Arrested Restraints - Part One

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CHAPTER FIVE: ARRESTED RESTRAINTS - PART ONE

With prices that won’t hold you back on the things that hold you down.

Effectively grounded for the past four days—as her uncle had taken to dropping her off and picking her up from school every day, keeping constant tabs on her—Sam was stuck in her room unless or until she wanted to give her wardens a complete accounting of her every move.

Which Sam thought was unfair and unnecessary. For one, Fischer was still in LA for another three days, so what exactly were they so worried she was going to do? And, two, it wasn’t as if she was the type of person to go off and get in trouble.

This was really the only thing she’d ever kept from her mother and uncle. And could they really blame her? Look at how they were reacting to it. Saying that he was raping her. Making her sound like some kind of victim, suckered in by Fischer’s manipulative trap.

They didn’t even know him.

Apparently, in this context at least, they didn’t really know anything about her either.

It was so odd, she thought as she read over the history notes she had on her laptop. Since before she was in junior high, they’d treated her like she was practically an adult. Trusted her to make her own decisions. Trusted her to know what was best for herself.

And now, suddenly, they were back to treating her like a child.

And over what?

They’re being ridiculous, she thought as she closed down her notes—it wasn’t as if she was paying her studies much attention anyway. As if being restricted to her room could stop her from doing anything. Sam logged onto Steele’s Secret, a forum for Elliette Roberts’s book. She went to the message boards and began to read.

Blinking, she noticed that someone had sent her a message.

She clicked on it.

Didn’t think I’d see you here again.

Fischer.

She smiled before typing:

Because my uncle flipped out?

Psh, it’d take more than that to stop me.

She waited a bit, somehow strangely nervous. It felt exciting again—even more than it usually did. The same butterflies she’d felt when they first began to message each other fluttered wildly in her stomach. Like she were doing something truly transgressive.

Naughty girl.

Warmth spread through her as she read that, imagining his voice—the low chuckle that would rumble as he whispered that phrase in her ear.

You know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?

She did.

They get punished.

Sam’s heart sped as her cheeks flushed. She loved it when he talked to her like that. Dirty. It always made her insides tingle and twinge in a way that ought to have felt bad, or at least strange, but that she craved all the same.

Remember my gift?

She did. She got off her bed and knelt on the floor. Reaching under the bedskirt, she pulled out a lock-box. Turning the tumblers on the lock, she opened her toy box, filled with the small collection of toys she’d accumulated over the months. A blindfold. A small leather and fur flogger. A broken, buckle-less belt. A pair of handcuffs.

And several bundled lengths of soft, red rope that Fischer had given her when he discovered her interest in bondage.

She took them out and unwound them, before turning back to her screen.

Chest corset.

It was her favorite tie, the look and feel of it so unbelievably beautiful. He’d taught her how to do that on her own one afternoon, making her tie it and untie it and retie it over and over until the movement became reflexive. Until she could do it almost meditatively, slipping into head space almost by rote with every loop and knot of the rope.

Sam spared her bedroom door—closed but lockless—a glance. She’d toyed about with kink a bit in her room, usually late at night when both her mom and uncle were asleep and the house was still and quiet. She’d never done it in the middle of the afternoon as dinner sat simmering on the stove. It was the worst time to do this. With the highest chance of getting caught.

It shouldn’t have made it that much more fun. It really shouldn’t have.

Sam stood and stripped off her shirt, leaving her in just sleep shorts and her bra, before binding the rope just above and below her breasts. She wrapped them over her shoulders, tying and tugging the rope into a basic chest harness, the press and pull of the rope sculpting and molding her breasts. She looked down at the swell of the soft mounds as they pushed against the cups of her bra, being thrust together by the cross of the ties. The tight hold of the rope around herself made her so aware of every breath, every bend and twist of her body.

She grabbed another length, wrapping it around her middle and connecting it to the harness. She bound and passed the rope around her torso, building her own twisted corsetry. She pulled tight enough that she could feel the beginning tingle of her flesh falling asleep. It would leave marks, pink tracks all over her like footprints on the snowy expanse of her skin that she would hide beneath her T-shirt. Something extraordinary hidden beneath a boring cover. The thought made her smile as she pulled just a bit tighter.

Sam finished tying the final bit over her belly as she turned back to the screen.

Two-column ankle cuffs.

Sitting down on the bed, she took another length of rope. She wound it around both ankles together loosely before lashing the binding together several times in the middle and pulling tight. She pulled her ankles one way and then the other, testing the tie, satisfied when she couldn’t pull free.

She turned back to the screen that was sitting on the other end of her bed. She scooted toward it, her movement awkward as a mermaid’s out of water, even as she marveled at how a length of rope and a few knots had completely transformed her. For a moment, she imagined herself with a long, glittering tail as she swam over the surface of her aquamarine comforter as she made her way across her bed.

