Entrapment | chain lock, box feet | free bondage stories

Our new neighbours were sounding very busy as they heaved and pushed various things about. There was just Mr.X, a female version whom I presumed to be his wife and a younger female that it was safe to assume was his daughter. Adopting my best good neighbour persona (not a bit nosey, of course) I called to see if I could help with heavy lifting or with whatever chores they cared to heap on me.

The offer was accepted with gratitude because they possessed some old-fashioned furniture which took a deal of moving; Mr. X was having difficulty too in assembling single-handedly those awkwardly constructed things called beds.

Needless to say my curiosity was soon satisfied over the question of Miss Carter to whom all referred as Frecky - yes she did tend to being a redhead - but who, I was to learn, rejoiced in the name Leah. She was a good looker, good fun to be with but, sadly, not really my cup of tea. Nevertheless, for want of anything better (gratuitous insults cost nothing!) I offered to show her the neighbourhood with its sights, entertainments and general horrors.

And so, quite innocently as it happens, I started on a career which ever since has given me a lot of fun - and excitement. At the back of a shelf in the far corner of our shed, I came across a cardboard box whose thick covering of dust showed that it had lain undisturbed for some time. When I lifted the lid the disclosure of several items of general nonentity indicated clearly that the box had been a clearinghouse for items that, in reality, were rubbish but which my late father had felt no real wish to discard. However there were three padlocks, one a bit knocked about and two still in shrink wrap, plus a heavyish cardboard box which proved to hold thirty-five feet of small galvanised chain.

Why thirty-five feet? I have absolutely no idea but that is what was proclaimed on the outside of the box. I remembered that Father had been nurturing a scheme of erecting a decorative looping chain along the edge of the path running up to and into the shrubbery in which our garden terminated before it drifted into the woodland beyond. We were an easy-going community and nobody cared much exactly where lay the boundaries between properties and so we were able to move as we wished between gardens and the public grounds - if the woods were indeed owned then we neither knew nor cared by whom.

It was a good-quality chain with oval links about half-an-inch long welded and heavily galvanised. Dad did not believe in half-measures, that chain might well have anchored the family car but it certainly looked good. I wondered about the length and the final appearance and thought briefly about finishing the job for him. To which end I dragged it from its packing, down along that path and draped it from bush to tree and tree to bush only to confirm that Dad had known what he was doing.

But what of the posts he was to put in to support that ironware? I went back to the shed but, as I already knew, posts there were not. I looked behind the shed, at the back of the trash bins and the gap behind the coal and log bunker but had to conclude that he'd not got around to that phase of the plan before the Great Reaper came for him. So, for the time being, it remained only to gather in that chain and return it to oblivion.

Back on the path however I found Frecky waiting and she was eyeing that chain very intensely. "Hallo, there. What brings you to my most sacred emporium?"

She didn't seem to notice my witticism (?). "I... I've come really... " she seemed to drag her eyes away from the chain. "It's about that hop you invited me to on Saturday. Would you mind terribly if I cancelled it?"

"It would be disappointing but, of course, I have no objection. Time is yet young."

She was looking at the chain again. "Thanks. You see... my sister is arriving on Saturday and... I would so like to be there. She's only staying the one night."

"Tell me pretty maid... are there many more at home like you?" I sang.

"Sounds terrible," she giggled, "and you misquoted the words."

"I can assure you I did not."

She looked at me briefly: "Er... oh!" and her gaze returned once more to the chain. I was beginning to get ideas.

"That chain seems to fascinate you?"

"Er... not really. It's so small and neat... quite pretty... really."

"I thought perhaps you were imagining yourself marching down the Roman Way?"

"Roman... ?"

"Yes. You know... returning victorious Roman general parades his army into Rome... with all his booty on display... and a bevy of chained slaves as a gift for the Emperor."

I thought - perhaps I only wished - that she drew her legs closer together. But I was certain enough to...

I raised my left hand to beckon her while, with my right, I lifted down the nearest section of the chain from where it was looped over a bush. "Come here."

But she stayed where she was giving that imitation of a rabbit confronted by a snake. No! I said SNAKE... not snake-in-the-grass!

