Glamour bondage by Uncle M

Here’s a new story for you, called “A Truly Open House.”  The main character in this story, Joanne, is based on the realtor I’m currently dealing with; in her early 40’s, brown hair to her shoulder, fair skin, her fingernails are red and nicely manicured; she had heels on yesterday, but I’d imagine she’s the type of woman who goes for a deep red pedicure.  Her feet appeared to be a size 6 or so, she’s about 5 foot 3.

Joanne walked into the real estate office feeling quite proud of herself.  She was having a run of very good luck with her sales, and was slowly moving up the ladder of realtors in her office.  She was beginning to get more of the larger sales, which meant bigger commissions, which, in turn, meant more money for fun.  The previous weekend, she had bought a new purse (a cute Coach, the new Madeline signature tote, in brown), as well as a Verizon Chocolate cell phone, one of the hottest phones on the market and one she had coveted for months.  Today she was wearing a cute twin set, slacks (both Brooks Brothers), and new heels from one of the hottest shoe designers.  As she walked to her desk, she saw a post-it note from Heather, one of her colleagues.  Things had been rough with Heather lately; Joanne had, accidentally, intercepted a customer who had arrived to see Heather.  Within a few hours, the customer had bought a home for over $500,000, meaning a nice commission for Joanne, and a missed opportunity for Heather. 

The note was attached to a picture of a very large Colonial, and the note said the following: “Talked to Jim this morning, and he wants to try something different.  His new theme is, ‘House deals so spectacular, we should be arrested.’  He wants you to try it out at this new house, he has someone interested, a big buyer, but they’re slightly kinky.”  Joanne looked at the note with some skepticism, but then looked at the house; it was easily close to $1 million, and would mean some crazy shopping days to follow.  She packed up quickly, stepped into her Volvo, and drove off.

Arriving at the address, it was at the end of a long driveway, surrounded by large trees; it almost had a cabin feel on the exterior.  There were no cars parked in front, and no open house sign, but that wasn’t so unusual at that time of the day.  She decided she would take a look around the house before setting up shop.

Walking in, she took out her cell phone, but then noticed a small bag on the counter outside the kitchen.  She put her purse and cell phone on the kitchen table, a couple of feet away, and opened the bag.  Inside was a pair of handcuffs, a key, and typed instructions.  “Joanne, try these out before we do the open house.  The key is in the bag.  I know you’ll do great, Jim.”  Joanne, feeling a bit uncomfortable, eased her mind with the thought of the money.  Maybe it could mean a vacation, a Louis Vuitton bag, or something spectacular.  Putting aside all common sense, she latched one end of the handcuffs to her left wrist, and the other end to a pole attached to the bar.  The handcuffs were steel, and had the realt estate firm name etched into the cuffs.  “Cute,” she thought, thinking of all the other crazy ideas Jim had brainstormed to sell houses.  All of them worked, so maybe this would as well.  Then, she heard a door slam, and in walked Heather.

“Well hello there,” Heather sneered, looking at Joanne. “How do you like the little set-up?  Why don’t you unlock yourself so we can talk.”  Joanne put the key in the hole, but something was wrong; it wasn’t working.  Joanne looked at Heather and said “What is this?  Is this the wrong key?”  “No,” said Heather, “at least not for me.  You’re stuck, I put in a dummy key.  Plus, the note isn’t from Jim; it was typed by me.  I knew your greed would get the best of you, and here’s another surprise.  I called Jim to come by in an hour.  When he sees you like this, you’re done!”  Heather laughed heartily as she left Joanne yelling for her.  “Come back you little snot!”  Joanne yelled out the door.  “Let me out of this!”  However, Heather was long gone.

Joanne looked around the room, there had to be something to help.  She could try to pick the lock with a hairpin; she looked at the kitchen table, and noticed her purse and cell phone.  If she could reach her purse, she could get out a hair pin and get herself out.  Stretching out her arm, she tried to get the purse.  However, it sat at least 6 inches beyond her fingertips grasp.  She stretched out harder, her left arm pulling on the cuff, her fingers stretching out to feel the supple leather of the purse strap.  She strained so hard, but wasn’t coming anywhere close enough; at her greatest stretch, she was still about 3-4 inches away.  She turned her attention to the phone, which was closer.  Maybe she could call Jim to explain?

She stretched out again for the phone, and was much closer, about a half inch away.  She spread out her fingertips even more, wanting, hoping to feel her new phone within her fingertips, to be able to hold it.  She strained her fingers, her nicely-pedicured fingernails coming closer and closer to the phone, the red nails finally barely coming into contact with the object.  She started to wiggle her fingers madly, trying to find purchase, when she accidentally knocked the phone back, and it fell from the table.  Joanne held her breath, and luckily, the phone did not break.  How would she get it now, though?

Thinking quickly, she grabbed the cuff with her right hand, slid down, leaned out, and tried to get the phone with her foot.  The toe of her heel was coming closer on her right foot, but she realized she’d need to do it with bare feet, to grasp the phone.  Slipping off her heels, she tried agin, stretching out her legs.  The strain was evident, as the muscles in her thighs and calves stood out, and her toes spread with the effort.  She could see her red-pedicured big toe inching closer to the phone, and as the handcuff bit into her left wrist, and the strain got to her, she groaned a little with the effort.  How ironic was it, that this phone, in her grasp just an hour earlier, the phone she wanted so badly, now lay a half inch beyond her toes grasp when she need it most.  She strained, struggled, the veins and in her feet standing out, the struggle taking its toll.  She spread her toes widely, then wiggled them, then pointed them, trying to find some purchase, just trying to be able to touch the cool plastic and metal of the phone with her toes.  However, it was no use.  The phone barely evaded her toes greatest reach.  What she didn’t want to admit, though, was that this struggle excited her, in ways she could not describe.

Joanne would be caught, of course; Jim walked in to find one of his most successful agents straining and struggling to reach her phone with her toes.  It was Heather’s dream; except Jim happened to have a bondage and foot fetish.  What started as an attempt at revenge turned into an introduction to a relationship, one that both Joanne and Jim found, well, quite enjoyable.