Ices | chain parade, slave, box | free bondage stories

"What on earth is it?"

"Ah, yes. You, like me, are too young to know. But my grandfather positively drools over it. I found it at the back of his old barn. You wouldn't believe the stuff he's got stored in there."

It was a box about three-feet square mounted on a pair of bicycle wheels. At the back was what appeared to be the rear half of a bicycle complete with saddle, pedals and chain which drove the single back wheel. In front of the rider the box carried a rail, like a towel rail, which he obviously used as handlebars and which carried a cable brake-lever and a truly impressive bell.

"Yes. But what is it? What was it used for?"

"He says there used to be hundreds of them on the roads in hot weather. Men pedalled them around selling ice cream. They rang the bell," he pressed the lever on the side of the monster and, as it returned under a spring, so that the bell made a 'Tring! Tring!' sound. He says they all used the same street cry: "Ices. They're luv'ly."

"An ice-cream cart? What was wrong with an ice-cream van?"

"Oh, the innocence of youth. They didn't have vans in those days ... or at least they were too expensive for occasional use. Tricycles like this were used for a whole army of delivery boys.

"You see this patch on the front? Couldn't read it until Grandad told me what it said; see, look ... 'STOP . ME . AND . BUY . ONE' ? I gather they were the butt of many music-hall jokes."

"All very well but ... what are YOU going to do with it?"

"Well. For starters I'm going to clean it up and refurbish it. Repaint it as near as I can in its original glory - Grandad will be a great help there. Then I shall have a real museum piece."

"And, I suppose, you will then spend zero hours each week just sitting and admiring it?"

"Not at all. I've plans to enter it in the fantasy parade next month."

"Fantasy parade? How can anyone fantasise over an ancient ... and now useless ... piece of delivery hardware?"

"Well. It IS a parade of pure fantasies. It will be pedalled in the parade selling exotic slave-girl dollies."

"Sure you don't mean erotic? You're out of your tiny mind. More likely you'll be arrested as a porn freak."

"You are revealing a very questionable emotional state, my love. Hey ... I've got an even better idea. Why don't YOU dress up as an eastern slave girl and sell images of yourself? It's very easy to pedal."

"Huh! I'd never live it down. Can't you just see the leers and male-chauvinist jokes that would follow me everywhere?"

"As an eastern slave girl you could legitimately wear a veil and then nobody would recognise you. At least, if a fellah turned up who could recognise you just by looking into your eyes ... you'd have some serious questions to answer." And he took my face between his hands and stared "deeply" into my eyes.

"Get lost. Just one thing though ... make sure that you STAY lost," and I stalked out.

But he had sown a very virile seed and, from what I now know of him, he had done so with machiavellian cunning. I forgot it during the remainder of that afternoon and evening but, strangely, I awoke with it on my mind the next day. I came from the shower, pink and glowing with nothing but a towel to guard my modesty, and there in my mind's eye was that trike with its scantily-clad rider calling sweet and low: "Dollies. They're luv'ly."

Lollipops indeed. But the image grew by the minute. I opened my scarf drawer and fished out my biggest head square. I tied it across my face so that only the eyes remained visible but, even as I assessed the effect in the mirror, so it slipped and hung around my neck. I tried again, this time tying it higher at the back of my head; it hung there and so I tried shaking it a little. Still it remained and so I shook harder ... only to see my towel fall around my feet! It would need to be some veil... ?

Without realising it, I was getting hooked on this thing. It was fun. I turned out a couple of hair-pins and fixed the veil firmly in my hair. I turned to the wardrobe and extracted that little bolero jacket. It wouldn't close around me and was mostly openwork; it was never intended other than as decoration for use over another garment. But it did conceal my breasts... sort of... if it stayed closed... and I considered a single thread of colourless nylon... invisible... enticing? And if I could hang the veil so that it came lower to reinforce the jacket? Amazing!

But below that, I was still ripe for arrest no matter how reluctant local policemen might prove. From the bottom drawer I extracted the lower half of that bikini I had never found the courage to wear; it was no more than a small triangle of cloth and three very-thin ribbons. I had always enjoyed making my own clothes and I was by then well into the excitement phase of this creation; squirrelled away I had a length of translucent pastel material which would make a smashing pair of baggy trousers to go over that bikini bottom. There and then, clad in that outlandish garb, I set to work. After all, the pants were barely more than nothing, as distinct from something, and it took no time at all.

