Wheelchair Bound?

"So just use rope. Or sit on me! it's fine!"

"I can't grip the fucking rope! I can tie it, sometimes, but then I can't undo the knots. I'm not cutting it every time -- it's not safe!"

The elderly man nodded as she yelled at me. "Safety first. I quite agree, my dear."

We were both silenced. He took another sip of his tea, all stiff and upright.

"I can't undo knots any more, either." He spoke calmly, as if his sadness had been worn away by acceptance of old age. "There's various alternatives, of course."

"Tell me!" I was eager for ideas. Ali swilled her tea in circles, like she didn't believe him. Didn't dare hope, rather.

"One, is to use a glamorous assistant. Works, if you like playing in public. Or just the three of you, at home. No?"

Ali was rolling her eyes. "Chance would be a fine thing."

"You're wanting actual restraints, then, rather than creative use of your own bodyweight? Really, that can be remarkably effective..." I got the impression he could have written many essays on the subject. Possibly had.

"I know! But it's me -- I just really like being tied up, properly." I had to confess.

The old man nodded slowly. "Quite understandable. Well, now. In that case I have one word of advice for you both."

He leant forward, and beckoned us to do the same, all conspiratorial.

"That word... is Velcro."

We both blinked in surprise. I certainly hadn't been expecting such practical advice. But now he mentioned it...

Ali was still looking cynical. "Yeah?", she replied, arms folded.

"You're sceptical, of course. I suppose I should say 'hook-and-loop fastenings', given it's a brand name and all. One moment."

He reached down, with the careful stretch of the elderly, to his briefcase, a battered leather model that could easily have dated from the Fifties. He lifted it to the table and popped it open, facing away from us.

He removed something, closed the case, and stood to move the other chair to the end of the table, sat, and beckoned me to pull my chair beyond the table too, facing him.

He showed me a velcro-covered cable tie, scratchy hooks on one side, fuzzy loops on the reverse. "Put it round your wrist, with a little give in it."

It only just met, with less than two inches of overlap where it could fasten. I put another of the straps round the other wrist, both about a centimetre wide. Less than half an inch, for sure.

"Now, I loop a third between both these... Now, my dear, can you stretch your arms to the side?"

His soft commands were like a stage magician. As was his mock surprise when I couldn't pull my hands apart, effectively handcuffed.

I tugged a few more times, and turned to Ali, who managed to keep a poker face as she lifted the tab on one strap and released me with a single finger.

I caught her eye. She was trying not to get any hopes up, but in spite of herself, she was clearly rather impressed.

"Let me have a go!" I passed her the three short straps.

"Those came from a DIY shop. I believe it was one ninety-nine for a packet of ten..." I got Ali's wrists tied together with two ties, one directly through the other. "Like that twists them. You'll find they don't work so well... ah!" Ali had twisted and managed to push one against the other's closure, and released herself. I immediately put them round her wrists separately, and tied them together with a tightly-looped third.

She twisted and pulled, but eventually conceded -- these things really were effective. "You're stronger than me, though," she said to me.

"Which is why you'd want longer, wider straps for most purposes," the professor agreed. "Oh, keep those! You can buy it in various widths on the Internet, you know. By the metre. A couple feet wide, a few metres long... you could pass it under a mattress then over your partner's back, quite effectively... Just a suggestion, you understand," as Ali was clearly already calculating the width plus depth of our mattress plus the extra length needed to hold me to it.

"You'd need someone young and able-bodied to put it under the mattress, of course. Though I always think it adds a certain frisson, making one's plaything participate in their own bondage or punishment... Let them do all the tricky knots, until the final step, for example."

The Prof's voice might be deadpan but I was sure he was enjoying this conversation. "Or, another example: I have a boy. A naughty boy, sometimes. Michael. Sometimes he plays up for attention. Well, now." He pushed his wire glasses back up his nose, smiling. "I can't be having that! So, I find it effective for him to spank himself. Why should I have to do it? He has to bend over in front of me, take a heavy rubber paddle, and whack his own backside until I agree it's red enough. My attention and efforts have to be earned, you see..."

I caught Ali's eye. She seemed amused. Getting ideas, even.

I shook my head slightly, so only she would notice, but I think the professor spotted it anyway.

"That's a cunning idea, Professor. But I'd really like to be more hands-on, for the punishment part, at least." Ali smiled, angelically, which was always a bad sign. For the comfort of my backside, anyway.

