Girls Night In

Shelly pulled the nearly sheer, black nylon, body stocking up her long, shapely legs, the neckline stretching just enough to clear her full hips, stretched some more to cover her bust. She slipped her hands into the arms, nestled her fingers in the tips. She stood before the mirror tugging and smoothing, avoiding looking down to where her dark bush burst through the hole in the crotch. But she did look and she blushed. This was so not her, but it was totally Cynthia. She imagined her wearing the garment on a date, imagined the date's surprise when he slid his hand under her skirt and found...

The thought made her blush deepen. The body stocking was, of course, Cynthia's, as was the black Lycra cat suit she stepped into next. She had never worn Cynthia's things before, well, only a dress once or twice and maybe a sweater a time or two. But her intimate things? Uh uh. She slipped on a pair of Cynthia's high-heel pumps

The cat suit covered the body stocking leaving her hands and feet exposed. She stroked herself, rubbed her hands together, enjoying the slickness of the nylon, imagining what it would like to stroke Abe's cock like that. For some odd reason this thought didn't elicit another blush, but a rush of warmth. She loved stroking him, teasing him with her hands, with bits of scarf or sweater or whatever else happened to be, er, at hand. The thought made her giggle.

The knock startled her. She glanced out the window and saw the UPS truck. Shelly's first instinct was to grab a robe, but there was another knock. She turned and headed out into the living room.

The guy was cute in a geeky kind of way. He had his short sleeves rolled up a time or two and his athletic build let him get away with it. He handed her the keypad. Shelly signed for the package. The guy said, "Thank you, Miss Tanner."

"No. No. Cynthia's my roommate."

"Oh. Well, have a good day."

Shelly closed the door. Was it her or did that take longer than it should have? And was it him or her? Did she spend an extra few seconds accepting the package? Did he take a few more processing the signature? This was so not her, but she giggled again at the thought of her naughtiness.

She set the package on the counter, stepped into the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of wine. She moved into the living room. She noticed the way the nylon felt on her skin, the way the Lycra felt over it. It was both slick and grippy like large, soft hands holding her boobs, her ass, her crotch. She liked it. Liked it a lot. Liked it enough that she had to resist the urge to touch herself as she sipped her wine.

Her thoughts wandered, but kept coming back to that snug feeling between her legs. She thought of Cynthia. Cute, cherubic Cynthia. Shelly was prettier than her, pretty in a classic way, pretty enough to have done some modeling, but Cynthia was sexy, exuded sex. There was a raw sensuality there, something basic, primal. Of course she noticed how the guys noticed her first, but after a few words it was all about Cynthia. Not that she lacked for dates, for attention, but when Cynthia was there, well, she was reduced to being the wing man.

Cynthia. Button nose, curly, short blonde hair, mouth in a fixed grin, eyes ... the bluest eyes Shelly had ever seen. Mesmerizing eyes. And a nice, compact little body with the right things in the right places and maybe a bit more of the right things to boot. And if her clothes weren't a size too small, well, they just didn't fit.

Her eyes fell on the package. She went to the counter, hefted the box. It had a certain weight to it. She read the label: The Magic Strap Company, LLC. Magic Strap? What was that? Her first thought was about strap-on sex toys. Cynthia was bi, so that would make sense. But the box was way too big and heavy for that.

Curiosity got the better of privacy. They had packing tape in the drawer and if she opened the bottom, who would know? What she found surprised her.

The box was full of straps, several heavy, black leather straps, with large chrome buckles. There was a bag of small padlocks. And a black ball gag. One of those harness gags with more straps.

Shelly wasn't into kink, but you can't surf the net without seeing porn and, truth be told, Cynthia was seriously into kink and it piqued her curiosity. Shelly had gone through Cynthia's things, found the two sets of handcuffs along with her sex toys in the nightstand drawer. Found the white, leather collar, two sets of white leather cuffs, a white ball gag, and rope ... lots of rope. And rolls of tape. And the biggest vibrator she'd ever seen in her life, one of those two-handed things with a head as big as a softball. No batteries for that sucker, no sir. Wall current. She, of course, had to see, so she plugged it in. The damn thing literally jumped out of her hands.

