It was a Wednesday, I think, when my boss asked if he could tie me up.
Oh get your mind out of the gutter! It wasn't anything like that, nothing kinky, untoward, or inappropriate. See, I work as a secretary for Globe Publishing, the premiere publisher of detective, real-bondage, and escapology magazines for the contemporary, 1963 newsstand market. We don't publish any "under the counter" trash, like those rags with that Betty Page tramp in her underwear pretending to whip other girls who are chained up. Our work is on the up-and-up, family-oriented, wholesome.
Our magazines are sold right out in the open on mainstream newsstands, next to Life, Newsweek, and the Ladies Home Journal. We pride ourselves on the informative, educational material in them, showing people the sad, sordid side of reality. It can be scary to think about all of the terrible burglars and criminals who'll take advantage of a woman alone, who'll break into their apartments and tie-up and gag them in their underwear, leaving them helpless and struggling, "mmmph-ing" into gags and unable to cry for help!
Since I started working here I've thought a lot about what I'd do if someone broke in and tied & gagged me before stealing all of my things. What would I do if I wriggled and struggled for hours, unable to cry for help and couldn't get loose? How long before my boss, Mr. Jacoby, realized I'd not come into work and called the police to rescue me? Even worse, what if it was Friday? Would I have to be there, tied, gagged, and struggling all weekend?
Well it was like he was reading my mind that fateful day when he came up and asked if he could tie me up, lil ol' me who answered his phone, typed his memos, and made his appointments. What in the world could I do, a 30-something spinster, that the pretty girls he hired as cover models couldn't.
"We're launching a new pub specifically dedicated to tales of girls who've found themselves involuntarily committed, and tied-up in straitjackets, for long periods of time," he said. "It's evidently an intense, frightening, and somewhat traumatic experience for them. And for this first issue," he added, "we'd like to get a perspective from a regular girl on what it can be like to have that happen!"
"So," he continued, "we'd like to get you secured in one of Mid-State Asylum's Complete Bodily Restraint Systems, let you settle into it for a bit, then write up an article telling us your thoughts and feelings on its comfort and security."
"And," he added, "we'll probably take some photos to use inside, maybe even on the cover."
You could have knocked me over with a feather! I was going to not only get tied up and have some time to experience it, but I was also going to be a published writer. And pictures of me could even be on the cover! I didn't know how to process my feelings, or even what to say.
"Th-th-thank you sir!" I said. "I'd be honored to do this for the company. When will it happen?"
"Tomorrow," he responded, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. Reading from it, he continued, "According to this you should wear something nice but comfortable. No makeup, no 'restrictive controlling undergaments', stockings are fine but no pantyhose. Oh and no elaborate hairstyles. 'Just put it up naturally' it says." Looking up he added, "I guess that means no hairspray or any of that other stuff."
He paused, looking me over. "So, are we good?"
"Yes sir!" I responded, masking my nervousness, and more than a bit overwhelmed that such a significant event would be happening so soon, so quickly. But I was determined to make Mr. Jacoby, and the company, proud.
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The next day I showed up wearing a simple crewneck top with mid-length sleeves paired with a pencil "A" skirt that had never been quite as snug as I wanted. As instructed I'd worn only a bra and panties, along with a garter belt and stockings. My hair is long and curly so putting it up with a few bobbie pins left it looking as if I'd been out in a windstorm. That and the lack of makeup made me feel very self-conscious as I rode in on the subway, looking almost like the hippie girl who got on when I was halfway to work. They hadn't specified but I'd worn my most sensible pumps, with only a one-inch, very chunky, heel.
It was business as usual until right around 10:30 when two men arrived, one of them carrying a large suitcase. The first, the supervisor I supposed, was a bit rotund, slouchy, and balding. The other was thinner with dark hair and a small beard, of the sort the beatniks wore.
"Hey missy," the supervisor smiled, leaning over with his fists on my desk, "buzz your boss and tell him Jackson from M.S.A. is here."
"Of course Mr. Jackson," I said, pressing the intercom button.
"No, no 'mister'. Just 'Jackson,'" he winked. His grin was lascivious but sincere. I could tell he was a man used to getting what he wanted. I returned his smile with my most innocuous one, hoping he wouldn't be that interested in me.
As they walked in, the bearded one stopped and gave me a close look. "You must be our girl for today, no? To wear the C.B.R.S?" he asked, speaking in an accent I couldn't place.
