01 - Thankyou Diana Rigg...!
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By Dave-UK
Friday, August 8th 2003 - 08:05:30 AM
Thankyou Diana Rigg...!
To start, this is all Diana rigg's fault really. As a four year old much in love with Emma Peel in the Late Sixties I learned an unnatural excitement for a pre-school lad towards ladies who had been, well, immobilised by the baddies. Within ten years, my other main influence became an extraordinarily talented female singer of the late seventies, despite her talent, becoming more renowned for a choice in dancewear and singing about Heathcliff.
My younger sister was a vicious wee girl, two years younger than myself, but possibly the one saving grace she had was the friends she brought around. She'd continually be accompanied by around five (usually) other girls.
Not sure why really. There was Theresa, who was a classic example of an only child. Cheryl,P perhaps the 'Pack Leader', who would organise and control the gatherings, play loud music (Boney M comes to mind, era being 1979-80) arrange other girly stuff I suppose. Two other unmemorable and unremarkable girls, the names of whom pass into folklore, and then there was Kathy.....
Reason they always gathered at our house was that, on saturdays, both my parents would work late at the same department store so my sister would be the only member of the Girly Gang to have a roughly empty house on saturdays.
The saturday routine was basically, girls turn up at about 08:30, 08:45 start doing girly things, 08:47, start arguing.
My sister and her friends were thirteen years old at the time. Kathy was two years older, at fifteen, about six months younger than myself. The reason she became part of the supposed gang was that her mother worked with my parents and lived around two miles short of the junction on the left that leads you to the middle of the less interesting part of nowhere. She had no local contacts apart from trees so she would be dropped off at our place on saturday mornings. She tried to hold her own in the group, but I suppose at this age, the gap in character was too large. In a short time, she found saturdays to be tiresome so the house became just a base for her to use to become part of the real world.
Now, a truly beautiful girl. UK readers may remember a TV Series called 'Just Good Friends'. Kathy grew to be a living image of Jan Francis, the female lead. Black, Silken hair from the roots, spilling over her shoulders, betraying a chestnut colour when the sun shone through its strands. Pale skin, blue eyes of a gentle brightness, more alluring than striking. Slender, of about 5"2-5"3, she was on the uphill slopes of becoming more interesting to a fifteen year old idiot than plastic model kits and Luke Skywalker.
We barely ever spoke, she was simply another wraith from the life of my nasty sister.
One problem was being older than the girly gang, she had different wants and expectations, being excluded from the groupings. On the day we will really start from, the screechfest started as usual from my sisters' room and lasted roughly an hour or so. Then they miraculously performed an exodus to leave me will an all too rare silence. Once they had left, within twenty minutes I became aware of a noise from the room of my sister. The dog was with me and the cat visible in the garden, someone had remained. Within forty minutes or so it became clear that the remaining individual had set about a house reconfiguration with the thumping noises emanating from behind the door so I decided to investigate whether our decorator needed a functional hammer.
Opening the door, Kathy was writhing on the floor, bound hand and foot with bandages, gagged with a school scarf. Quickly freeing her mouth she (1. first started breathing again.) and (2. Explained that today's girly gang rules stated that anyone not going along with the pack, simply wasn't going anywhere.) She took that to mean she'd be left in with just the TV for company. She slightly misinterpreted.
At that moment, second even, my older sister arrived in the bedroom with the unexpected presence of an unwelcome extra in 'Dallas'. With the scene in front of her, it was clear that I had mercilessly taken advantage of Kathy.
Stigma.
I was now akin to a puppy sitting next to a pile of poo.
Despite Kathy's confirmations that I was innocent, the rest of the girly gang conspired against me at the enquiry, Cheryl was after all a green belt in Hong Tung Tiramisu or something, which meant she was incapable of inaccuracy and the developing story from the real criminals had a remarkably consistent accuracy thread. I was in trouble. Parents phone call trouble. Rubicon crossed, bridges burning to the rear. My older sister knowingly informed me 'Girls really don't like that sort of thing.' Hmmm....
Four weeks later, when it was deemed I could be trusted to buy a loaf of bread without mugging someone, the girly gang was on a holiday dispersion. Saturdays were quiet.
Ding - Dong!!! (Sound of an english doorbell of the early eighties)
Kathy.
Sunlight.