There was a bit of that veiling left over and I contrived a head covering that, complementing the face-veil, trailed down my back from the crown of my head to somewhere about my waist.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror I was startled at the overall effect. Only my eyes were visible... no, correct that... only my eyes were CLEARLY visible! Just about every other part was VISIBLE, certainly; a trifle obscured if the truth must be told but, without doubt, I would have been less at risk of molestation if I discarded the lot.

At that point it occurred to me that, having forgotten about breakfast, I was hungry. It wasn't until I started to eat that I realised I was still wearing my come-and-get-me costume; some idiot had put a veil between the food and my mouth!

Upstairs I again surveyed myself in the big mirror and then, on impulse, grabbed the 'phone and rang Jeremy's number. "Hi. Yes, yes, I'm OK. No, not at all. Can't a girl ring a friend without causing a major industrial crisis? Oh, all right. I've got something I want to show you; can you come over? Well, not necessarily at this very moment I suppose but...

"No. No, definitely not. I certainly can't bring it to your place. You'll have to come here. Well... it concerns your fantasy parade. If you must put it that way... I suppose it is... sort of a... change of mind. Just having fun that's all. No way. See you, then."

Now what made me do that? Certainly I could not parade through the streets like this but I had wanted badly for him to see me like this. When I opened the door to him, he had to drop the bag he was carrying because he needed both hands to catch his eyeballs. "My god. You don't go in for half-measures, do you?" Abruptly he surged forward, pushing me in so that he could shut the door behind himself. "Your neighbours catch a glimpse of that, you'll have the vice squad round here."

He gathered me in a great bear hug and tried to remove my veil; I patted away his hands. "But how can I kiss you through that?"

"Surely those ancient Arabians veiled their women simply to stop such amorous intentions?"

"But this isn't Arabia and it's not ancient times. But its mighty good to hear you say you're my woman. And I happen to have brought a part of that costume you have overlooked and which reinforces the... er... possession bit." He opened his bag and drew forth... now wait for it... two short lengths of chain on each end of which were circlets of metal. He held them out triumphantly: "Slave chains."

"You've got some hopes. No! No handcuffs. Not even one. Put them away."

"They are not handcuffs; they are copies... nice decorative copies... of real slave chains. See; these are circlets with spoof rivets which make them look real permanent. But in fact they are held together with hidden locks. Not a bit like handcuffs. You open them with a probe like this," and he produced a small spike-like thing, inserted it close to the point where the chain was attached and the thing popped open into two hinged portions.

I was watching in fascination and didn't really notice when he closed it again around my left wrist. I fiddled with it trying to slip it off while he, with dastardly stealth, popped its partner and locked it around my other wrist. There I stood admiring the effect in the hatstand mirror as I pulled at the chain now dangling between my wrists. And I didn't notice him popping the two cuffs on the other chain until he locked them simultaneously around my ankles.

"You are... very... wicked," I said dreamily as my insides screwed up somewhere with a unknown feeling of... er... pleasantness?

"You have to admit that they do finish off that costume."

"Where did you get them?"

"Borrowed them from a mate; he's into bondage and things. I wonder what else he's got? But say... will you take my trike into the carnival? No one... nobody at all could possibly recognise you"

"No."

But there was a smile on his face which, with hindsight, said that he knew I would. As it began so the thought, the idea, grew in my mind until, after two weeks, I was entertaining not the slightest doubt that I was going to do it. Dawned the Saturday, the day of the parade, and I didn't even remember that I had once refused.

That morning I had just put the finishing touches to my costume and was about to take it off and pack it into the bag for transport to Jeremy's house when the doorbell rang. A quick look from the bedroom window revealed the trike, now splendid in new paint; atop the box was a small pillar on which he had mounted a very fine model slave girl complete with veils, chains and heaven knew what else.

I rushed down to let him in: "I thought I was coming to you," I began but he interrupted.

"That mate, John, came up with something new; I don't think it will do but could we try it?"

"Well, I suppose while I'm all dressed up it won't do any harm." Curiosity had the better of me especially as this garb always got me so excited.

He led me into the lounge and opened the small case he was carrying. From it he took a strange contraption that seemed to be a collection of metal bands and chains. Turning me to face away from him, he slipped something around my waist and I heard the unmistakable click of a lock. Even while I was peering down to see what he had done, he seized first my right hand and then my left; before I realised he was up to anything at all I had my hands locked to the metal strap around my waist. "Now THAT," he said slowly, is real slave chains."

"And how am I supposed to drive that trike like this? Driving no-hands is definitely against the law."

"No problem," he said smugly. "It was never my intention that you should drive."

He slid his hands under my veil and I leaned back into him expecting some kind of caress; he sealed my mouth with a wide strip of grey duct tape.

