One Size bondage story | self, bands, woods

Even at school he was known as the mad scientist. Not that he excelled at science but simply that he possessed an inexhaustible curiosity. Always he wanted to know why ... which perhaps is not unusual in any boy ... but he was always wanting to push the boundaries and extend what he knew, or thought that he knew. Experimenting was the very soul of life and, in time, it came to be his cross.

It happened that the one girl to cross his path whom he wanted most dearly to know better was suspicious of the scrapes he was for ever getting himself into. Perhaps she feared contamination? There was no way of knowing but it was clear that she had no love for the mad scientist else those foibles and the reputation it earned him would not have mattered. Or is that but a self-delusion? But then, at that time, both were waiting for adulthood.

On the one occasion when he plucked up courage and asked Melanie straight out she replied: "I've no desire to get myself blown up."

'More likely,' he thought sourly, 'you'd get blown down, or over, or to bits but... UP?' Have you ever wondered why people always refer to explosions as "going off" or "blowing up" or, if you prefer the past tense, "It went off?" I always want to ask: "To where?" Do explosives have legs or some means of self-locomotion? But of course, with a reputation such as his, the question was always put down to eccentricity - which is a kindly way of shrugging and just saying: "Mad. Can't help it, poor thing."

So he grew up into a world of isolation. Nobody wanted to discuss scientific ideas with a madman; nobody wanted to discuss pseudo-scientific ideas with a madman; nobody would discuss ideas which they knew had to be nonsense because the man was known to be mad. For enlightenment he combed libraries and discussed the results with no other but himself. It took a while before he began to realise that he was diverging from the path known as "true learning" and, like the aristocratic early scientists, was indulging simultaneously in many branches of science: Chemistry, Physics, Astronomy, Biology, Medicine ... in short any subject but mathematics which he'd early come to describe as the art of trying to prove beyond any doubt that which you do not understand.

We are being a little hard there on the characteristics of mankind. His Father listened to his peroration on the warmth-giving and fuel-savings of double-glazing and put his son's recommendations into practice. Father and son worked together on the installation of the new window units. He ordered them to be about a half-inch all round smaller than the available hole; they blocked them up into position, fixed them with screws and them filled-in all around with expanding foam. And that made a deep impression on the budding mad one. Give it just half-an-hour to set and that foam held the window units so firmly that the screws could have been removed. It was possible to attach things to it with ordinary wood-screws and yet that same foam could be removed with a pocket knife.

He noticed too that, in the middle of a large blob where the young foam was protected from moisture and air, it could remain for some time as a gooey mess. To Brian, the young but quite mad genius, this was interesting because of late he had been interested in so-called self-amalgamating tape which, once wrapped around something, will slowly flow into itself and form a complete seal.

Brian had also picked up an interest in bondage - not self-bondage but a fantasy that he might simply take that hoity-toity girl of his dreams and so keep her as his own. Now self-amalgamating tape would make a good bondage material? She would never escape from a binding that did not possess either a beginning or an end and in which all the applied layers had become one. Unpick the knots? Nary one in sight!

However, perhaps he was indeed mad but he was a practical madman and he recognised that it was but fantasy. For one thing the girl was "bound" to be missed? Then again to hide a trussed and gagged damsel in the corner of his workshop... well just ask yourself. And she was not likely to be of much interest if she must be permanently wound up in tape that ran without end? His greatest problem however lay in the friendship that had sprung up between Melanie and his own sister. The perishing girl was always in and out of their house and he was forever bumping into her. Distracting!

Nevertheless his unconventional studies kept his mind otherwise occupied so that the subject of Melanie, the possibility of her capture and the fun of plotting such capture was relegated to those odd moments when he stopped for a refreshing stroll around the park. He loved the cleanness and "quietness" of Nature for indeed he failed to recognise the sound of birds and other animals as noise; compared to the raucous racket that permanently accompanied the activities of Man - comparison simply was not possible. The greenness of grass below and of the leaves above, the rich variety of browns, the colours of flowers all set against the blue of the heavens (on good days, of course) were balm to a spirit that lived in isolation.

It was when returning from one of these excursions that he noticed his workshop door was not properly closed. Now that was something he never neglected to do and, in the normal course of events, he would lock it against juvenile intruders and leave the key on the ledge formed by the top of the door-frame. So ... who? And equally to the point ... why? Whoever was poking around in there it was most unlikely they would learn anything because his science was like no other. For that reason alone he need never fear the scientific scourge - industrial espionage! His door was kept always locked for no reason other than safety.

