May 14, 2023 – London (Hampstead) – 7:17 p.m.

“Chronicles of Astrid Latour – Part 32 (confidential! No peeking)”

It’s obvious something… suspicious is going on here. Not suspicious in the creepy way that would make me pack my bags and run back to my parents in Bordeaux. More like… weird.

Just yesterday, my flatmate Jane (well, technically more my landlady than a flatmate—seriously, who owns a triplex in London these days??) once again had her “friend” Jessica over.

Jessica, the petite blonde with mischievous brown eyes, has been dropping by three times a week ever since I moved in a month ago.

Oh, she’s lovely. I’m not about to kick her out or complain. She even took me to the pub a couple of weeks ago. But… there are all these strange noises.

It’s always the same routine. Jane and Jessica chat for maybe five minutes—always awkward, a little stilted—then they go straight up to the second floor and lock themselves in.

Naturally, my attempts to discover what’s hidden up there have been in vain. For several reasons.

The main one: the second floor is always locked. No key, no entry.

The second: finding out would mean pushing Jane for answers. And Jane can be… intimidating. She’s 1.77 meters tall, athletic, sharp-eyed, and brunette—with this commanding air about her that makes you think twice before prying into her business.

Not to mention, given the price I’m paying for such a gorgeous room, I’d have to be suicidal to get on the wrong side of my “benefactress.”

Still, the noises. Strange noises. Moans… but not normal moans. As if someone—probably Jane or Jessica—had their voice half-smothered. And then these sharp cracks… like spankings. Not playful ones, either. Whoever it was up there, someone was getting a real beating. »

*

Astrid’s pen hovered above the page as she was about to continue: “I’ll keep investigating, and I won’t fail to update you (well, myself)…”

“Still writing?” Jessica’s voice rang out, pulling her violently back to reality.

Startled, Astrid snapped her notebook shut, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. The French student, barely a month into her London adventure, had grown protective of that little journal—her private place for suspicions she would never dare voice aloud.

Jessica, however, had no respect for locked doors. Or rather, for the absence of them. She had her own key to Jane Reilly’s gorgeous Hampstead triplex, and she never hesitated to use it—not just to visit Jane, but increasingly often to drop in on Astrid herself.

And she never knocked.

Astrid had noticed the habit starting two weeks ago: Jessica would simply breeze in, all mischief in her eyes, as if the real game was catching the new roommate off guard.

Her relationship with Jane was officially just friendship, of course. Astrid wasn’t fooled. The late-night noises upstairs had already painted a much clearer picture.

“O–Oh, yes,” Astrid stammered, sliding the notebook into her desk drawer. “Something for work.”

Jessica’s smile curved wider as she crossed the room and settled comfortably on the bed. Today she wore a crisp white blouse, a gray skirt, and polished black boots—her usual office look, neat but effortlessly stylish. By day she was a paralegal in a small London law firm. By night… well, Astrid still wasn’t sure what “by night” meant.

“Yes, of course—work stuff,” Jessica replied with a wink. “Though I’m pretty sure you’re scribbling naughty little things in that diary of yours,” she teased, her trademark mischievous look dancing in her eyes.

Astrid flushed an even deeper shade of red and stammered something utterly incomprehensible.

“I’m kidding,” Jessica laughed. “But even if you were… well, everyone’s allowed their little secrets.”

Astrid didn’t answer right away.  After a few seconds, she changed the subject.

“Jane’s not home yet. But I imagine she’ll be here soon.”

“I know. She texted me a little while ago,” Jessica said with a shrug. “Oh, and by the way,” she added, “I brought you those books we talked about.”

Astrid smiled and nodded. The French student loved books, and Jessica had told her she had a whole stack she’d been planning to get rid of. When she offered to lend them to Astrid during her stay in London, Astrid had jumped at the chance.

“Thank you so much. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jessica said with a grin as she stood up. “I’ve never been much of a reader anyway. I prefer… action.” She gave a playful smirk before heading for the door.

“You’re leaving already?” Astrid asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah. Jane and I are meeting at the restaurant tonight instead. I just wanted to stop by, say hi, and drop off the books,” the blonde replied before stepping out.

“Well then… have a good evening.”

“You too,” Jessica called back, flashing a quick smile before disappearing.

A few seconds later, Astrid heard the door slam shut. She was alone again.

Astrid stayed alone in her room for a few seconds before rising from her chair and stepping out.

Jane’s apartment was beautiful—surprisingly so, spread across three floors, with the second floor strictly off-limits to Astrid.

She walked down the stairs to the ground-floor living room. It didn’t take long to spot what she was looking for: a large cardboard box labeled “My book collection. Have fun —Jessica.”

