Natalie Carver stepped into Riding Free, the new motorcycle gear supply
shop, both with excitement and a bit of trepidation. She had eyed it a few
times as she drove by, seeing some of the items in the front window, and
desperately wanted to see their other merchandise. Thanks to her friends and
her recent birthday celebration, she had a $200 Visa gift card to spend.
There were a few bikes on display, but they didn’t interest her. She
didn’t ride motorcycles and didn’t have any desire to start. Instead, she headed
right over to the leather chaps, boots, gloves, and hats that took up an entire
section of the store.
The leather did it for her; the feel of it on her skin, the tightness
around her body, the musky smell, and the power and confidence that it conveyed
to the outside world. It was only one of her fetishes, but it was as close as
she was going to get to experience her other, more intense interests in this
tiny Midwestern town. Of course, she had leather coats and winter gloves, but
they were different. They were practical. This was something she could wear
while she fantasized about being tied up.
Her pulse raced as she plucked a leather vest from the rack. She tried
it on, buttoning the front and adjusting it so that her 38DD breasts were
pushed up and forward by the unforgiving material, stretching the fabric of her
plain t-shirt mercilessly. She felt her nipples react, hardening into taut
flesh, and took a quick look around to ensure that no one was nearby.
Next it was riding gloves. She pulled the taut leather over her
well-manicured nails, flexing her hands to get her fingers all the way in, and
then admired how they looked against her soft, pale skin, Just the contrast
between the two turned her on even more, to the point that she wondered if the
management would mind her touching herself through her tight jeans. The fire
was that intense.
Natalie was reaching for a pair of riding chaps when something else
caught her eye. On the shelf was a selection of wrist cuffs. Most of them were
black, some with metal studs, some with buckles, and some with laces. They
varied in width from about two inches to long enough to cover her entire
forearm. Her eyes were wide in anticipation as she picked up one with two rows
of gleaming studs and buckled it tightly around her wrist, with half of the
cuff covering the glove. Grabbing an identical one, she repeated the procedure
on her other arm and held them out to view.
The cuffs were tight enough that they held the gloves securely on Natalie.
It was a tiny form of bondage; not nearly enough to satisfy her, but it took
her breath away nonetheless. Without thinking, she pushed her wrists together,
as if the cuffs were attached, and admired them. She pulled them up in front of
her face, as if an invisible rope was connected to the restraints and were
pulling her arms up towards the ceiling, and imagined what it would be like if
only someone was actually doing this to her.
“I think they’d look much better behind your back.”
Natalie’s excitement changed to embarrassment and near panic at the
sound of the deep, gravelly voice. She yanked her arms apart and put them at
her side before wheeling to face the source of the comment. Standing there,
with a rather amused look, was a man attired in standard biker gear – jeans,
boots, and a t-shirt under a leather vest.
He was tall, at least 6’2”, with a solid frame that would make any man
think twice before challenging him physically. His dark brown hair was cut
short; not quite a crew cut but short enough that he didn’t need to comb it.
His face was rugged, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors, and his sapphire eyes
bored directly into her brown ones. An ornate tattoo on his shoulder read MoBMC and had a chain encircling the
letters. Even with the slight smile on his lips, his expression indicated that
he did not tolerate bullshit, and that others should not take him or his
opinions lightly.
As if those factors didn’t provide enough intimidation, he looked at her
like he was appraising something he wanted to purchase.
She shook off her short-lived reverie and managed to find her voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Those cuffs,” he said. “The way you’ve got that vest strapped on,
having your hands secured behind you would make your chest stand out
perfectly.” He spoke in a completely matter-of-fact manner, as if making
obscene observations to women he did not know was an inherent right.
“That’s rather rude, don’t you think?” She put as much indignation as
she could in her voice; the surprise of being seen in such a provocative pose
had temporarily drained her of a more indignant response.
“Rude? Ha!” He laughed raucously, enough that a few heads turned their
way. None of them challenged him. “I’ll tell you what. If you can honestly tell
me you weren’t having a tiny fantasy about being tied up in those cuffs, with
that vest pushing your chest out like that, I’ll apologize to you and everyone
in here and then walk away.”
Natalie wanted to tell him exactly that, to tell him where he could
shove his obnoxious opinion, but somehow she couldn’t. Different thoughts about
what she should say ran through her mind, but they all sounded rather
superficial to her. He was spot on, and Natalie simply couldn’t wrap her mind
around it. Her mouth opened several times to respond but, finding no words at
the ready, she said nothing and finally hung her head in surrender.
“I know. It’s OK, you don’t have to be ashamed.” Now that she admitted
it, he was magnanimous in victory.
“How did you know?” Natalie finally managed to say quietly. For some
reason, she worried about challenging him.
“It’s not hard, really. I watched you strap yourself into that vest, I
saw how you stopped when you saw the cuffs, and how your face flushed. You get
turned on by being tied up, and you’ve probably never done it before.”
