RetroXotique

I spent the next day making notes in the library, but I'll admit I didn't get much done. My mind kept going back to Tara and our little tussle in the basement, the feel of her body sliding against me, and how incredible she looked bound and completely exposed, her eyes enchanting as they gazed silently over her mask. I felt if I didn't see her again I'd probably go crazy, but knew it was already crazy to feel that way, and worse if she suspected. With great mental effort I focused on my work.

That evening a formal dinner had been planned, and I was introduced to several of London's dignitaries and visitors, including a guest conductor, a famous theatrical director, a well-known photographer, and a member of the House of Commons. Three of the four names I recognized, and three of the four recognized me. The politician was accompanied by his wife, the director her husband, and the photographer his girlfriend. We chatted while being served hors d'oeuvres in the drawing room. Lady Barriston had many significant friends.

And I was not the only one to turn my head when Tara came in the room. She was in a brilliant red dress, a strapless affair that clung down past her hips, then exploded in ruffles and lace around her upper thighs, so short that if she weren't afraid to sit or bend she should have been. Her long legs were encased in dark seamed stockings, her feet in red shoes with extremely high spiked heels, her arms in silky red gloves to her shoulders.

And she absolutely glittered with matching jewelry. The set, which was silver sparkling with ruby red stones, included a comb holding her hair high, a necklace hung close on her throat, a brooch pinned between her breasts, earrings that flashed at the sides of her face, close-fitting bracelets adorning each small gloved wrist, similar anklets surrounding each slim nylon-clad ankle, short dainty chains that joined each bracelet or anklet with its mate, a ...

Whoa. I looked twice to make certain what I was seeing. But in fact her bracelets and anklets, each held on with tiny jeweled locks, were linked by chains about twelve inches long, which were then connected to each other by a third chain, preventing her from raising her hands above her waist. She took small unhurried steps, small enough not to jerk on the delicate chain joining her ankles, and held her hands one folded over the other in an apparent gesture of modesty, though it was in fact the only way not to appear handcuffed.

She greeted each guest in turn, smiling in her minimal way and saying a few words. The other women were quick to compliment her on her jewelry - either they thought it beautiful in spite of the chains, or perhaps because of them, as though it were a great joke. Or maybe they wished they had the guts to wear them and tease their husbands. Tara's motivations were a lot harder to discern.

When she came to me she passed without a word, without even a look. "Good evening, Miss Winthrop," I said anyway.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said quietly, then proceeded to the photographer. Suddenly she was all smiles and warmth.

It was hard not to feel immediate jealousy, but I was not a newcomer to the world, and it was well-balanced with the satisfaction of seeing her play this game for what was obviously my benefit. Her very anger at me was encouraging. Sort of.

But wait. Encouraging for what? I didn't need this woman and her games. The attraction was purely physical. Well, and my love of mystery. And, well, a desire to take care of something vulnerable, feminine, beautiful ... a bound female always caught my attention, and what I had seen of that in the last two days was enough to blow my mind. I guess I was in trouble.

She chatted awhile with the photographer, who then got her a drink and excused himself, rather abruptly. She watched him leave, annoyed, but then turned to her drink. The long tethering chain joining the others had loops on either end so the shorter ones could slide through it, and she held one hand in close to give the other the most slack, but it wasn't near enough to raise the drink to her lips. I watched discreetly as she tried standing with her feet together to allow the long chain to rise more, and that helped, but again not enough without her bending awkwardly, which risked a rear exposure. Finally she balanced on one tiny heel and slid the other foot up her leg as much as possible, and by that method was able to get a sip. I felt like applauding. It ended abruptly, however, when she had to catch her balance. She gave up and slipped her drink onto a table, then moved back in among the others.

A few minutes before dinner the photographer, John Mauston, approached me. He was a handsome fellow in his mid-thirties, with gray streaked hair and bright rakish eyes. He looked over at Tara and spoke.

"She's something, isn't she."

"You know her well?"

"Yes and no. I went with that bird awhile. Then she dumped me. Said I couldn't be relied on. I'm not used to that, right? I've usually been the one to cut things off. I guess that sort of made me want her more for a while, then I realized, hey, I don't need them that complex, no matter how good they look.

