textfiles/sex/EROTICA/B/bottier.txt

Archive-name: Bondage/bottier.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Bottier 12


My husband is a bit of a brute. I'm currently laced down to 20", and
done up in latex stockings, latex corselet over my corset, and latex
gloves covered by my calf gloves, and it is quite hot in here- so I'm
really swimming in these things, especially from the effort needed to
keep myself upright! I have my chastity locked on, with my front and
rear vibrators in place, but off for the moment (the rear with
toothpaste smeared on it- argh!), and I'm bound in a kneeling position
over our footstool.  I have my toe-shoes and shoehorns on, and my
ankles are tied up tightly to my waist- so that my knees just rest on
the floor, and my feet are pulled up helplessly behind me. The
footstool is holding my legs well spread, as well as concentrating my
weight on my crotch. I have on my scold's bridle, and my wide collar,
and as a final touch, he's handcuffed me in front, and tied the cuffs
to the base of my front vibrator with a strap. In order to get up to
the keyboard to type (as the footstool is about six inches lower than
a chair woule be), I have to strain as far up as I can with my hands
against the strap, which tugs on the vibrator! He's definitely a
brute, making me type this while bound like this. 

The footstool is an antique- it is wooden, about eighteen inches long
and about 6 inches wide, and about a foot high, with two legs at each
end. The sides are tapered away from the top, and it narrows slightly
in the middle- which was what made my husband originally notice that I
could be tied straddling it with my knees on the ground, when we saw
it in the antique store. I'm convinced that that's what its original
designers had in mind- we couldn't have come up with anything more
perfect had we tried!

If he's being nice to me, or if I'm to be left here for a long time,
he'll put something soft on top of it for my weight to bear down on-
he has pairs of carved wooden wedges that nest together and adjust to
fit most perfectly, which he sometimes pads with terrycloth towels
several layers thick- and sometimes not. Otherwise, he just lets the
edges of the top press into my inner thighs, which allows him free
access to several rather sensitive bits.  When he ties my feet to my
waist, as they are now, I find it nearly impossible to keep my
balance, especially if my arms are really bound. Sometimes he then
ties ropes from my knees forward and back to the legs of the stool,
which stabilizes me somewhat, or if I'm wearing my scold's bridle, he
might tie a rope from the center top ring to something overhead, which
stabilizes me even more.  I have never successfully escaped from
the footstool, and I've been trying for some time- I'm just too afraid
of falling over to try very hard. If I'm tightlaced, the stiffness
really keeps me from being able to maneuver my hips and lower body
very well, so I'm definitely here until he sees fit to release me.

This particular position is pretty stringent- I have to strain against
the cuffs with my hands, and the stiffness of the corset and the
strain in my arms force me to arch my back and actually lean back
quite a bit to reach the keyboard, so it continually feels as if I am
about to topple over backwards. The rear vibrator makes it worse- as I
lean back, more of my weight gets concentrated on it, and even though
it is quite small, its effects are large! At the outset of this, I
could reach down occasionally and support myself with my hands, which
took some of the weight off of my crotch and knees. But he saw me
doing it, and he has now come in and pulled down the cups of the
corselet, and added my nipple clips and a short chain from them to the
handcuffs- so now my hands are held in suspension in front of me at
breast level, and every time I move my them, it tugs on both the
vibrator in my crotch and the clips biting onto my nipples. He's
chosen this time to come back and turn on the front vibrator, and now
he is once again walking away- and here I will stay, at once suffering
agonies and basking in sweet bliss until he sees fit to release me-
struggling to stay upright and swimming in the heat of my
spring-steel, satin, and latex bonds.

---------------------------

I recently finished a most worthwhile addition to our collection of
fabricated toys. I call them glove stiffeners, and they seem to be a
nearly ideal toy for discreet public bondages. Longtime readers know
that I very much enjoy my wife's collection of long gloves, and have
her in them whenever I can. I also enjoy working with metals, and one
day was seized with the inspiration for a nearly ideal way to
incorporate gloves into really inescapable but still very discreet
bondages. 

I got my wife to sit for me while I took tracings of her hands and
forearms, as she held them in a relaxed position, from each fingertip
up to just below the elbow. I then transferred these patterns to some
.064" stainless steel sheet stock that I keep lying about (the same
stuff I used for her shoehorns, in fact), and went to work forming
them to fit the curvature of her fingers, palms, and wrists.  This was
a very time-consuming process, consuming the better part of two weeks
in my spare time, and she was very patient with me as I had her test
each one for fit during the ongoing process- despite her curiosity, as
I hadn't told her wehat it was I had in mind.