Silk hair tied back into a ponytail which seemed as a glossy black anaconda confidently secured to the nape of her neck. Pure white sweatshirt leading to a pair of new jeans and pink training shoes. 'Is your sister in, I need to collect some stuff?' Both my sisters were shopping in London, surely she knew this?
'No, she's out for the day...'
'Can I grab it anyway, I really do need it...'
'She knows, mind if I collect it?'
I lead her upstairs, and feeling the imposed guilt of the situation of the previous month, said,
'Sorry about last time'
'It's OK.' No eye contact.
'Look, I hope I didn't ...'
'No, really, it wasn't you, don't worry about it...'
A genuine smile this time.
Once I ascertained how she intended to get home (by Mother's car) I said.
'Let me know when you want to phone your mum to leave, you know where my bedroom is.'
'Yes I do!!' With a certain enthusiasm.
I started breathing again after a hiatus of four weeks. I'd got away with what I hadn't done. She'd taken pity on me!
I expected her to be half an hour or so, but within a couple of minutes there was a tap at the door. 'I'm ready', she indicated.
I opened the door.
At this point I actually died and started my second life. Heart No. 1 stopped forever and heart Disaster recovery Pack stepped in.
The sunlight, passing through her silken, now chestnut hair, gleaming from the window behind and to the left of her, was shining on the Kathy under the sweatshirt and jeans.
Kathy was wearing a black lycra sleeveless catsuit. complemented by a bag in her hand, and white woollen ribbed socks pulled up her calves.
With heart No.2 now trying to escape from my chest via the same route the creature took from John Hurt in 'Alien'.
All I could say was 'oh...'
With a mischevious half-smile Kathy brushed past me and sat on my bed, tossing the bag behind
'It wasn't you're fault, and you've been in trouble.'
Didn't need agreeing with really.
She said 'Can we talk about it?'
'Is there a problem?'
'Sort of.' She explained how first her parents were furious with what had happened and that of course I was to blame since at least four other 'reliable' people were telling the same story. The truth was, at least known to her and she continued. She hadn't slept for at least two days thinking of her predicament. But finally identified why it was perpetually on her mind. She liked being tied up, she needed to try it again.
'I wasn't sure...' and explained how, with a bit of privacy
she'd learned how to self-tie herself, finally using a looped rope pushed out by her bound feet to draw in a slipknot round her wrists until she was immobilised.
'While we're alone, will you tie me up?'
The abbreviated life No. 2 concluded, life No. 3 took over.
I wasn't just impressed, I was quite proud of her.
I made a generous and magnanimous offer.
'OK'
Rather making the choices easy for me, she opened the bag and inverted it, from which tumbled several rolls of two inch black silk ribbon and some scarves.
'I'm going to show you how to do it properly, so it doesn't hurt. But don't gag me until I've told you what I want you to do, OK?
'Err, OK' (I was truly generous at this tender age)
She took one of the rolls and let it spill over her shimmering black legs to the floor.
'I'm going to show you how and why it works, cross your hands behind your back.'
Fair enough I thought.
She bound my hands quickly and was impressed to find she was quite right. I was going nowhere....
Before I could realise the implications of the situation I was now in, my hands were freed and she produced a school tie, which once again, she tied my wrists with.
She was right, the neckties bit, and hurt,while the ribbons were far more effective, but with the pressure over a larger area were far more comfortable.
'OK'
'OK' My heart thumping. Probably not the first fifteen year old boy to expire from cardiac failure. Certainly the happiest.
She told me to get ready while she collected her clothes from my sister's room and a couple of other items.
She placed a stool beside my bed and a long mirror from the hallway was propped against the wall six feet from the stool.
'I want to see how I look tied up' she explained.
Quite superfluous. So did I.
She sat beside me on the bed and placed her calves on the stool, ankles hanging over the edge.
'Watch' She said, repeating the operation she had carried out on my wrists.
She wound some of a roll of ribbon round just one ankle, spreading the winds up and down slightly, covering four inches or so. Then wrapped another four feet around both ankles. She lay back.
'Now You.'
I repeated the operation then she sat up quickly.
'Right, now wind some of it the other way, between my ankles'
I did so, pulling taught gently to bring her ankles together, with another twelve feet of ribbon snaking over the floor. She then told me to wind the remainder of the ribbon around the top of her calves, just below her lycra - clad knees, winding the last eighteen inches carefully between her legs, to tighten the wind, where she told me to push the loose end under the winds. She then demonstrated how she couldn't use the strength in her legs to lever at her bound ankles. Only her white sock clad toes wriggled.
