Genie bondage story | chains, master, maidens

Throughout the history of mankind it has surely been a dream, the fantasy both waking and sleeping, of every young man to go a-wandering in the greenwood, on bare mountainside, over desolate moor or wasteland, along deserted beach washed by ceaseless waves or perhaps to search through a deserted mansion and there come upon the fabled beautiful maiden in distress. Beautiful maidens are of course put upon earth for the purpose of getting - or being put - into a state of jeopardy else dashing handsome, and perhaps lonely, young men would be unnecessary to their rescue.

Beautiful maidens traditionally occur in one of two castes namely either very rich or very poor. Rich maidens go about on horseback from which they fall and injure themselves - but not too seriously. Perhaps they are the natural target for brigands and pirates who engineer their capture for profit by means of ransom or for their sale to those designated as D.o.M. Sometimes even the captor may keep them for self indulgence either with or without dreams of love everlasting.

Maidens have been known to be of a rebellious nature and thus a grim guardian must, for their own good, confine them at the top of a tall and inaccessible tower. But ... those who fall not and neither are they under restraint are carefully guarded by chaperones fierce and old-maidenly and so it cannot be regarded therefore that a young man's failure to come upon a rich maiden in distress is a matter for surprise.

Very poor young maidens are invariably a matter over which a young man may reasonably sigh could he but be vouchsafed a glimpse of her maidenly virtues freed from its veil of large apron and ever-demanding labour. Such of the fairer sex are at constant risk from the depredations of moustache-twirling villains who, after abducting an unguarded maid and having their way with her, are likely to leave the victim helpless in strict bondage and discarded on some blasted heath? It has been known even for them to be left to languish in deep dark dungeon until such time as the villain deems further use for them.

It must be recorded however that very few young men, dashing or otherwise, have had the great good fortune to earn undying gratitude by stumbling on one of these distressed morsels of feminine dismay. By rendering that appropriate succour such supreme beings can earn for themselves the undying gratitude that must, by the Laws that govern our sojourn here on Earth, lead to that elusive love eternal.

The purpose of this journal is to record such an event when the young and vigorous Jem Smith strode whistling through the pleasant cool green wood with his eyes fixed on the rich canopy overhead through which he glimpsed ever-changing patches of the blue sunlit sky against which a bushy-tailed squirrel scolded him from the safety of a lofty refuge.

In truth there would have been little to record had he not, with eyes occupied aloft, caught a booted foot in some unseen obstruction and come crashing to earth. That he painfully crushed his nose in the impact was not due to any malevolence on the part of the leaf-mould shrouded woodland path but to a large and unforgiving stone that lay concealed beneath.

His eyes poured forth tears, his nose poured forth rich-red life's blood and his mouth poured forth a richness that was neither of blood nor yet of saliva. Within his skull bells did ring and a phantom ancestor began to beat upon equally phantom anvil all of which failed entirely to steady his dancing vision.

After a few moments of prostrated grief he raised up on his elbows and spat from his mouth a goodly quantity of the greenwood floor. He observed that the discarded floor-matter contained some of his rich red inheritance and so sought to extract a large white handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket. This he used firstly to remove the greenwood detritus from his face and then to staunch the flow from his battered nose.

Now he rolled over and sat up to investigate the nature of that which had caused such a downfall. He found that a length of chain with small open links had lain across the woodland path and then turned back to form a loop. Into that loop he had placed his foot and then, with the roll into the sitting position, he had wound it to make a turn around his ankle.

It was not the sort of chain that would normally be left forgotten on a woodland path. Small it may be but its links were welded and heavily galvanised; indeed it was a goodly chain of some value but ... what was it doing on that, or on any other, woodland path? For a fleeting moment came the thought that perhaps some maiden fair was fishing for a male peer who looked not where he was advancing but then ... such an idea was little short of preposterous?

He unwound the chain from his ankle and stretched it to discover its source. It snaked away across the forest floor toward a certain large tree but which was so much in shadow that he could not discern any detail.

He rolled on to "all fours" and, without good or sufficient reason for failing to rise, began to crawl along the length of the chain. It led him around the bole of goodly tree to where his advance stopped abruptly for he observed the chain to form a circle about two pure white slim ankles and further to change direction so as to cinch that turn before becoming secured by a padlock of impressive dimensions executed in brass.

It is understandable that he should be surprised and so may be excused for allowing his gaze to move in the wrong direction - downward. He observed a pair of small, indeed dainty, feet clad in silk-like ornate heavily-embroidered slippers and with toes that were drawn out to an up-curved point. "Ancient eastern," he muttered and changed the direction in which he had been scanning.