"I... I... yes. I think so. I am, I guess?" I said. "How did you know?"
"You are only one here who does not look like painted automaton," he said, glancing around. "Plus your general demeanor will make excellent you for our purposes."
As he walked in, he added, "Your boss man would appear to have excellent understanding of girls."
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After about a half-hour the three of them came out, Mr. Jacoby pulling on his overcoat and hat. "We're going to lunch. Be back in an hour!" he said.
Two hours later I was called down to one of the small photo studios on the 15th floor. The three of them were there, smelling more than a bit like a distillery. The bearded one (whose name I discovered was Serj) looked me over, touched my hair, and asked an unseemly amount of questions about what I was wearing. I was awfully embarrassed but Mr. Jacoby was there and wanted me to answer, plus I had agreed to do this, so what was I to do?
Serj went into his suitcase and pulled out the main article, the straitjacket. It looked heavy and intimidating, with the long arms, straps and buckles everywhere. I admit that I was more than a little bit frightened.
Holding it open, Serj said, "You will hold your arms out in front."
Obediently I held them out and he slid the sleeves and jacket over them. I have to say that I was shocked at how comfortable it was. Sure it was a heavy canvas, but it was so soft and supple, not at all what I expected. I felt suddenly very relaxed, that this wouldn't be anywhere near as bad as I had expected.
He buckled the five straps in the back, then had me cross my arms under my breasts. It took me a minute to decide which arm I wanted on top, ultimately deciding on my left into my right. As he buckled them behind me he yanked them hard, pulling them extra tight. It felt like I was giving myself a hug and was somehow very comforting.
"This feels very secure," I said.
"Yes," replied Serj, "and this is where most places say is enough. But we add extra layers of security with C.B.R.S."
With that he adjusted more straps on the sides, making the entire jacket snugger and closer to my body, more form fitting. I'm embarrassed to say that my vanity approved of this, as the jacket was no longer shapeless and showed off my figure better. Although each strap he tightened made it that much harder for me to move my arms.
Next he pulled out another wide leather strap, threaded it through two loops on the jacket's upper arms, wrapping it around my body, and pulled it tight, buckling it behind my back. He repeated this with an identical strap lower down my arms, buckling it equally tight. As he closed each buckle there was a slight click that I felt more than heard.
Talking to Mr. Jacoby he said, "See how arm strap now looser? So we bring in snug again." As he said that he tightened up the strap to the sleeves my arms were in. I didn't think it was possible to hug myself tighter, but I was evidently wrong. I almost lost my balance at one point, and was told to step out of my shoes.
Standing flat-footed in my stocking feet, all the straps were secured except for two which hung from the bottom of the jacket. I gathered that they were to go between the legs, making it extra secure while leaving the inmate's private parts free for necessaries. But since I was wearing a skirt I assumed they wouldn't use those. How could they?
"Next comes gag," said Serj.
"Oh this part is very important," Jackson said. "Noisy girls can disturb our attendants, so we want to keep them quiet. And believe me, they can make a lot of noise!" he laughed.
"Hah, I know what you mean," responded Mr. Jacoby. "Can I get one of these for my wife?" I flushed as they all laughed.
The gag itself was a sort of leather cup which fit across the bottom portion of my face, going under my chin and over my mouth. There was a leather ball attached to the upper portion which went into my mouth, filling it rather thoroughly. There were straps, one of which went behind my head, another over top of it which attached to that one, and even one that went from under my chin and looped around my neck. As he buckled each strap there was a tiny, almost imperceptible click.
"How does that feel?" asked Serj.
"It feels very interesting and secure," I wanted to say. But all that came out was, "Mmm mmm mmrf!" I couldn't move my mouth or my tongue at all. I had been rendered speechless and it was more than a bit scary. What if I needed to tell them something? I was reassured by reminding myself that these men were professionals and knew exactly what they were doing. If I couldn't speak it was because I didn't need to.
It was about that there was a knock on the door and Pete came in with his camera bag. "What did I miss? Am I too late? Whoah!" he said, taken aback by the sight of me.
"No, you're right on time," answered Mr. Jacoby. "Things are just starting to get interesting."
"I'll say!" replied Pete. "Wow, that's a pretty elaborate get-up, just the thing for Halloween," he added as he pulled out his camera, put it to his eye and began clicking away.
"Is not costume," responded Serj. "Is important professional equipment for restraining dangerous girls."
