Part 1 - Dancing in the Dark

A few weeks after leaving The Farm, Sara was invited to a formal Scene event, to be held at a private club in the city. She asked her friend Meriam to take her, but Meriam had already made plans for that weekend. She referred Sara instead to Dan, whom Sara had met at a couple of parties earlier that summer. Dan was a nice guy, she figured; and he certainly knew how to tie a girl. She wondered, though, how he’d respond to her idea of a costume for the festivities.

Sara’s hair was still quite short, having been entirely absent for the full two years she’d been at The Farm. But Sara had never really liked her hair anyway—too stringy, with no life to it, she thought. So she planned to keep it very short. She liked the look, it was a lot simpler in her chosen lifestyle, and besides she had no choice at this point. She was also far more slender than she’d been when she went off to The Farm. She’d lost some muscle tone, especially in her arms—being bound for long periods isn’t conducive to a buff appearance, she thought to herself. Still, the thin look was good on her, so she wasn’t worried. And anyway, it made her small breasts a little more prominent.

For the party, Sara intended to wear her rings (of course—they were permanently attached unless she cut them off), a raspberry-colored sheath dress—and a locking black leather blindfold. The blindfold had been a gift to her upon leaving The Farm, and she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to try it out for more than a day or so.

Sara asked Dan to pick her up early the day of the party. She placed the key to her blindfold in an envelope, addressed it to Dan, and put it in her mailbox, where the mailman would pick it up that afternoon. Then she undressed and locked the blindfold on. It was Monday morning, and the party didn’t start until Friday night, so she’d have the whole week to enjoy her sightlessness before Dan came for her. She knew he wouldn’t be over earlier, since he was going out of town for the week, and since she wasn’t seeing anyone else at the moment she’d be able to enjoy her condition in privacy. Nor would she be able to alter that condition, since the only key was now out of her reach. She just hoped Dan would get it in time. Of course, if he didn’t, that wouldn’t be so bad, now, would it?

All day Monday Sara toyed with her various bondage devices. Around noon (she judged the time from the heat in her front room) she shackled her ankles with a heavy chain. The chain was too long to hinder her stride much, but its weight made walking cumbersome for her. She loved the variation on restrictiveness this chain provided; but she soon tired of it and took it off before sundown. Unwilling, though, to remain completely unbound, Sara then strapped her legs tightly together above the knees and at the ankles. She was reduced to hopping around her apartment, a condition made more restrictive by her sightlessness. She loved it.

But it also made her horny. She decided that she would not grant herself relief for at least a few days, so she removed the straps and fastened herself to her bed for the night on her back with her legs spread wide. She completed her night bondage with cuffs fastened to the headboard. The key was attached to a timer and would not be within reach for some time between ten and twenty hours—sightless, Sara could not be sure how long she’d set it for. She lay awake for a long time that night, then fell asleep dreaming about The Farm.

Sara was awake long before the timer’s bell went off, signaling her that the key to her cuffs was ready. She freed her hands, then reached down to release her legs from the corners of the bed. She stretched, relieving in part the stiffness a night’s bondage always brought her, then went off to relieve her other needs, and to think up something to pass her time for the next couple of days until Dan returned.

Her first thought was to tie herself up again. Strange, Sara thought—that seemed always her first thought when alone. How to do it this time, though?

She found her way to the toychest, and felt around for the most restrictive leg irons in her collection. They were made of a hinged steel strap about two inches wide and a quarter inch thick. At each end was a small circlet, sized to fit snugly around her ankles. Each circlet hinged on the outside edge; the two ends met in the center where they fit into a clasp on the back. Once snapped into place, there was no removing them without a key. Sara picked up the strap and its key and walked into her back yard.

The yard was small, with a simple lawn and a couple of pieces of patio furniture. Sara smiled as she recalled all the times she’d been bound to that furniture, then shook her head. There would be time enough for such reveries in the coming day, she knew. Standing just outside her back door she tossed the key into the yard. She didn’t hear it land, so it was somewhere on the grass. She knew that it would not be easy to find it, especially in the condition she planned for herself. She turned and walked back into her house.

In the front room she sat on a chair and attached the ankle restraint. Once fastened it kept her feet about eight inches apart, and completely immobile. Walking would now be a matter of swinging each leg from the hip; balance, especially in her sightless condition, would be precarious at best. And she had more plans for herself as she faced the long afternoon.

She returned to her collection and retrieved a pair of bondage mittens. Made of thin supple leather and fitted perfectly to her hands, they could be fastened either with a strap around the wrist or by a special device she’d had made for her self-bondage adventures. Sara fed the wide plastic band through the loops on the mittens, then loosely slipped the leading end through the fastening link. She had to be careful not to pull it too tight or she wouldn’t be able to get her hands into the mittens. Each of the fastening straps ended in a small tight loop that Sara could slide over a hook in the floor. She needed now only to slip the mittens over her hands, catch the loop on the hook, and pull. The strap would snug up around her wrist and be completely impossible to remove without cutting.

