This story is the property of the author, wendi, and is protected by copyright.
(Sorry to have had to point that out.)
A Matter of Inches
"Now, slave, don't whine. You knew that this would be your punishment
when you didn't obey the rules."
That Saturday afternoon, you had taken me for a walk and a bite to eat,
wishing to enjoy the sight of my obedience without ankle or wrist restraints.
You wished to see my face blush, as I was trained: that in public, I was
still a slave. I had been told that whenever I was not walking, my running
shoes were to be tightly together, and my wrists clasped behind me. I was
to keep my eyes down, never to look into those of another person unless my
chin was lifted by you.
We had paused to wait for a traffic light to change, and my feet were
separated by just a fraction of an inch... but you noticed, and scolded me,
saying, "Feet tightly together, slave! I'm disappointed in you." I quickly
forced my running shoes together as tightly as I could at the stern reprimand.
It was the only transgression that I had allowed of myself during the outing.
As soon as we had gotten home, you had strapped a ball gag tightly onto
my head and mouth, the large ball forcing my mouth apart so that I could
not speak. When I had squealed, you had just tightened it by another notch.
You had then locked a wide, black leather collar onto my neck, and attached
a leash to it. "Into the basement, slave," you had commanded.
I felt the tug on my leash, and I was dragged over to the stairway that
led to the dark, damp basement. You held my leash low to force me to look
down at my feet. We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I stood with my
feet together and wrists clasped behind me. You roughly stripped me of my
shorts and T-shirt, saying, "disobedient slaves have no right to wear clothes."
I was left standing there, with nothing but my black thong, and my white
running shoes and socks to protect me from the cold and damp. I had shivered.
Even with the light on in this part of the basement, it was still almost
dark. The single window up high near the ceiling was splattered with dirt,
allowing only a dim shaft of sunlight from the beautiful day outside to
stand against the gloom.
You dragged me over to a far corner of the basement, amongst wooden support
beams, and, tugging on the leash as well as grasping my hair at the back of
my neck, you forced me into a sitting position on the cold concrete floor.
I whined.
"Now, slave, I am going to train you that disobedience will not be tolerated!"
Sitting between two of the support beams, I watch you take some thick,
white nylon sailing rope from the wall. You put a slip knot into the middle
of the 50' length, and tell me to lift my feet. I obey, and you slip it
around my ankles, pulling it tight. I feel my running shoes forced together.
I watch you wrap the rope around my ankles four times, each time pulling
the loops tight. Then, you wrap it three times between my ankles, each time
pulling hard to cinch the already tight loops around my ankles.
You take the other part of the rope that was not used to cinch my ankles,
and tell me to shift on my bottom. When I do so, you pull the rope under me,
through the crack on my bottom. You pull this rope tight, and tie it to the
ring placed at the bottom of the support beam behind me. You then take the
cinch part of the rope, and pull it through the ring at the bottom of the
support beam in front of my feet, pulling hard so that my legs are parallel
to the floor, my feet in front of me, heels on the ground, and immovable.
You tie this rope to the ring.
"There, slave, that is how tightly your running shoes should be together,"
you tell me cruelly.
I try to protest through my gag, and you say, matter-of-factly, "Oh, you
want them tighter!" You untie the rope, pull as hard as you can, causing my
feet to be cinched closer together, and retie the rope to the ring, keeping
it taut.
"Now, bad slave, I cannot leave your wrists free, can I?" you smile wickedly.
You get another nylon rope from the wall, shorter this time, and once again
make a slip knot in the center of it. "Extend your hands together, palms together,
behind you," you command. I obey and feel the rope encircle my wrists and
being pulled tight. You tie my wrists as you have done with my ankles, painfully
tight. "There, that's better... but you still have too much freedom." You take
the piece of rope from my wrists not used to cinch the loops and pull up on it,
making my elbows bend slightly. You put this rope through the ring on the back
of my leather collar, and tie it there. I squeal in protest into my gag, and you
say, "Yes! This is the way you should be tied." You then take the rope used to
cinch my wrists, and pull it through the ring in the support beam behind me,
about 4' up the beam. You pull on it hard, and I try to cry out. My head and
shoulders are forced forward towards my feet as my wrists and arms are forced
upwards behind me, over my head. The weight of my body keeps my bottom on the
cold damp cement floor, cinching my wrists even more.
You stand back to admire your work. "Ah, one more thing!" you exclaim gleefully.
You take another nylon rope from the wall, and tie one end to the ring on the
front of my collar. The other end you pass under my hogtied ankles, and extend
to the ring on the support beam in front of my feet. You pull hard on this rope,
and my neck is pulled forward towards my feet until my arms are straight out
behind me. By this time, my face is only about a foot away from my Tretorn
running shoes, and they fill my field of vision. I cannot move my head to look
up, or sideways. I stare at the tight laces, knotted in front, wrapped around
each ankle, and knotted in front again. I stare at the canvas, the tread marks
on the toes and the heels. I stare at the painfully tight ropes tying my feet so
that they cannot even wiggle. I think about shifting a little on my bottom, but
I am tied too tightly and painfully to even try. I squeal in protest.
You look as me with joy, and squeal as well, but your squeals can be heard,
while mine cannot. You walk around me, pull on a rope here and there, making
sure that they are painfully taut, and thrill to hear cries of protest coming
through my gag. You stand in front of me, looking down, making note of the
differences between us.
