© 2007 Rachel Gumm. You may freely distribute this story digitally, but only in full, crediting me as the author. I welcome feedback, and try my best to reply to it all.
This isn't an excuse. I'm not ashamed of my actions, really. I did it, and that's just a part of who I am. You should know my reckless behaviour by now, and I'm not going to apologise for something I did several years ago that didn't harm anybody. And don't tell me I'm a victim, because I made a choice. I'm the one who did it. This is just an explanation. I feel I owe you that much.
How it happened was I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, fumbling through my cardboard box of restraints. Joel, my roommate at the time, was standing by the doorway, digital camera in hand, watching me with an enthusiasm he wasn't very good at hiding.
He'd known about my sexuality since a few months beforehand. That I enjoyed being tied up, I mean. He also knew I was bisexual, but that never seemed to matter by comparison. That was more a romantic orientation than a sexual one, anyway. Sexually, I'm submissive, and that's pretty much all there is to it. Joel wasn't into that sort of thing, and I didn't see him that way anyway, but this wasn't sex. This was something more than that.
I felt like one of those middle aged guys having a midlife crisis, only I'm a woman and I was only in my twenties. The problem was mortality. I know that death's necessary for life, for each species to evolve, for us to get to the state we're in at the moment where we have a society and spend our time listening to music and watching films instead of being hunted by predators. I've always accepted that one day I will die. The thing is, I've always had this inescapable feeling in the back of my mind that I should do something first. I'm not sure what it is. I think that's part of the problem.
I knew my body would peak long before my mind. Having a relatively high sex drive for a woman, I've always felt I should be making full use of it before it's too late and I cease to look particularly attractive. Sure, I always hoped that one day I'd settle down with the right person, and that I'd be content to do that. But at the time, I felt there was something I had to do first, to get out of my system, to say I've lived. To leave my mark on the world.
The only problem was, I didn't know what that was. Sure, I'm reasonably attractive. I'm of average height, with pale skin and brown hair and eyes. Although my breasts are small, my curves look pretty neat. I watch what I eat. I've got a black spandex catsuit somewhere, skin tight. I'm not even sure where I keep it now, but at the time, it was always in my bedside drawer, next to my socks and tights.
I loved how I looked in that catsuit, and the few lovers I'd had at around that time loved it even more. The problem was, it wasn't enough. Just intimate moments with a handful of men and women. Sure, I could have gone clubbing in it, been seen in it, but I didn't. I would still have faded from everyone's memory within the blink of an eye. I even considered trying to get a job as a fetish model, but realistically, I'm not that attractive, only average.
That's where Joel came in. Getting mildly drunk one night, we got talking about mortality and what we'd like to do before we die. I told him all this, about how I wanted to show off my body while people would still want to see it. I even told him about my stupid modelling idea. That's when he told me about Usenet. He told me about a place where I could publish photos of myself. Erotica. Where I wouldn't get paid, but people would appreciate what I did, even if I wasn't exactly Jewell Marceau.
"So when do I start taking photos?" Joel was still standing in the doorway, pretending to be blase about our amateur photo shoot. It's weird, had I been living with another woman I probably would have felt uncomfortable asking her to do this favour for me, but I got the impression most guys would see it as its own reward.
"First, you need to leave for a minute while I get changed." I jumped off the bed.
Joel looked disappointed. "You mean I don't get to see you naked?"
"No." I smiled, flattered, as I pulled my catsuit out of the drawer and held it up over my clothes. "You get to see me in this, like everyone else."
"Not even as a reward?" Joel's tone of voice was playful, but I could tell he really was hoping I'd agree to it. That's what made it flattering.
"Maybe afterwards," I relented. "But only as a thank you." His eyes lit up. "And it doesn't mean we're having sex or anything either," I added, just in case he was getting the wrong impression.
By the time I called for Joel to come back in, I had everything ready. I was wearing the catsuit, which covered my entire body up to my neck. I'd managed to use a handful of my small padlocks to attach one end of a piece of chain to my bed's headrest, and the other end to the ankle cuffs I'd put on. I'd fumbled a little taking out the keys due to my gloved hands, but I'd managed it. All that was left was for Joel to complete my captivity, finishing what I'd started.
I guided him through padlocking my wrist cuffs behind me, to the same piece of chain, next to my feet. He made a pretty tight hogtie, and the thought of not being able to escape without his help made me tingle. He even picked up all the keys and put them in his pocket without any prompting, like a true dom.
The next to last item was the spandex hood, black to match my catsuit. I had hoped to get a proper zentai suit with a built-in hood, but it wasn't very practical and I couldn't afford it anyway. Joel carefully placed the hood on my head and zipped it up behind me. It wasn't my sort of thing, really, but I wasn't about to send the world pictures of myself all tied up if I was easily identifiable. For all I knew, our neighbours could have been subscribed to that newsgroup.
The very last item was the bright pink ball gag. I had to make sure Joel knew exactly what he was doing before he fastened it around me. Thankfully, he could understand me despite the hood muffling my voice slightly.
"What are you going to do next?" I asked, to make sure he remembered.
"I'm going to put the gag on you, then take pictures of you squirming for a few minutes. Then I'll post them to the newsgroup, and once that's done, I'll untie you."
That was the moment, right there. No going back. "Thank you," I said, naive young woman that I was.
.... There is more of this story ...