” She had a habit of dismissing anything that stood in the way of her goal.
I’m an engineer, not a doctor. Yeah, I went through the corpsman battlefield medical training back in my Navy days, but that was a long time ago. I still had contacts to get certain items, as long as they weren’t used for “entertainment” purposes.
Naturally there were ethical and moral questions. Those never bothered me, nor did they stop me from plowing forward with incredibly stupid projects. I’ll build it; let someone else sort out how it’s used. That’s why she always came to me first.
“Okay, I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no. Give me some time to do a literature search. I’ll make some calls too.” I was hooked and she knew it. What she didn’t know about was that other current restoration I’d been working on.
Best Laid Plans
I carefully placed the small bottle on the table. Inside was a cloudy white liquid. “There it is,” I announced. “Bear in mind the FDA says it’s still experimental. Despite the warning I found out it’s been used over fifty times with no side effects. In every case, at least the ones documented, the patient showed no lasting effects once the drug had metabolized.”
She stared at it, eyes wide in fascination. “How does it work? Is it painful?”
I shook my head. “No, no pain at all. Back in the first half of the 20th century there was an epidemic caused by the poliomyelitis virus. The effects were muscle weakness and paralysis. It became known as ‘Infantile Paralysis’ due to the way many people were affected. You remember FDR, the President? His legs were permanently damaged by polio. Finally, a vaccine was developed and the disease has all but disappeared. It didn’t stop research into how the virus worked.”
“Oh yeah, I remember FDR from history class. So this paralysis, is it selective or does it affect the entire body?”
“It varies. However, this drug,” I pointed to the table, “is a nerve block for what doesn’t come under the heading of autonomic nervous system. That’s all the automatic stuff that keeps you alive, like heartbeat and breathing. It’s derived from the polio virus, but it isn’t polio, which is incurable. It only blocks nerve signals, temporarily, to muscles that involve movement. That includes arms, legs, torso and neck. Basically, it turns you into a quadriplegic.”
She nodded. “Like that actor who had a neck injury? Wasn’t he thrown from a horse?”
“Yeah, that’s a good example. If you really want the ultimate in a bondage experience, being frozen into a statue from the neck down just about covers it.”
“How long does it last?”
I held up my hands. “Nope, not gonna tell you. It would spoil your adventure. Part of the fun is the uncertainty, knowing your fate is in someone else’s hands.”
She frowned. “You did the same thing when you wouldn’t let me out of my concrete boots. I nearly had a heart attack when you solemnly announced you’d changed the time limit.”
I had to smile at the fond memory of the shock on her face. “In the end, you have to admit I was right. Fear and uncertainty raised the pleasure level another notch.”
She didn’t say anything at first, silently conceding my point. “Okay, I’ll do it. You promise to take care of me?”
I might be a power mad control freak but I wasn’t into watching people starve. “You know I will…on my terms.”
She looked away. “On your terms, though knowing you I’m certifiable insane to agree. What do I need to bring?”
“Not a thing, and that includes your chastity belt. Self-control definitely won’t be an issue.” I gave her my most evil-looking smile. “We start at 8pm Friday night, as usual in the basement.”
Forward Into the Past
“Lie down on this stretcher, head at this end,” I pointed. “It’ll be a lot easier and safer for me to move you around if you’re on your back.” The stretcher was really more of an adjustable table, like the kind used in ambulances. Right now, it was low to the ground, to make it easy for her to climb in.
She had already removed her clothing. She had no inhibitions about nudity, when it came to bondage. That was fine by me. One of the guilty pleasures I received from depriving her of her freedom was the opportunity to enjoy the eye candy unhindered by any hint of false modesty.
“This is your last chance. We’re at the point of no return. Yes or no?” I’d bet my life savings on her saying yes, but I was honor bound to give her that one final exit door.
“Yes!” And that was all I needed to hear.
She watched while I swabbed her arm, inserted the needle and slowly pushed down the syringe. When I pulled it out, I covered the hole with a band-aid. “How long will it take…”
That was as far as she got. The shot had a mild sedative as well as the nerve block. It took about half an hour before the solution would settle in at the top of the spine and go to work. It was best if she did not attempt to move around during the transition, so a short nap was needed.
Meanwhile I got to work. I went to the far corner of the basement and pulled off the tarp on my pride and joy. It was all gleaming, polished sheet metal and new paint. Even the logo of the long defunct manufacturer was authentic down to the gray lettering against the yellow background.
I moved it to the center of the basement and locked the castors in place. Opening the rounded front, I pulled out the bed. After positioning her stretcher next to it I raised her up and worked her body across to her new home. I had to pull her forward until her head was past the pressure gasket and resting on the pillow.
I attached the catheter for toilet duty. After checking for any creases under her body I slid the bed back into the long pressure chamber. Backing up I examined my work. Perfect in every detail, based on the old pictures I’d found. All I had left to do was wait for her to wake up.
It was nearly an hour later when I heard the first sounds. Leaning over her head I saw her eyes open. Blinking a few times, she asked, “Did it work?”
