RetroXotique

In spite of my conviction that she was not on the level, it was still hard to tell Lady Barriston I was leaving. Disappointment showed on her more than surprise, but in true aristocratic form little of either escaped, nor did she try to dissuade me or ask questions. By way of explanation I suggested she speak with her niece. At that she did apologize and expressed regrets that matters didn't work out, and wished me well. I left feeling guilty and considerably more doubtful.

Enough to begin wondering if I hadn't made a colossal mistake. That diary page had looked genuine, and the wedding photos had to be, as a younger Lady Barriston was in them. And Tara, how could anyone have gone to such lengths in designing bondage outfits if it didn't interest them? To use them to snare me was overkill. Tara free as a bird would have been plenty of bait.

Perhaps what really bothered me was that both of them had been after me from the beginning, not to write a book, which they probably cared little about, but to get me interested in Tara. Their motives aside, my one marriage experience was one too many, and Tara - well, she struck me as one fast lady. Once she had what she wanted or became bored with me she'd be out the door, or I would. I knew better than to get involved with someone I didn't trust.

But leaving was tearing me up inside. Several days of riveting sexual drama was bad enough. But in her studio I found a vulnerability in her that went beyond the mere physical restraint, and a depth of talent and intelligence that went beyond her superficial airs, costumes, and naughty little games. In fact, it was that which made her games so interesting, so unpredictable.

And it was why I was all the more angry on finding I had been deceived.

I had put away my last suit, and was looking for my notebook when I realized I had left it in the library. I started down the corridor, passing Tara's room. The door was shut, as usual, and I wondered if she were inside, as I hadn't seen her at supper. I stopped for a moment, then with bitter regrets continued.

But suddenly I heard a muffled knock from behind the door, or really more of a thump. I froze. "Clarisse, is that you?" said Tara's voice. Somehow it surprised me that she would still need help to leave her room, expecting all her games would end when I quit playing them, but of course that wouldn't put a knob on her door. I knew I should keep going, ignore her. My body’s lust didn't happen to agree.

"Clarisse!" I heard her say. "Please open the door. I must get out of here! Please, oh please, let me out!"

It was odd. She sounded distressed. Why was she still going through this act?

I fought on inner turmoil. I remembered what happened last time I opened that door. Evidently I wasn't a quick learner, however, for I found myself going back and turning the handle.

And there she stood, completely enclosed from her toes to the top of her neck in a tight sack of ivory satin, lacing most of the way up the front, with a hood that fit securely over her head and eyes. Only her mouth and nose weren't snuggled into the thing, which fit so closely as to make every movement a struggle.

This had to be the satin sleeping bag I'd read about, or a close copy. Either way, in it she was an irresistible package standing there blind and immobilized. How she had managed to find and move to the door in those straits was beyond me, but it aroused my chivalrous instincts, not to mention lust. I forced myself to resist both.

"Oh hurry," she continued, squirming blindly. "Unlace me. Mr. Cairns may already be leaving. Please, I'll owe you a favor. You can lace me right back in again and no one but us will know."

I took a breath and said, "This is David Cairns."

She paled, and I stood ready to catch her, but though she wobbled she didn't fall. "I - I thought you were the maid."

"Sorry."

"No, I - wanted to speak with you. I was afraid you had gone."

"Not till morning."

She looked relieved, but her lip still trembled so she bit it to keep it still. "Then if you have time, could you come in? At least sit down for a minute."

I sighed and nodded, then remembered she couldn't see me and answered, "All right."

"Thank you," she said, and moving by a tiny shuffling motion of her feet, she turned and maneuvered to where she thought there might be a chair.

"Wait, let me help you!" I said impatiently as it began to look like she might miss the seat. I helped her lower into it, the tight bag making it hard for her to bend, then pulled one up for myself.

"I'm sorry I can't offer you anything," she said. "I don't keep much in my room."

"That's all right, I'm not thirsty. But may I ask, that's your sleep sack, isn't it? What are you doing in it now? It's only seven-thirty."

"I've been in here most of the afternoon. My aunt sent me to bed. She didn't want me to speak with you."