I beckoned again and, after a short hesitation, she took two slow steps toward me. I lifted the chain in both hands, dropped it over her head and pulled it forward over her shoulders. Then, lifting her left arm, I wound the end twice round her wrist, changed to the other side and wound the other end around her right wrist.

"There you are..." I had to try really hard to keep the growing excitement out of my voice. I folded my arms across my chest, struck a pose and declaimed: "Thlave of the fweckles ... you may kith my feet."

A chuckle, tiny and explosive, then she tossed the chain aside and fled. But it has to be said... there was promise in the situation?

Feeling a most pleasant glow I started to gather up the chain, meaning to restore it to its box, but I couldn't dismiss the picture the girl had presented with that chain hanging from her body. Perhaps one day we might...?

But wait; 'tis often said that lightning never strikes twice in the same place yet that silly man, who insists on taking walks over the golf course in drenching rain with brilliant flashes of lightning and monumental crashes of thunder... wasn't he at that moment languishing in hospital following his third strike? True the fool had asked for it... but why should he have a corner on foolishness?

I finished gathering up the chain but, instead of the box, I hung it over a branch of the tree and let it dangle in several loops. Then I fetched Father's junk box and placed it near the chain, broke out the packaging of the new locks, sprang them and left them on the box lid beside the box. The old lock with its key I laid with them but the keys of the new locks I dropped into my pocket. The bait set... I could only retire and wait.

For the rest of that afternoon and the evening I waited in vain.

The next day however I had better luck. Glancing from my bedroom window I saw some reddish hair that seemed to be sauntering in the direction of my slave trap. I watched with bated breath. Without a doubt that chain had done something for that young lady's metabolism for, with several casual stops and sundry hair movements that surely indicated a good lookout, she came up with my chain and its associated display of security.

For a few moments she fingered the chain and then, after a careful look around, she wrapped it around her left wrist. Oh, yes indeed; here was a lady over-ripe for bondage. She held her hand well out and inspected the effect of the jewellery and then her eye fell on the locks. She picked up one of the shiny brass ones and began to poke it through the chain; then she stopped, removed the lock and bent to scrabble through the box. No keys! A wily redhead. Even more wily hunter?

She turned her attention to the old lock; the key was with it and it was not a spring lock but had to be locked in position with that key. She used it to secure the chain around her wrist but, wisely, forebore to lock it. She shook it and rattled it gently a few times but all the time keeping a good look out. Now she was learning that stimulation has to be constantly up-rated; she took a larger loop of chain and hung it around her neck.

I was already on my way and came up behind her despite her wariness. "So. You not only cancel my dance date but now you take liberties with my ornamental chain?"

She jumped as though I had stuck her with a pin and dropped the brass lock she was just examining... perhaps to determine if it was also a non-spring type?

"Oh, I'm s'sorry, " she stammered. "But it is a beautiful bit of work?"

"We could make it even more beautiful if you like."

"Err... what do you mean?"

"Well... we could... ".

I picked up the lock she had just dropped, drew the loop of chain so that it fitted her neck and slipped the lock into place - except that I didn't hesitate to close it with a most distinct - and satisfying - click.

She stood like a statue as her free hand slowly rose to grasp the chain where it left the collar. I removed the old lock and fed the chain around her wrist until her hand was close to her breast and then, with the second spring lock, secured it. Today I understand why she was so docile but, seeing that she raised not a peep, not a vestige of protest, I took the risk of pulling a loop around the remaining wrist, now close to that enticing throat, and linked it with the old lock. Before I turned the key I reached round the trunk of the tree, picked up the other end of the chain and linked that too on to that lock. For a few moments nothing happened then, as she realised that she was not only chained but attached to the tree, she suddenly came to life.

"What...?"

"All we need now is that Roman Way."

"I don't think I like this. Don't want to be... " Her voice tailed off.

"But you ARE. You're MY prisoner and I declare you to be the Freckled Slave of my Tree. On your knees, slave! "

To my utter astonishment her knees buckled and she actually began to kneel. "Whoa, there." I caught hold of her as though she had been falling and lifted her back to her feet. "Was that a tumble... or are you indeed fitted for slavery?" While I laughed and joshed her... she seemed dazed.