Above those chain-restricted and so exquisite ankles he beheld a pair of legs which, while undeniably worthy of close examination, exhibited a strangely roseate hue and somewhat vague outline. Further up still he encountered a pair of softly-rounded arms that hugged bent knees and from under which appeared another length of chain. A shake of his head to clear his swimming vision brought his nose into contact with a hand that was slowly stretching - disgracefully - toward those tantalising legs and he needs thus return to the task of staunching the red flow.

It was the comparison of the solid red colour of his once-white handkerchief that brought explanation of the roseate shade of those legs; they were in fact pure white but covered with two layers of red-coloured gauzy material whose lacey structure was so fine as to render that material nearly transparent.

Harem pants, very wide, very long they were tied up above the fine curve of calf-muscle to form a bell-like cover that perhaps shielded those exquisite slippers from such rain as might fall upon the earth beneath?

It may safely be assumed that the fall had somewhat addled his wits else we have little choice but to assume that his wits were somewhat lacking? Why else, at last, would his gaze have travelled further up to discover a most fetching torso with jewel bedecked navel which in turn led his confounded contemplation ever higher until it stopped with a feeling of shock at the swell of a barely concealed bosom. So white, so soft in appearance, such a bewitching curve that mounted toward promised peaks - that disappeared under a haze similar to that which obscured the legs ... but this time with a greenish tint.

Abruptly his senses returned and he snapped upright on to his knees. Here indeed was no dream, not a vision, not a phantom of a dazed mind. Those curly-toed slippers were real enough, as was the chain that encircled delicate ankles. Gauzy voluminous harem trousers too were real and, above them, a milk-white circle of maidenly flesh delightfully decorated centre-field by that large flashing jewel.

Still rising he found that the haze which had seemed to obscure the gentle swell of bosom was also real. It was the lower extremity of a veil above which a pair of very dark eyes looked back at him. Above the eyes was a glorious cascade of red-brown hair that totally justified the green colour of the veil. At first he thought that under the veil she lacked a mouth and then perhaps...?

This tiny elfish creature was the exact epitome of the genie that inhabited the world of eastern stories and television but yet ... what kind of genie submitted to bondage, to being chained like a dog, to being tethered to a tree and, if he was not mistaken, gagged with duct tape? Preposterous. It is well known that genuine genies have but to waggle a nose, twitch a torso, wave a hand - whatever their speciality may be – to thwart the machinations of mere mortals. She was in bondage - she had to be real. Then again who, possessed of such a prize, would leave it helpless and abandoned in a remote part of woodland? Was she the victim of some practical joke? Maybe someone was playing a joke on himself ... but nobody could have known that he would pass that way for it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to walk the long route home.

However he had been the one to find her and tradition had it that finders should be... ah, best to ask the girl herself. He reached toward the veil but with unaccountable nervousness stopped. It was, after all, more than half the clothing she was wearing and it seemed akin to rape that he should remove it without her permission. He changed his mind and reached under the veil to investigate the gag but she instinctively withdrew.

He seized the chain only to find that one end connected to the centre of a delicate pair of handcuffs while the other end connected similarly to ankle cuffs - she was hobbled in transport-type chains. He searched for the chain that had originally brought him to her and followed it back to its other end. It was padlocked around a nearby smaller tree but it was a sorry specimen of a lock. Both hands clamped around the metal snake he threw his body-weight against it and the lock burst asunder.

Kneeling before the girl he saw what might have been fear in those dark eyes: "Don't be afraid," he said a little huskily, "but I'm going to take you home with me where I can take off these restraints. I don't know what is going on but, if I can release you, it'll be your choice from there. Now, I need to get rid of this chain ... just hold still." He wound the wretched thing around her shoulders, little thinking that he was in truth adding to her bondage, then lifting he carried her away like an old-time buccaneer making off with spoils of a looted harem.

He seated her on the work surface between the sink and the cooker and, as he looked at her, came slowly to realise that he not solved anything by his high-handed act of abduction. He still had to remove that gag. "You will excuse me," he said with an effort at diffidence, "if I lift your veil. I think we can talk better if I remove your gag."

She did not reply but he found disconcertion in the rise of her eyebrows. Why did this tiny and helpless creature cause him to hesitate? "You look just like the genie in that film... you know...?" Idiot. Such a stupid thing to say and what the hell did it explain?