"I don't get it, why not?"

She hesitated, then spoke quickly. "Because she thinks I've done enough damage already. And that it is not appropriate to try and change your mind, that if you were to stay it had to be your decision. Yours alone."

"Did you want to change my mind?" Why did I ask? I didn't want to hear a yes, because I didn't dare believe her. Or was I fooling myself? But she stopped herself from replying, though for all she didn't say, her lower face answered promptly with a flush.

"All right. Maybe it's time I heard the whole story. But not here with your door opened, and if I shut it - well, then we'd both be locked in."

"Do you have a credit card? Just stick it by the latch when you shut the door, then throw the bolt up near the top."

"Something tells me you've done this before," I said, following her instructions.

"A woman needs her tricks."

And you have a few too many, I thought. "And I suppose next you'll want me to release you from your bag."

"That doesn't matter. It would be nice to stretch for a few minutes, but I'm not uncomfortable."

Damn, she knew how to be tempting. But her playing hostess while thoroughly bound was too distracting. "Perhaps it could be loosened a little," I said, and she held up her chin as I undid the knot and started pulling laces out. Beneath I saw the high lace trimmed neck of a silky white nightgown. I wondered what new distractions I was unleashing.

But even after freeing her shoulders she couldn't pull her hands out, for her arms were slid into inner sleeves in the sleeping bag that held them down. It was only after I had pulled off her hood that she was able to wiggle out. I noticed her eyes were damp and red, though she tried to hide this.

Her nightgown was indeed a distraction. It was thin and very slinky, showing every contour and feature from her nipples to the tips of her toes. Her arms were in long narrow sleeves that trailed at least two feet over the ends of her hands, but otherwise didn't encumber them. The legs didn't have the same luxury, however, for the gown fit like a second skin clear to her feet, then continued well beyond them, much like her sleeves. "Could you excuse me just a minute?" she asked as she reached down and patiently pulled the hem up, which was barely wide enough to allow her feet through, and minced toward the bathroom, a long slow process. I could see the outlines of her legs and buttocks through the thin material as she slunk away.

I wished she didn't have to look so damned enticing. I could not afford to let my loins make my decisions for me.

When she was gone I looked around her room. It had a lot of Victorian decor, as well as a few art touches that looked like hers. There was the sitting area we were using, with its glassed-in fireplace and easy chairs. But most prominent was the great canopy bed in its center.

It had drapes pulled over to each post, but also was surrounded in sheer curtains like white mosquito net that zipped closed on the middle of each side, joined near the floor by two more zippers running along the base, closing it up like a tent. Only there was a wooden bar running along the bed frame over the curtain, preventing the person in bed from reaching those zippers. And if pulled shut, from getting out.

She said nothing as she returned, but undulated patiently back to her chair. She had brushed out her dark hair and restored her eyes, but her usual spark was dampened. Her sleeves had been pushed up onto her wrists, but as she sat she pulled them back over her hands, then did the same with her feet and curled them under her in the chair. She looked like a mermaid, coiled upon her rock.

She took a deep breath and let her eyes drop before speaking. "I don't really know where to begin. I know I owe you a lot of explanation. This is all my fault, like my aunt, said. You really..." she hesitated again, nervously intertwining her sleeve ends until she had them tied together in a knot. "You really haven't seen me as I am. Or at least I let you see something of me that... well, that now I don't feel so good about." She sighed, then said abruptly, looking at me, "Would you please put me back in my sack? I'm not doing so well."

I blinked. That would make it easier? Amazingly, some part of me understood the logic of it. "I'd rather not," I answered. "In fact I wish you wouldn't do that with your sleeves. I need to concentrate on what you're saying. The truth is what I want, even if it comes out backwards. Suppose you start with the real reason you are in London, and why Lady Barriston keeps you under lock and key."

She sighed and nodded. "It began a year ago. I had been engaged to a man I had gone with for many years. We hadn't set a wedding date, and one day when I brought it up, he suddenly broke it off and left, saying I was suffocating him. I couldn't stand being alone after that, and moved back in with my parents. It was so sudden I--" She stopped for a moment, fighting back tears. Then she dabbed an eye quickly with a sleeve and continued.