In the box was a small booklet of sorts. She pulled it out and read:

"Dear valued customer, thank you! And congratulations on your purchase of the finest accessories for the solo* bondage enthusiast."

There were descriptions of several products followed by instructions:

"Simply say, "I wish, I wish my (fill in the blank) were strapped." And, voila!, it happens, instantly, securely, and (be assured) safely. To remove the strap simply use the word "unstrap" in the sentence above. Or remove the strap manually. In fact all of our products can be used manually, but where's the fun in that? ;)"

Further down it said that the locks and gag worked identically. The only difference was that the gag had to be removed manually for obvious reasons.

Can this be for real? Automatic bondage gear?

Or had she missed something. Maybe they meant the straps could be applied quickly and securely due to some unique design feature. But as she examined a strap it looked like a generic strip of leather with a buckle.

Maybe it was the garments rubbing on her, maybe the wine, but Shelly picked up the box and went into her bedroom. She dumped the contents on her bed, laid out the straps. There were ten straps of different lengths. The plastic bag held ten small, but sturdy, padlocks and a set of keys. The gag confused her. She had seen pictures of women wearing such a thing, but she wasn't clear as to how it was fastened.

She picked up a strap and wrapped it around her knees, buckled it. It was the oddest sensation, literally the oddest thing she'd ever felt. She had never played at bondage, never even toyed with fuzzy handcuffs - well once in college, at a frat party, she found herself cuffed to her then boyfriend, but it was just one hand, and she was drunk, and didn't remember it, just saw a picture.

This was beyond comprehension. Her mind registered layers: leather on top of Lycra on top of nylon on top of skin. And the helplessness. She felt momentarily short of breath at the sheer helplessness of having her knees bound. She removed the strap.

Out in the kitchen she refilled her wine glass, drank half of it off, willing her heart to slow.

What the hell was that?

She topped off her wine again and padded back into the bedroom.

She sipped her wine, read the instructions again, read them a third time. Could it be? Could there be some magic at play? The straps seemed perfectly normal. But still...

"I wish, I wish my ankles were strapped. Oh! Hey!"

Almost before she'd finished the sentence her ankles were trapped in a strip of leather, tightly buckled.

"Whoa!"

Now her heart truly was racing. She reached for the buckle, began tugging at it, but then said, "I wish, I wish my ankles were unstrapped."

And in another instant, in a movement too fast to see, the strap fell to the bed.

Oh my God.

Shelly took another huge gulp of wine, set the glass aside.

"I wish, I wish my ankles were strapped."

And they were.

She looked at the small pile of locks, bit her lip, took a deep breath.

"I wish, I wish my ankles were locked."

And in half an instant they were, the only telling thing was the soft "snick" as the lock clicked home.

Shelly examined her strapped, and now locked, ankles. Fear fought with excitement and wonder.

This is unbelievable!

"I wish, I wish my ankles were unlocked."

And there was the lock, open on the bed, by her feet.

My God.

"I wish, I wish my thighs were strapped."

A strap appeared just above her knees.

Shelly wished and unwished the locks, rewished them, then wished her wrists were strapped. She held her bound wrists up to her face filled with wonder. The whole thing was unbelievable, couldn't be happening, can't possibly happen - but it was.

She wished her wrists free. She stared at the gag long and hard.

"I wish, I wish I was gagged."

She choked in surprise as the ball filled her mouth, stretching her jaw open wide. She felt the straps grip her head. Her vision slight blocked by straps on either side of her nose. Shelly panicked, tugged at the straps, fumbled with the buckles until finally, mercifully she was able to pull the ball from her mouth.

"Oh God. Oh my God. Oh my God."

Another gulp of wine drained the glass. Eventually Shelly's breathing eased. Again she stared long and hard at the collection of gear. She placed her hands behind her back, palm to palm, closed her eyes.

"I wish, I wish my wrists were strapped. I wish, I wish my wrists were locked."

The panic rose again, but Shelly fought it.

"I wish, I wish my elbows were strapped. I wish, I wish my elbows were locked."

The panic she felt gave way to feelings of helplessness, of being physically - and sexually - vulnerable. She felt like she was on an amusement park ride. It was scary and yet thrilling, and she'd have to ride it until the end.