As an act of pure desperation, he slid a hand beneath the veil and ripped off the tape. She drew in a sharp deep breath... What's wrong with me today? That was stupidity gone mad.

"Thank you," she said and her voice was soft and clear with a surprising carrying power. "It's certainly true that sometimes one must be cruel to be kind. I would appreciate a drink of water although... preferably not under that tap there." Did he really detect an upcurl of lips? Was she ragging him? He wished he had taken his courage in both hands and removed that damn silly veil.

Glass in hand he faced that dilemma again: "Do I lift the veil or lower it?"

"It would seem more your choice than mine."

He took the course made famous by the British, pulled the diaphanous thing away from her face and presented to the still obscured lips.

"Why?" he asked.

"Er ... beg pardon?"

"Is not the purpose of veiling to hide the face? Invented by Mohammad, I understand, to remove temptation from the path of male chauvinists? Why do you wear a transparent veil? Your covering, if anything, is more likely to excite than to avoid."

"That I think is its very purpose."

"You mean you deliberately dress to invite disast...?"

"No, no. Not at all. My dress is not mine to choose. My Master dresses me like this just because it excites HIM. And what pleases my Master gives me pleasure too."

"It also excites me. You sit there helpless in chains, in my house... my remote house... seemingly without a care in the world. As any self-respecting villain would say 'you are entirely in my power'. Anything could happen to you."

She shrugged: "It doesn't really matter. Master chained me to a tree and walked away - he hasn't returned in... " She looked at his kitchen clock, "nearly four hours. He has tired of me. I belong to whoever takes me."

"Hey, hold on lady. Nobody owns you. It's illegal."

"Not if I choose to be owned."

"You choose...? Hold on a minute." He opened the "junk drawer" beside where she was sitting and extracted a substantial-looking padlock. Next he unwound the chain that was still wrapped around her shoulders, trailed it across to the four-by-four wood post that supported the outside corner of the staircase and locked the end of the chain around it. "Now," he went on, "I've taken you, as you put it, and there's not a lot you can do about it. That means you now belong to me?"

"Not at all," she answered, sweetly demure: "You did it without my consent and that's kidnapping. THAT'S illegal."

"Not so. There's nothing wrong with doing things against the Law. You only get into trouble by getting caught. Nobody knows you're here. According to you nobody wants to know that you're missing? I keep you on the end of that chain... nobody is ever going to know? Suppose I throw-away this key?"

"It's an interesting thought but you won't do it."

"You're mighty sure of yourself," bridling. She looked positively... er... cute when her eyebrows rose like that. She allowed him the last word and offered only a most enigmatic little smile that played fleetingly around her lips.

He opened the padlock and drew back the chain: "Where do you live? I'll drive you back."

"I don't know. I don't know where I am."

He starred at her dumbfounded slowly shaking his head from side to side. "You must have a name. What do I call you?"

"Genie."

"I said that first. What's your real name?"

"Jeannie. J .. E .. A .. N ... ".

"Oh, I get it. You're the genie Jeannie. Very ingenious. Well, Jeannie Genie, I'll make you a deal and there isn't a scrap of altruism in it. You can stay here, make this your home, be a part of my household which, at the moment, consists of just me. On three conditions: you will always were those clothes - or similar - complete with the chains but you will not reveal yourself clad like that to any visitors; I will always retain the keys and you consent to be my slave and run the house?"

"And where will I sleep, oh master-to-be?"

"There are plenty of rooms. Take your pick."

Again those eyebrows rose toward the line of rich red hair. Despite her bound hands she slipped nimbly to the floor, folded gracefully to her knees and prostrated herself at his feet. "Master. Your slave is gratified to be proved correct. She will be always at your service."

He felt strangely uncomfortable: "There is one more condition. You are never to embarrass me in this manner."

"I will try, Master. But my magic works only when I kneel. It has something to do, I am given to believe, with the possession of beautiful red hair."

"Then my first command, slave, is that you will never cut it."

"Perhaps my Master will work his own magic and remove these chains that render my hands completely useless. It was your stated purpose in haling me to this abode and without them I cannot exercise any of my skills."

Thus did a tiny genie find a new haven. It was never revealed how she came to be parted from her previous Master. Did he perhaps suffer an amnesic attack? Did he truly mean to abandon her like an unwanted pet? Perhaps he became aware of her true magic and preferred not to be used. But let it be recorded that Jem Smith regretted not his bargain. If Genie Jeannie used her natural magic to snare men for her protection and support she at least kept faith and gave more than value in return. Whatever her Master required...?