Obviously, we weren't going for a run then.
I helped her to the stool where she faced the mirror. I wound a second, much longer length of ribbon round her waist, then up to her chest as she held her arms above her head. She then brought one arm down, whence I wound some turns round her upper arm, drawing it in securely alongside and to the rear of her ribcage, down came the other arm and once both arms were pinioned, several more turns went round her body and arms together.
Tying a simple knot into the wind about half- way between her shoulder blades she leaned forward so her arms were almost horizontal.
She placed her wrists palm to palm and requested politely that I tie her hands behind her back. I wound three feet or so of the remaining black ribbon round one, then both wrists, quite gently.
'No, tighter!'
'Sorry, this OK'
'Yep, fine'.
Completing her hands with the same reverse wind she'd showed me, I tied the final length binding her wrists to the wind around her waist.
At this point I clearly disappeared. She fixated herself on her image in the mirror, swinging herself round the stool and peering at all angles.
'OK' she said 'Help Me?'
Helping her back to the bed where she sat on the edge, she began momentarily stretching and testing the ribbons that secured her.
'This is really good', with a cheshire cat smile now, and asked me to correct some of the areas where there was a pinch of discomfort. Now, as you might imagine, by this time as a fifteen year old virgin the primal urges had started to outgrow my body, a painful and ego-shattering experience, but she'd explained to me earlier, 'that's why the catsuit.' No easy access y'see. (Surely this girl has heard of scissors?)
She explained what was to happen, then sat for a final time on the stool, ready to be silenced. She tipped her head back, and the pony tail fell down her spine, suddenly surprising my trembling hands with the cool sensation of her living hair. I was to be permitted a kiss. My first. Why on earth describe it? It was just like your first kiss, only from a bound, and soon to be gagged beautiful girl in a black catsuit.
A smile.
Eyes.
'That's all you're getting' she grinned.
Silence reigned.
Now, I've never been too good with hints, sometimes something more direct is necessary, so the following conversation went on a little long.
'I'll scream' she said.
'I will scream'
'I'm Going to scream'
'I'm going to have to scream'
She shot me a furious look which said, 'What are you waiting for?'
Finally I cottoned on.
She opened her mouth wide and took a deep breath.
She had carefully prepared a piece of damp cloth, (moistened with apple juice, no less as I was told later) wrapped round some soft wadding which I placed in her mouth, then with a length of Ivory satin, I wrapped a wind between her teeth, which she then clenched tightly. I then wrapped three layers of satin wall over her mouth, knotting it under her raven black ponytail.
'OK?'
'Mmmmph' A nod.
I helped her sit up and once again she contemplated the mirror.
Cheeks above the pale gag reddening, eyes smiling with approval.
Momentarily our eyes met.
'Mmmmph-mmm'
Laying her back on the bed, I caressed her, stroking her face and neck, kissing all exposed skin available to me, and carrying out highly rewarding actions edited from this version, while the tied and gagged Kathy, occasionally let out the occasional whimper, squeal and soft sigh.
There was no panic, nor loss of control, an hour went by in the time normally occupied by the fall of a leaf.
Pleasure and contentment never once again achieved.
Perhaps the most truly moving part of the day was when she permitted me to untie her. Each roll had to be wound properly down, no cutting or easy quick solutions. A look askance of a trust maintained in the aspect of her eyes.
When she left to be picked up, we hugged for a long time and I kissed her lightly on the forehead, as a wordless farewell.
Kathy would be bound and gagged by me several times in the following two years, always in dancewear, usually in the black catsuit, once in a Pink long-sleeved leotard and white tights, always to repeat the first time, but the re-enactments never returned the feeling of the first day.
Subsequent girlfriends have come and gone, (usually more gone), and have had their cause to struggle and 'mmmph!' (do you really want to know?!!!) but never like the first time.
Someone please sell me a time machine.....
Thankyou Diana Rigg and Kate Bush. You made the Cold War worth living through.
Most of all, Thankyou Kathy, all the hours you were my captive, you were always the one in charge.
Dave
UK
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Dave-UK's stories
- 01 - Thankyou Diana Rigg...! (f+/f, m/f)
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