But would that be enough. Sara realized that once she attached the mittens she’d be stuck until it was dark enough to go outside to find the key. The only cutting device she could use on the mittens was inaccessible with her feet in the steel bands, since she’d have to climb over a small fence in the yard to reach it. And she couldn’t very well search the lawn for the key until it got dark enough to prevent her neighbors from seeing her. One day, she promised herself, she’d have to build a higher and more solid fence around her yard, so she could play outside in the daylight. She envisioned herself staked out in the yard all day—covered with sunscreen, of course—until she acquired a tan with white stripes at wrist and ankle. That ought to make for interesting conversation at parties, she thought.

She decided to add a belt to her restrictions. She could fasten the mittens to it with short chains, so that she could still reach around on the ground for that key. But the task would be just that much more difficult, and there was the possibility she’d have to resort to calling a friend for help. She had several play-partners on her speed-dial, for just that situation. But the price she’d have to pay . . .

Sara locked the belt around her waist and attached the chains to rings at her sides. She fastened the other end of the chains to the mittens, and slipped her hands into the leather sheaths. Her fingers compressed into a useless claw and her thumb tucked into her palm, Sara was essentially helpless already; she knew it would be hard to remove the mittens even without any locking devices. But she wanted to go all the way with it, so she hobbled toward the corner where she’d fastened an all-purpose hook to the floor. After a few false starts she got the loop on her left mitten on the hook. She sat up and pulled back, feeling the plastic tighten around her wrist. When it was snug she shook her hand until the loop swung free, then repeated the process with her right hand. Soon she was bound to her satisfaction; and she knew she would remain that way for many hours at best.

So now what? she thought. That was always the problem with self-bondage: she still had to think what to do after the restraints were attached. When someone else tied her such questions never came up, one reason she preferred playing with friends. And then there was the matter of sex.

Sara loved sex in restraints. She’d discovered sex and bondage at the same time, and they’d been linked in her mind as long as she could remember, as tightly as the shackle held her legs. She knew from experience that she would not be able to do much more than barely touch her clit while in the mittens, and she’d need more than that before she tried to free herself. Maybe it was time to try out the machine John had pressed upon her when she left The Farm. It was a refinement of the early fucking machines, easier to operate (especially for a girl with a penchant for bondage mittens?) and to mount under severe restraint conditions.

But could she get it out of the closet where she’d stored it? And could she find a way to plug it in? Only one way to find out, she thought, and besides, what else did she have to do today?

Sara struggled into the bedroom and opened the closet. For the hundredth time, she thanked herself for using levered door handles rather than round knobs; she could never turn a knob bound as she was. The machine was at the back of the closet, which meant Sara had to pull things out of the way before she could get to it. She was sweating freely by the time she pulled the thing free. It was a simple seat with a hole in the center, through which could protrude a plastic penis of varying size. Sara couldn’t recall the size of the model on this machine; she had been a little reluctant to use it until now: the virtues of necessity, she thought as she felt around for the cord.

Her bound hands made finding the cord difficult, but after a little while she had it tucked between one mitten and her thigh. She dropped to her knees and started shuffling toward the place she thought there would be a plug. It took a while, but she managed to get the cord plugged into the wall. She followed the cord back to the machine, still on her knees; she found it a little easier to move that way in the ankle strap.

Back at the machine she struggled upright again and mounted the stool. She reached for the control and flipped the switch that activated the device. Suddenly the machine started to vibrate beneath her. She had to lean forward and hold on as best she could to the seat lest she be thrown off. Someone must have set the thing to High, she thought, but quickly her thoughts were elsewhere.

They were between her thighs, to be exact. A thick form pressed upward from the seat, prodding at the rider. Sara squirmed until it was in the right position and tried to relax. The probe rose quickly and buried itself in Sara’s pussy. Good thing I’m wet, the bound girl thought—that could have hurt! After a moment it started to buzz, then to slide slowly up and down, in and out. At the same time, a smaller probe pressed itself against her clit and began to hum.

One of the things about such machines, Sara thought between orgasms, is that they just don’t know when to quit. She’d enjoyed the first couple of times, but it had been a couple of hours now—maybe more—and she just wanted it to end. Somehow her ankle strap had gotten hooked around one of the fastening points at the base of the machine, and between that and the rod in her cunt she couldn’t get off. Well, not off the machine at least, she thought ruefully. She tried the lever that had started the thing, but it didn’t seem to work and she couldn’t find another one.

It was dark by now, she figured; the ice cream truck that came by every day just before dark had been gone a while now. She could go into the yard and start the long process of getting herself free any time now. If, that is, she could just get off this fucking machine! At that thought, Sara heard her front door open.