"I wish, I wish my chest was strapped."

"I wish, I wish my waist was strapped"

And instantly straps encircled her above and below her breasts and her arms were pinned to her back. She was panting now, feeling like she did during foreplay, when Abe would tease her. She was getting seriously aroused. Fear plus excitement couldn't equal arousal, could it? Really? She could feel the dampness welling up between her legs.

She looked down. There were still more straps, but she was at a loss as to what to do with them. Then a thought struck.

"I wish, I wish my wrists were strapped to my ankles."

And before she could question the more complicated request, it became so.

"I wish, I wish my wrists were locked to my ankles."

Shelly explored her new found helplessness. She squirmed, rolled onto her side, onto her back, experiencing the confinement, how the straps gripped her, how they dug into her tender flesh. She systematically pulled at each strap, none gave - not one inch.

Shelly giggled, then laughed, laughed so hard tears ran down her face.

"I don't believe this! Magic straps!"

The thought brought on another peal of laughter.

She spent the next hour alternately writhing around and laying quietly. But she found movement took effort, it was starting to drain her. She rolled onto her side so she could see the clock.

5:38

Cynthia wouldn't be home for at least two, two and a half hours. She was taking night classes at the college. Shelly decided to just lay quietly for a bit, maybe another half hour or so.

"Well, roomie, having fun?"

Shelly yelped, squirmed desperately to face Cynthia.

"I see my package arrived."

"Cyn, uh, I, uh-"

"You're wearing my things and you're playing with my toys. I don't mind the clothes. What's mine is yours. And I know you're a snoop, but I've been through all your things, too. By the way, you really should hide your diary in a better place. But you opened my mail and that should tick me off, but you know what? It doesn't. What a pleasant surprise."

Cynthia climbed on the bed, ran her hands over Shelly's helpless form.

"Nice. Very nice. I wasn't sure these things would work, but apparently they do."

"Cyn, please-"

"Shush. Did you try the gag? Ah yes, girl spit. How was it? That's a rhetorical question. Open."

"Cynthia! No! Stop!"

"Uh uh. You've been a bad girl and auntie Cynthia is going to have to punish you. Now open up."

Try as she might Cynthia was unable to get the ball into Shelly's mouth.

"Damnit Shell! Open! Oh! Hey, wait a sec."

Cynthia pulled the booklet from the box, followed the asterisk next to "solo," and chuckled.

"I wish, I wish she was gagged."

Shelly's eyes bulged as the large rubber ball once again filled her mouth.

"Oh this is too sweet. It not only recognizes the word "I," but "He" and "She."

Cynthia clapped her hands and laughed.

"And it does the buckles and everything. I wish, I wish the gag was locked."

She clapped her hands and laughed again.

"You know what this means, don't you? It means I can have you like this any time I want, any place I want, all I have to do is wish it. Hah!"

Cynthia spent several minutes stroking and caressing Shelly, exploring her bound form, examining the straps and locks.

"You know I've had a thing for you since Day 1. But you're my friend and my roommate and if we got involved romantically, well, it would complicate things. Besides, as you've told me ad nauseum, you're straight. But there's straight and there's straight. Right? Let's see which one you are, hm?"

All of this was said and done accompanied by Shelly's frantic squirming and muffled pleas. Cynthia opened a draw, withdrew the huge vibrator.

"I'm going to take a shower and have a glass of wine. This will help you get into the mood."

Cynthia tucked the cord between Shelly's thighs, pulled it until the shaft of the thing protruded by her butt cheeks, and the ball was firmly nestled against Shelly's mound. She reached under the bed for the extension cord and plugged it in.

Shelly squealed and convulsed.

"Oh? Something the matter, Shell? You told me about how hypersensitive your clit is. Oh, poor baby. Too bad, so sad."

Cynthia took Shelly's wine glass to the kitchen, filled it, went back and sat on the edge of the bed. Shelly squealed, squirmed, and sobbed. Cynthia smiled. She stood, stripped, picked up the glass, and headed for the bathroom. She turned.

"You know when Gregory cancelled class I thought I'd invite you to a girls night out, but now I'm thinking a girls night in would be so much more fun."

 

19.04.13