Natalie nodded, almost dumbfounded by this point. She belatedly realized
she was facing him with her breasts still pushed up and on display. Horrified,
she began to fumble with the buttons.
“My name is Locke.”
Natalie frowned and furrowed her brow but did not look up from her
working fingers. “Locke? What kind of a name is that?”
“It’s my nickname from my motorcycle club.”
“Oh, you can comment on my chest but you don’t have the balls to tell me
your real name?”
“You’ve got a feisty attitude,” Locke commented, “I like that. The
reason that’s the name I gave you is because it’s the only name that you need
to know at this point.” He ignored her incredulous look. “What’s your name?”
“Natalie. Because that’s what my parents named me.” That drew a smile
from him.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” Why are you
answering this guy?
“You look younger,” he said. “That’s nice.”
Natalie finally got the vest off and hung it back on the rack. “I’m sure
it is. Now,” she said as she started unbuckling the cuffs and pulling the
gloves off, “if you’re done embarrassing me, I’m leaving.” Trying to be quick
and get the gloves off proved impossible, so instead of stalking out the door
dramatically as she had planned, she spent several seconds wrestling to remove
them.
“Are you sure about that?” Locke asked in a tone that indicated he did
not expect her to go anywhere.
“Quite. This isn’t really fun for me.” She couldn’t look directly at him;
his gaze seemed rather...commanding, and it un-nerved her. Out of the corner of
her eye she saw Locke reach into his leather vest.
“OK, here’s the deal,” he said, his voice suddenly softer, “I know the
look of a woman with a need when I see it.” His sympathetic tone caused Natalie
to look at him once again. “You can stalk out of here and be mad at me and
spend the entire night wondering how I recognized what you were doing and how
much it excites you.” He stepped aside and extended his hand in a “please pass”
gesture. “Or do you want to hear what I have to say?”
Natalie did not respond, trying to demonstrate her lack of interest in
further conversation with him, but she made no move to walk away, either. Locke
waited a few seconds before speaking again. “If you want to experience that
passion that just got you soaked by wearing a vest and some biker wrist cuffs,
come to this location tonight at 10.” He handed her the card that he had taken
out moments ago. “Make absolutely sure you bring this card. You’ll be perfectly
safe at all times, and you might just find something you’ve been looking for.
It’s up to you.” Without another word, he turned and strode right out of the
store. She stared out the window after Locke as he climbed onto a Harley
Davidson and zoomed out of the parking lot.
Arriving home, Natalie stared at the card that Locke had given her. The
front contained two designs – the larger one, which was centered, appeared to
be two sets of handcuffs with the chains winding through each other like a
caduceus, the four cuff bracelets extending outward in a spread-eagle. Though
cryptic, Natalie had no misconceptions about the intent of the symbol.
The second design was much smaller and in the lower-right corner. It
took her a minute to realize it was a tiny padlock, like the kind people
attached to bike chains. Confused for a moment – it seemed redundant given the
handcuffs – she suddenly nodded in understanding. Padlock. His “name” is Locke. Oh, that’s so clever. She rolled her
eyes.
The back had only an address: 42 W. Pioneer Street. No city, nothing
else that might give a clue as to what Locke had meant. She knew where Pioneer
Street was, but when she looked it up on Google Maps, she was surprised to see
a 40 and a 44, but no 42. That was definitely odd.
Was it a prank? She
couldn’t fathom why someone would want to do such a thing to her, but she
couldn’t discount the idea either. Locke seemed so sincere and intense, though,
that she decided not to worry about that. If it was a joke, it was a joke, but
she would feel stupider if it was real and she didn’t check it out.
Now that she decided she was going to check it out, a certain
nervousness took hold of her body, as if she had gotten her finger stuck in a
very low-power electric socket. She had been blessed (or cursed, depending on
how she felt at the moment) with thoughts of being bound and gagged since the 9th
grade, and recognized the sensation. Fueled by anticipation, it was more
intense than she had ever felt. She loved to indulge in fantasies where she was
a detective, captured by criminals, kept in stringent restraint as their
hostage. Often things became erotic – her criminals were always rather handsome
and thought her quite lovely – and it depended on her mood whether she was a
willing participant or if she had to be “forced”.
The afternoon and evening crawled. She spent a great deal of it deciding
what to wear, which was rather tough given the lack of specifics from Locke. Natalie
realized it probably wasn’t very formal, but she decided to try and look at
least halfway decent. By the time she settled on a long-sleeve, tan cotton
blouse with jeans and black boots, half of her closet was scattered across the
floor of her bedroom.
Finally, it was close enough to 10 p.m. that she could get ready to
leave. She told herself that she wanted to get there early, to scope things out
and make sure that this invitation was on the level. While partially true, it
also had a lot to do with the fact that she was doing nothing except sitting in
front of the television, staring blankly at it while her imagination conjured
up all sorts of scenarios – some good, some not so good. She simply couldn’t
stand it any longer. Activity of any sort was preferable to her going out of
her mind.
