The Alphabet Project, part 2: "Bondage"

This one has taken a while actually, and is a little bit rude, so caution is advised.

Ladies and gentlemen, straight from being written in Edinburgh, Urmston, Manchester and Leeds: "Bondage"...

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She had a collar around her neck, a shiny black leather collar with a buckle at the front, similar to that of a dog. He liked that.

“Lie down!”

He lay down.

She walked around him, her black latex-clad legs glistening like oil as she moved, and as he lifted his eyes he saw the rest of the catsuit clinging to her body, her face her only uncovered part, matching stockings and underwear beneath the suit.

“Roll over!” she snapped. He complied, turning onto his front on the black vinyl-covered bench, taking care not to fall off and onto the floor of the cellar. The dungeon had been her idea. He’d learned to appreciate it.

She produced the rope and held it before his face, her glossy black fingers wrapped around its coils. “Kiss it,” she said. He kissed the rope.

She was silent as she set to work looping the rope around his wrists and ankles, trussing him up in such as way that his spine concave, his feet and head bent towards one another, his sternum his fulcrum. Hogtied, she called it. She knew all the terms.

“Open,” she commanded. He opened his mouth and she inserted the gag, a red plastic ball on a black leather strap which she buckled behind his head. The blindfold came next, robbing him of his sight, the sounds of the room and the sting of her whips on his flesh his only senses.

“You know what comes next,” she said. She trailed the strands of the cat o’ nine tails across his flesh, gave a sharp thwack on his buttocks, and left the room quietly, killing the lights, trying to prevent her spike-heeled boots from making a sound, locking the door behind her.

This is the best bit, he thought – the anticipation. Is she still in here? Will she suddenly do something to me? All the while images of her incredible body wrapped in shiny black latex played through his mind, remembering the smell and feel of the material, the sounds it made as layer rubbed against layer, her scarlet hair crashing over her shoulders, contrasting with her black lipstick and green eyes.

Outside the room she removed the boots and gloves, pulled a tracksuit over the latex, and stepped into a pair of Ugg boots. She loved this part – let him stew a while. She stepped out of the house and climbed into the car, feeling the rubber stretch beneath the tracksuit, almost like a guilty secret. Start the engine, fasten the belt, and drive away, the gravel popping beneath the tyres. She knew she wouldn’t be out for long – an hour would be enough time to leave him in his glorious predicament, squirming against the ropes. Then, when she returned, she could have her way with him, and he with her. For now, however, she needed cigarettes, and the nearest shop was a drive away.

She did miss having neighbours, their home in the countryside beautiful but isolated, and should they want to see any other signs of life they had to drive into town, a good seven miles away. They tried to arrange things so their visits to town were planned in advance in order to prevent repeated journeys, but from time to time an unexpected trip was required, usually when she ran out of cigarettes.

On the outskirts of town she saw small groups of children dressed as witches and ghosts, walking from house to house, pumpkin lanterns glowing at the end of their string handles; Halloween, she thought. She smiled as a tiny zombie lurched across the mouth of a cul-de-sac, turning her head to watch his stumbling gait with arms held stiffly before him, then turned back and saw the bus just before she crashed into its rear. She didn’t have time to scream. The airbag exploded around her face, and all was darkness.



“Bloody hell – what’s she dressed as?” the nurse remarked as she cut away the tracksuit, revealing the black catsuit beneath.

“Halloween, isn’t it? She was probably on her way to a party. Must have been going as a witch or something,” said another.

“Good costume though.”

“Yeah.”

“Almost seems a shame to do this,” she said, lifting the scissors, carefully starting to cut away the latex.



She opened her eyes late the next day, lying in a private room. An intravenous line was inserted into her hand, the other end attached to a drip bag on a pole by the bed. Her head was sore, as was her right leg, and as she reached down she found that it was encased in plaster.

The door opened and a nurse entered the room. “Hello there. How are you feeling?”

She frowned and shook her head, slowly. “What’s happened to me?”

“You were in a car accident. You’ve broken your leg and taken a knock to your head. Can you remember where you were going?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“Were you going to a party? You were in fancy dress. You were dressed as Catwoman.”

“Who’s Catwoman?”

“You know – from Batman? You were all dressed in black rubber!”

“I- I can’t remember.”

The nurse smiled. “As I said, you’ve taken a knock on the head. You get some rest, and if you need anything just press the buzzer. There’s a box next to your pillow, just to your left.”

She needed no encouragement. She drifted into sleep.



This is fantastic, he thought. She’s been gone for ages. She’s never been gone this long before.

His nose started to itch. The ropes pulled tighter the more he struggled against their loops and knots. Saliva started to dribble around the gag in his mouth, a small pool forming on the bed beneath his face.

Could she be in here, watching? He stopped squirming on the bench in case she was in the room, watching silently, ready to lash out with the whip. He hadn’t heard her come through the door, but then again she had the knack of being able to work the lock with precious little noise. In his mind he saw her standing in a corner, catsuit glistening, teeth showing through her smile as she ran the loops of the whip between her gloved fingers.

He really needed the toilet, but would she allow him to go? He shifted his weight, trying to squirm towards the edge of the bed, the ropes tugging at his extremities. Surely she would notice his movements, understand that he needed some assistance, and let him go? He imagined her walking around the bed, observing his struggle, remaining distant, and this only aroused him more; he’d always liked being watched. One more inch, and...

He rolled off the edge of the bed, released a stifled yelp as he fell, and landed in an awkward bundle on the floor, loud cracks sounding from his ankle and shoulder, then a scream from behind the gag.

He was in agony, lightning bolts of pain shooting through his limbs, ugly red welts around his wrists and ankles now chafed and bleeding, his broken ankle and shoulder awkwardly positioned beneath his crumpled body. Despite himself he lost control of his bladder, a puddle forming around his body. She’ll go mad, he thought for a moment – she hates mopping the floor.

As the pain worsened and he fought to retain his consciousness before passing out, another thought entered his mind.

This is brilliant.

(Edinburgh - 31st October 2008 to Leeds - 26th November 2008, and places & dates inbetween).

(C) Peter Lee 2008 / A Nasal Hair Production

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All comments gratefully received.

Coming next: "Chest", and it is already in progress.