"Anyway, watch out for that one. I'm a breezy chap, but if I weren't I'd still be checking to see if my nuts were in one piece. She's a killer."

"It's a rough world, Mr. Mauston. Thanks for thinking of me. I'm keeping her at arm's length. I have no intention of getting deep with this Delilah or any other."

"I don't know, Cairns. It looks to me like she's already got a few hooks in you. And it's not that she doesn't like you, old man, but she plays rough. Go ahead and go for her, but if you're the sentimental type, keep a piece of yourself out of the fray so you have something to start over with. Word to the wise."

"Yeah, thanks."

"In the meantime you can have some fun. Why not? In fact, I've got an idea. When things wind down here let's take in a pub. Dancing, that king of thing. Me with Brenda, you with Tara. What do you say?"

"Sounds good, but I'm not sure Miss Winthrop will bite on that."

"She'll go. She likes getting out of here. Leave everything to me."

We were interrupted by the summons for dinner. Lady Barriston had our places all assigned. Mine was next to Tara, and she did not look happy about it. I held the chair for her, then helped her scoot in, something impossible for her in those chains. As we sipped our wine, I leaned over to her and pointed at them.

"What crime did you commit this time, Miss Winthrop?"

If I had been in an electric chair she would have volunteered to throw the switch. "Slave bracelets happen to be in fashion," she said quietly, "and this is a particularly valuable set. I don't need any of your ignorant jibes."

"Ah yes. A valuable set you're guaranteed not to run off with." I looked closer at the chains. Nor break, I decided. They were sturdier than I had originally thought. "Why don't you take one off so you can eat more easily?"

Actually, once seated she could reach relatively well, and with this staff of servants little reaching was required anyway. But when she told me to mind my own business, I was pretty certain those were real locks and she didn't have the keys.

"Well anyway," I continued, “after spending so much time with your exercise routine yesterday I don't suppose you mind not moving around too much."

She had a better answer for that one. Saying nothing, she took a sip of her wine, then lowered it and with a flip of her wrist threw it all over my tuxedo pants.

No one saw what she had done. Looking down, I muttered, "You know, one should always carry spares of these things. You never know when a spill might occur."

"You still have your wine, Mr. Cairns," she said coolly. "Do you have an incontinence problem?"

I chuckled. "Let's say I'm subject to attacks of various kinds."

I thought, though I might have been deceiving myself, that I aroused the inkling of a smile from her. But if so, she killed it quick, and resisted further conversation.

After dessert, Alfred Parsons invited the men into the smoking room for cognac. We chatted a few minutes, then John Mauston came in and pulled me aside.

"It's all set. Tara's gone up to change. She took some convincing, and so did the lady of the house, who made me swear we'd keep her out of trouble and return her before one. I almost had to leave a deposit. Your going along helped a lot with the good lady."

"You had to ask her? Tara's certainly of age. What does she hold over her that she has to give permission?"

Mauston looked at me. "There's a lot you don't know yet, isn't there Cairns. Well, there's a lot I don't know either. But Lady Barriston likes you, that's certain. She was always touch and go with me."

I excused myself to go change, but Mauston stopped me for a moment. "Look here," he added quietly. I want you to have these." And he pulled out a pair of mirror glasses, in a woman's size. "I never had a chance to use them, but I swore I would next time we went out. If she starts looking around, just slip these on her."

I held up the glasses. They were not only opaque from the outside, he had coated them most of the way down the inside as well. They were a punk style and fit close around the eyes like protective eye wear. The wearer would be able to see the floor in front of her, but little else.

"Just take them," he said, walking me to the door. "Trust me."

*
*

When I came back down Mauston and his girlfriend were waiting by the door, and as the little maid Clarisse was helping me with my coat Tara also descended.

She had yet to fail at making a jaw-dropping entrance, and this time was no exception. She was dressed in black leather, in the modern style of wearing underwear as Outerwear, in her case a long corset that went halfway to her knees. It was so tight it indented her thighs and forced them to wrap around each other as she walked, creating a delicious sway of the hips. The top of the corset pushed up her breasts and barely covered her nipples - if she reached up a breast would surely escape. But that wasn't going to happen, because it also had off-the-shoulder sleeves that fit like tight bands around her upper arms, clamping them to her sides. The whole thing then laced up the back. She must have had plenty of help getting into it. She'd certainly need it getting out.