Spreader bar wrist tie.

Sam paused. She’d never done that alone. Fischer had always been the one tying her wrists together. She wasn’t even sure she could do it by herself. Was pretty sure it wasn’t a good idea to.

What if she got stuck?

She’d have to call for her mom or her uncle.

She moaned and rolled her eyes; she could just imagine what their reaction would be. She already couldn’t move her legs, was starting to get a bit of a head-rush headache from the corset’s crush; binding her wrists, wasn’t that pushing it a bit too far?

Send me a picture.

He wanted a picture?

Sam bit her lip. Well, she had a choice now. She could tell him no—and risk upsetting or disappointing him. What if he logged off? Or stopped talking to her? She’d never defied an order he’d given her. Had agreed to submit to him in everything he asked. Sam bit her lip. She could tell him no.

Or she could just do it. How bad could it get? She probably couldn’t do it anyway. What did it hurt to try? Then she could tell him that she’d tried and couldn’t, but couldn’t wait until he got back so he could do it for her.

There.

Simple.

She grabbed another section of rope and looped it around her spread-apart wrists. She grabbed the rope’s slack and wrapped it around the bit between her arms. It was actually easier than she thought it would be. Almost soothing, really, as she looped the length in a continuous spiral between her wrists. She tied off the ends, twisting her wrists this way and that, rather impressed with herself.

She turned back to the screen and sighed. Now to take a picture.

Sam bit her lip. She probably should have set all that up before she’d tied herself up. She wiggled onto her stomach, writhing as she slithered over her bed to grab her phone, the ropes digging in with each crawl.

She grabbed her phone in her hands, wondering what to do with it. Taking the picture herself seemed impractical since, with the camera in her hand, she couldn’t capture the rope work on her wrists. She could try to place it upright on her desk and use the self-timer, but she’d have to be able to move from the desk to the back of the bed and pose for the shot. And she wasn’t exactly at her quickest speed right now.

So instead she set her phone to record video. She could always screen capture it later for a photo. Sam shimmied on her belly toward her laptop again, her elbows and knees bending and tripping over themselves as she moved. In her head, she imagined her ass was shoved up in the air, wiggling about wildly. Idly, she wondered if she’d pulled it off appealingly or just looked ridiculous.

When she reached the other end of the bed, she turned over, sitting on the mattress with her legs bent out as she sat lotus-style with her bound hands in her lap. She sat up tall, showing off the corset. Looking into her phone screen, that reflected back her image, she beamed, rather proud of herself.

She couldn’t wait to send it off to Fischer, so he could see all her hard work. She’d come so far from that girl he’d found lurking about in the Steele’s Secret forums who’d known nothing about kink and BDSM. Feeling worldly, she gave a sultry look to the camera, wishing she could see Fischer’s face when he saw it.

“Sam,” she heard her uncle say as he knocked on her door, “dinner’s done.”

Sam sat up straight, the pale, shocked look mirroring back at her from her phone almost amusing. She began to struggle against the ropes, even though she knew that it only made things worse. “Be right down,” she choked out, trying to sound as calm as possible even as her heart raced.

“Okay,” he said. “And there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She forced herself to breathe and slowly unravel the rope trapping her wrists.

“Can I come in?” The knob on her door shook as he reached for it. “I’d like to talk to you about it alone.”

Shit. “Can it wait?” Her voice was practically a shriek.

“I was just wondering if you’d be interested in talking to Pip tomorrow,” he asked.

“Pip?” Sam paused, her hand freezing. “Like from The Deviant Nerd?”

“Yeah.” He gave a slight laugh. “She said she had some free time tomorrow and thought you might appreciate getting some coffee or lunch or something.”

With her favorite podcast host? Hell yeah, she was interested. “Sure,” she said excitedly, as she raised her still bound hands. Oh yeah.

“Great,” he said as she began to untie herself again. “What do you think about early afternoon? She can come pick you up or I can drop you off somewhere?”

“Sounds good, Uncle Phil.” She struggled with the rope again. “Um, I’m,” she coughed, her mind stalling as she tried to think of something to say, “trying to finish up a paper. You know, get my thoughts down before we eat and I forget everything.”

There was a pause as he considered. Sam could feel her heart pound and panic claw like bile up her throat. “Sure,” he said, letting go of the knob. “We’ll talk more after dinner. Okay?”

“Perfect.” She sighed, relief flooding her as the first piece of rope fell uncoiled on her bed. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

She exhaled more easily and moved to untie the rope at her ankles. She looked at the clock. Untying the corset would take a while. She shrugged; she’d throw on a hoodie over the corset and be done with it.

She smiled and shut off her phone’s camera. She was going to talk to Pip Jones. How cool was that?

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