“You tell me,” I answered. She closed her eyes, as if she were straining against some massive weight. When she looked at me again, she exclaimed, “I can’t even move my head! All I can see is the ceiling.”
I took out my phone. “Let me show you the results.” I held it up for her to watch my walkaround tour I'd recorded while she was asleep.
"What is this thing I'm in?" she asked.
"It's called an 'Iron Lung’, circa 1951. I’ve been restoring it for the last four months. Polio victims who couldn’t breathe on their own were placed inside, where a pressure chamber worked their lungs. You can breathe fine, so I disabled the compressor part. Isn’t it cool looking?”
She made a face like she’d just bit into a sour apple. “Excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm. It looks like I’m inside a giant trash can. Did you dig this up at some archaeology site?”
That wasn’t my impression at all. “Old technology isn’t necessarily obsolete. It just needs to be put to other uses.” I wrapped my knuckles against the sheet metal. “No way for you to know, but this ‘trashcan’ only opens from the outside. You see junk; I see a handy portable prison. After all, it’s not like you can climb out.”
I adjusted the mirror mounted on the front of the Iron Lung, so that she could see the chair I set up behind her head. When I sat down, we could see each other, eye to eye. I figured a nice, long conversation would keep her from becoming bored.
“So,” I began, “now that you’re the latest victim of infantile paralysis, what do you think? Infantile, I love that word. Actually, at the moment you’re even more helpless than an infant.”
She thought for a minute. “A year ago, I tried one of those medieval style racks. Yeah, I know, they can cause a lot of damage if used improperly. Anyway, I was stretched out so tight I couldn’t move at all. And did I ever pay for that experience; I was sore for weeks.
“In a way this is much worse. It doesn’t hurt; in the sense I’m not being pulled apart.” She paused. “What gets to me is it won’t be over in a few minutes. The rack, all it takes is to release those winches. Handcuffs, the turn of a key and I walk away. But this, there’s no quick release. I have to lie here, either staring at you or the ceiling, until that nerve block wears off. And you won’t tell me how long it takes!”
I laughed. “That’s right. You’ll find out when you need to know, and not before. I read a lot of those website bondage stories. There’s a theme to some of them, where the unsuspecting victim is trapped, alone, no hope of rescue. Permanent bondage, forever doomed to be chained to a wall in the castle dungeon, or something like that.”
She actually smiled. “Oh yeah, I love stories like that. They are always impractical, sometimes ridiculous, but the idea gets to me. I see where you’re going. Right this minute, since I have no idea how long I’ll be in this trash…uhh, fine retro machine of yours, in a way it is permanent bondage.”
“Except you have me to look after you and keep you company. You’re right though, if I misjudged the dose, you might well be a prisoner of your own body for the rest of your life.”
That got her attention real fast. “Misjudged? What do you mean? You told me you knew what you were doing. Look, as much as I’m a bondage junkie, a lifetime spent in a hospital bed is not my idea of a bright future.”
I shrugged. “I guess we’ll both find out if I screwed up. Don’t worry about what might never happen. This is what you dreamed of, enjoy the moment.” I had trouble hiding my insincerity. Now that I’d planted the idea, she’d never get it out of her head. I love those mind games where I can control her thoughts and emotions.
All Aboard
I left her alone for about six hours. That’s an eternity when all she could manage was to blink her eyes. When I returned, she was eager for my company.
“You’re back! How did people survive in these things without going insane? Please, don’t leave me alone.” There was honest begging in the tone of her voice. A proper mental attitude is essential when I’m determined to completely dominate her mind, as well as her body.
“I have conditions,” I offered, looking at her in the mirror. “First of all, as this is a bondage session, from now on you will address me as ‘sir’, to acknowledge my vast power over you.” I liked the sound of that. “And second, you will maintain a tone of respect at all times. I will not tolerate profane language.” To emphasize my edict, I held up a gag.
“Yes, sir. I apologize if I came across as rude or bad-mannered up to now. I promise it won’t happen again.” It was music to my ears. She hated gags, which I’m sure contributed to her abject pleading for forgiveness.
“That reminds me. You’ve been lying down for too long. You need a little exercise.” As if that were possible. With that nerve block in place, she could roll her eyes but little more. What I had in mind was something a little different.
“I have a back board that should suit you. I’m going to transfer you out of the Iron Lung onto something I’ve rigged up for the occasion. Before we start, you need to take a little nap.” I wheeled up a small gas tank with a hose and breathing mask attached.
She didn’t like that idea one bit. “Please, sir, I’ll do whatever you say. You don’t have to put me to sleep.”
“Are you telling me what to do?” I wasn’t really angry. After all, in her condition she couldn’t help or hinder. It didn’t come out that way. I practically yelled at her in barely repressed outrage.
‘No, sir,” she added hastily. “You are in charge. I would never presume to challenge you.” That was a nice save on her part. He didn’t buy into her seriousness for one minute. That wasn’t important. Her cringing apology was a sure sign that FUD, fear, uncertainty and doubt, was starting to affect her opinion of him. The less she was convinced of his good intentions the better.
