May 29, 2023 – London (Hampstead) – 10:00 p.m. (approx.)

« Chronicles of Astrid Latour – Part 48

(…or at least the entry I’ll write if I ever get out of this mess!)

This is a disaster! Well… maybe. I don’t know.

Anyway—let’s focus on the facts.

Fact number one: I am officially the dumbest, most naïve girl in all of London.

Who spends fifteen whole days studying self-bondage, laughing at all those “self-bondage gone wrong” stories online… only to end up in the exact same situation? And not after years of practice—on the very first attempt?!

And not even the complex kind, either. No clever knots, no elaborate traps. Just me, too busy playing damsel in distress into my gag to notice someone opening the door, walking in, and casually pocketing my handcuff key.

That’s not even cliché anymore. That’s pathetic.

Oh, and as if that weren’t enough… of course I had to land the upgraded version of the story.

Not a curious flatmate with a mild interest in kink. No. Me? I get Jessica—the girl who calmly calls me “submissive” and then announces, like it’s nothing, that the entire top floor of this triplex is a BDSM dungeon.

…

Honestly, this might be too embarrassing even for my journal. ”

***

“Jess, what the hell is going on here?” Jane Reilly demanded, her tone sharp and unyielding.

Astrid would have loved to answer, but the harness panel gag strapped over her mouth made her perfectly silent. As for her hogtie—locked tight with three pairs of handcuffs—it left her non-verbal communication skills reduced to:

(1) wriggling helplessly in her bonds,

(2) shooting icy glares at Jessica, or plaintive ones at Jane.

In short, Astrid wasn’t exactly in a position to give a proper explanation. (And the worst part? Even her glares probably betrayed a very inconvenient flicker of excitement.)

“I told you, Jane,” Jessica replied brightly, grinning from ear to ear. “She’s one of us! I caught her in the middle of some good old-fashioned self-bondage — did it all to herself, the little minx!”

Jane folded her arms, her expression disapproving as she turned her sharp gaze on her friend.

“Oh, really? So my sweet, innocent flatmate, Astrid, just happened to wander into the dungeon, spot the harness gag I bought you for your birthday, pop it on for fun—then decide to hogtie herself with police-grade cuffs?” Jane asked, her voice still as firm and strict as before.

“Mmmpphfff, mmphfff!” Astrid protested furiously, trying to make two points at once: first, that she was not entirely responsible for her current predicament, and second, that she did not appreciate being labeled “innocent.” (She wasn’t even sure why that second part mattered so much, but still…)

Jessica placed a hand dramatically over her chest, feigning an innocence nobody in the room believed.

“Okay, maybe I did give her a little help with the hogtie and the gag,” she admitted, fighting back a grin, “but that was purely out of kindness!”

Jane rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, Jessica had already launched into her defense.

“You should’ve seen her when I found her. This naughty little minx was so deep in her role I honestly thought I’d walked in on a real bondage actress. The girl’s a natural!” she declared with a wink at Astrid—who, of course, could do nothing but blush furiously and squirm against her gag in outraged protest.

Jessica was nearly in stitches. Jane, however, was not.

The young Reilly—far more responsible than her free-spirited friend—could already see exactly where this little “adventure” might lead if left unchecked.

“Take that gag off her. Now.” Jane’s voice was sharp, commanding, and left no room for hesitation.

Jessica didn’t argue with the owner of the triplex, though she did roll her eyes dramatically.

“You’re always so serious…” she muttered as she perched herself on the edge of the bed, reaching for the straps of Astrid’s harness panel gag.

The buckles creaked as Jessica unfastened them one by one, loosening the leather until the gag finally came free. The thick red ball slid from Astrid’s mouth with a faint pop, leaving her jaw aching and her lips damp.

She gasped in a long, shaky breath, savoring the simple joy of being able to breathe and speak again. For a moment, words caught in her throat—half from relief, half from the sheer humiliation of having both women’s eyes fixed on her.

Then, at last, she blurted out:

“This isn’t what it looks like!”

Which, of course, was exactly the sort of thing someone says when it’s precisely what it looks like.

Jessica smirked knowingly. Jane only arched an eyebrow.

“Y-yes… well… all of this is just… research for a book I’m writing!” Astrid blurted. “A book about… handcuffs. Yes. That’s it.”

Jessica let out a mischievous laugh. “And apparently about gags, too!”

“Uh… the content of the book is still highly confidential. I’d rather not reveal too much just yet,” Astrid replied, blushing deeper than ever.

Jessica and Jane exchanged a glance—and for the first time since she’d entered the room, Jane actually allowed herself the faintest smile.

“Stop smiling!” Astrid protested before burying her face into the mattress.

Jessica and Jane stayed silent for a few seconds. The blonde shot her friend a look—half pleading, half mischievous.