Do I have to say it? Mad? I was fit to be tied. No, definitely the wrong expression ... I WAS tied. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I felt his hand on my shoulder pushing me down; I resisted, of course, but something struck me behind my knees and I collapsed into a kneeling position. Another click and a short chain, which locked the centre of my hobble chain to the back of my belt, prevented me from rising.

"Now," he said in a maddeningly matter-of-fact voice, "we are about ready to start." He picked me up and lodged me on his hip as though I were a baby and carried me through to the kitchen. With me back on the floor he opened the door leading to the garage and I heard the outer doors opening; a little later they closed again and he returned.

Down in the garage I found that he had brought the trike in and his intention soon became clear. He lifted off the model slave girl and her plinth, lifted the lid of the thing and extracted a couple of boards and a royal-blue cushion which, by a very-strange coincidence, exactly fitted the top of the box and which was held in place by the little rail which ran around its edge. Now he lifted me into the place previously occupied by his dolly slave. "NOoooo," I screamed through my tape.

"Too much noise," he said calmly and proceeded to reinforce the seal. Another short chain secured my belt to the rear rail and I became a helpless captured slave indeed. Before fixing them into place he showed me the two notice boards: One to hang on each side of the box they read: "VISIT THE SLAVE MARKET", Then, in smaller letters beneath: "Sample only. Not for sale".

I was livid but no one could know unless they lifted my veil. That was the first time I promised myself his slow death ... and I doubt it will be the last. But, although he loves to embarrass me, he has always kept it strictly between ourselves - hence the veil? - and I have always known that he won't harm me in any way. Just then however, to find myself totally helpless, nakedly displayed in public and seemingly offered for sale, produced an effect that defies description. And I have to say that, during the hour or more that he pedalled me through the streets, I was thankful for the veil as I orgasmed. Hopefully the applauding bystanders imagined that I was putting on a show of attempted escape. I assure you... it was not acting. Had I got free...? ! ?

At the end of the afternoon the rat pedalled me back to his house. We took tea during which he maintained my bondage... he does have a sense of self-preservation! And then there raised the problem of getting me back home. He didn't own a car and a taxi would have caused a commotion. Nothing daunted, he restored my gag, packed me inside the trike's box and pedalled me back with all the grace and pomp of my earlier departure.

It took a while for me to forgive him even though I had experienced an extremely enjoyable afternoon. Even today I cannot forget the intense feeling of panic. Should anyone reading this need to know what intense panic feels like... ?

It must have been a year later when I was visiting him that he announced a rally to raise funds for sick children. He knew my interests and, of course, I immediately agreed to join him. "Are you going along just to view the proceedings or have you some project in mind?"

"Ah. I spent last Saturday afternoon rummaging again in granddad's old barn and I came up with this." He leaned down behind the sofa and came up with a wide but well-worn leather strap. He heaved and a box-like object came into view with a projection from one end. He lifted it and hung it by the strap around his neck.

"What on earth have you got this time?"

"Don't you recognise it?" He started to turn the handle and it emitted a not-unfriendly musical tune. "It's a hurdy-gurdy. You remember that film?" With raised hands and an execrable Italian accent he exclaimed: "No feed-a da monk."

It was a fascinating piece and I looked up to ask that I may play... but the question froze on my lips. A smile that I recognised only too well was spreading across his lips and there was THAT twinkle developing in his eyes. It took several seconds before, at sight of the monkey mask which lay beside the neat little collar and chain, I fell in. Then, stepping smartly back: "No! Not on your life. Forget it buster."

"But there's no time. The show takes place in little more than an hour."

I measured both the route and the distance to the door. The table was in his way. I made my dash for escape but I had overlooked one vital factor. Before introducing the subject that rat had put me back in those chains!

Have you ever tried clumping through the streets on the end of a chain with your left leg shortened by a hamper chain attached between ankle and belt? Those leg irons were hidden behind a long skirt; the wrist restraints were hidden by a brown furry cloak, the tape gag was concealed by the monkey mask. The deadly intentions toward a long and painful death were sealed within my mind.

But I knew, as did he, that later as I lay supine on the deep-pile rug before his roaring open fire with the skirt, cloak and mask removed ... and, of necessity, the hamper chain ... that his hands would make of me just a lump of rat-putty. I would scream into my gag something that would sound like "nurrr". I could never deny him because my cries would develop through "nnuurrr" and on into "Nnrrrhh", up into "NNRRRHH" and finally: "NNuurrrhhh ... urrhhhh ... urroooooh ... OooooOooooOooooOOOOOOOO...!"