like matrons at a Womenâs Institute bring-and-buy muttering to one another sporadically as they made the right selection.
Cuffs it was now to be, and anklets. I would have liked to have sat and had some say on the choice, but was too languid. There had been something in the chocolates: of course there had. No doubt they had left Harrods innocent and innocuous, but chocolates can be easily injected with a syringe. I decided it was odds on that that had been Lamâs job. Thereâs an AgathaChristie story where the murderer has laced the kirsch liqueurs with cyanide because the almond tastes would blend.
They took their time trussing me up, very meticulous. Alden buckled my left wrist, Lam my right. Lam lifted me up and Alden used the walking stick to push a pretty pink silk coverlet under me to protect the quilt. I was glad they were so house-proud, but I wondered what they had in mind. A sharp tug with the hook of the stick and the French knickers tore. That was okay, theyâd passed muster, and the fabric was so fine theyâd already frayed a bit. Time they were thrown away. I leaned forward helpfully while Alden buckled on the corset, pulling the cords so tight I felt the constriction on my ribs under my breasts, and my waist being cinched firmly in. It was not unpleasant.
Alden touch-padded and the bed posts slid nearer together. Cords tumbled down, like oxygen masks in a stricken airliner; the unromantic comparison made me smile and Lam peered down at me curiously, narrowing his eyes. He was now tying the left cuff to the right post but Alden shook his head and Lam desisted. I was grateful that my arms were not to be crossed but merely stretched. I wanted Alden to get on with whatever it was he up to: I wanted to turn the next page of the script.
I was pleased by this formality, the ingenuity. This was in a different league to cheap sex-shop handcuffs, which are so flimsy and ineffective you feel they haveHealth and Safety certificates attached, or the silk ties men like to use for light bondage, which are so slippery one can usually wriggle out of them.
Lukas was a different matter altogether: colleague of Aldenâs in creativity and superstar artisanal, with his Rousselian union of sex and ingenuity, complexity, imprisonment and liberation, his own special master machine. Alden seemed to sense that my intellect was firing up again and started pushing more liqueur chocolates into my mouth, while Lam stood by with a tissue. Every now and then Lam, gently dabbing, blinked, and the closing and opening of his eyelids seemed to take forever, they had such an area to cover. He was the mad scientistâs butler in a â30s Bela Lugosi movie.
Now the right ankle to the right post, the left to the left. There was some technical trouble here. One of the posts didnât slide properly, and stuck. Alden cursed Lukas. This annoyed me a little. Sod Lukas, it was taking the attention away from me. They made do as best they could but my legs were not parted as widely as they had planned. They used what Alden spoke of in impatient terms as a spreader instead: a rigid metal bar which went from ankle to ankle and served the same purpose.
I must have been taking too much of an interest in what was going on, because Alden, who clearly preferred me somnolent, now took his time in selecting a cherry liqueur from the box and I opened my mouth to receiveit but instead he pushed it up my cunt as a kind of afterthought, with his long, welcomely accommodating fingers. I needed to be fucked but Alden seemed to have no such immediate intention: it just came nearer and nearer without arriving, like Xenoâs paradox. I didnât even mind if Lam stayed around. He was more like an affect-free alien than anything. He probably didnât even have a penis any more than Spock did.
Little patches of mental clarity opened and closed in the downy cumulo-nimbus clouds I floated among, pain-free and comfy as heaven.
Cuffs it was now to be, and anklets. I would have liked to have sat and had some say on the choice, but was too languid. There had been something in the chocolates: of course there had. No doubt they had left Harrods innocent and innocuous, but chocolates can be easily injected with a syringe. I decided it was odds on that that had been Lamâs job. Thereâs an AgathaChristie story where the murderer has laced the kirsch liqueurs with cyanide because the almond tastes would blend.
They took their time trussing me up, very meticulous. Alden buckled my left wrist, Lam my right. Lam lifted me up and Alden used the walking stick to push a pretty pink silk coverlet under me to protect the quilt. I was glad they were so house-proud, but I wondered what they had in mind. A sharp tug with the hook of the stick and the French knickers tore. That was okay, theyâd passed muster, and the fabric was so fine theyâd already frayed a bit. Time they were thrown away. I leaned forward helpfully while Alden buckled on the corset, pulling the cords so tight I felt the constriction on my ribs under my breasts, and my waist being cinched firmly in. It was not unpleasant.
Alden touch-padded and the bed posts slid nearer together. Cords tumbled down, like oxygen masks in a stricken airliner; the unromantic comparison made me smile and Lam peered down at me curiously, narrowing his eyes. He was now tying the left cuff to the right post but Alden shook his head and Lam desisted. I was grateful that my arms were not to be crossed but merely stretched. I wanted Alden to get on with whatever it was he up to: I wanted to turn the next page of the script.
I was pleased by this formality, the ingenuity. This was in a different league to cheap sex-shop handcuffs, which are so flimsy and ineffective you feel they haveHealth and Safety certificates attached, or the silk ties men like to use for light bondage, which are so slippery one can usually wriggle out of them.
Lukas was a different matter altogether: colleague of Aldenâs in creativity and superstar artisanal, with his Rousselian union of sex and ingenuity, complexity, imprisonment and liberation, his own special master machine. Alden seemed to sense that my intellect was firing up again and started pushing more liqueur chocolates into my mouth, while Lam stood by with a tissue. Every now and then Lam, gently dabbing, blinked, and the closing and opening of his eyelids seemed to take forever, they had such an area to cover. He was the mad scientistâs butler in a â30s Bela Lugosi movie.
Now the right ankle to the right post, the left to the left. There was some technical trouble here. One of the posts didnât slide properly, and stuck. Alden cursed Lukas. This annoyed me a little. Sod Lukas, it was taking the attention away from me. They made do as best they could but my legs were not parted as widely as they had planned. They used what Alden spoke of in impatient terms as a spreader instead: a rigid metal bar which went from ankle to ankle and served the same purpose.
I must have been taking too much of an interest in what was going on, because Alden, who clearly preferred me somnolent, now took his time in selecting a cherry liqueur from the box and I opened my mouth to receiveit but instead he pushed it up my cunt as a kind of afterthought, with his long, welcomely accommodating fingers. I needed to be fucked but Alden seemed to have no such immediate intention: it just came nearer and nearer without arriving, like Xenoâs paradox. I didnât even mind if Lam stayed around. He was more like an affect-free alien than anything. He probably didnât even have a penis any more than Spock did.
Little patches of mental clarity opened and closed in the downy cumulo-nimbus clouds I floated among, pain-free and comfy as heaven.
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