Marriage bondage story | chain, gag, gagged

An invitation to a wedding is always an occasion not to be missed and I was just as excited as the bride had a right to be. Both Katie and Jim were orphans and so I thought little of the information that the wedding was largely confined to members in the club. The irreverent thought did come to mind that they couldn't ALL be preggers, surely? Just as swiftly I dismissed it of course. I had known Katie for a long time and I was certain that she had kept herself for that one magical night to be?.

So much always depends, of course, on being in possession of all the facts and one of those I had wrong to a remarkable degree. We arrived at the church almost too late, by courtesy of heavy traffic combined with interminable roadworks. Needless to say that they were the direct cause of the dense traffic.

As it happened we were the last of the guests to arrive before the bride's grand entrance; I caught just a glimpse of our two predecessors as they turned from their car to pass through the lych-gate. I felt that I must have been mistaken yet, had not that man been holding the end of a chain that ran from the woman's neck? It was strange too that, although in the cause of fashion nothing can be considered strange, she kept her hands buried in a muff despite the weather being somewhat more than mild.

Inside the church we took seats as indicated by an usher. It was beautifully decorated and I occupied the few minutes before the bridal march in looking around. Hence I was due for a real shock when I truly started to pay attention. As the assembled congregation rose to its feet there was an undeniable jangle of chain! To my left I saw a man assisting his partner to her feet and, it could not be disputed, she was handcuffed! Also she wore a wide-brimmed hat from which depended a heavy black-lace veil. It was at that moment that I recalled Katie's infatuation with the subject of bondage. The CLUB to which she had alluded - was it a bondage club? Did that veil conceal a gag?

As I stole discreet glances around me it soon became obvious that Nick and I were the only two not in on the act. Around us, in our vicinity at least, every woman was in some sort of restraint. Maybe somewhere the roles were reversed but, in our section of pews, every woman was captive. As I recovered from the shock it occurred to my irreverent mind: "How does a gagged woman join in with the hymns?" And then I passed on to: "Will they be allowed to partake in the champagne feast?"

My attention was brought back to the ceremony as the bridal party passed us down the aisle. They moved very slowly and I could not dismiss the conviction that, under that exquisite white satin gown, Katie's feet were closely hobbled. She too was veiled, as is so often the custom with bridal attire, but Katie's veil was a close cousin to a tent! It descended all around her almost to the knees and provided a splendid sight indeed ... but, peering through the close white mesh, I again had that impression of a white ball-gag and a white blindfold. Lower down she carried the traditional bouquet but, against tradition, she carried it beneath the veil. Clearly, although hidden by the spray of flowers, her hands were manacled.

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. No, I am not a religious person; far from it. My only interest in a formal church wedding - which I hope one day will happen for me - is in the splendour of the occasion, the opportunity to REALLY dress up, to be the centre of attention and to see the envy of my peers. Yes, indeed. In truth for me a vow is always a vow and any promises I make will be forever binding but the sanctity of the occasion - no I cannot find it in me to be impressed. Yet, I was troubled at this seeming mockery of a ceremony that had been handed down for generations and which, not all that long ago, had held great significance in the lives of many people.

I accept that, until recent times, the marriage ceremony had been a transaction that sold a woman into life-long bondage no matter that she entered it willingly. It involved relinquishing ownership of virtually everything and accepting obedience to the will of her husband. Yet, on close examination, to women of the necessary character it had yielded immense power and, through their men, many had become the true rulers of empires.

Paradoxically it was the solemnity and acceptability of the strict ritual, and the status it conferred, which gave to such women their power to rule by proxy. While seen as a loyal obedient and chaste spouse then a woman had the will of the populace behind her and her word was her bond. Today's emancipated women are freed from most of the shackles but the price has been loss of status, their transfer into the almost universal category of "bimbo"? Today's women are not respected and protected and cherished as those of old.

But I had been false to my friend. Katie was not the person to raise two fingers in the face of valuable tradition. She reached the chancel where the priest and Jim were waiting for her and took her place beside her chosen man. The priest could not possibly have been blind to the things which I had observed and so the ceremony must have received his blessing? About him there was no sign at all that he was a member of the club and so he immediately went up many storeys in my respect.

He began on the ancient words of the ceremony until he reached the traditional question: "Who giveth this woman...?" Then came the first deviation from the norm. Katie's escort responded as he held out to the minister the end of a slim chain which clearly, dipping under her veil, must terminate on a slave collar. The priest calmly accepted it and, stooping, laid it quietly on the ground beside his feet.

As he proceeded and the time approached for responses and for the giving of vows so the senior bridesmaid advanced and, pushing up under the veil, released first the bride's gag and then her hands. At the end came the priest's final pronouncement: "I now pronounce you..." saying which he again stooped to retrieve the end of the chain and passed it to the happy groom.

One last change; instead of lifting Katie's veil, he lifted it over his head and joined her in a privacy not usually accorded to that first marital kiss. When they emerged from the vestry it became evident that the senior bridesmaid had been assiduous once more in her duties. The groom led his new wife by the centre of a chain that linked her wrists, the veil extended forward over her cuffed hands and, without doubt as the sun fell fully on her, she was again gagged and blindfolded. The blinder must have been removed if she signed the register but she was now back entirely under control.

They had several more shocks lined up for me however. Outside the lych-gate, where I had expected to see a decorated limousine, there stood a white van-like vehicle which resolved itself into a self-drive caravan - or that was my first impression. The groom slid back a door in the side of the vehicle, lifted his wife within and, while we all watched, proceeded to lock her into a body-form cage. After which he climbed behind the wheel and drove her away.

