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Subject: Title story: "The List_8" Author: Nurse Jones 72405301
From: TheXfan <ryzij@poczta.fm>
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Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2006 04:44:38 +0000
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The List
Column 1
Item 14
He did something at my throat and unzipped the collar, separating the hood from
the bodysuit. He unzipped the bodysuit from my throat to the center of my back
and pulled it down to my ankles in one motion. I was naked except for the hood.
I felt him buckle something around my upper thighs one at a time. Then my wrists
he locked my wrists to the sides of my thighs. I know the sound those little
locks make by now. I would be able to walk, but I couldn't see and I couldn't
reach anything with my hands.
I was already worse off than before -- but he wasn't through. He buckled a
collar around my neck. He didn't bother to lock it: I couldn't reach it. Another
strap around each leg just above the knee, those connected so I could take only
tiny steps -- another strap around each ankle -- still another at each elbow --
yet another around my waist with a wide strap between my legs, forcing my
buttocks apart. I remembered that one: he had put it on me once before. This
time, though, my elbows were locked to the waistband.
A strap across my back, under each arm and over each shoulder, holding my
shoulders back and making my breasts jut out unnaturally -- more than they ever
would have even if I were deliberately trying to make them seem big. He snapped
still another strap to the back of my collar and buckled it to the back of my
waistband, pulling it tight and forcing me to arch my back even more.
Strap after strap after strap, and I was constrained more and more. The last
strap clipped to my collar in front, passed between my breasts and through a
ring on my waistband, was pulled tight and buckled, pressing the crotchpiece
cruelly against my nether lips, forcing them apart. I almost couldn't move: I
couldn't bend over I couldn't move my arms at all, even my elbows I couldn't
see. But I wasn't in pain. Well, not exactly.
I could walk slowly, talk, and sit. Carefully. I didn't even feel safe walking.
What if I had lost my balance? I asked just that question and instantly he put a
gag in my mouth, a simple cloth band tied tightly right over the hood, forcing
my mouth open. I had never felt so trapped and constrained before. Even begging
for a little relief was impossible. But still, I was not in pain.
Being locked up and helpless that way was actually extremely erotic for me. It
would have been more so if the image of my shaved forehead hadn't continued to
wash through my consciousness. Erotic feelings in these circumstances are not
something your average midwesterner will admit, I know. I remember thinking that
if only he had bound me this way instead of what he had done to my hair. Always
my thoughts returned to my hair. Whenever I thought directly about it my mind
shied away, but at the same time my thoughts were drawn toward my forehead like
a bird hypnotized by a snake (I know that is an old wife's tale, but it
describes what I felt). I still can't think directly about the idea but neither
can I ignore it. I am drawn inexorably toward something I try desperately to
avoid confronting. It helps to write about it, I guess.
Mostly, though, I concentrated on not losing my balance. If I had fallen with my
arms locked at my sides ....
But J was watching over me. He guided me to the foot of the bed and clipped the
front of my collar to something hanging from the ceiling -- I couldn't tell
what. If I bent my knees, my weight rested on the crotchpiece of my leather "g-
string" rather than my neck. Even if I fainted, I would not fall, could not
hurt myself.
All I could do was stand there.
"When I come back, I will remove one restraint. Think about what you will do to
get me to remove the next," he said. He left me standing there in the bedroom
for what seemed like hours it may have been only fifteen minutes. I heard him
moving around in the kitchen, and I thought. About basics. Is this wierd? Yes.
Did I still love him? Yes. Did I care if he loved me? Yes. Did I want to end the
List? Depends on how bad it was going to get. On the cost of ending it. It
couldn't get any worse. There was nothing else he could do that mattered. I knew
what was on the List, and was sure none of it was worse than what he had already
done to my hair. As long as he stuck to the List.
He had forced me to take this latest step, this hair thing. I was gagged and
couldn't speak to protest. I would have stopped the List then if I could have. I
really would have, even though I had agreed to it. (I actually got an erotic
charge out of the act of agreeing to it. I was being daring and sexy when I
should have been thinking with something other than my glands.) After, it was
too late. It isn't completely my fault there is some solace to be found in that.
And how was ...
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