Her accessories made things even steamier. Garters came off the bottom of the corset and held her dark stockings up, and her feet were laced into ankle-high boots with tall spiky heels and a chain wrapped around each ankle. But more striking was that her hands were also laced into little "booties" - mittens actually, made of fine flexible black leather that imprisoned the thumb and fingers together in a tight formfitting pouch, but otherwise styled to match the boots on her feet, even to the chains wrapped around each wrist. Beneath these were a pair of sheer full-length gloves, dark like her stockings, which were then held by garters to her arm bands. In this way her arms were dressed just like her legs.

Then a leather cap adorned her head, and a leather collar her neck. From that dangled a three foot leash.

Damn, I thought, feeling my knees grow weak. But if she noticed her impact she didn't let it show, in fact treated her sultry walk and bared shoulders as an annoyance, an unavoidable price of fashion. For which she would submit to nearly anything.

Clarisse then brought out a long leather coat, which she slipped onto Tara from the front and closed in the back, zipping from the neck clear down to the ankles. It tapered in so much that Tara had to stand with her legs together for the maid to finish. It had sleeves, or actually one sleeve, that started just above one elbow and crossed directly to the other, holding her arms folded under her breasts. The coat was stylishly designed, and her slim body looked great encased in it, but it left more of those raging questions: Where in the world did she get such a garment that could imprison her with a mere pull of a zip? And why would a woman who could wear a rag and make it look like an evening gown, and whose arrogance shouted fierce independence, choose to render herself so utterly, delightfully powerless?

Careful now, I thought to myself sternly. Discipline. don't let what she does to my loins screw up my head.

Then came the rubber gag-mask. Tara looked at it with distaste, then as the maid raised it to her mouth told her quietly, "I don't think I'll have that tonight." But to my surprise Clarisse merely smiled tolerantly and put it on her anyway. Tara sighed and rolled her eyes, no longer able to object. I couldn't restrain a smile.

We went to Mauston's Jaguar, and Tara and I were seated in the back.

Tara's coat was so narrow at her ankles she had to mince the entire way, and I wondered how she'd step into the car, but when the doorman held the door she turned and sat first, then lifted her legs in. She'd had practice, evidently. Once in, I offered to do her seat belt. She shrugged a "why not" with an air of disdain.

"This is the place," said Mauston as he pulled up to a pub. "A mixed crowd, but they have good drinks, a dance floor, and a hot band. I'm letting you two out here and Brenda and I'll meet you. A few roads down there's a safer place to park the Jag."

Tara did not look happy being left alone with me, but couldn't exactly object, and waited while I came around to let her out. The pub was dark and crowded and smoky, but while Tara drew a few glances, it was clear she had dressed correctly for the place, for there were a number of other ladies, and some men, tightly done up in leather or rubber or lace or chains or a mixture of all them. The band was on a break. I saw a table and took her by the elbow and led her to it. I could tell she didn't want me to touch her but again, there wasn't much she could do.

I undid her rubber gag and asked her, facetiously, if she'd like help with her coat. But she shook her head.

"I'm cold," she said, settling stiffly into a chair. I shrugged and helped her slide up.

A waitress came and asked what we wanted to drink. Dry martini," Tara told her, and I gestured for two. We sat silently for a while. Finally I interrupted.

"So how long are you going to hold a grudge against me for yesterday?"

"I don't know " she answered. “I have no idea how long I will live."

"Ah. Well, I guess it isn't necessary for us to like each other, although it would be nice to know why we don't." I waited for a reply, but she ignored me. "In any case we will be under the same roof for a while, so we may as well be on minimal speaking terms. It doesn't have to be much, I'm a writer and like my quiet. And solitude." I waited again. "Do I have to ask you a direct question to evoke speech?"

"What do you want from me, Mr Cairns?" She gazed at me sullenly .

"I don't want anything. It's-" But just then the waitress returned and set down our drinks. She looked at Tara and her coat.

"Would you like me to bring you a straw, miss?" she asked. I smiled. She was evidently used to all kinds of weird clothing.