"I didn't know what to do. I was in a black depression. I couldn't make decisions, couldn't function. My parents had me see a doctor, who ran all kinds of tests and couldn't find anything wrong.

"You see I never told them how I felt, or let it show, I just let my life fall apart. I was always very shy, a wall flower, immersed in my art and my own world. I depended on Chad, clung to him. He - I probably did suffocate him."

"I have a hard time seeing you as a wall flower. You're magnetically beautiful. It's almost a damned nuisance."

She smiled ironically, but seemed pleased. "It's true. I never dated till I met Chad. Well, one time in high school, but it flopped. Anyway, Aunt Missy - who's actually my mother's aunt -was traveling through Philadelphia and stopped to visit. She took one look at me and asked me how I had gotten in so much trouble. She saw right through me. You see, she had been to our place once before, when I was seventeen. There was something about her I liked and trusted, I don't know why. At that time I showed her my art, including some stuff I had never shown anyone else, sketches of bound men and women. They delighted her. Incidentally, I gave up my art when I met Chad. I was ashamed of it.

"So that night one year ago she pulled me aside and I confessed everything to her. She told me in no uncertain terms that my nonsense was going to stop. Starting that night I would turn my life over to her, completely. I would go with her to London. I would return to school for art, and set up a studio. And I would have no personal freedoms, especially where men were concerned.

"I was not the type to do what anyone said, in fact I was stubbornly rebellious, but something about her proposal told me it was just what I needed, and I agreed to submit to her totally. I could take none of my own possessions with me, not even a suitcase. Not even a purse. It was scary, but for the first time I started to wake from my depression."

I watched her. She had tied her sleeves together and picked them apart three times, and this fourth she had gotten them so tight she was having trouble getting loose. It was all unconscious. There was no question I was getting the real story. "So then what?"

She smiled. "So then I got my first big surprise. On the way to the airport she pulls out a set of leather straps, and proceeds to buckle my elbows to my waist. Then she folds my hands over my stomach and straps them in as well. When I protest she looks at me and says, "You promised, remember? In my hands completely!" And when I object again, says, 'Will I have to gag you as well?' Then she buckles a short hobbling strap around my ankles, locks everything on, and drapes me in a long cape that buttons closed. There were so many metal buckles and locks I set off the metal detector at the airport, and had to step in a room and be searched. I thought I would die. They wanted me to take the straps off, but she refused to hand over the keys. In the end half the airport management was in the room checking me out, deciding if it was okay to let me go on, when finally one said, ‘What the hell, there's no law against it.’

"But it was the way the airport men looked of me, all bound up, that started the change. I had never been looked at like that before. I found myself feeling a sense of power, in spite of my situation. It was exhilarating. I was no longer little Terry Winthrop, shy arty mouse. I was a mystery woman, traveling in bondage. For the first time I fell beautiful, desirable."

Of course. I looked at Tara - that is, Terry - as though awakening. Her eyes downcast, her speech straightforward, her hair and face not fixed up - her features were quite ordinary. This was a plain woman, absorbed in her own world, the wall flower. But what magic had she that she could change into such a ravishing beauty?

Or had I done that with my eyes?

And at that moment I knew I loved her. It scared me to death.

"And so we arrived," she continued.  “We came to this house, she introduced me to my room, and laid out the rules: I couldn’t go out without being bound, I had to do a daily exercise and health routine, I had to follow all the other assorted house rules, and I was to be secured to my bed at night.  And no men, other than those we both agreed were acceptable.”

I forced myself to keep her talking.  “How in the world did you go to school while tied up?”

“I wore a hobble which I covered with a long skirt.  And my elbow straps, which wide sleeved blouses and sweaters obscured.  Between classes my hands were tied and concealed beneath a cape.  I was delivered to school and picked up, and chaperoned the entire time.  For two months I was never left alone.  Then they came up with this.”