It took about 20 minutes to get to West Pioneer. She watched the numbers
as she putted down the road, hoping there was a real number 40. As she had seen
on Google, number 40 was a hair salon and number 44 was a Chinese restaurant,
separated by a dimly-lit alley. The other side of the road was all odd numbers.
She drove back and forth through the area three more times, going as slowly as
she dared, but nothing suggested that number 42 was upstairs or a basement or
anything like that.
Making a fourth pass, she was just starting to think how much of a waste
of time this had been when she slammed on her brakes right in front of the
alley. A small sign was attached to one of the buildings, but actually in the
alley, so that anyone walking by would be unlikely to notice it. It didn’t help
that the sign contained a rather cryptic message:
MoBMC 42
Natalie stared at the sign until a horn behind her prompted her to drive
forward again. She parked a short distance away, marching back to the alleyway
with determination. As she got closer, her confidence began to wane, to the
point that she slowed her step and began to meander.
Well, I’m still 20 minutes early.
Time sped up and slowed down for her simultaneously. Each second, it
seemed that time dragged out, but she somehow managed to cover the ground at a
record pace. Finally, she reached the alley and turned down it, fear and
anxiety coursing through her entire body.
A very large man, with what appeared to be muscular tree trunks for
arms, stood at the only door. He watched her approach, but his face remained
expressionless; Natalie couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or not. She
flashed what she hoped was a disarming smile as she approached him.
“Hi. I’m, uh, my name is Natalie, and I’m here to see Locke. Oh! He gave
me this.” She thrust the card out to the doorman, who studied it but did not
attempt to take it. He looked her up and down, then to the card once more, and
finally grunted a single syllable.
“Wait.”
He then disappeared through the doorway.
Natalie remained in place, confusion overtaking her features, her hand
still holding the card out like a statue. Lowering her arm, she glanced
furtively up and down the alley, hoping no one had seen the odd exchange
between her and the Incredible Mute Hulk.
Several minutes passed before Natalie saw the door swing open. Locke
stood there, a smug yet pleased grin on his face. Natalie looked up at him,
unsure of what to say, but Locke was talking before she had a chance to think
of anything.
“Hi, Natalie. I’m not surprised that you came.”
“Why not?”
Locke shook his head. “Really? Let’s not play this game. We both know
exactly what I mean. Do you want to come in or not?”
She was a little embarrassed by his blatant refusal to entertain even
the pretense of innocence that she desired, but she guessed she would have to
live with that, at least for now.
“I do. At least I think I do.”
“I understand that,” Locke said. “Nerves often get in our way when we
try to learn about who we really are. But realize that your anxiety is caused
by your past experiences and anticipation of what the future might bring. If
you act and live in the present, you’ll see that there is no cause for worry.”
“What are you, a philosopher?”
“I’m a realist,” he responded. “If I sound like a philosopher, it’s
because the unvarnished truth is a philosophy by which I strive to live. In any
event, come in.”
He gestured for her to enter in front of him, and Natalie found herself
in a small, dimly-lit foyer. The only feature besides the door on the far wall
was a table with a few items on it.
“Now,” Locke was saying as she studied the minimalist surroundings.
“Things happen a certain way here. There is no negotiation or complaining. If
you choose not to participate or follow the requirements, you are free to
leave. Understand?”
Natalie tried to appear confident, but the import of Locke’s message
combined with his tone was intimidating. She nodded.
“I prefer verbal responses.”
Natalie shrugged her shoulders, unsure why it made a difference. “OK. I
understand.”
“Good.” He turned to the table, grabbed two items, and stepped forward.
“Now, raise your chin.” Natalie did as Locke directed, still unsure why she
felt compelled to treat every word out of his mouth like an Executive Order
from the White House. She saw a flash of orange and felt something cool, thick
– and leather – secured in place
around her throat. She drew in a sharp breath and felt her loins grow warm.
“Now,” Locke said, “your wrists, please.” Natalie held both hands out in
front of her and started when he slapped one metal bracelet of a pair of
handcuffs over her right wrist. It locked immediately and a wisp of – if not
fear, at least concern – made an appearance in her mind.
“Handcuffs? I don’t know. This is going kinda quick.”
Locke’s eyes bored in on hers, locking them in place while his lips
narrowed and his nostrils flared slightly. “I do know. What did I just say?”
“You said there was no negotiating or complaining. But –”
“And which of those words did you not fully understand?” He did not
raise his voice, but the tenor of his question carried more weight than the
loudest shout.
“None.”
“I didn’t think so. Now, you have two options, and I believe you know
what they are. Make a decision right now.”
Natalie glanced down at her wrists and then back at Locke. He looked
like he didn’t give a shit what she did one way or the other, but he wasn’t
interested in hearing her protests. She didn’t have much time.
I’m either about to do something wonderful or
make the worst mistake of my life.