Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Frustration (MF bdsm) by Medea

   Damn you, Paul.  If you hadn't suggested this, I'd be at work today,
same as always.  Instead, I'm spending the day in bed, dressed in my office
blazer and slacks, but going nowhere because I accidently chained myself in
place.  I just wanted to check that everything was ready, before I left for
work.  I thought it would be a nice surprise, if after we went out for
dinner tonight, we came back and the cuffs were already there.  Then you
could strap me to the bed, the way you described it last week when we were
sitting around after all the guests went home, too tired to clean up,
drinking leftover wine.

   We were on the couch, leaning back in opposite corners, my legs
stretched across your lap.  You were flipping channels, checking out the
late-night infomercials and televangelists, while I relayed bits of gossip
I'd picked up earlier in the evening.  Most of it wasn't all that
interesting, just vacations and promotions and a persistent rumor which
Natalie, one of our single friends, always denies, about how she's having
an affair with someone from work.

   "Oh, wait, I nearly forgot to tell you about this one," I said.  "Mary
pulled me aside, while her husband was helping you with the grill in the
backyard.  She wanted to know if I had any tips on buying bondage gear."

   "Huh, I wouldn't have thought John was into that sort of thing.  Or
Mary, for that matter."

   "You didn't know Mary in college.  She used to experiment with all sorts
of things.  I'm actually a little surprised she needed to ask me for
advice."

   "So what did you tell her?"

   "To avoid handcuffs and get a set of solid leather cuffs, and then check
out the hardware store for things like rope and metal connectors."

   "Did you tell her about the quick release straps you can get at REI?"

   "No, I forgot.  We don't use them that often, really."

   "Whatever happened to your cuffs, anyhow?"

   "They were pretty badly damaged during our beach.  I think the
combination of salt water and being left out in the sun was too much.  I
tossed them because the leather started to crack."

   "And you didn't buy new ones?"

   "No, never got around to it.  You've been so eager to practice your
ropework, it didn't seem urgent."

   "That's too bad," you said, stroking my leg, "because if I weren't so
tired right now, I'd chain you to the bed and do all sorts of terrible
things."

   Today, I went to set it up, hurrying because there's not even a full
half hour between the time your carpool arrives and the time I need to
leave.  I was checking that the new cuffs would fit me and were properly
secured to the chains that hang from our bed frame, when I accidently
locked the left one in place.  It's almost as stupid as when I stopped to
play with a pair of handcuffs while cleaning out the toybox, pushing the
part that swings open through the locks so it clicked loudly, and
absent-mindedly closed it with my wrist inside.  But at least then you were
there to unlock it and laugh at me.  I wasn't worried at first this time,
either, since the phone is right here, within reach, but I can't get ahold
of you at work.  Your secretary says you're in a meeting until 11.

   I called my office next, and told them I'm not coming in today.  I'm
sure they think I'm just skipping out because it's a sunny Friday, and it's
not going to hurt my record, but dammit, this wasn't my plan.  We were
going to come home from work, change, go out to dinner, and when we got
home again I'd pull out the cuffs from where they were hiding, cleverly
covered by pillows.

   When I connected the cuffs to the bed, I used the kind of chain
connector you tighten down with a wrench, because part of the fun is
knowing that nothing I do will free me before you allow it.  The chains and
the bed are solid, letting me yank on them without anything breaking, but
of course now that's working against me.  I already put the wrench away in
the utility closet, where it sits beside the bolt cutters and any other
useful tools, frustratingly inaccessible.

   I want to call your secretary back, tell her to yank you out of that
meeting, but you'd be angry that I did so over something like this.  I
can't imagine trying to explain to her why it's so urgent, anyhow.  When I
left a message half an hour ago, I told her that you need to call me at
home, which should imply that something is wrong.  I hope.  Call soon,
please?  It's only 9:30, but maybe the meeting will end early.  Otherwise
this is going to be a very long Friday.