She got up and wiggled over to a drawer, and pulled out the white leather panties she had been locked into earlier that day.  With a blush she handed them to me, and I fingered them, amazed.  They were made of padded leather sewn over something heavy.  I asked her what, and she said, “Ring mail.  Uncuttable.  I have a longline bra just like it, only it also locks my arms to my sides.  Supposedly this also has a location transmitter in it.  I wouldn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t either.”  Then I noticed little soft rubber bumps in the crotch of the panty.  “Were you wearing these when we went dancing?”

She blushed again.  “Yes, anytime I go out.  My aunt says those grope bumps are to slow me down, make me walk more gracefully.  She has a great sense of humor.”

“Evidently.”

“So with that locked on, I could at least go to classes alone.  That was a relief.”

“But I’m amazed you could put up with the continual confinement.  You said you were rebellious.  How could you stand it?”

The spark started to come back to her eyes.  “There were times it was very annoying.  On a few occasions I made some mischief.  Sabotaged a party or two.  Tried to slip away a few times, actually escaped twice, but they caught me again.  Always Aunt Missy would bring me back, a stern face but a twinkle in her eye, and the next I knew I was in the gym snuggled into something rubber.  Binding me up in rubber was her answer to everything.  You get all hot and sticky and can’t wait to be let out.  But short of quitting altogether there wasn’t anything I could do.  And I wasn’t willing to do that.”

She paused for a moment.  “It was like on the airplane.  I was living a fantasy, the pampered prisoner in the old mansion, leading a secret existence, acting out a life I never could have as my former self, being daring and forceful, a temptress, a bitch-- bound up I could be a different person, born of my dreams.  My aunt had only to tell me, ‘You’re an artist, paint yourself!’  And I did, inside and out.”

Lord, did she.  “And all those garments you made? Were those your idea?”

She chuckled.  “That started when I grew tired of the hobble.  It would make my ankles sore, besides worrying about a sudden wind exposing my ‘condition.’  So I made a tight ankle length slip, sewed it securely out of heavy satin, and showed it to my aunt and asked if I could use it instead. She agreed, and actually it turned out to be harder to get around in than the straps. There was no way I could run.

"I guess I just got into the challenge of it after that. I always loved fashion, and I showed her a few more designs: this nightgown, which could be tied to the bed so I wouldn't have to be strapped in, a long tight evening gown with evening gloves sewn to the hips, and a coat with sleeves joined to its pockets so I wouldn't have to always wear a cape with my hands tied beneath. She was very impressed, and hired a seamstress to do the work, someone who could also handle leather and rubber. She even wanted me to make something for her. In the end I was bound more often, and often more stringently, than I had been with her straps and buckles, though in a way that was easier to tolerate for long periods. And in a way that pleased me personally."

"I'd be a fool to deny I've enjoyed it. And it fit in so well with what has been done here for the last hundred years, at least. I had assumed all along you were the next 'reluctant' heiress."

She looked at me blankly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Could that be? "You don't think you were brought here to inherit this house?"

"Of course not. Aunt Missy already has two daughters."

There was nothing of deceit in her face. And yet I was sure, from the documents I had found, that she was the one Lady Barriston intended the mansion for, not the daughters. But somehow it was a great relief to me to learn that she wasn't a fortune hunter, or playing some part for the sake of money. I was seeing something Tara helped create from her own desires.

Which brought me to my most pressing, and difficult, question. One for which I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.

"So where do I fit into this picture?"

She sobered up again. "Please don't think badly of me for this. But I read one of your books, and got caught up in the heroine-in-bondage scene, and - well, I started fantasizing about you. I read more of your books, and imagined you binding me. Then sometimes I'd turn it around and give you a taste of your own medicine. I found a picture of you and drew you into designs of mine. I had no idea I would ever actually meet you, let alone show you those sketches.

"Imagine my shock when I see you at the door. All my aunt told me was a writer was coming. She'd evidently seen my pictures and written you. I was furious and determined to have my revenge. I'm afraid I took it out on you.

"I guess I was still angry at men. I had never forgiven Chad. Aunt Missy kept trying to fix me up with someone, and I kept scaring them off. Like Brian Mauston. As my fantasy person I could be ruthless. You were the first to make me see what I was becoming.