She was correct when she stated I didn’t have to sedate her. What she didn’t know is that I wanted to keep her transfer in and out of the Iron Lung a mystery. She woke up inside it; now she’d wake up on the outside without any idea of how she got there. I felt it gave an air of unpredictability to her adventure, in that sudden, unexpected changes might occur at any time.
Who was I kidding? The real truth is I enjoyed keeping her slightly off balance mentally. More mind games, but then that was my reward for helping her. Nothing comes for free in this world.
Once I got her onto the backboard I went to work. I had to line her up with the slots for the restraining straps, then put on her padded leather cuffs, thread the belts through the eyelets on the cuffs, and finally tighten them from underneath the board. Ankles, knees, waist, wrists, elbows, all had to be fastened down to keep her in place.
I left the posture collar on, though I did run a loose belt across it to hold down her head. One last strap across her forehead and she was ready. I tilted the board up at a forty-five-degree angle to get a better look.
Hiding all the belt buckles underneath the board did wonders for the aesthetics. Overall, it was a very clean layout, brown leather offset by the color of her skin, without any unsightly metal locks.
I moved my chair to better see, waiting for her to wake up. After about ten minutes her eyes fluttered open. “How long have I been…” She stopped before I had to reprimand her. “How long” wasn’t a permissible question. Anything dealing with the passage of time was forbidden. She knew it, though I allowed her some leniency in consideration she might be groggy.
“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Once again, I held up my phone so she could get a better look at herself. We talked for a while about the backboard and how it allowed her to stand up, sort of, in part to help her circulation. Prolonged bed rest can be detrimental, especially in the veins of the legs.
Her fingers twitched, followed almost immediately by flexing her hands, and then a pronounced wiggle as she tested the bonds of the backboard. “Sir!” she exclaimed. “I can move! The nerve block must be wearing off.”
“I wasn’t far off in my estimate. Good to know I didn’t overdo the dosage after all.”
She still didn’t have much in the way of freedom of movement, though it was strictly mechanical bonds and not induced paralysis that held her in place. “It’s over, it’s finally over. Sir, you can’t imagine what it was like. I was immobilized, unable to do anything except stare up at the ceiling. It must have been horrible, being stricken with polio back in those days.”
“There’s still no cure,” I reminded her. “The only difference is just about everyone gets a vaccine these days, from an early age.
“Anyway, what did you think of the ultimate in bondage? Was it worth the effort?”
“An education, sir.” I noticed she used the “sir” and kept to my rules. I liked that; no laziness at the end of a session. Of course, she was still strapped down tight. “I don’t ever want to try it again. Being paralyzed certainly takes one to the limit of endurance.”
My eyes swept up and down, taking in the aesthetics inherent in a woman bound and helpless. The clean lines of the straps holding her down, unbroken by the fasteners in the back, were like the fine lines of detail in a painting by one of the classical masters. Sometimes, all modesty aside, there’s no reason not to take pride in a job well executed.
She tried to twist and turn, testing her restraints. We both knew she wasn’t going anywhere, but she had to make the effort, and I was far from annoyed at watching her struggles. When she gave up, I asked the question she had been waiting for. “I bet you’re tired of doing nothing but lying around. Would you like to be released from the back board?”
“Yes, sir. It’s been a trying ordeal. I’d like nothing better than to stand up on my own two feet and walk on my own.” If she had asked first the answer would have been an automatic and emphatic refusal. She never liked it during a bondage session, not knowing when it would end, yet afterward she agreed it was best that I never reveal the time limit.
Finished?
“All good things must come to an end,” I announced in my most profound tone. “Sooner or later, anyway,” I added. “An end” could be interpreted in many ways.
“Okay, let’s get you out of this board.” I went around behind the board, where she couldn’t see what I was doing. “We’ll start with the head. That posture collar must be driving you crazy.”
Before she could reply I clamped the breathing mask over her face and switched on the gas. She tried to fight back, without any effect. I ignored whatever she was trying to say. It didn’t take long for the gas to take effect.
With the benefit of practice, it didn’t take long to reposition her. Maybe she was finished with her escapade, but I had other, more selfish intentions.
When she woke up, there I was, sitting in my chair studying her face, determined to catch her first reaction. She stared up at my image in the mirror. Within seconds the look of horror told me she’d figured it out.
“Time for act two. Think of that board as intermission. Now we’re on to the climax of the play.”
“What have you done?” she demanded.
I shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re back in the Iron Lung, blocked from the neck down. I’m having so much fun I decided to keep going. Isn’t this great?” I could barely contain my exuberance.
“This is way over the line!” she shouted. “Give me a shot of whatever it is that counteracts the nerve block, and get me out of this thing. I am not going to go through this living hell again!”
I sighed. “I regret it doesn’t work that way. The drug has to metabolize for the effects to wear off. There is no antidote, which means you are going through with it. Over the line? Perhaps, although I must point out I’m the one who chooses where that line is. Meanwhile, I suggest you make your peace with your new home inside this beautiful piece of retro iron.”