The door swung silently on its well-oiled hinges and he was presented with a rear-view of... Melanie? He stood a few moments as he recovered from the surprise and saw how she was poking and peering into everything available. His pleasure quickly gave way to anger however; she would have nothing to do with him... not even speak to him... and yet she could come snooping around like the proverbial thief in the night? If she had ever asked him he would have been delighted to show her anything she wished - anything at all. And yet...?

"You'll find," he said quietly but with an edge to his voice that none had heard before, "that everything there is worthless outside this room."

She spun round with every indication of confusion, the colour coming and going from her face like a traffic signal that had joined in his own madness. "I... I'm sorry," she began but was clearly at a loss how to proceed.

"It would have been appreciated had you the manners to ask first, " he said coldly.

"Well, as I said... I'm sorry. I saw the door open and couldn't resist..."

His voice came harsh and unnecessarily loud: "Liar!"

She winced as though he had struck her: "That's no way to talk to a lady. No wonder people won't have anything to do with you."

"Lady? You come sneaking in here... more like a thief! I left that door locked!"

That sally seemed to get to her despite the element of truth it may have contained. Her fury was rising rapidly but, unlike his, it was cold and scornful. "I am sure you'll be pleased to receive my assurance that I have not stolen anything... that is, assuming that there is anything among this rubbish worth stealing. I'll go," and she moved resolutely forward.

But Brian held his ground. "IF... you please," she said. "You are blocking the doorway."

Yet still he made no move to let her pass. His own fury was growing and, in his mind's eye, he began to see her reduced to a struggling bundle on his floor pleading for her release.

"Brian," she began. "I must warn you that I have a brown belt in marshal arts and, much though I may be reluctant and equally forbidden to use it, I doubt that any court would lay blame on me should you suffer injury while trying to detain me. Now, PLEASE, let me pass." And she moved right up close to him to look him straight in the - no, in the chin!

In his studies via the Internet, Brian had learned much about the art of bondage but, on the way, he had picked up something of the arts of marshal artistes and just ordinary wrestling. Of course he was neither skilled nor practiced but his speed, and the surprise it engendered, was to prove her undoing.

His quick step forward and to her side was enough to lock his hand on to her wrist; in the same flowing motion he twisted the hand thus placing her in a painful arm-lock. As he held that arm straight out from her body so he used the other hand to put pressure on her elbow and she had no choice but to give and bow her head to the floor. The counter she knew to be a forward roll but he circumvented that as he forced her further down still until finally she measured her length where her feet should have been.

"You're hurting me!"

He ignored the complaint as he wrestled for the other hand until he held both, palms out, with her arms helplessly locked behind her. She was surprised at his show of strength. With a foot on her buttocks he held her immobile while he pulled open a drawer; there followed a rustling sound as of a plastic bag and he began to work a soft elastic ring of some sort over her hands and snugged it around her wrists.

"Brian! What are you doing? You can get into serious trouble for this. Now... "

"Save your breath." He almost snarled the words. "I'm fed up with people treating me like something the cat should have left in the garden. I used to like you but you seem determined to make me hate you." While saying that he was manipulating a gadget of some sort and she felt a slight sensation of heat on her hands and lower arms. "You're going to stay like this... here on my floor... until you find the manners to apologize... for... for everything." His finish sounded rather lame.

He released her hands and began to repeat the process on her feet. As she struggled to free her hands she discovered that they were held by a rubber-like band that seemed loathe to allow her any room for manoeuvre; more... it seemed if anything to be getting tighter!

"You were curious as to what I do in here?" She made no answer for, indeed, she was beginning to get scared. "These bands are something you will find only in here. I developed them by combining the properties of self-amalgamating tapes with plastic filler foam. Mind you, I'm pretty certain the original inventors wouldn't recognize them but then, you see, they couldn't understand my chemistry anyway. It's just ordinary elastic until I dose it with infrared radiation. Then it sets to the exact shape of whatever it is placed around and, I can tell you, its strength is much greater than anything you can exert."

He paused but, when she remained silent, he continued: "I can offer you two choices. You are going to remain here as my prisoner until you can find it in you to apologize and I have decided that you have been punished enough ... "

"Punished?"

The word exploded from her in a furious and reckless outburst. "Who in hell do you think you are? Get me out of this now and go play your childish games elsewhere."

"You haven't heard my two choices yet. I can gag you with another – much thicker - of my bands or... you can give me your word that you will not call out or scream or do anything of that nature which would, inevitably I fear, result in the gag."

