Padded-Cell

It wasn’t the cool breeze off the ocean that was giving Nicole the shivers. She hadn’t seen Carla in nearly two years, not since they had graduated from the arts academy together. Carla had scored a job with some big production company that ate up all her time. Nicole, on the other hand, had a series of near-misses and also-rans that made her wonder if she was ever going to have more than the menial jobs she worked to barely made the rent. Between her hectic schedule and the hush-hush nature of Carla’s job they’d had little time for socializing and had drifted apart. So it was with no little amount of excitement that Nicole accepted when Carla called out of the blue and mentioned a “fun opportunity” she wanted to put to her old roomie. The idea of hooking up with her old friend for a bit of adventure caught her fancy. ...

I am walking quickly through the large hallways of a state run mental facility surrounded by surly interns who are very unhappy people made even unhappier by the confusion and determination my presence has caused. The ordeal started two months ago when I was told my dear friend and fellow bondage enthusiast Lori had been committed by the state into the mental facility. After an extensive search I found her location and bluffed my way to be told the particulars of her incarceration. I knew Lori well and her deep seated desire to experience the most stringent bondage she could. She had worked for several years as a nurse at two different mental facilities until she was found wearing a tight straight jacket and leg binder locked in a “quiet” room. ...

story continues from part 6 Chapter 7 Hazel shielded her eyes against the wind and gazed out to sea. Despite the wintry sunlight, the wave-lashed Dorset coast, from high above on the cliffs, cut a depressing sight at this time of year. Away to the left, the headland of Hengistbury Head seemed to stand out defiantly and resolutely against the perpetual wrath of the breakers. And closer to her vantage point, the twin fingers of Boscombe pier and, almost directly below her, Bournemouth pier, stretched like clawing fingers out into the choppy grey waters of the English Channel. The beach and promenade, so crowded with bustling holidaymakers during the summer months, was virtually deserted now, with just the occasional jogger, dog walker or fresh air enthusiast braving the near Arctic temperatures. But that suited Hazel fine just now. ...