"No, thank you. Perhaps the 'gentleman' will be so kind as to help me with my coat."

"You need only ask," I said.

The girl departed, and we sat another few minutes in front of our drinks. She watched me as I sipped. Then she turned and looked toward the door. Mauston and Brenda still hadn't come. In frustration she wriggled her arms in their confining sleeve.

"All right," she said at last. "Would you get me out of this..." She took a breath. "Would you help me with my coat please?"

"I'd be happy to, Miss Winthrop." I pulled her chair back and helped her up, then unzipped her from her ankles to her neck. She had beautiful legs. And everything else. I'm sure plenty of others were watching her being unpeeled. I put the coat on an empty chair, and she sat back down, wrapped her mittened hands about her glass and took a long swallow.

"Isn't it hard to use your hands in those?" I asked her. "Why do you wear them?"

She rolled her eyes. "Really, Mr. Cairns, if you'd just look around you'd sea a lot of ladies wearing mittens."

I did, and she was right. There was one in a cocktail dress sitting at the bar with her hands handcuffed behind her, wearing what I had thought originally were evening gloves, but in fact were satiny shoulder-length mittens. Another wore mittens which attached together. Another yet was wearing a pair that were tight rubber, matching her dress. And I noticed the bondage went beyond mittens, and beyond just women: there were a couple of men also bound by their girlfriends, including one in a leather straitjacket being led across the room by his leash. Granted there were plenty of people with no signs of bondage, but there were others yet whose clothing suggested it though there was no actual restraint. I looked back at Tara. Something must have shown in my eyes because she smiled at me recklessly.

"You like seeing women tied up, don't you."

I breathed slowly for a moment. "Actually, I think I like seeing you tied up best."

"Well you've seen plenty of that." She finished her drink, and the waitress brought another. Halfway through that she looked at me and said, "The band is back. Are we going to sit here bored all night or are you going to ask me to dance?"

That was not a suggestion to refuse. We went to the dance boor, which was small and crowded with bodies. Nonetheless, she didn't need to press herself right up against me, but she did. I had the feeling she was looking around over my shoulder. Something was up, but I was going to enjoy it while I could.

We danced a couple numbers, then suddenly a man, a big burly fellow that in the States I would have said was a biker, walked up to us, pushed me away and said, "Get lost mate! The lady don't want you!" and led her to the other side of the floor. Tara looked at me apprehensively as the man danced her back and forth. I stood and stared, amazed.

The man saw me watching. "I said get lost! " I smiled and gestured acquiescently, and went back to the table, sitting where I could still see them. Tara looked at me in alarm as I sipped my drink, finally mouthing "Do something!" In answer I raised my glass in salute.

She looked completely flustered as the man half danced, half moved her about like a doll, with her unable to move enough in her corset-dress to try to push him away. Then he looked at her and said something. I saw her get angry, and suddenly there was a yell and he was bent over holding his foot. Tara hurried back to the table.

"Why didn't you do something!" she said, sitting down.

"What was I supposed to do?” I shrugged. "He looked pretty big. "

"Why you spineless chicken! How do you expect to take a lady to a place like this, especially dressed the way I am and not be ready to protect her?"

"You spoiled brat!" I snapped. "I've been in brawls before and people get hurt. You damn well deserved to dance with that lowlife. And for you leading him on the poor bastard gets a spike in his foot."

She stared back at me, her lip quivering with held rage. The waitress brought another drink, and she gulped it down.

I took the glass away. "I think you have had enough."

"Leave me alone!" She reached for her glass, but her sleeve stopped her. She wrestled with it for a moment, then put her hands back down and let out a string of curses.

"Whoa. Not good for a lady to make that kind of noise." I reached in my pocket and pulled the mask out. "This will also control the drinking."

"Don't you dare! You're not my keeper! I'll scream!"

"Think anyone here would care?" But I was quick to press the mask over her faced then got up and stood behind her, holding it on while I did the laces with my other hand. She struggled like crazy, but with her arms held at her sides she couldn't reach behind to fight me off. Still, it wasn't easy. They should have made the mask to fasten quicker. You never know when there might be an emergency.

Furious, she tried to get the mask off as I returned to my seat, but barely being able to reach behind her neck and having her fingers all bundled up made that impossible. After a while she quit and crossed her arms with a huff. She wouldn't look at me.