Astrid smiled faintly and quickly pulled the box open. As promised, Jessica had left a good number of books she no longer needed, and Astrid was eager to dive in—both to keep sharpening her English (already excellent) and to discover some new works.

One by one, she began pulling out the volumes, giving each cover a quick glance.

Most of the collection was fairly standard, and Astrid started to suspect it was little more than a stack of books Jessica had been assigned during her studies.

Well… almost.

Because it was hard to believe that Learning Self-Bondage or The Complete Guide to Bondage had ever appeared on a school reading list.

Astrid picked up the two books, one in each hand, and stood there for a few seconds, just staring at them.

“What the fuck.”

***

May 29, 2023 – London (Hampstead) – 9:42 p.m.

« Chronicles of Astrid Latour – Part 47 (yes, I’ve been writing a lot).

Two weeks, fifteen days, whatever—since I found those books. I told myself I’d only flip through them out of curiosity, like research. Lies. Every night I read more. And now… well, tonight I’m going to try. Not seriously, of course. Just… a test. A little experiment. To prove to myself it’s nothing. Or maybe to prove the opposite.

Just in case, I took the liberty of making a few… acquisitions. After all, if I’m going to try this, I might as well do it with proper gear, right?

Armed with a pair of handcuffs and that weird thing the book called a “ball gag” (yes, the one Jess “forgot” in her box—she still hasn’t noticed), I’m officially ready for the grand adventure.

And just to reassure anyone reading these lines against my explicit instructions not to (Mom, please tell me this isn’t you…)—I picked the perfect moment. No Jane at home, and no risk of Jessica barging in without knocking, since the two of them are out for the evening.

There’s no way I’m ending up in one of those cliché “self-bondage gone wrong” situations (apparently there are whole sections of the internet dedicated to that… seriously, so weird). »

*

Astrid rolled her eyes and snapped the notebook shut. Enough writing—if she didn’t move now, she’d lose the nerve.

She was determined to try self-bondage tonight, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

Nothing too serious, of course. Just a pair of handcuffs. A gag. A test run. To feel what it was like.

And after that? She’d toss it all in the trash.

Yes. Just a little experiment. Nothing more.

Astrid, who had decided to put on pajamas for the experiment (a gray T-shirt and pink shorts), rose from her desk and opened her wardrobe. She shifted a few clothes aside to retrieve the shopping bag where she had hidden her recent purchases.

She dumped the meager contents onto the bed. Nothing wild: a pair of steel handcuffs (she wasn’t about to settle for some toy version) and a plain gray ball gag. She hadn’t bought anything else—already half-dying of embarrassment just walking into a sex shop.

For her first experience, she had decided to keep things simple. She would gag herself (something she never would have imagined doing in her life), then place the handcuff keys on her bedside table (to the left of the bed, near the door—a detail that would soon matter), and cuff her hands.

Then, after five minutes… maybe ten, she would free herself.

Simple as that.

Astrid hesitated with the gag in her hands, rolling the silicone ball between her fingers as if it might suddenly explain itself. Up close, it looked ridiculous—like some oversized candy stolen from a child. Hardly threatening.

And yet, when she brought it to her lips, her stomach flipped. She opened wide—wider than she thought possible—and slid it in. The ball filled her mouth instantly, pressing against her tongue, pushing her cheeks out just enough to make her feel faintly ridiculous.

Then came the strap. Tightening it behind her head took fumbling effort, her fingers clumsy with nerves. When it finally clicked into place, the effect was immediate: silence. Well, almost. She could still make noises, of course—pitiful little whimpers, muffled protests—but her voice, her words, were gone.

She stared at her reflection in the darkened window. Hair slightly tousled, gag gleaming gray against her lips. She looked… silly. Silly, and—she hated to admit it—strangely excited.

Astrid let out a cautious “mmph,” just to test it. The sound was absurd, humiliating. And yet, the vibrations against the ball sent a shiver down her spine.

Maybe this wasn’t so silly after all.

Astrid took another deep breath, the gag already forcing her breaths to sound shallow, louder than usual. Her hands shook slightly as she picked up the handcuffs, the cold steel heavier than she expected. Real cuffs, not toys. They had a certain finality to them, and for a second she wondered what on earth she was doing.

She set the tiny key down on the bedside table, just where she had planned—left of the bed, near the door. Within reach, she told herself. Safe. Foolproof.

Right. Time to do it.

With awkward fumbling, she slipped one cuff around her right wrist and tightened it until it clicked snug against her skin. The sound was sharper than she’d imagined—loud in the quiet of her room, loud in her head. A jolt went through her stomach.