Finally, I was rewarded with two perfectly-formed stainless steel
splints, curved to fit her fingers, hands and wrists when they were
relaxed in front of her, as if they were resting on a tabletop. By
this time, she was dying of curiosity- so I showed her what I had in
mind. I placed each of her hands in turn into its splint, and then
rolled a pair of her latex gloves up over them, and up beyond her
elbows- followed by one of her calf gloves.

A few years ago we bought a pair of calf gloves from a vendor who was
not very accurate in sizing things- the gloves turned out to be too
large by a few sizes, and as they didn't fit with the snugness that my
wife craves, they were relegated to the back of a box in the closet.
However, with the splints in place covered by her latex gloves, those
now fit very snugly indeed- it was a struggle for a few minutes to
stretch them into place around her now-rigid fingers, and especially
hard to get them over the heels of her hands (as there's barely enough
room even _without_ the glove stiffeners in place). Saddle soap and a
great deal of patience finally paid off, and the leather stretched
very tightly indeed!

After getting both sets of stiffeners and gloves in place, and
buttoning up the wrists on the calf gloves, I locked her leather wrist
cuffs in place over the buttons- which prevented her from even being
able to unbutton them with her teeth, assuring that they would stay in
place for the duration. To look at her hands, one would think that she
was merely wearing just very slightly bulky gloves- but in reality,
she cannot even move her fingers or bend her wrists, as the stiffness
of the thin metal bent to match the curvature of her fingers is
significantly greater than the strength of her grip. Grasping anything
is completely beyond her- the best she can do is to awkwardly attempt
to press her hands together on opposite sides of an object, and that
is useful for only the crudest of tasks. 

Even her sense of touch is completely rendered inoperative, as the
ends of the splint-fingers are formed to surround her sensitive
fingertips, preventing them from touching anything but the unyeilding
steel itself. The world is tantalizingly close, yet utterly beyond her
grasp- which she finds makes her every bit as frantic as being totally
bound helpless. A simple doorknob presents an insurmountable obstacle-
let alone the manipulation of locks, buckles, or laces, all of which I
copiously supply her with.

A few nights after her introduction to the glove stiffeners, I decided
that it would be worthwhile to try them as part of a public scene. I
asked her if she would be willing to try such a thing, and she agreed-
albeit with some noticeable trepidation! She went and had a bath, and
presented herself to me after having finished the chore of applying
her makeup. I applied the stiffeners and gloves first of all, as she
stood naked in the bedroom. I then proceeded to dress her as I saw
fit, which involved lacing her into her ever-present corset, and then
putting together a street outfit which could hide her latex stockings,
panty girdle, and corselet, her two-inch leather collar, her locking
six-inch heels, and her chastity belt, as well as hiding the locking
cuffs at her wrists. 

One of her work pantsuits worked very well for this task, with a
cotton turtleneck sweater to cover her collar. This was in fact the
same street outfit that she wore on the restaurant expedition that we
have written about in the past, although the turtleneck was a new
addition, and one that did seem perhaps a bit out-of-place in July.
She stood most quietly as I put the finishing touches on her outfit,
with her hands held out slightly from her sides- I could see the tiny
stretchings of the gloves over her knuckles as she explored the
stiffness of the splints and the extent of her helplessness.

She then asked what I had in mind for our activities for the evening,
and I told her- we would go out to our favorite local restaurant again
for dinner, and then off to see a movie! She was taken quite aback by
this, and asked how in the world she was supposed to eat or drink in
public without the use of her hands (she's actually very good at it in
private, having had ample opportunity to practice, but I'd say that
her techniques _might_ tend to draw a bit of attention). I simply said
that I'd help out in any way that I could, without making a scene, and
that she had nothing to fear- and so we were off, as I opened all the
doors for her and helped her down to the drive and into the car- not
an easy task corseted and wearing such heels, and doubly difficult
when the hands are somewhat restricted.

We arrived at the restaurant, and asked after a booth in the back that
we've had occasion to frequent. We then sat down in the lounge to
wait. I ordered her one of her favorite drinks, to be served with a
straw, and we sat off to the side- she merely placed her hands in her
lap, and drank her fill- although the corset and her collar made it a
bit difficult for her to bend her head down to meet the straw.

