A woman put into bondage by another woman goes through the same stages as grief. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.
The Leather Worker - Chapter 1
Denial, Anger and Bargaining.
My name is Marie.
I am lying on the bed in Jacki's room. How did I get here?
Jacki is my roommate in my house. I rented to her a year ago, because I had inherited the three-story structure from my folks and owned the house outright. I found I still needed to offset some of the costs of the taxes each year. So, I had done a few things to bump up the basement to apartment status so the fire marshal wouldn't hassle me, and she appeared two days after I placed an ad for a tenant. She seemed OK and I needed her rent check to pay the county and state so I let her take the downstairs apartment.
I did not really regret it.
We had been housemates for almost a year now. She was a leather worker, makes belts, bags and other accessory stuff and worked art shows in the counties around the house along with having a website to sell her stuff and attending the odd renaissance fair with specialty leather clothing. She is pretty talented actually. Good designs, well thought out and unique.
We got along OK, emotionally, culturally and physically. I thought she as kind of tough, perhaps tougher than my own more delicate sensibilities might have gone towards, but not so tough as we could not get along fairly well.
Not too much drama between us or hurt feelings over time, so I counted my blessings.
Neither of us was in a relationship, though I had the odd lover come home with me to help me get my rocks off, they never stayed longer than a couple weeks and there were never any of my men hanging around screwing things up between us with their Testosterone and male bullshit.
As for Jacki. She might have slipped someone into her basement apartment now and then, but to be frank, I had never seen it and did not know if she had any boyfriends at all. Ultimately it could have been a lot worse arrangement for a forty-seven-year-old half hippie chick like Jacki and a thirty-three-year-old single secretary like me.
Then Tuesday happened.
I had cleaned out the dryer of a load of laundry.
I was getting ready for work and in a hurry. I realized that my underwear drawer was completely empty and that when the load was done that none of my knickers had gotten cleaned with it. An oversight. There was a pair of Jacki's in the basket though. A pair of nylon black ones with a little bow at the center of the waist. I really had to get to work so I just took them on impulse and wore them instead. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
When I got home, Jacki was waiting.
"Where are my panties, bitch!" She said as soon as I saw her. It sounded vicious. Out of general character.
"I...uhh... I'm wearing them." I replied, contritely, but perhaps too lightly. "I needed..."
She held out her hand.
"Give them back...now!" She ordered.
I did not like being ordered like that and especially not in that tone. You know how it is. Someone who doesn't even say 'please.' No niceties like good manners, just demands. You are inclined to dig your heels in.
"Look...you don't have to be rude like this. I'll give them back. Just give me minute."
She stared at me, blocking my movement to move past her.
"Come with me!" She demanded. It was preemptory, I could have refused as I was getting pretty insulted, but there was a tiny amount of guilt in the back of my mind too, I was wearing her property and had not asked permission after all. I was a little self-conscious too. Jacki is lean and tall, maybe five ten or eleven, with this shock of tangled black hair that flies around her head she walks fast. Her narrow hips swaying side to side in her loose summer dress only emphasized her tightness. I am smaller than her at five-five, shorter for sure and wider across the hips and butt. I had found the fit of her underwear tight on me all day at work. Feeling them creeping up between my buttocks and into my outer labia a bit too. I was concerned that when she did finally get them back, they would be stretched, a little smelly and might not fit her properly anymore after I wore them.
She stalked downstairs to her apartment. To be frank, I had gone down there about two months after she moved to check a circuit breaker, but I had not been down into her apartment since. As we walked along the corridor and into her living-space she was ten steps ahead. I was vaguely curious. She went into what I knew to be her living room, holding the door open for me from behind it. As I walked in, I wasn't surprised to see that her furnishings were austere, consisted basically of two big plush leather chairs and a big Persian carpet with a couple lamps.
I paused, waiting I think for her to walk past me and talk to me. She didn't.
Instead, something flashed past my vision from top of bottom and I felt something on my belly and back.
"Wha...:" Was all I had time to say. It happened so fast.