"Of course. There's no real substitute for that intimate connection, is there? Now, I do have two recommendations from my fifty-odd years of experience..." I realised that might well not be an exaggeration, if he'd got into kink in his twenties, like us.

"First. Ergonomics. Think about your repetitive action. Make sure you're in a good position for doing that. Don't twist. If you need to kneel up on a cushion, or straddle her legs, so you can reach easily... It'll be different for each person, so I can't really recommend in detail - though a physiotherapist or Alexander Technique teacher can be helpful. If you can pretend you are a musician -- a percussionist -- needing to strike drums or gongs, that is..."

He mimed a spanking then a caning action, a chuckle leading to pursed lips and twinkling eyes, but otherwise still the respectable gentleman, incongruous in these surroundings. I grinned, too.

More people came up to give the Prof their regards, and Ali clearly wanted to go shopping, having got new ideas.

"Thank you, but no. I was wondering, though, would anywhere here sell velcro bondage gear? You know, with metal loops and all?"

"I would think so. Try our Graham at Affordable Leather - good chap, good gear, I believe he had some rubber and velcro restraints for those who can't run to leather... Over that way, somewhere. Do come show me what you get. Oh, hello, Michael!"

We skirted around the approaching chap, who, if he was the same Michael that the Prof had spoken of, was the oldest 'boy' I had ever seen, more like sixty-five than sixty. But I supposed, if they'd met when Mike was in his forties, and Michael was twenty years younger...

"OK?" I asked Ali.

She beamed at me, much of her old impishness coming back. "Shopping for restraints for you? Of course I'm all right! Ought to get some more clothes for both of us, while we're here..."

"Look, there's the stall he said!" Ali beat me to it.

"Hello! And hello to you too! How may I assist you on this pleasant afternoon? Have you ever used bondage restraints before? Oh, OK, just have to ask everyone!" - as we laughed. "What are you looking for?

"Velcro bondage gear. We've got lots of leather already." Thinking back, we might have purchased our first set of cuffs from him, actually, before the Internet offered us more choice.

"Right. Well, not much selection, but I do have these sets of arm and leg cuffs, in red or black. Normally fifteen pounds but I could give them to you for ten if you pay cash today, offer of a lifetime, et cetera..."

"They say twelve quid on them," Ali pointed out.

"Do they? Oh well, still not going below ten, no extra discount for being a clever-clogs. Is it you who's going to be actually-confined to the wheelchair then?"

I couldn't help it. I cracked up laughing. The chap blushed as he realised he'd got us the wrong way round, and Ali stood up to thwap me on the shoulder. "Cheeky brat," she commented fondly.

I looked up at her, all dirty-blonde spiky hair and lean cheekbones, with that sexual-thinking expression back on her face where it belonged, and there was only one thing to say.

"Wotcha going to do about it then, eh?"

That triggered a delighted grin on her face as she settled back down in the chair and took a few goes to draw herself neatly alongside the stall. "Buy a set of these, obviously. In red, I think."

"Do you want to test them first? You know, double-check they fit and all?"

"If you insist." He wasn't insisting, and Al knew it. She opened the cellophane envelope and pulled out the restraints. "Put them on."

She'd grasped Mike Snow's lesson well. I obeyed her command. Wrist cuffs, metal ring held in a stitched doubling-back of the band, and the cuffs wrapping nearly twice round my small wrists. Not uncomfortable, three inches wide in a garish scarlet, not as giving as leather. I did the same with the ankle ones, four inches wide.

Hm. Let's see. Put your feet together.

A moment later I realised she'd tied my foot cuffs together with two of the Prof's cable ties, and linked my hands behind my back with the third. I did some experimental shuffling. I felt I could escape the leg ties if I gave a really good kick, but I didn't want to fall over doing it.

Which was just another way of saying no, I couldn't get free.

I should have been nervous, but we were in public -- albeit a kink-encouraging public place -- and I was just so happy to see that shit-eating grin on Ali's face again.

"Happy, then?" The man -- Graham -- had his question answered as Ali removed the cable ties, looping them round her belt, and paid. "Cheers. You could get her a matching collar and leash, you know? Annie over there has them." He pointed.

My collar did have the same problem for Ali: stiff buckles. If lurid red made her happy...