When our table opened up, we were seated- although she had a bit more
difficulty than usual handling walking on her heels after one drink on
an empty stomach. I ordered dinner for us, and more drinks, and we
were left quite alone in our private booth as I fed her her dinner.
She told me that having her hands done so seemed even more restrictive
than having them bound behind her would be- if they were bound behind
her, she could merely forget them for the duration, but as they were
she would be tempted to try and use them, with presumably disastrous
results- which presented quite a formidable psychological challenge to
her, as she fears exposure in public so.

We finished dinner, and I paid the check and helped her to the car. We
drove to the cinema, and arrived just in time for the movie to start.
We took seats around mid-theatre (which proved to be something of a
challenge for her, as we had to walk down the inclined aisle to the
seats, effectively increasing the height of heels that were already
nearly impossible for her to manage after three drinks with dinner).

The film was a naval drama of the action-adventure type, starring Sean
Connery, and was entertaining enough- but I entertained myself
significantly more by subtly (or unsubtly!) teasing her as we sat.
After a time, though, I became aware that she was squirming around
rather differently than normally ascribed to excitement, and I asked
her what the problem might be. "Stop that!" she said, "because I have
to go to the bathroom." 

Ahh, indeed! Several drinks, added to the compression of her abdomen
and therefore her bladder, would certainly lend a bit of urgency to
her situation. "Be my guest" was all I said- and she sat bolt upright
as the meaning of that sank into her, and the realization that she had
absolutely no chance of manipulating the closure of her pants by
herself, let alone undoing the chastity or peeling down her
panty-girdle to relieve herself- and she was quite effectively sealed
into a latex bodysuit, from toes to armpits. I'm sure that at that
time she weighed the idea of enlisting a bystander to help, and
immediately discarded it out of hand. "Oh, NO!" she said, and then
"You have to help me".

"All right," I said, "go stand outside the men's restroom and wait for
me there- keep an eye on it and see if anyone comes or goes, and when
it's clear we'll go in and fix this situation for you."

I turned and watched in the flickering light in the theatre as she
walked unsteadily up the aisle, apparently trying with all her might
to keep her thighs pressed together- effectively hobbling her step
even more than the heels themselves did. I gave her a few minutes to
watch the room for us, as well as to increase the urgency of the
situation a bit more, and then walked up to join her. She made a most
marvelous sight, leaning lightly against the wall on her impossible
heels (once again, her pants had ridden up a bit, exposing stocking,
shoes, and locked anklestraps for all to see), with her rigid hands
hidden behind her, and her every muscle straining to keep her rather
tormented bladder under control.

All she said was "Hurry!", and we went into the luckily unoccupied
men's room together, selecting the last stall for our trysting-place.
I unfastened her pants, undid the crotchstrap of her chastity,
stripped down her latex pantygirdle, and dodged out of the way as she
lunged for the toilet in the crowded confines of the stall- and sighed
hugely as her poor, overworked muscles could finally relax without
drowning her in her latex prison.

When she was done, she stood up and I handled the routine cleaning
chores for her, and then sat down myself, as she stood facing me.
"Well, dress me back up again and let's go watch the end of the
movie!" she said.

And there I was, staring at the latex-clad form of the love of my
life- corseted, heeled, somewhat disheveled, and unable to use her
hands to re-dress herself, rather at my mercy in fact- hardly an
opportunity to pass up! I reached out to her, and slipped her pants
off over her feet, followed by her pantygirdle, both of which I hung
on the coathook. "Pay toll!" was all I had to say- that, and slip my
own pants down around my ankles. She came to sit down on my lap,
facing me, with her rigid hands resting on my shoulders, and lowered
herself onto me- and we enjoyed each other for some time until we both
were satisfied, interrupted only once or twice as other patrons came
in to use the facility.

I wonder if any of them noticed the curious spectacle of my feet
facing outward, and her impossibly-heeled feet facing inward, through
the gap at the bottom of the stall walls.

I dressed her again, and we had just snuck back out of the men's room,
as the crowd began to pour out of the theatre. I suspect that I'll
never find out how the movie ended. We walked out of the theatre, 
borne on the flow of the crowd, and went home- both marvelling at the
efficiency of two small hand-shaped pieces of metal as a bondage toy.
All in all, the effects have proven to be well worth the effort
required!

--