Her left hand hesitated above the other cuff. This was the moment—the point where she would stop being in control. She rolled her eyes at herself, as if mocking her own nerves, then snapped the second cuff shut.

Click.

And just like that, her wrists were locked behind her back.

She tested them immediately, tugging once, twice, twisting her arms. Nothing. The steel was merciless, the angle awkward, the gag forcing her breath quick and shallow as the realization sank in: she was really restrained.

“Mmmph…” she tried, partly to laugh at herself, partly to test how she sounded. The gag reduced it to a pitiful, muffled hum.

She turned, glancing toward the bedside table. The key was there, of course, gleaming innocently in the lamplight. So close, so easy.

Except with her hands cuffed behind her, she would have to wriggle across the bed, get down, stretch, somehow fish it up with her fingers. Possible, sure. But not simple.

Astrid wriggled once on the mattress, the cuffs biting lightly against her skin. A rush of heat swept through her—half nerves, half excitement.

So this was it. Self-bondage.

And she was in it, for real.

For the first two minutes, nothing happened. Astrid simply sat on the bed, gagged, her hands cuffed behind her back, quietly experimenting with the sensations.

But after ten minutes of staring at her reflection, she decided that if she was going to do this, she might as well really do it.

The apartment was empty. Nobody could see her. So why hold back?

She began to moan into the gag, louder this time, testing the sound. Then she started tugging at the cuffs, twisting her body, writhing on the mattress. She wasn’t just a girl who had cuffed herself anymore—she was playing the part of the poor damsel in distress, struggling desperately to break free.

Well… a slightly foolish damsel in distress, given that the handcuff key sat right there on the bedside table, within easy reach.

By the end of the ten minutes she had originally set as her limit, Astrid was anything but free—and her new “toys” were nowhere near the trash.

On the contrary, she was completely immersed in her role as the classic damsel in distress, “struggling” to break free of her handcuffs and gag. Muffled noises filled her room—maybe even the whole apartment—as she squirmed and twisted on the bed, reenacting every cliché she’d ever seen in a movie.

Minutes slipped by without her noticing. What was meant to be a five-minute test—ten, at most—was already stretching into something else entirely.

Astrid writhed against the cuffs, moaning into the gag with growing exaggeration. At first, she’d been timid, self-conscious. Now she was really leaning into it, letting her body twist and strain, her muffled cries spilling louder, rawer, until they echoed around the room.

She caught her reflection again in the darkened window: a red-faced girl in pink shorts, gag gleaming, wrists cuffed neatly behind her back, thrashing like some second-rate actress in a melodrama. The absurdity of it should have broken the illusion. Instead, it only made her laugh—well, try to laugh. What came out was a breathless stream of whimpers and squeals that sent another shiver through her chest.

It was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Silly. And somehow… addictive.

Perhaps a little too addictive…

Because Astrid didn’t notice Jessica slip into the room. She didn’t notice the mischievous grin spreading across her face, either.

And by the time she did notice, the blonde was already standing by the bedside table—fingers closing around the key.

“Mmmphhh?!” Astrid yelped, cheeks blazing crimson as Jessica looked down at her with a blend of mischief and triumph.

“I knew I’d catch you doing something like this one day!” Jessica declared, tucking the key neatly into the pocket of her jeans.

“Mmmphff, mmpphff, mmmpphhff!” Astrid protested wildly, straining against the cuffs—half desperate to explain, half desperate to lie, and more than anything desperate to get that key back.

Jessica didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in, studying the French student’s gag and cuffs with exaggerated care.

“Nice gear,” she said at last, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Looks like those two books I lent you gave you some inspiration.”

Astrid froze, the truth crashing over her like a wave. The blonde hadn’t forgotten those books in the box at all. She’d planted them. On purpose.

“Mmmppphhhfff!” Astrid cried, thrashing in indignation as the realization sank in—she’d been played.

Jessica’s grin widened as she turned toward the door, her excitement barely contained.

“Don’t move a muscle,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Now’s when the real fun begins.”

When Jessica returned less than five minutes later, Astrid was still handcuffed and gagged.

But the French girl knew instantly that her situation was about to get worse. Jessica now carried two more pairs of handcuffs—and, more alarming still, something Astrid recognized almost at once: a harness panel gag. The leather contraption had straps that buckled over the head, under the chin, and around the neck, with a thick red ball mounted in the center of the panel. Astrid had no doubt where that ball was headed.

“Let’s start with these pretty ankles,” Jessica said cheerfully, kneeling at the side of the bed. She snapped the first cuff around Astrid’s left ankle with practiced ease.

Astrid didn’t even think to resist. Was it shock? Curiosity? She couldn’t say. All she knew was that within seconds, her wrists were no longer the only part of her body locked in steel.