"I'm sorry - David. I did some awful things. But I couldn't take my mind off of you, and it frightened me. I had determined never to get involved with anyone again, never care, never get hurt, to keep the upper hand."

Wow. That was familiar. I looked over at her, her eyes wide and damp, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. "So do you care?"

A tear ran down her cheek. "Don't make me answer. Not yet. You were a fantasy, but as a real person I like you. You don't treat me as just a thing. You're willing to let me have power over you. I just - don't want you to leave yet. I'm so lonely."

I could hold back no more. I stood up, went to her, and taking her by her sleeve ends pulled her roughly to her feet. She gasped.

In the front of her gown over her tummy was a wide loop, and I knew what it was for. I fed her sleeves through this and wrapped them tightly behind her back and tied them there. I could feel her trembling as she tested her confinement, then turned to look at me with frightened eyes.

I'm not sure mine looked any less fearful, but I pulled her to me and we kissed. I had never felt anything like it. She was so soft, and her lips meshed with mine as though we would merge together. I ran my hands down her body. The gown hid nothing of her, and there was nothing beneath it to disturb the smoothness of silk over soft skin, slinking over enticing curves as it entrapped her, rendering her available for my pleasure.

Suddenly she wriggled loose, looked at me seductively and said, "You know I'm not locked in those protective panties," and then turned and tried to get away, squirming across the room. That was it. I leapt at her, collected her up, kicking and struggling, and sat on the side of the bed with her draped over my knees, her soft round buttocks in front of me.

"If you'll remember, you vixen, I promised this to the man you spiked with your heel." And I started to paddle her bottom.

Actuality, I didn't spank her hard and she was adequately padded, but she played it up well with exaggerated anger and protests, wiggling her slippery self delightfully on my lap, her legs kicking futility in her narrow, overlong gown.

"And this is for being naughty at cards and ruining my game," I said, continuing, "And this is for having an orgasm at the pub without my permission."

She struggled some more, then slumped. "I promise I won't do it again," she mewed.

I goosed her then, which made her jump, and untied her sleeves. But grabbing the ends again, I set her on the bed and tied them to the headboard. Then I took the long bottom of the gown and tied it to the foot board. She pulled and kicked but couldn't get loose.

I pulled my clothes off and was back at her, massaging her thighs and breasts and kissing her everywhere, she kissing me wherever she could reach me. Soon I couldn't stand it anymore. I untied her feet and tried to pull the fine gown up. I was able to get it up to the knees, but the hem was too small to get it past her thighs. The frustration of not being able to get at her increased both our sexual tension, and she struggled with renewed vigor.

"You'll have to let me out," she gasped of last, so I turned her over and undid the gown in the back, and she slipped her arms out, then the rest of. her. Then we fell together, and made love in explosive agony.

We lay there for awhile, glowing blissfully. I couldn't remember when I had felt such complete release. Then slowly our embrace turned once more to kissing and fondling, and I could feel my passion rise. I felt so much in love my fear was pushed brusquely aside. But all at once she stopped, kissed me hard, and hopped out of bed. "I - have to get something," she said, but her eyes had turned wary and inscrutable. Then suddenly she reached for the bed curtain and zipped it shut, pushing it behind the wooden bar and to the floor, where she joined it with the others. I leapt up but it was too late. I was closed in the bed.

"Don't go anywhere," she said, her tone mocking. Then I watched in surprise as she put on a bathrobe and went to the door, unbolted it, then picked at it with her fingers until it swung in, my credit card falling to the floor. And then she disappeared.

Oh shit, I thought, panicking. What was she going to do? She was in femme fatale mode again, and capable of anything. Would she bring her aunt up? Others? Cry rape? There I was, naked on her bed, which had nothing more on it than a bottom sheet, which I couldn't seem to pull up to wrap around me, and her nightgown which was still tied to the headboard. I was completely exposed. I had to get out of there.