I followed as she flicked her wheel-rims more confidently, speeding off to the stall with her new wheels.

"Hey there, gorgeous! We haven't met. What you looking for, darling?"

The middle-aged goth woman smiled. I wasn't sure if she was merely flirting with Al as a customer or with intent. Now that Ali had a bit of her former confidence showing, she was back to devastatingly attractive, though of course I'm biased. I supposed I was glad the wheelchair wasn't putting anyone off.

"A velcro collar for my girl. Red, to match these." The stallholder, Annie, held up a range of collars in response.

"This one would look really nice on her." It would, at five times the price of a nylon velcro one, but it wasn't what Ali needed.

"No, no buckles," Ali replied, and hesitated. "Thing is, I need easy fastenings."

"So much for the up-selling, then. Guess you want this one? Fab. What about a lead to go with it? Can't have unleashed subs wandering about, OK, you can, look, work with me here..."

Ali humoured her and handed over a second fiver for the matching leash. It looked like a dog lead, and indeed the rosa-blanca.ru on it and the collar showed grinning Alsatians.

I stood obediently as Al stood up to fasten the collar around my neck. "Come on, follow me." I ran after her as she wheeled a crazy circle round the edge of the hall. We bought a few new clothes while I kept an eye on the cost, given Ali's wild enthusiasm. Then she had a bright idea. "I know! Crawl behind me! I could attach the lead to the chair!"

I couldn't. Not in public. Also, it didn't sound safe. "No way. You'd end up dragging me along and I'd tip you backwards."

"Ah. Fair point. How far can you tip me back without me falling over? Hm. And let's see if I can rock it sideways." She wriggled her bum and tried leaning comically in various directions. "It's remarkably stable, actually."

I realised the Prof was watching us with a gently amused expression. We discussed our various purchases.

"Are you ladies attending the after-party?" he enquired.

"There weren't any tickets left," I stammered.

"Oh, I'm sure that can be resolved. Gordon! These fine ladies need to accompany me to the do this evening, but are lacking in tickets. Could something be arranged? For me? It's a matter of educational urgency..."

His face was twinkling mischievously; pure indulgent grandfather.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "I'll see what I can do, Professor. Let me check."

And indeed, he confirmed shortly that numbers should allow us in, though if it got full by half ten or so he'd have to ask us to leave.

"You're a dear boy, Gordon. Thank you." Gordon stamped purple ink onto all our hands. I couldn't make out the image.

"What do we owe you?" I pulled out my wallet.

"Not at all, my dear. It's my pleasure, to encourage perversion and depravity in the youth of today." Ali and I appreciated both the gesture and the little joke.

We ended up going out to eat with a bunch of the stall-holders at a nearby pizza place. Ali let the waitress whisk a chair out of her way, then realised her wheelchair left her really too low down at the table for comfort.

"I'll get the chair back," I told her.

She struggled to her feet, but no sooner had I got the wheelchair folded than the guy next to her had stood up, passed her his own chair, and was stealing another for himself from an adjacent table.

"Thanks," she told him.

"No worries. You comfy, now? Just shout if you need anything. Hey, they've got rid of my favourite pizza off the menu!"

It was a fun meal. A few faces we recognised from a couple years ago, all friendly. The Professor gave us a little wave from the far end of the table. Clearly if he thought we were all right, everyone else would welcome us too.

I kept an eye on Ali, who would normally be flagging by dinner time. She seemed more excited than I'd seen in ages, hyped up from having some energy left and, I guessed, a pile of adrenaline.

The after-party was an opportunity to dress up, but not an enforced fetish code. Ali decided to use the steps into the main hall this time, as I lifted the chair for her, and we looked around the transformed space, a token dance area with flashing lights and quiet music, spaces to sit, and many, many pieces of play equipment, with few in use so far. I was amused to catch sight of the Professor in a black silk jacket; his old-fashioned yet stylish nod to the scene.

We wandered around, chatted to various people. I wasn't really expecting to play, here. I just wanted Ali to have fun and come home with ideas for another night.

A chap approached me as we both waited at the bar. It was above Al's head, but she was keeping me company. Most people had done much better than I'd feared, speaking to Ali just like if she wasn't in a wheelchair. This guy, however, was making a beeline for me, totally ignoring her.

"Hello. I'm Master Keith."