It couldn’t be Dan, it was two days too soon for him to return. And Meriam had said she’d be busy all week. That left Amber, the only other person with a key. Or a burglar, Sara thought with a brief sense of panic.

A woman’s hands on her arms brought Sara’s attention back to her predicament. She felt her elbows drawn together and fastened behind her with a wide leather strap. Before she could ask any questions, a ballgag was pressed between her lips and buckled tight behind her head. She heard a soft giggle, and then, blessedly, the machine stopped. Her visitor helped her off the stool and walked her over to the bed. She was pushed onto her back, the new elbow strap hurting her now, and the ankle restraint was pulled up in the air. Sara heard metallic noises that told her the restraint had been chained to the bolt on the wall above her bed. She’d been chained that way enough times to recognize the sound. And of course she couldn’t lower her bound legs at all in that position.

Soft lips explored the bound girl’s pussy, which though sore from hours of mechanical sex responded quickly. Sara panted through the gag as lips and tongue led her through the familiar routine of orgasm then left her to her thoughts for a short time. Finally, the gag was removed and her legs lowered. Her visitor held a glass of water to her mouth, which Sara gladly drained.

"You do get yourself into strange predicaments, don’t you?" Amber laughed softly, herself quite familiar with such situations. She’d spent a very enjoyable month with Sara a few years ago, and the two girls, though both primarily submissive, still enjoyed topping each other periodically. This time it looked like it would be Amber’s turn to call the shots.

"I got bored," Sara replied. "And then I got horny."

"Where are the keys to all this stuff?"

"The leg iron key is somewhere on the lawn," Sara admitted, knowing how kinky she sounded. But at least Amber understood such things. The mittens need to be cut off."

"Cut off those lovely mittens?" Amber was horrified at the idea of ruining so delightful a restriction.

"No, no, silly. Not that way. They’re fastened with plastic straps, and it’s those that get cut off. There’s a gadget in the yard that I can use for it, although if you want to be helpful . . . " Sara’s voice trailed off hopefully.

"What about the rest? The belt and chains, and that blindfold?"

"The belt’s just fastened on with a clasp. I can’t undo it wearing the mittens, but there’s no lock on it. And the chains are just hooked on. But the blindfold stays on till Dan gets back on Friday." Sara told her friend about the party and what she’d done with the key.

"So there’s no one looking for you until Friday? And me with a few days off.

Whatever shall we do?" Even sightless, Sara could see her friend’s grin. Be careful what you wish for, she reminded herself for perhaps the thousandth time. She surely would get it this time around.

"Well, let’s get your feet free at least, shall we? I thought we might practice dancing tonight, and you can’t very well dance in that shackle."

Sara noticed that Amber hadn’t said anything about the mittens or the belt, but she’d take what she could get. After so many hours immobile, her legs were getting pretty uncomfortable. She liked the shackle, but enough would be enough. "Okay," she said. "The key’s out in the yard, somewhere on the grass where I tossed it earlier."

"Then you better get out there and find it," Amber laughed. "Or did you think I’d do it for you?"

"Well, I kinda hoped . . ."

"C’mon, girl. Get that tied-up butt out on that grass and find your key. Here, let me take off that belt. And no, the mittens stay for tonight."

Sara stretched her freed arms gladly, then with a sigh started for the back door. Amber followed and helped her down the step into the yard. With a slap on the ass she sent Sara off on her search.

Sara figured that the key wouldn’t be too close to the house, so she took a few steps before dropping to her knees. With her hands no longer held close to her sides she could manage a sort of crawl on the lawn, sweeping gently across the grass with her mittened hands for the key. Though it took far longer than she’d have liked, Sara finally caught the key up in her shapeless hands. Her next trial would be to get it into the lock. After watching a few failed attempts, at last Amber took it from her and quickly opened the shackle.

She helped Sara to her feet, and giggled at her friend as she tried to balance herself on one leg and stretch the other. Sara managed it once with her right leg, but fell when she tried to stretch her left. Amber caught her and helped her back into the house. Sara was now only restrained by her mittens. And by the ever-present blindfold.

"What is it about you and blindfolds, Sara," Amber asked for the hundredth time. She knew that Sara sometimes blindfolded herself even when she was playing the dominant in their games. It never ceased to amaze her that the girl could wield a crop so well without sight. But though she wore them when she had to, Amber never liked the things. Scary, she thought, to not see what was coming.

Sara knew there was no need for an answer. She let Amber take her mittened hand and lead her into the bedroom. They explored each other for much of the night, finally wearing out in the early morning. Before she fell asleep Amber tied Sara’s hands behind her and fastened her legs at knee and ankle with leather straps. Tomorrow, she decided, would be time enough for a little dirty dancing.