Rebecca’s Reason

The phone rang just as Ryan stepped into the kitchen from the basement stairwell, dusty gym bag in hand. A glance at the display showed that his wife was calling.

"Hi, Rebecca. Conference still going strong?"

"Just breaking up for dinner sessions. Did you remember to eat?"

"Of course. I don't fall completely apart when you're away. I had a nice salad at The Cafe and picked up a few snacks on the way home." Ryan placed the bag on the table, trying not to make any noise. "No interesting mail. No messages."

"Baseball or old movies?"

"I haven't decided yet. I watched a movie last night."

"Try to stay out of trouble, Ryan. No wild parties." She laughed. Wild parties were not their style.

"I'll try. Will you call me in the morning?"

"Of course. Love you."

"Love you, too. Good night."

The call ended with a click. Ryan put the handset back in the charger and stared at it for a moment. Direct and to the point, just like the end of a phone call. That was Ryan and Rebecca Stone. She had flown to Washington for another one of the tedious conferences her public relations career required. She called every night, like clockwork, and every morning. They were both creatures of habit, set in their ways despite their relative youth and mere six years of marriage.

Ryan looked at the bag. This would be its third and final night of use this week. Rebecca had left late Sunday night. He waited until Monday after work to retrieve the bag, preferring to let the tension build over the day and also to let his wife get settled into their usual schedule. Every night, he returned the bag to concealment, just in case something unplanned happened. He was cautious and attentive to detail.

"I'm clever. Oh so clever," he said to the empty kitchen. The words felt hollow. He did not like keeping this secret. He felt no guilt over his little diversions, but he'd rather be playing these games with Rebecca. Secrets acquired weight as time passed. He could feel this one starting to become a burden.

"Come on. A little fun will snap you out of this funk." Heeding his own advice, Ryan picked up the bag and made his way to the narrow stairs leading to the second floor. The house was small, often described as a hillside cottage, but the renovated master suite was spacious. Tossing the bag on the bed, Ryan quickly stripped off his work clothes and stretched. The dry air felt delicious against his skin as he moved about the room, arranging things. He reviewed his latest plan as he moved.

This would be the third night of trying to get into a decent hogtie. From the bag he pulled coils of rope and bits of hardware, dropping them to the floor. Next, the buckling leather cuffs, perfectly sized to his wrists. He laid those out on the bed. His pulse quickened as he upended the bag, dumping the remaining contents on the burgundy duvet. Everything was neatly bagged or packaged in some way. His eyes darted from item to item. His stomach lurched, as though he had just driven over a quick drop in the road. Finally, he picked up a pair of serrated steak knives wrapped in bit of canvas.

"Wouldn't do to forget these," he said, carefully placing one next to the bathroom door and the other across the room beneath the window. If his plan worked, he would need one of those knives in a few hours. He returned to the bed and looked at the remaining items.

"Should I put the cuffs on now or get dressed first?" He mulled the question over for a moment. The cuffs were new and stiff. Wearing them would help break them in. Wearing them might also snag something while he finished getting ready and that would upset his plans. He started unsealing the various plastic bags and arranging the items in the necessary order. Did his special clothes really need a few minutes to breathe or was he just delaying his inevitable surrender?

Ryan placed the black garter belt to his left, near the corner of the bed. Then the black stockings. He lingered for a moment on the stockings, making sure they were right side out. He looked at them carefully, searching for runs or flaws. His divided mind looked for a convenient excuse to stop. He could stop this ritual self-submission and play computer games or scour the internet for the perfect dirty picture.

His questing eyes found no flaws in the nylon. The butterflies in his stomach continued to flutter as he moved on. A pair of black, boy cut panties emerged from a plastic bag. The lacy pattern of the panties contrasted with the solid bed cover. The next bag was dark and heavy and sealed with a metal zipper. Ryan tried to remember what it had held originally as he pulled the tissue wrapped shoes onto the bed. The five inch heels had been the last thing he bought, mail ordered like the rest of his outfit. And like the rest of his outfit, they were black. Narrow straps formed an X over the top of the foot, while a second strap buckled around the ankle. They were exactly the kind of shoe that would turn his head without fail. Shaking the tissue loose, he noticed the faint scuffs on their soles. "Hmmm. I didn't realize I had worn them so much."

Hands trembling, he placed the shoes on the bed and reached for the last item. A long black chemise unfolded from the small zip-lock bag. Wadded up, it made a package little bigger than his combined fists. But on him, the scalloped lace trim of the hem would fall to his ankles.