I see beyond my feet another pair of Tretorn running shoes, these belonging
to my Owner. They are laced and tied onto your feet firmly and comfortably,
unlike mine, which are tied onto my poor feet as a kind of cruel foot bondage.
Your feet are so free, I think, seeing mine in the tight ropes. You crouch down
in front of me and run your fingers through my hair, pushing it away from my face,
contorted by the tight ball gag. The touch of your hand, the love shown with its
gentleness, juxtaposed with the cruelty of the ropes confining me, makes a
shower of tears come from my eyes. You bend close to my face to kiss them away,
and then kiss my lips around my gag lovingly, twisting my heart, wanting to kiss
you, touch you. All I can do is stare at my running shoes and my tightly tied
ankles, as you torture me with kisses that I cannot return.
You remain crouching before me for awhile, lightly touching my hair, my taut
legs, my thighs... whispering loving comments about my beauty into my ear. I
can see your running shoes, your ankles, and feel your freedom. After a time,
you stand and say, "Now slave, it is getting too cold for me down here, and I
wish to enjoy the sunshine outside. Remember that you are helping me to appreciate
my freedom so much, for when I see you here, think of you here, in pain, it
heightens my awareness of the birds chirping, the sun shining warm on my face,
my freedom to run and sing. Those things are denied to disobedient slaves.
Enjoy your afternoon, and the view."
I squeal into the gag as you walk away, and from the bottom of the stairs,
I hear you say, "Don't fret, slave... I will back in a few hours to tighten
your ropes."
You walk upstairs, turn off the light, and lock the door.
You stretch lazily in the warm afternoon breeze. The hammock in which you
lie is tied between two trees, and it reminds you absently of another piece
of property that you own, tied even more tightly, out of sight and out of the
sun in your dark, damp basement. What was the saying... "out of sight, out of
mind?" you ask yourself idly. Not true in this case, you think... but then
again, since I left her tied there, I have felt more relaxed than ever in my
life, and I have not even thought about the pain and sadness and loneliness
that she must be feeling.
Well, she deserved it, you think. Allowing a fraction of an inch between
her running shoes! That sort of disobedience has to be corrected with the
strictest of punishments.
You stretch again, feeling pleasantly drowsy, and drift off to sleep. When
you wake a few hours later, the sun is setting, and it is getting cool. You
gather up your glass of water and your book, and go inside for a luxurious
bubble bath. You draw your bath water, mixing some fragrant oils in with the
bubbles, and turn on the radio to listen to some soft jazz. At a thought, you
pour yourself a glass of Merlot, and place it on the edge of the tub. You turn
on the Jacuzzi jets and tentatively put a toe into the water, testing it.
Perfect, you think. This is just what I need to loosen up my sore muscles!
You relax into the tub, sliding down until you are covered up to your neck
with water. Soft bubbles tickle your face, and you giggle. You feel your cares
melt away, and think to yourself, 'I really must thank her for this wonderful
feeling of freedom! If she wasn't so cruelly tied and locked away, I would
not feel so nice. It is time to reach out to her with my heart... but not this
second.' You smile. 'This bubble bath is sooo lovely!'
The dim light comes on in the basement, and I see my running shoes and ropes
as if it were day. Hours ago, the feeble rays of light that had come through
the small soil-stained window near the ceiling had disappeared, though I had
not really noticed it. The sight of my feet tied tightly, the laces knotted
around my ankles, the canvas and the tread marks at the toes and heels of the
Tretorn running shoes binding my feet, was indelibly imprinted on my mind, as
if there would never be any other thing ever in my field of vision.
I heard the sound of high heels on the cement, moving behind me. I felt the
rope from my wrists to the ring high in the support beam tighten, and an
approving voice saying, "Very good." Then, into my field of vision came a pair
of black high heels, looking elegant on pretty, naked feet. The contrast to the
way in which I was tied was shocking. Tears of sadness and frustration at being
confined, not able to move, a knowledge of what I was compared to my owner,
flooded me and spilled out of my eyes. I heard your voice ask sternly, "well
slave, now do you know how to keep your running shoes when you are not walking,
and where your wrists should be, and where your head and eyes should be?"
I did not dare make a sound, lest it be misinterpreted. You waited, and then
said, with satisfaction, "Very good, slave! You embarrassed me today by not
keeping your feet tightly together, but I am going to forgive you, and allow
you to escape this confinement."
"But first," you add, "take a close look at my feet, how they are free,
and at your feet, which are tied painfully. Listen to my voice giggle, how it
is free, and feel the tight gag that stops you from making a sound. Think of
the freedom that my hands have, to play music, to clap, and think about your
wrists, tightly tied so that they cannot move. Think about the beauties that
I can see, the flowers and the birds and the sunlit sky, and look at your
running shoes, the laces knotted tightly, the ropes from which you cannot escape,
that put you in pain. You could have no other sight on which to look, if it
weren't for my feet, my heels and my running shoes being here before you. You
are owned by me and them, and you must worship us."
You pause, looking down at me, then, moving with your right heel the taut
ropes from my ankles and my collar to the bottom ring in the support beam,
you say sternly, "Is that understood, or should I leave you here to enjoy
the view?"
I stay silent, swallowing a scream, for the instant additional tightness
of the ropes had been so painful.
After a time, you crouch down, and whisper softly, yet with a trace of
cruelty, in my ear, "I love you, my slave. You will never escape from me."
I shiver.
You stand, and run your right heel up the rope from my ankles to my collar,
pressing down cruelly, so that I am in pain. "Remember who and what owns you,
slave."