Suddenly that fury boiled over and she writhed and flapped about as she tried to escape those so simple bonds. But, hot flustered and sweaty as finally he desisted, she was forced to recognize that he was not kidding; his bondage was truly inescapable. She opened her mouth but then hastily closed it again at the thought of another of his demon bands closing it for her and shrinking around her head.

"That," he said, and who could deny that he was being smug, "was a fine show. I wonder if you've any idea of how great you look when you do that? I can tell you that it greatly exceeded my wildest dreams. Yeah, I simply must get you to do it again although I'll agree to an audience of one."

She lay quietly while, in silence, she considered her options. What options? If she wanted out of this then clearly she would have to give him whatever it was that he was demanding. He turned away and closed the door and she was struck immediately by the way the normal household and other noises were cut-off. Not surprisingly perhaps this room was soundproofed.

"OK." She was startled to hear her voice sounding so submissive. "I'll be quiet. Please, don't put one of those things in my mouth!"

"Agreed," he said at once. "Just as well, really. It's never been tested for its poisonous properties if ingested."

The grin, the change in tone? Was this the nerd she had so long despised? "That was unfair of you."

"Again... agreed. But if we were to exchange places would you not have sought to take advantage of your advantage... to coin a phrase?

"So. Does that promise hold? You'll keep to it?"

"I gave it," she said. "It holds."

"When I come back from my stroll I usually get a pot of tea and some cake –or biscuits - depends on what I can find. I'll leave you to compose your abject apology... and it had better be abject - VERY abject. Back in a couple of days." And he was gone. She heard the key turn in the lock and made one last try for freedom. But those bands fitted snugly around her wrists and ankles as though they had been moulded there.

As, perforce, she waited she began to wonder why she had ever entered this room. He was right, she admitted, she had broken in like a... no, she had simply hunted round for the key and found it in that time-honoured spot. Then, to be honest about it, from what she had seen in here he was perfectly correct in keeping it locked for purely safety reasons. Not that he was justified in locking her in ... but then... tied up on the floor like this she wasn't much of a guardian?

Her mind turned to the apparent ease of his victory over her. She felt sure that he was not a student of marshal arts; had that been so he would have taken her down in amore conventional form and perhaps she would have been more successful in countering him. She remembered something she had read about Bruce Lee; he maintained that all the conventional systems flagged their intentions and, using the techniques he had worked out, his attack went in while an opponent was winding up. Or something like that? Certainly he regarded the spin-kick as a joke.

Slowly creeping into her soliloquy was the understanding that she had been unfair to this guy. He was not by any means the nerd he was reckoned to be. She, Melanie, had come unstuck because she had made the classic error of under-estimating the enemy. He fought with speed and, as with everything else, he had his own methods. Did that make him a nerd? Would she have had such effrontery in poking into his life had she known that? Why indeed, had she come into this room anyway? What was it that drove her?

The key sounded in the lock and Brian entered carrying a tray. "So. Still loafing about down there? Let's have that apology and we can have tea."

"Go to...!" She checked the indignant outburst. "I'm very sorry, O wise one," she began again; "I do indeed owe you an apology and it is the lack of proper humility which has landed me down here on your floor... trussed in your bondage. I have long thought you a nerd. As a result of our recent encounter this afternoon I now accept that you are NOT a nerd... just a bloody fool who is heading for the town jail."

He had placed his tray on the end of the bench and now stood, hands on hips, Gazing down on her in total silence. The interval grew and she began to think she had gone too far. What the hell was he going to do now?

He threw his hands wide and his head back as he let loose a long and very loud guffaw. "Aye." He gasped, "I had you to rights. You really are some feisty dame. And I was just beginning to dislike you. Here... upsy-daisy." Stooping he picked her up as though she were a doll and dumped her on the bench beside the tea tray.

He grew of a sudden sober: "You don't deserve it... but I'll swallow my threat and give you some tea. But... definitely... you stay tied up. Mother won't be home for at least two hours yet so there's no hurry. Not that she would come in here anyway."

"What about MY Mother? She'll be wondering what's happened to me."

"I'm sure that little matter can be sorted with some girl talk. You stay tied. I like it that way. I have spoken!" And he turned to pouring the tea.

As she sat helplessly on the end of his bench beside the tea tray, and he was feeding her tea and biscuits, Melanie tried seriously to assess this situation into which she had landed herself. For all her seesawing opinions of Brian the Mad she could not bring herself to believe that he represented any kind of danger. It was perfectly clear that having total control over her was giving him one hell of a kick. But... apart from his rapid subduction of her he hadn't shown any sign of violent behaviour. Quite the contrary; in fact he had been if anything the gallant.