Ryan paused again, taking a deep breath as he surveyed the wardrobe he had prepared for himself. Opposing desires contested each other in his head. Like a man on a precipice, he teetered first one way, then the other. Submission slowly won, pulling him onward with a sense of the inevitable. His bare feet shuffled to the left, back to the beginning. He picked up the garter belt and fastened it around his waist, checking the position of the six dangling tabs as he did.

The room spun. His rational, logical mind tried one last time to assert itself. He wavered. Bitterness welled up in his throat, threatening more than just a foul taste.

"Stop it. Just stop it." He had fought this same battle the previous two nights, with the same results. After two nights of sweaty self-bondage, dressed in clothes Rebecca would balk at wearing, why was he resisting a third? The rationalizations pushed him forward, allowing surrender to his fantasy tableau.

Fortified with this renewed acceptance of his fate, Ryan pulled the stockings onto his legs, curling his toes to avoid snags. Under the black nylon, his thin blonde leg hair disappeared. Tall and lean, he knew he would never pass as a woman. Passing was not really his goal. Restraint was. And these filmy bits of fabric would restrain him as surely as the tightest ropes.

He tugged and smoothed the stockings up as high as they would reach. The top band was as far up his leg as it would go. He attached the tabs of the garters and took a few steps. At the puppet-like tug of the elastic suspenders, his body began to respond. In three steps his cock hardened, jutting out from the surrounding black fabric. The temptation to stroke it was intense. Despite the orgasms of the previous two nights, he knew it would take very little stimulation to come again. He stepped back to the bed and grabbed the panties, hoping that covering his twitching hard-on might help bring him back from the edge. The panties gripped his hips and ass in a way that no boxers or briefs could, and the sensation did nothing to end his over-stimulation.

Ryan tried to distract himself by picking up his shoes. Short of the actual bondage, getting into the heels required the most focus. He sat back on the bed and wiggled his foot into the straps, buckling the final strap around his ankle. He repeated the process with the other shoe, then strolled around the room again.

He caught the flash of black as he passed the mirror on Rebecca's dresser. He deliberately did not watch his reflection. Instead, he concentrated on the sensations flooding his body. From past experience, he knew he was sinking into his fantasy now. Each tiny step pulled him deeper as his resistance crumbled. He stepped back to the bed and picked up the long chemise. He reached up, and the slick black fabric fell down over his raised arms and engulfed his body. Ryan shivered.

He let the various sensations sink into his body and mind. The tight grip of the nylons and panties complemented the loose teasing touch of the long nightgown. Everywhere the dark, silky fabric touched his skin, he tingled. Ryan took a step. A short step, limited by the tall heels. The garters tugged and the chemise swished. Again, his cock hardened, pushing against the double confinement of panties and gown. Once more, he strolled around the room, letting the forbidden clothing massage and caress his body. As he passed the mirror, glimpsing the black specter, he considered how he would look in all white. The thought caught him off-guard. It was inconsistent with his accepted rationale of using these clothes to enmesh himself in restraint.

"Well. Not really," he said to the empty room. "White is a more appropriate color for submission. Or maybe pink." For a moment, he envisioned a pink corset laced tightly around his body, squeezing his flesh into the illusion of femininity. White stockings rose up his legs, framing his throbbing dick. White Mary Jane pumps completed the outfit. He had noticed a shoe just like it on a bondage model during a session of porn hunting just a few weeks ago. Black rope would make a stark and beautiful contrast against such a costume.

He realized he would almost certainly need to shave his legs to wear white stockings. Distracted by this flood of imagery, he nearly lost his balance. Teetering on the tall heels, Ryan grabbed the door frame between the bedroom and the bathroom to hold himself upright. He groaned. A corset? Shaven legs? The inexplicable desires enmeshed him, drawing him further down the slippery slope that had started with his first illicit purchase. He breathed deeply to regain his composure.

The feeling faded to the background as he began the next phase of his plan. Ever since happening on a website describing a self-bondage hogtie, Ryan had been plotting and planning to experience the position for himself. Further research had revealed several variations. Despite stretching his shoulders and arms every day for the last two months, he was still not flexible enough. This had led to two less than perfect sessions on Monday and Tuesday. He recalled the two previous nights, looking for pitfalls to avoid.

On Monday, he had tried the most basic position he had found. He tied his ankles together with six loops of braided nylon rope, then cinched the coils with cord from one end of the self-tightening device described on the website. Getting his wrists into the pre-tied coil and cinch noose required a bit more effort, which really lent itself to the excitement. In short order he rolled over onto his front with his wrists bound together and tethered to his ankles. When he pulled the rope that drew his wrists and ankles together, the problem revealed itself. His wrists met at an angle. He just could not get his forearms close enough to parallel. The wrist coil slid toward his fingers, jamming up against the base of his thumbs.

