Harnessed For Travel
At the age of twenty, Barbara is being sent off by her family to a kinky finishing school for rich young ladies. The matron sent to escort her does not believe in brooking any nonsense, nor risking any escapes:
Mrs. Merridew held up a jumble of polished leather, at sight of which Barbara could not restrain a wince. “I’m glad you’re wearing just simple things, Miss. If you’ll just turn ‘round now… won’t take a minute.”
It had to be a dream, a nightmare, an hallucination! Dazedly and with averted eyes Barbara obeyed the motherly injunction.
“They’re simple and effective, M’lady.” Mrs. Merridew was anxious to assure. “Don’t ‘urt the dears at all, but keeps ‘em snug and tight. And with the cape… there ain’t a soul wot can ever know.” Her practiced hands were deft and strong.
The enforced penitent stood. The urge to strike, to scream, to run was strong. But, passively, Barbara allowed her waist to be circled by a broad and shiny leather band. With laces at the back Mrs. Merridew was ensuring that it became punitively tight. The captive of the leather understood now the earlier admonition that she wear no corset. She flushed as a sturdy knee at her bottom was employed to counter the tugging of stout hands. Inconsequently she considered that someone had spent a tidy sum upon the harness. It looked expensive. It had contracted her middle to a dimension both flattering and frightening. “Good thing I brought the small one. Lovely waist you got, Miss.” Mrs. Merridew was panting. “Now if you’ll just let me ‘ave yer ‘and…“
Once more the inconceivable. It was not until the soft strap was snug about her wrists, buckled and its end deftly inserted into its waiting loop that Barbara fully comprehended the actuality of her restraint. A laced belt holding on each side a wristlet by which a hand was made captive sufficiently at the rear so that its reaching fingers could touch nothing other than the costly leather to which it was irretrievably anchored. Never, never could a hand touch its twin or reach the laces knotted behind the waist. “Miss Amory calls it an ‘ensemble,’ ” said Mrs. Merridew eyeing her work complacently. “Lovely bit O’ work it is for sure. Try and get your ‘ands free, dear. Show ‘er Ladyship wot I mean.”
Barbara’s own curiosity prompted compliance. She was aware of the flushing of her cheeks as she tugged and twisted to no avail. She was utterly and completely helpless. But there was no pain, no true discomfort. She had been neatly converted into a package for disposal. She looked from one to the other of her audience in mute dismay.
From Barbara by F.E. Campbell.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