“What a perfectly obedient little submissive!” Jessica laughed after snapping the cuffs shut around Astrid’s ankles.

“Mmmpphhfff?!” Astrid cried, indignant at the word the blonde had just used to describe her.

Jessica only chuckled, reaching for the second pair of handcuffs. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s my role in this house too.”

Before Astrid could process what that even meant, Jessica had slid onto the bed beside her, grabbing hold of her legs and rolling her onto her stomach.

“Mmmpphhfff!” the French girl protested as Jessica lifted her ankles, tugging them toward her bound wrists.

Astrid’s eyes widened as Jessica produced the third pair of handcuffs, letting the steel dangle in front of her face with a little jingle.

“Mmmpphhfff?!” Astrid whimpered, shaking her head frantically.

“Oh yes,” Jessica teased, sliding onto the bed beside her. “Two pairs just weren’t enough, were they? Let’s make this nice and proper.”

With a quick motion, she clipped one cuff of the new pair around the chain binding Astrid’s ankles, then pulled it up toward the cuffs at her wrists. Astrid squealed into her gag, writhing as her back arched under the pressure.

“Mmnnnfffhh! Mmmpphhfff!” she cried, her protests muffled and frantic.

Jessica laughed, snapping the other cuff into place and giving the new link a little shake to test it. “Perfect. Now you’re hogtied, sweetheart. Arms, legs… all neat and tidy.”

“MMMPPHHH!” Astrid shouted, thrashing against the steel.

“Shhh, don’t pout,” Jessica said with a grin, brushing a strand of red hair from Astrid’s flushed face. “You make such an adorable damsel when you’re helpless. Honestly? You wear it well.”

Astrid groaned into her gag, half in outrage, half in embarrassment.

Jessica let the moment linger, her hand still resting lightly on Astrid’s cheek. Then she reached behind her and picked up the harness gag she had left on the bed. The leather straps dangled, the thick red ball fixed at its center gleaming under the lamplight.

“I know a certain little minx who’s dying to try this new gag. Aren’t you?” Jessica said with a sly smile.

“Mmmpphff!” Astrid protested. Her tone was meant to be angry, disapproving—but part of her was far too excited. And it showed (oh yes, it definitely showed).

Leaning in, Jessica reached behind her flatmate’s neck and unbuckled the strap holding the ball gag in place.

Astrid drew in a sharp breath, stretching her jaw gratefully. She was about to say something—but before she could get a single word out, Jessica seized the chance and pushed the thick red ball of the harness gag between her lips.

Astrid’s muffled yelp was cut off immediately as the leather panel pressed flush against her mouth, sealing her lips beneath it. The taste of new leather, sharp and unmistakable, spread across her tongue while the oversized ball wedged her jaw wide.

“Much better,” Jessica murmured, tugging the first strap snugly around the back of Astrid’s head. The leather creaked as she worked, each buckle clicking tighter than the last. A second strap slid neatly under Astrid’s chin, locking her jaw in place. Then came the crown strap, drawn firmly over the top of her head, pulling everything together until the gag felt less like an accessory and more like a permanent fixture.

Astrid groaned into it, a deep, helpless sound that vibrated through the ball but went nowhere else. The noise was pathetic. Worse, it was adorable.

“There we go,” Jessica said, patting the gag as if to check her handiwork. “Secure, humiliating, and impossible to ignore. That little toy gag was just practice—this, sweetheart, is the real thing.”

Astrid wriggled furiously in her hogtie, cheeks blazing. But her eyes betrayed her: wide, shining, and far too excited for someone supposedly outraged.

“I’m so glad we’ve finally crossed this step,” Jessica said with amusement as she rose from the bed. “I’ve been telling Jane for weeks that you’re a naughty little thing, just like the two of us.”

“Mmmpphff, mmphfff?!” Astrid tried to respond, thrashing weakly against her cuffs.

“Oh, don’t tell me you still haven’t figured it out,” the blonde teased, leaning in close until her lips brushed Astrid’s ear. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “The second floor? It’s our BDSM dungeon.”

Astrid’s eyes went wide. So that was it—the muffled cries, the sharp smacks she’d overheard at night. She wasn’t just living with an intimidating accountant and her cheeky “friend.” She’d moved into a flat that literally housed a dungeon.

She, the little French student who’d come to London for a six-month adventure, had ended up in an apartment where an entire floor was devoted to BDSM.

It was—

Astrid never had the chance to finish the thought.

Because Jane’s voice rang out from the doorway. Firm. Sharp. More commanding than Astrid had ever heard it.

“Jess, what the hell is going on here?”

End of chapter.