Restrain

story continued from chapter 9 Chapter 10: Forbidden Fruit It was a foggy morning and the air felt cooler than it had the night before. Shivering outside of the building I previously knew to be the call center, I rubbed my arms in an attempt to stay warm. The sign hanging above the glass doors to the building now read “TRADING POST”. I recognized it as the same sign that used to hang over the ATM kiosks at the front of the park. It was surreal to consider how a simple Renaissance-themed sign intended to help guests find a place to withdraw cash could now imply something as perverse as slave trading. I glanced down at my phone to check the time. 7:57am. A sign taped to the inside of the glass door in front of me read “Business hours: 8am-6pm”. Inside, several women in burgundy uniforms could be seen working in their cubicles but nobody made eye contact with me or seemed to notice that I was there. While it wasn’t cold enough outside for me to see my breath, it certainly felt freezing. I’d regretfully neglected to buy a heavier jacket when I was clothing shopping earlier in the week. Tapping my foot impatiently, I sat atop the hard black suitcase that I’d discovered on my doorstep the day earlier. I still had no idea what was inside, given the fact that it was combination-locked. But at least it was something dry to me sit on. Next to me was a trash bag with all of my other belongings. As per Murphy’s request, I had packed everything from the suite in preparation to check out for the trade. I hadn’t slept much. I hated not having been able to speak with Katie the night prior before leaving the stadium. It made me sick not knowing if Murphy had explained things adequately to her. The thought of her wondering whether I’d abandoned her was upsetting, to say the least. I nervously glanced up and down the cobblestone street, eager to catch a glimpse of Murphy and Katie walking toward me. But the street was empty. At 8:00 on the money, a woman unlocked the glass doors and held one open for me. I could see that her wrists were handcuffed in front of her. “Welcome,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you for waiting so patiently,” I walked in, dragging my suitcase and trash bag behind me. I instantly relaxed as a gust of warm air met me. “Do you have an appointment with anyone in particular?” She asked. “No,” I said. “Wait- was I supposed to?” “Oh no,” she replied reassuringly. “We can see you right away. I just didn’t know if anyone had been helping you already.” “No… I just made a deal with someone last night and he told me to meet him here,” I explained. “Okay, great,” the woman replied. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind following me over to one of our notaries, she’ll get you taken care of.” I followed the woman past cubicles occupied with handcuffed women tapping away at their keyboards. Everything in the building looked pretty much the same as I’d left it when I closed the Ren Faire for the season. Everything except for the BDSM-themed artwork that now hung on throughout the office. Each cubicle sported at least one of these. ...

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 continued from part one Part 2: Caught! Yep, all right, I’d seen enough, this was probably none of my business – although it did immediately cross my mind that it might make quite a story. I had to get the hell out, but at that precise moment the doctor turned, saw me, and shouted. “Shit, shit, get her, get her.” I recognised the voice immediately and that delayed me in turning on my heels as the two nurses leapt after me, the “patient” getting up from the bed clumsily. I was wearing the sandals, which didn’t give me good grip, and I had stupidly closed the two locked doors behind me. I approached the first, fumbling with the combination when the first, and then the second nurse grabbed and pulled me back. Shit! We fell over in a confusion of squeaking rubber bodies, arms and legs flailing. The “patient” then arrived and they turned me over on my front, my arms trapped underneath me. I realised immediately that three against one was not a fair fight, and I was buggered. I struggled but to no avail. Then I saw the doctor approach and throw a bundle of rubber on the floor beside by squirming body. ...

I still couldn’t believe it. The store I had worked for had caught fire and I was unemployed. Here it was the second day of summer break and I had no job to speak of. It was the last summer I would be at home because I was going off to collage. I wanted to get some extra money and now it looked like I was going to have to work fast food and that idea really didn’t appeal to me. After a few days a friend of my Dad’s, Mark, told me that his company was looking for a few people. ...