The excitement of successfully achieving the position had been short lived. As he struggled and pulled against the ropes, the wrist coils continued to creep, irritating his skin. His fingers sought the stiletto heels of his shoes and he pulled his feet forward. The mental image of himself in such a supremely submissive pose pushed him past the limit. A powerful orgasm shook his body. After a few minutes of recovery, Ryan had slipped free of the wrist loops and set about cleaning up and preparing for his next attempt.

Tuesday night saw some additions to his bondage. A coil of rope circled his knees, another coil circled tightly around his waist. Rope linked the waist coil to his ankles, pulling his legs down toward his butt. He had hoped this would take some of the tension off the wrist coils. He also adjusted those wrist loops, taking out as much slack as he could. The result had certainly been more stringent.

As soon as he inserted his hands into the wrist loops and made the necessary half twist to bring his palms together, he knew they were too tight. He forged ahead anyway, hoping the coils would loosen up with a little time. With each pull, the tightening device drew his wrists inexorably to his already twice bound ankles. Ryan continued to pull the cord that worked the tightening device, taking out every bit of slack he could.

A surge of panic had gripped him when he thought he had forgotten the knives. A knife would certainly be required tonight. He arched his back and lifted his chest off the floor to gain some slack, but the ropes were unyielding. This was closer to the position he had desired. Sweat began to roll down his face as time wore on. There would be no slipping the loops this time.

Ryan struggled against his bonds, growing more excited by the second. Forgetting about the knives for a moment, he strained and pulled, almost in a frenzy, but the ropes held him fast, and his hands started tingling. All the thrashing about on the floor had disarrayed his clothes. His throbbing cock had slipped out of the panties and was now pressed against the thin fabric of the chemise. Rocking from side to side only pressed his cock harder, trapping it between his body and the slick fabric. He had barely squirmed two feet toward one of his escape knives when his cock erupted.

While the orgasm had been satisfying, the restraint had not. Which brought him to tonight's effort. His ankles and knees would be bound with braided nylon rope, just as before. Individual leather cuffs would accommodate his slight lack of flexibility. He would clip the cuffs together with a metal snap link and then clip his joined wrists to a stiff loop of poly rope included in the cinch on his ankles. That loop of plastic rope would be the only link in the connection of ankles and wrists that could be easily cut with a knife. Ryan had bought a number of rings, quick links, and snap links to allow some custom fitting. Naturally he hoped to use the minimum number of attachments, believing that would offer the strictest position.

His troubled mind had quickly calmed as the technical aspect of his solo adventure loomed larger. With two nights of practice, Ryan quickly immobilized his legs, binding them at the ankles and above and below the knees. Cinch cords around the middle of each leg coil made the bondage comfortable and attractive. Then, he fastened the cuffs to his wrists, pulling the buckle straps tight. He grabbed the shortest double headed snap link and clipped it to the ring on his right cuff. Then the tricky parts began. He stretched out on his back on the old sheet he had used to cover the floor. Holding the snap link open with one hand, he tried to drop the ring on his left cuff into the small gap made by the open link. Soon, he was drawing his feet toward his upthrust hips and arching his back, trying to line up the stubborn metal attach points. After at least twenty tries, he was rewarded with the faint click of metal on metal. He released the spring loaded latch and pulled his wrists against each other.

"Don't get too cocky, now. You still have a way to go." The final movement of his self-rendered hogtie proved to be even more difficult than connecting his wrists. He lost count of the number of attempts it took to slip the other end of the double-headed snap over the stiff loop of plastic rope tied into the cinch cord at his ankles. One hand held the spring loaded latch while the other tried to stabilize the situation by catching hold of the loop, or a heel, or anything that would allow him to close the gap. About to give up and attach an additional link to make it easier, Ryan released the latch, but it did not close all the way. He quickly discovered that the loop he had been trying to clip onto was stuck, caught in the path of the latch. He bent his legs and back toward each other to create slack. Then with a gentle push from his thumbs, the connecting loop of rope slid into the snap link's steel embrace. He was bound.

Arousal followed immediately. He tugged his wrists against his ankles. Nothing was giving. Relaxing his shoulders and arms as much as he could, he tried to ease into the grip of his predicament. Despite the pounding of his heart and the straining of his cock, he breathed deeply, letting the tension leak from him into the ropes and cuffs. A tiny part of his mind wondered if he could actually escape. The rest of his brain was too busy processing the sensations flooding into it from every part of his body. Warmth suffused him, as much his body's reaction to the bondage and soft black prison he had entrapped himself in as to the actual temperature of the room. Ryan wondered if rolling over onto his side would prolong his pleasure or rub his erection just hard enough to explode.

The phone rang. He rolled his eyes, expecting a telemarketer. A number of clicks and beeps sounded, which was not the way his phone normally behaved.

