Self bondage at the park
Chapter One
Emma's fingertips brushed against the cold steel padlock. "Should've worn socks. Thick socks" she muttered, her breath fogging in the summer air. Little stones prickled her bare soles as she secured the final cuff around her ankle. Thick chains slithered like metallic snakes across fallen leaves. “No way out until I get the keys.” Emma thought.
From behind a nearby oak tree, Vera counted the keys in her palm—five little brass keys gleaming in the moonlit sky. She watched Emma test each restraint: wrists bound behind her back, legs tethered to a park bench. A slow smile spread across Miss Vera's face as she tucked the keys into her coat pocket. The game was hers to play now.
Emma twisted her arms, the metal biting into her skin. She'd planned every detail—the hollow beneath the pond, the loose brick by the hill - but hadn't accounted for the wind stealing her warmth. Goosebumps rose along her thighs as she scanned the empty paths. Where had she dropped the first key? Her heartbeat thudded louder than distant traffic.
Miss Vera stepped silently onto the gravel, crushing a brittle leaf beneath her boot. Emma froze at the crisp sound. "Good evening, my dear." Miss Vera called out, her voice smooth as velvet. She held up a single key, letting moonlight catch its glimmer. "Are you looking for something?" Emma's sharp inhale misted the air between them as Miss Vera turned and vanished into the maze opposite the bench.
Emma strained against her chains, metal scraping against bench wood. Think. The pond key was copper and Miss Vera showed a brass key. She doesn't have them all. Cold seeped into Emma's bones as she scanned shadows. A twig snapped near the wrought-iron gate at the entrance of the maze. Miss Vera's laugh drifted from the darkness, closer this time. "Running would be sweeter if you could move, my little ponygirl."
The scent of damp earth filled Emma's nostrils as she dropped sideways onto grass. Pebbles dug into her hip as she wriggled backward toward the bench leg. Her bound wrists screamed, fingers blindly seeking the loose screw she'd loosened yesterday—a hidden failsafe beneath flaking paint.
Hours bled away. Emma fought the chokehold of despair. Every twist against the chains felt like tearing muscle. The bench leg became slick with her sweat, the hidden screw’s indentation mocking her fingertips. She tried reckless leverage - throwing her weight sideways until her shoulder popped -but only tore skin raw. Dew soaked her hair, plastering strands to her cheeks like icy tears. Dawn’s faint gray smear on the horizon wasn't hope; it meant exposure. Her face flashing across screens. Her name shouted in ridicule. Emma Lawson, Assistant Director…. Her stifled scream died against the gag’s unforgiving circle. …Done. She slumped, the chains holding her upright like a puppet. Her breath fogged uselessly in the nights sky. Vulnerable. Locked. Utterly trapped.
Miss Vera's reappearance wasn't silent this time. Boot heels crunched deliberately on gravel nearby. Emma flinched, curling tighter against the bench’s cold iron leg. Miss Vera crouched, her dark coat pooling around her like spilled ink. She didn't speak. Instead, her fingers traced the bruised welts on Emma’s ankles with a clinical, detached touch. Then, she held it up high: Emma’s stubby, familiar screwdriver, glinting in the weak moonlight filtering through the trees. Hope, sharp and treacherous, pierced Emma’s despair. Miss Vera tilted her head, her eyes dark pools above Emma’s gagged face. She tapped an O-ring gag with the screwdriver. Clink. Clink. The unspoken offer hung, colder than the air.
Emma stared, trembling uncontrollably. Freedom? For this permanent silence? The gag felt like a parasite welded to her skull. But the horizon was brightening. Footsteps echoed faintly - a lone jogger? Panic exploded behind her ribs. She couldn’t be found like this. Her eyes locked onto Miss Vera’s. A frantic, pleading nod. Yes. Do it. Miss Vera’s smile was slow, predatory, as she leaned in. The screwdriver placed into Emma's hands. Miss Vera's hands moving to the gag’s sturdy lock. Not unlocking. Reinforcing. "Shhh," Miss Vera whispered against Emma’s ear, her breath hot. "The game changes at sunrise, little mouse." She pulled back, leaving Emma gagged, chained… and utterly confused. Miss Vera stood, surveying her prize. "Rest now. You’ll need it." Then she turned and melted into the thinning shadows, the first rays of dawn painting the path gold. Emma was alone. Silent. Still locked. And dawn was on its way.
Emma squeezed the screwdriver’s cold metal handle until her knuckles screamed. Miss Vera hadn’t freed her; she’d offered the tool and vanished. The implication slammed into Emma: Miss Vera wanted her to escape. The chase wasn't over; it was just entering a new, agonizing phase. Using the ring gag as leverage, Emma twisted her torso violently, scraping skin raw against the bench leg. She jammed the screwdriver’s tip into the hidden indent beneath peeling paint. Metal shrieked. With every ounce of strength fueled by terror, she twisted. Rust flaked away. The screw groaned, budged, then popped free! Elation surged as the chain anchoring her collar slackened fractionally. She wasn’t free, but she could move about now. Walking was torture. Every step dragged the heavy ankle chains through damp grass, the collar chain still attached to the anal hook deep inside her, pulling taut against her spine, forcing her posture into an awkward arch that thrust her breasts painfully forward. Her wrists remained locked behind her back, useless. Each lurch sent fresh waves of cold sweat prickling her skin. She scanned the dew-slick ground near the bench frantically – nothing. Where did Miss Vera drop the keys? Her eyes darted to the crushed flowers nearby.
Pushing through the thick foliage of the maze near where Miss Vera vanished was like wading through barbed wire. Twigs clawed her bare thighs. The anal hook jerked sharply with each uneven step, a brutal reminder. Moonlight, fading against dawn’s gray, glinted off something metallic half-buried in wet mulch beneath the largest bush. Keys! Emma stumbled forward, crashing to her knees beside them. A brass key lay in roots. She fumbled her bound hands desperately towards them, fingers clumsy with cold and strain. Her breasts pressed heavily against the wet earth as she reached, the collar chain digging into her throat. Just as her fingertips brushed cool metal, a shadow fell over her. She froze. Above her, leaning casually against the tree trunk, Miss Vera watched. A thin cigarette glowed between her fingers, its acrid smoke curling around Emma’s head. "Tsk, tsk," Miss Vera murmured, her voice low and amused. "Found one hiding spot." Her boot nudged Emma’s trembling hip. "Only four more to go before sunrise, pet. Tick-tock." She exhaled smoke directly into Emma’s upturned, gagged face.
Emma choked, twisting her head away. Panic flared anew. Four keys? Miss Vera lied! She had them all! The realization brought furious tears. She lunged sideways, ignoring the hook’s cruel tug, straining to hook a finger under the nearest key ring. It slid tantalizingly away. Miss Vera chuckled, flicking ash onto Emma’s bare shoulder blade. "Needs both hands, doesn't it?" Emma bucked, arching her back painfully to push her wrists closer, the bench screwdriver clutched uselessly behind her. Her fingers scrabbled desperately. She hooked a brass loop! Almost! Miss Vera sighed theatrically. Her boot slid under Emma’s ribs and shoved – not hard, but enough. Emma rolled onto her side, gasping behind the gag as the key ring slid deeper into the foliage, out of reach. Miss Vera crouched beside her head, her dark eyes gleaming inches away. "That gag," she purred, tracing the hard rubber O-ring digging into Emma’s cheek, "looks dreadfully uncomfortable. So... limiting."