We sat for a while, then I said, "Well look, here we are bored again. Let's give dancing another try."

She glared at me and shook her head emphatically.

"Don't worry. I've got something that guarantees we won't be hassled again." And I reached into my other pocket and pulled out the mirror glasses. She looked at them in surprise, then at me. Quickly I slipped them on her.

"Mm mmm mm mmph MMPH!" she uttered, and reached up to pull them off.

"Oh no," I said, standing and grabbing her hands. "We'll have to prevent that!"

I was tempted to go ask one of the local bondage lovers if I could borrow their handcuffs, when I remembered how well-equipped her outfit was.

Could the chains around her mittens be used for that purpose? Taking hold of one of her hands, this appeared to be the case; in fact they were even endowed with clips. Then I noticed her corset was covered with small rings. The possibilities were endless: her mittens could be clipped together behind her back, or the arms could be crossed and hooked straitjacket style, or her hands could be clipped to her hips, her thighs, her buttocks, her breasts, in front of her crotch... or two of the above. She knew what I was thinking and wriggled and fought. But - those clips were designed to work quickly and easily, and soon I had one mitt hooked on each bun.

Then I remembered the chains around her ankles. Might as well be safe, I thought. Sure enough, they were designed to unwrap and clip to each other or cross and clip to the opposite boot. That would give her a good eight, maybe ten inch stride. Plenty.

Finally I helped her to her feet and taking her leash, led her to the dance floor. She resisted at first, but being pulled along isn't very comfortable and she had to give in. She held her chin up, trying to see, but quickly gave that up also. She must have figured it didn't look good.

Though the music was lively, for a minute she just stood there, while I held onto her leash and began to dance. Then, trying to look around, it was clear she decided once again she wouldn't look good just standing, and with another huff began to move a little. When the piece ended she tried to turn and leave the floor, but I still had her leash and wouldn't let her. She pulled at her hands but they stayed stuck to her derriere. Then the music started up again, strong and rhythmic.

I heard her sigh, and her head fell as for several moments she stood perfectly still. And then her body began to move, first just the hips, side to side, then with a twist, then a shoulder shimmy, till finally she had really loosened up and was swinging and rolling to the beat, even sticking her bottom out, her hands still stuck to it, and shaking it, all while I danced holding her leash. For two more pieces she did this, till I could not look elsewhere, along with every other dancer, man and woman alike, that could see her amidst the press of bodies, several of whom cheered her at the end of the music. She moved better all tied up than everyone else did free.

Actually, it was more than that. Her very abandonment to the music while completely restrained was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

When the next piece started so did she but suddenly she was right up against me, pressing her body to mine. I was surprised, but held her close. Then I felt something soft on my chest. I looked down and saw that one of her breasts had escaped the corset, and was sitting there exposed to the world.

I wrapped my arms around her, and discreetly reached over and tucked it back in. It was soft and wonderful. I could feel her sigh in relief, then she stepped back away. But not as far.

And in the next dance, which was slow with a heavy rhythm, she moved hesitantly back to me and began to dance right against me, moving up and down putting her knees between my legs, "dirty dancing" style. I put my hands on hers and helped her move her fanny, then undid the clips and pulled her mitts around front and hooked them to her breasts instead. She not only didn't resist, she held her hands in place for me to finish. Then she turned her back to me and while sliding her leather-covered buttocks against me, began to squeeze and move her breasts around in erotic massaging motions. Her whole body trembled.

Then the band went to a traditional slow dance, and with a shudder she turned and fell right into my arms. She felt so small and soft, so vulnerable, and I practically had to hold her up. I realized she must have had an orgasm right there dancing, but how - well, I didn't know what she had concealed under that corset. We swayed for a while, me not quite sure what to do, then I noticed a tear creeping from beneath one of her blinders. But when I tried to take them off she shook her head.

So I just held her tightly till the music stopped. Exactly what was going on inside her head at that moment I didn't know, but in me stirred something deeper than mere intrigue and lust and fantasies come to life. And it scared me.