Perhaps the most worrying aspect was that nobody knew of her presence here and, it seemed obvious, nobody but Brian ever came into this room. She had arrived to visit his sister, found nobody at home and decided to see just what Brian got up to in his Den of Madness! Well, she had to admit, in that particular matter she had achieved considerable success? The question she needed to answer was - did he only indulge in strange adventures in chemistry and physics ... or was he also a professor in the capture of girls? She had to allow him one thing there - he was certainly proficient in the art of tying them!

Unless he removed these incredible shrinking rubber rings of his it looked as though she would be taking up permanent residence here. Just what was he planning to do next? If indeed, as she suspected and tried to convince herself, he would eventually release her, then she would lay any odds that he had no idea at all what to do next. It had been a spur of the moment thing kicked off by her unwise and superior reproofs. Perhaps a skill in martial arts could be a drawback if you considered yourself safe under any circumstances.

The clatter as he gathered up the tea things brought her back to the moment. "So... what now?" she queried.

"We don't seem to agree on what constitutes an abject apology? Which leaves me the choice of making an ignominious retreat or of making a gesture that will demonstrate just who holds the whip hand here. Yes, of course, speaking of whips...?"

Alarm showed in her face. "You wouldn't?"

"Ah-ha. Is that a question or a statement? You gave me a promise not to scream or shout for help - and you have kept it. Means I can trust your word. So. Let it be said that I have never in my whole life spent an afternoon so enjoyable as having you in my workshop - all tied up and nowhere to go - no, that should have been going nowhere? Would you believe that the greatest of my fantasies... to be honest the ONLY fantasy worth considering... has been to own you just as I do now?"

"Nobody OWNS me!"

"Excuse me if I am in error but I was under the impression that, at the moment, you can hardly claim to be in control of your lovely self?"

What was there to say? He continued: "It had to be no more than fantasy because I have nowhere to stash you. But now... that I have you.... And, yes, there's more..."

He pulled open a drawer to remove several plastic-wrapped bundles. "These are the trial samples of my rings... all different sizes... different thicknesses. This one for example..." He spread it wide and pulled it down over her shoulders to hold her elbows into her waist.

"And this one..." He stretched it over her feet and pulled it up around her knees. "This..." he pinned her already bound wrists to her hips.

"This one... long ago occurred to me that it would make an excellent gag... but you HAVE given me your promise and I'll keep mine. Wide flat ones like this would be excellent for blindfolds. All I have to do now is irradiate you with my infrared lantern here and... Hey-presto... Melanie-the-free becomes Melanie-belonga-Brian?"

Again she could find nothing to say. Was he really mad? If she made the wrong remark again would he indeed switch on that lamp? Aladdin?

"So... what am I to do with you? If I were to cut you loose now... will you come back next Saturday for a second session in madness?"

"If you're making it a condition, then my answer has to be NO."

"I'm sorry. That was clumsy of me." He moved behind her and seconds later her hands were freed. He lifted away the untreated bands. "Let me re-phrase that." He bent in front of her and her foot bonds fell. He looked at her directly in her eyes: "I'd be very glad indeed if you would repeat out little tete-a-tete next weekend. Pact?"

She slipped from the bench and rubbed her wrists; "Tete-a-tete? This is not where I keep my head. Just like that? You'll let me go?"

"Who do you think I am? I'll have you know that the mad scientist I may be but that does not make me the mad slaver! But I could - as an afterthought - leave my certificate of ownership on you?"

He was - as before - between herself and the door. "Just what...?"

Brian pulled open his drawer again and extracted a plastic wrapped bundle. "This is one of my specials. Very thin - a flat band. If I shrink it around your waist you will be earmarked for my next surgery? But, unless you choose to make it public, only we two will know it is there."

She remained silent looking hard at the ring in his hand. She looked at the cut remnants of his bands now on the floor. Brian kicked himself for going too far. Why couldn't he be satisfied with an amazing bit of...?

Melanie put her hands down to her waist and began to gather up her T-shirt. "Try it for size?"

He shook his head with finality: "One size fits all."

Now he held out his hand: "How about I walk you home - through the woods?"

Later, as they made a slow progress in the leafy shades, he asked: "Do you know the story of 'To the Woods?' "

"Er... no."

"It goes something like this... a sort-of conversation:

Let's walk in the woods.

No. No, thank you.

But come; it's such a lovely day for a walk.

No. Mother said I shouldn't talk to strange men.

But what is strange about me?

Nothing, I suppose.

Then let us take a walk in the woods.

No. No.

I insist.

I'll tell the vicar.

I AM the vicar.

I'll scream.

How loud can you scream?

Eeek.

TO THE WOODS!"