"Hi sweetie." Ryan almost did not recognize the voice.

"Rebecca?"

"Sorry, Ryan. Unfortunately, this is a one way conversation. I figured out how to keep the answering machine recording for up to 30 minutes, but you can't talk back to me. That is, you can't talk back to me unless you manage to get yourself free of all that rope and leather."

Ryan froze. Even as heat rose in his face, he shivered. He began to squirm across the floor.

"That won't be necessary, Ryan. I'm not in the house or driveway ready to pounce on you like a choice morsel." He continued his slow crawl toward the bathroom door. "Ryan! Stop that so I can talk to you!"

He stopped. Then began to look around the room.

"That's right, baby. I can see you. And, I'll admit, this is not what I suspected. I was getting a little concerned about you. About us. Every time I had to go out of town, there was a tiny bit of spring in your step. And when I got back, you were this weird combination of tired and wired. I dithered, telling myself I was imagining things. You are very good at concealment. I've got to give you that. You're going to kick yourself, but what forced me to this point was something I don't think you ever thought about. It was the little dimples your heels left in the vinyl flooring in the bathroom. That's why I never walk in there with heels. See, I told you to put in tile!" Rebecca laughed at her joke.

"I'm not mad at you, honey. In fact, I was relieved. I can work with this, I think. In fact, you tried to tell me about your kinky side while we were dating, didn't you? It didn't seem important to you at the time and I let it drop too. I've been doing a lot of reading here, and a little shopping, which I can't wait for you to see. But first, I want to ask you some questions.

"Nod if the statement is correct. Don't move if it's wrong. Okay?"

Ryan nodded.

"You are a switch?" He nodded again.

"You are straight?" Another nod.

"You would like for me to play with you?" An emphatic nod.

"You would like for me to be a switch also?" Another emphatic nod.

"You cheated with other women while I was gone." Ryan froze, not daring to move. He had never broken faith with Rebecca and he desperately needed her to believe in him. "Okay, that's what I hoped."

"If I ask you nicely, would you wait like that until I get home?"

"Okay. How about you get loose and then truss yourself up again at about 8:30 in the morning? I should be home by 9:00?"

"You are going to be at the house when I get home, aren't you?" Ryan nodded, slowly.

"Getting caught has messed you up a little, hasn't it? You never really planned to tell me or get caught." He nodded again, though not sure which question he was answering.

"Well, that's okay. I'll still have my new dress to show you and some other things to put you back into the mood. I found a little boutique. Well, I guess you'd call it a boutique. A leather boutique or maybe an S&M boutique? They were very helpful when I explained I was a novice hoping to surprise my husband and that my credit card has a really high limit. I'd really like to have a captive audience to show these things to when I get home. Are you sure you wouldn't like to just wait for me? I'll make it worth your while."

Ryan remained still, uncertain about what was the question. His mind was in overdrive, trying to understand what was going on. Was Rebecca really okay with his extracurricular kink? Or would she throw him out at the first opportunity. Did he dare allow himself to be helpless for her?

"I'm sorry, babe. Let me simplify that. Here, I'll show you the new word I learned. Will you be hogtied for me when I get home?” She paused, waiting for the nod that Ryan could not give her.

"Okay, have it your way. Not much else going on here. I'm handing my presentation off to Colin and catching the 5:45 home. I really do want to be with you, even if you are going to be pouty and difficult. Oh! You'll never believe who I ran into here while I was shopping. Do you remember Holly Taylor? She watched the house for us that year we spent so much time at the clinic in New York. She was what, seventeen back then? I always thought you had a thing for her. Well, that may be too strong a word. I know she's got one of those looks that always catches your eye. That pale clear skin and dark hair. I'm glad you also have a thing for tan athletic girls with long chestnut hair."

"Well, we had a very nice time over lunch on Tuesday. Hard to believe that was just yesterday. It seems like the whole world is turned upside down. Since she was working at one of the little stores I visited yesterday, I really couldn't avoid answering some rather pointed questions. Anyway, it turns out you two have a kinky streak in common as well."

Ryan's face reddened, and he lowered his head to the floor. At least the girl had moved away.

"Don't worry, Ryan. I didn't tell everyone I met. She just, I don't know. I needed someone to talk to yesterday. I was very impressed with her maturity. Which is not surprising. I mean, she grew up pretty fast with what happened to her folks. We basically left her in charge of the house while we were gone for weeks on end. Unfortunately, the downturn has cost her that job. Yesterday was her last day. So, she was available when I asked her if she could help me out. I thought you might be difficult about this, and I need some tutoring, so I..."

The loose floorboard just outside the bedroom door squeaked.

12.07.10