I held her as we went back to the table, then sat her down and unhooked her hands. I took off the glasses and dabbed her eyes with my handkerchief, and she didn't resist, but just looked at the table, a childlike bafflement in her gaze. But when I reached around to undo her mask, once again she shook her head. She obviously didn't want to explain herself. I realized then how useful that mask was to her.

Her feet I left hobbled, as once she had her coat on its hem would restrict her steps more than her chains anyway, but she tried to unlace one of her mittens and wasn't succeeding so I helped her with that. She pulled out the sheer under glove, which turned out to be just a knee-high stocking pulled up her arm, but thin and stretchy enough to allow some use of the enclosed fingers. She freed her other hand and gestured from her eyes to the ladies room, then waited expectantly. She wanted my permission. I gave it, then watched as she minced off, taking my handkerchief with her.

While I waited Mauston and Brenda suddenly came in, waved and came over. Or at least Mauston waved, for Brenda couldn't. For when he removed her cape she turned out to be in a complete black rubber dress, tightly molding to her every feature and curve from her neck to her ankles - if the material hadn't been forgiving she wouldn't have been able to walk, and as it was it was more of an undulation. Her arms were held tightly behind her, forcing her well-endowed chest forward, but not till she sat did I see why. The rubber gown had a single sleeve in the back that her arms had been stuffed into, the end closing over her hands. That I had seen one wild outfit after the other the last two days tempered my amazement.

"Sorry about the delay," said Mauston, calling the waitress over. "Brenda decided she wanted to change before coming here, so we went to her flat, and well, we got a little diverted, didn't we sweet?"

"He's an animal," laughed Brenda, squirming slightly.

"Then she insisted on walking from where we parked, which took an age. Anyway, we didn't think you'd mind too much. But where's Tara?"

"Ladies' room."

"Oh good," said Brenda. "And I see her hands are free. I'll see if I can catch her. I need to get out of this sleeve for a minute. I must be putting on weight, my arms are falling asleep.”

"Better hurry" Mauston gave her a firm slap on her rubber covered behind. We watched her scurry off, trying to run. It took her a long time anyway.

"I thought only Tara did this kind of stuff," I said. "But I get to this place, and now it seems bondage is popular."

“This is a great place. But Tara, she's the best. She gave that dress to Brenda, did you know? She has one incredible wardrobe."

"But she doesn't seem to like it. So why is she always tying herself up? Not that I'm complaining."

"Don't be too quick to decide what she likes and doesn't like. And don't ask me to explain because I never got her figured out. Some of this is Lady Barriston at work. She keeps our gal under lock and key. In fact, I'd be worried right now whether there's a back door by the ladies room. You let her out of these gloves of hers, so she might try to slip away, though hell, I hope she's not stupid enough go parading around in this neighborhood at night."

"Isn't that up to her?"

"That's what I used to think, but if I were you I'd change that tune. When she gets back get her safely in those mittens, maybe even her coat. So how'd you do, did she get you in any trouble?"

"She tried, but no."

"Good for you. Look here," he pointed at the side of his eye, "I still have a scar where some drunken sap hit me with his ring. I had it out with him, but we were both a mess when we were pulled apart."

"Yeah, thanks for your warning. And your glasses."

"Keep them. Brenda doesn't do shit like that."

Then the ladies returned, Brenda cheerfully mincing along in her tight dress, enjoying the compliments received along the way, Tara stepping demurely behind. We helped them get seated.

"Hey, you still got her sealed up," said Mauston, looking at Tara's mask.

"Resealed, " I corrected.

"I offered to take it off and she wouldn't let me," said Brenda. "What'd you get me, love?"

"Your favorite " said Mauston holding a drink to her lips. Suddenly he spilled part of it on her dress.

"Hey!" she cried.

'"That's what I like about this dress. You can spill stuff right on it and look: just wipe it up." And he grabbed some napkins and started wiping her breasts.

"You nasty man! " she said in mock anger, trying to squirm away, wiggling her arms uselessly in their confining sleeve. I chuckled, and I noticed Tara's eyes were smiling. If she were beautiful before, when she smiled it positively stung.

"Came on let's dance," said Mauston, and helped Brenda up. She looked marvelous doing the shimmy in the skintight gown.

I glanced over at Tara. She returned the gaze, now sober, and hesitantly, even shyly, offered me her leash.