I tried to reach the zipper, but the system was well-designed and I was a long way from it. So then I pushed and punched at the netting and even threw myself at it, but it was strong and sprung back, and covered the bed everywhere, even overhead. And the bed itself was sturdy oak. There was no way out. She had me trapped. Again.

There was nothing for it. I couldn't just sit there naked on her bed like a caged beast for the whole world to admire. So I untied the nightgown and pulled it over my legs, wiggling in as deep as I could. On the bottom half I wasn't too much bigger than her, mostly taller, and there was plenty of length. The top I just held over me. And waited.

Finally she returned, to my relief alone, carrying something in her hand. She picked up the credit card, looked at it, then shut the door without it. "The door!" I cried.

"You're staying with me tonight," she answered coolly, then came over to me and smiled in surprise. "Gee, if I had known you wanted to wear my nightgown, I would have had one made your size."

"No, I just--" I blushed heavily. "I didn't know what you were planning. And anyone could have just walked in. You left me nothing to cover with."

"Sure, sure. But just the same, maybe I'll go to my closet and find a nightie we can squeeze you into. Something that will keep you nice and quiet and make it hard for you to get away from me. But for now, get out of that and put this on." And she unzipped part of the bottom of the netting and stuffed what looked like a large rubber donut between the rail and the bed. I wiggled out of her gown and looked at it.

"What is this?"

"Protection. We were very foolish the first time. The mark goes up. Start at your feet and roll it up your legs."

"What? Not a chance."

"Do I have to go call for some help? I'm not letting you out of my bed until it's on."

I was outwitted. With trepidation I put my toes against the clear rubber membrane closing the hole of the donut, and began unrolling it onto my legs. The thing was well-lubricated.

"Keep going," she insisted.

It was soon up to my armpits, and was very tight. "Now what?" I said.

"Now put your arms in too."

"That's not going to be easy." But I managed to get my arms under the lip, and slid them down till they were at my sides. From all the wiggling the opening finished rolling up over my shoulders and contracted around my neck. I slid in the oily confines.

"Perfect," she said with a villainous smile. She unzipped the curtain, let her bathrobe fall off and hopped on the bed. A built-in drawstring she tightened about my neck, sealing me in the rubber case. Then she directed my hands into little pockets at the sides of my hips, each of which also had a drawstring she could tighten from the outside. When I resisted she tweaked me different places until I complied. Now I was really stuck, my nakedness showing through the clear rubber.

Finally she massaged my penis. In spite of my anxiety (or because of it?) it grew hard, and she slipped it into a sleeve built right onto the rubber sheath for just that purpose.

I realized then she had put me in a giant body condom.

"This is the only real protection for a woman," she said smugly. "Takes care of all the ways men aren't safe. Ingenious, isn't it." She straddled me and inserted me into her, gasping in spite of herself.

"Now I know you don't know me well," she said haltingly, moving her body with a slow, measured pace, "and I don't know you well, but I think--" It was getting unbearable, but I could neither speed her up nor slow her down, she had complete control--, "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, and I don't think--" she gasped again, "I could bear to have you leave right now, so I'm going to sit right here" and she stopped altogether, "until you promise, you swear, that you will stay one more week so we can get to know each other better. Otherwise I--" she started up again, "won't let you out of this condom - and I'll just sit here on you--" another gasp, "until you change your mind. Because when I fall in love, oh--" she started to shudder in the beginnings of orgasm. I could feel myself starting to go also.

"No, don't you come! Don't you come!" She gave me a stinging slap on the chest which shocked me out of it. "Because when I fall in love, " she struggled to continue, "Mr. Cairns, I don't quit. Once you say you -- gasp -- love me I'll never let you go. So what'll it be? Will you stay the week or do I quit right now and leave you in there?" She said the last part fast, finishing it with a moan.

A flood of joy took me, overwhelming even my perch on the edge of ecstasy. "Make it forever and you've got a deal," I gasped back. "Then get me out of this thing so I can just hold you."

She looked at me in astonishment, then fell over me, squeezing me tightly. "But you're not getting out yet!" she said, both laughing and crying. "I still have some other -- de -- demands--" But it was too late, and we both convulsed into orgasm.