I felt drained. This, beyond any shadow of doubt, was not the wedding I would plan for myself. But, if that was what Katie wanted, who was I to criticise?

I suppose that, had I more contact with bondage clubs, I would not have been disconcerted by the wedding reception which followed. The main characteristic was that it was dominated by groups of men chatting and drinking and joking. The conversational hum that one would expect was a deep male-dominated sound and the animated groups of women whom I had expected to join were not in evidence. Indeed they were all spread around the periphery of the room, hidden beneath a variety of veils or unashamedly displaying forms of bondage. Almost invariably they were tethered to walls or radiators or to whatever offered and they stood there in complete silence. Often their escorts - or should I say owners? – attended to feed or water them and perhaps the rapidly diminishing supply of goodies and champagne accounted for the general lack of resentment? I cannot say because I alone spent a normal, but boring, ninety minutes until the groom once more caged his prize and drove off for the honeymoon ... er ... dungeon?

Two days later I sat bemused before my (un)trustworthy PC on to which I had transferred the sixty or so pictures that my digital camera had captured. (That word again?) My first reaction was that it had resurrected an old bogey namely that nylon and similar man-made materials may be opaque to normal eyes but could be practically transparent to a camera. What I discovered under those voluminous floor-length dresses and various forms of veil I dare not describe... it could get me arrested!

But my strange euphoric state was due to a hugely disgraceful fantasy that had arisen from reviewing the crazy goings-on of that memorable wedding day. The PC was displaying several pictures of women, helplessly gagged and bound, lined up and chained to walls or heavy furniture quietly awaiting whatever fate should be ordained. My fantasy had been set off however by one which showed a lone woman waiting in the entrance hall tethered to the newel post at the bottom of a staircase. The camera's pitiless eye showed that she stood there gagged, blinded and fully shackled and utterly helpless.

The thought had come to me that the reception provided a white slaver's dream opportunity. That girl had little, if any, contact with the world around her. All that was required for her abduction was a pair of bolt-cutters to severe the chain and then, given a gentle pull on that leash, would she not walk unprotesting into a new life of true slavery?

The fantasy developed; I was becoming enmeshed in the world of cuffs and chains and rope and gags and ... whoa! But it would not go away. I could see the need for a Black Maria like van parked discreetly outside into which each girl would obediently climb to be locked into a little cell. How many would be possible without risking discovery? Mustn't be too greedy. The girls, although left alone and tethered, were not left for so very long. Once one was missed...? Perhaps a large car and take one at a time. No, maybe you could safely snag two...?

A hand on my shoulder startled me back to reality and Nick wanted to know what had so absorbed my attention. "Just wondering about the wedding," I replied. I couldn't bring myself to admit to him how far I had wandered into Katie's world. Two days later it became impossible to fob him off any longer and, a bit red-faced, I related my fantasy.

So now Nick added to my confusion. Up until that moment he had never revealed any tendency to enter the bondage world but his imagination and inventiveness quickly took over my new fantasy. He developed it, although at first to my intense excitement, I soon became prey to fears that he was going too far. At one time it seemed that he might actually have started a search for a suitable ex-prisoner-transport vehicle. Was he just kidding me or living in that world which knows no limits? I was certain however that, while he considered ways and means of kidnapping women whom others had prepared but left hanging around for his predatory attention, he had not considered what he would do with them after?

On one thing I WAS resolved! He wouldn't be allowed to keep any of them. Just me was quite enough for any man in my life. Then that was followed by a second devastating thought; he could solve that problem by adding ME to his string of captives? Oh, no. I would need to take precautions against ... but suppose he took me asleep. Should I wake up in chains, or in a cage, or...? Hey, I'm getting into this thing too deeply. I'm getting to like the idea...?

Yes, we both got hooked on the strange world that Katie had shown us in such a dramatic manner. How else did I come to be sitting here talking silently to my computer under these ridiculous conditions? Talking silently? Well, the only means of communication left to me is through my fingers on the keyboard. I'm wearing handcuffs that allow no more than ten inches separation between my wrists. Each wrist is secured to the chair leg below it by a short chain that allows me to reach up only as far as the keyboard.

My ankles are drawn back to the chair's rear legs so that I may not rise nor shuffle the chair; in any event he has linked the chair to the desk by two more short chains. The collar about my neck is locked to the back of the chair so that I cannot lean forward. Hence I cannot get at the gag, this horrid ball that blocks my mouth and traps my tongue. And, in the spirit of the ceremony that triggered all this, he has fitted me with a white-lace veil that, constantly dancing between my eyes and the world around, obscures my view of the monitor screen! Not by any means am I blinded but ... in terms of irritation value... Have you ever known an itchy nose at a time when you have your hands full and so are unable to scratch? Had your hair blow across your face and been obliged to grin and bear it?

Sheer frustration is beginning to drive me mad. Worse, it is beginning to make me itch and tickle in all sorts of inaccessible places! Unless he comes in soon and releases me ... but he threatened that, until I finish this account of that odd ceremony and have done a good job, I shall be condemned to stay like this. Yes. Bondage games have another side to them but ... umm ... give me a moment ... isn't that what gives the edge?

Of course, I could end it all in a moment; all that I have to do is use my safeword. Rather, seeing that I am providing a safe and warm home for his ball-gag, I would have to use the safety signal but, just as I said at the beginning of this recital, I will honour any vow. For me a safety word is sacrosanct; to abuse it, even once, is a breach of faith that must render it UNSAFE! There was, once upon a time, a little boy called Peter...?

I definitely do not wish to write FINIS to our newfound bondage life. Yet although not a dominant type, I am not a true sub either. Enough of this goes a long way for me.

FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! NICK, COME BACK AND GIVE ME A BREAK!