With a soft fist I plonked her playfully on the cheek, produced the keys and released her. She... I think in days of old she would have dropped me a curtsey... coloured slowly then exchanged that high colouring for a redder than red and, once again, fled the scene. She left me with a wonderful image and high hopes for a third round.

Saturday was the day of the aborted dance and on that morning I was returning from I no longer remember when I came upon Frecky and another young woman gazing forlornly up at a huge travelling trunk which was stowed on a car's roof rack. Frecky spotted me and looked hopeful but I flatter myself I would have offered help in any event. "If you will excuse me a moment while I show off... " and I muscled it down to a more appropriate place: "How did you get it up there?"

"Oh, well you see... I'm sorry... this is my sister Melanie... Melanie, this is Mike the gentle giant from next door."

"Flattery is always welcome," I returned, shook hands and then gestured back to the trunk.

"Melanie enlisted the aid of an enormous cop - about six feet square - and he put it up there with about as much difficulty as you brought it back to earth."

But I was looking at Melanie. A great thatch of REALLY red hair, skin white and smooth as cream (is that what they call a Titian redhead - if so that painter fellow knew a thing or two), eyes the colour of... Frecky was kicking me: "As I was saying..."

"Well," I said plaintively: "You shouldn't talk to me while I've got my eyes full."

And now I beheld that blush again but this time on the sister's face. "Hey," said Frecky, "I saw him first."

"Ladies, please. Not without gloves on. Decorum. Decorum."

And so began an association that I wish never to end. I forget how the subject came up but when Melanie learned of the spoiled dance date, she protested loud and long: "No. You can't do that. I know I was supposed to leave tomorrow but they called off the meeting and I'm here for at least ten days ... if you'll have me."

"Then," I said with colossal cheek - born out of desperation: "You can make up for my dangling on the proverbial bit of string... why don't you both come?"

"It's a most dangerous pastime... playing gooseberry," excused Melanie.

"But I'm very fond of gooseberries ... especially in nice well-filled pies."

Melanie coloured again and looked uncomfortable: "You're very naughty."

"Yes. But who wants to be good and miss all the fun?"

But Frecky was no fool, bless her, she saw which way the wind was blowing and decided on the spot. We must all go - or none. You understand how my opinion of Frecky underwent a sea change?

I was invited in for tea and I leave you to guess my reply. That evening set the scene for Sunday because I gather that, in a session of girlish interchanges while sitting out, the adventure of the chain came up. Yes, believe it or not they both had cravings along the line of helplessness. Sunday I repeated Frecky's lock-up with more preparation and thoroughness and then, to my utter delight, Melanie wanted a go.

I decided on a change of scenario for this little lady. She was going to enjoy the experience and... so was I. I started by strapping her ankles together with my belt - I only needed it for effect anyway. Then I wrapped the end of the chain around her left wrist and just hooked it closed with one of the spring padlocks. I took it round the back of the tree and repeated the wrap on her other hand. Next I took it across the front of her waist, hooked it into the chain which encircled her left wrist and then closed the lock. She was beginning to get that funny look on her face.

What was left of the chain was just enough to go around the tree again, over her shoulder and thence across her throat, back over the other shoulder and back around the tree thence down again to lock into the right wrist. It may have been crude bondage but it well and truly put her in place with nowhere to go. Melanie and the tree were now inseparable. I seized Frecky's hand and dragged her off through the shrubbery with some unwitty remark such as 'To the Woods' and left that redheaded dream to her fate.

"You think she'll forgive me?"

"You've not had much experience with women, have you?"

"Well, I don't know about that."

Frecky burst into merry laughter. "Lucky for you I've only got one chain," I growled.

"I suggest you get another," she chortled and darted off.

That was the beginning. In the following weeks, months - nay even years - I was to collect dozens of precious images of a damsel in my chain, two damsels in two chains, two damsels squeezed into one chain and one very precious damsel encased in, at least, two chains. I soon developed that last idea because I found that she adored the sensations it gave her and soon... she came to adore me enough to become my permanent damsel. I squirrelled away more and more chains and fetters; of course, because neither of us are exhibitionists, we moved the scene of operations away from the woods!

To where? Oh, come ON. Grow up!