Of course, it could be the collar round my neck that meant I'd caught his interest rather than Ali. But no. He hadn't even noticed her existence beyond being an obstruction sitting between him and the bar.

"Hello, Keith."

He drew his eyebrows into a frown, in fake confusion. "No, no, Master Keith."

"Yes. Keith." I glared back at him. Before he could knobsplain at me, I told him, "You're not my master." I took Ali's hand.

Al wheeled round, and I could tell she was sorry she hadn't managed to run over his foot. "Are you bothering my girl? She's taken. And busy." To me, "It'll be your turn at the bar in a mo."

I could tell Al was almost wishing for a fight. Not that I blamed her, as you could see the little cogwheels in the guy's mind failing to compute that a woman in a wheelchair could be my mistress. It might well be the fact that she was female just as much as the chair.

Keith looked down, patronisingly. I rather hoped he didn't laugh at Al -- while I didn't care about his life expectancy, I didn't want Ali and me to be thrown out while we were having a good time.

At which point I heard a calm, urbane voice. "Everything all right, my dears? I do hope this man isn't bothering you?"

It was the Professor.

"No, he was just going," I assured him.

"I see. Off you trot. Keith."

No argument about the honorific with him, I noticed. I rolled my eyes and gestured Ali to the social area. I joined her once I'd been served, and soon the Professor came up to us and sat down. "Pleasure to see you again, ladies. Do you have plans for this evening?"

"Just watching, I think," I said.

"Thinking about it," Ali said, to my surprise. "Might try doing something with my girl."

He nodded, approvingly. "If you're nervous, this is a good space to try things. Loads of people to come help if need be. Or just provide advice or guidance. Did you have any more questions for me?"

Ali spoke again before I could say I didn't. "You said you had two tips for topping without much strength? The first was ergonomics. What was the other?"

He considered a moment. "Delegation? No, you didn't want that. Ah! Yes! Leverage!" The guy beamed at us, all sprightly generous godfather.

"It's all physics, you see. If you want a big effect on your bottom," he glanced at me before returning his eye contact to Ali, "either you can move your arm a long way, or you can use a longer tool that you move a shorter distance. For example, this cane..."

He picked up a black canvas holdall and pulled out a heavy bamboo cane, about a half-inch in diameter. I winced, involuntarily.

"Don't worry. Now of course, one could swing it like this," and he waved it down through the air. A number of people stopped, to watch. "But certainly not to start with, and not if you want to build up sensation over time. If you want to go for a long time, then..."

He tapped the cane on the far side of the table, his hand scarcely moving, but a steady chuk-chuk-chuk noise came from the melamine surface. "Give me your hand, dear."

Spellbound by his voice, I held my hand out, resting it palm-up on the tabletop. I tried not to flinch as the cane came towards it, but it really was a tap, tap, tap -- which only became slightly sore after a couple minutes.

Ali had been watching. "Stop. That's my job."

"Of course. I'm sorry. Would you like to borrow the cane?"

"If you don't mind. Becca, sweetie, push your chair back from the table."

I complied, wondering what was coming next.

"Lift your dress up. Ah, such sweet succulent thighs you have in those leggings!"

When Ali started using words like 'sweet' and 'succulent', that never boded well for the relevant body part.

She tapped me on one thigh, then across both. Gentle, but repeated sharp hits, alleviated by thin stretchy fabric.

It wasn't so much painful as annoying, but looking into her eyes, seeing that she wanted me to undergo this for her, washed my annoyance away.

My lady wished me to endure this. So, for her, I would remain quiet and let her get on with it.

I wouldn't let anyone else get away with it, you understand. I kept my breathing steady and my gaze meeting hers.

Tap. Tap. Ouch. Really, ouch. I had to gasp slightly; a clue that I was being affected, and Ali smiled.

A wolfish, possessive smile I hadn't seen for a while.

I'd suffer anything to keep that smile on her face.

Ow.

Bugger.

Breathe in. And breathe out. Focus on that breathing. In. Out. Ouch.

I knew I was wincing. Ali gave me mocking fake sympathy. I tried to ignore her. That didn't work, so I tried focusing on her face.

Those deep grey-greenish blue eyes, piercing my soul. Her spiky hair that I'd helped bleach, starting to flop in front of her. Pink lips I wanted to kiss, then entice all over my body. And an expression I loved. She knew damn well she owned me. My heart belonged to her, which meant my body was hers too, to play with as she wished.