Jane eventually sighed, gave the faintest nod, and turned back toward Astrid.

“Astrid. Do you want to continue?”

The redhead lifted her head slightly, locking eyes with her flatmate.

“C-Continue what?” she asked timidly.

“To play with us, of course,” Jessica answered, wearing a triumphant grin.

Astrid’s cheeks burned hotter than ever.

Her first instinct should have been to say no—to beg them to let her go, to insist this had all gone too far.

But it wasn’t.

No, her first instinct was something far more dangerous: to nod. To say yes.

To give in.

Play with them?

With Jane, who radiated quiet authority even in jeans and a sweater…

And Jessica, whose grin made her look like a cat that had just cornered something very fun?

It was insane. Completely insane. She should have said no.

Instead, what slipped out was a weak, faltering: “I… I don’t know…”

Jessica clapped her hands together, delighted. “That’s not a no!” she declared.

“There’s no reason to be afraid,” Jane said in a calm, reassuring voice. “Saying yes now doesn’t mean you’re committing forever. You can try, and if you don’t like it, you can stop anytime you want.”

Jessica nodded eagerly.

“You have to say yes,” the blonde chimed in with mischief. “Jane’s got loads of things to teach you about handcuffs—for your book, of course.”

Astrid’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Her book. Of course Jessica had to bring that up again. Her cheeks flamed even hotter, and she buried her face halfway in the pillow to avoid their eyes.

She should say no. Every rational thought screamed at her to say no. And yet…

The memory of the cuffs clicking shut, the gag sealing her silence, the helpless reflection she’d glimpsed in the window—all of it rushed back at once, setting her stomach fluttering with a feeling she didn’t dare name.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she lifted her head again.

“I… I guess maybe I could try,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Jessica grinned like Christmas had come early. Jane, by contrast, only gave a small, approving nod.

“You—wait here,” Jane instructed Jessica as she started toward the door. She stopped a few steps away, then turned back. Sure enough, Jessica was already edging closer to Astrid, her mischievous smile firmly in place.

“Hands off, Jess—or you’ll be punished when I get back,” Jane warned, her tone sharp and commanding.

Astrid felt a shiver of excitement surge through her in spite of herself. Punished? Why did that single word make her stomach flip?

She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Jessica had perched on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her with that infuriating mix of affection and amusement.

“You really lucked out, you know. Jane’s an amazing Domme! And since she’s a Reilly, she’s got access to all kinds of cutting-edge BDSM gear,” Jessica said with genuine enthusiasm.

Astrid frowned. She had done a little digging into her flatmate’s background—mostly to figure out how a twenty-eight-year-old could possibly own a Hampstead triplex. She’d found nothing too outrageous. Aristocratic English family, a tidy little fortune… but nothing that screamed kinky sex games.

“Right,” Astrid shot back with dry sarcasm. “Do they give discounts to triplex owners at the London sex shops?”

Jessica burst out laughing, but whatever she had been about to say was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, Jane returned—calm, composed, and carrying a neatly coiled bundle of ropes in her arms. Not just any ropes, either: smooth, perfectly cut lengths, the kind designed specifically for bondage. Professional gear. The kind of thing no casual “experimenter” would ever own.

Astrid’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t some improvised game with a pair of handcuffs and a gag. This was… serious. The ropes looked almost elegant, yet there was something intimidating in their precision—like tools in the hands of a surgeon.

Her pulse quickened. She should have been terrified. And yet, beneath the fear, something hotter flickered—a spark of fascination she couldn’t quite smother.

“Undress,” Jane commanded Jessica, her voice firm and authoritative. This wasn’t Astrid’s friendly flatmate anymore. This was the Dominatrix—the role Jane clearly played in the dungeon upstairs. “Everything off, except your underwear. And give me the keys to all the cuffs you’ve put on poor Astrid.”

Jessica smirked as she slipped her blouse off her shoulders. Halfway through, she glanced over at Astrid with a sparkle in her eye.

“The fun’s starting!” she said, her tone bubbling with excitement.

A few seconds later, Jessica stood before Jane in nothing but her bra and panties. Her blouse, jeans, socks, and shoes lay discarded in a heap in the corner of the room, while the blonde waited, almost impatiently, for her next command.

The keys to Astrid’s cuffs weren’t in Jessica’s hand at all—they were sitting neatly on the small table by the right side of the bed, close to the door. The very spot where Jessica had first snatched the handcuff key when she caught Astrid earlier.

“Hands behind your back. Palm to palm,” Jane ordered her friend.

The blonde obeyed immediately. She turned around, presenting her wrists to her Mistress, a wide grin on her lips.

Jane stepped closer and began binding her wrists with slow, deliberate precision.

“Your safeword, Astrid, will be Redhead,” she said, calm but firm. “If you say that word, everything stops.”

Astrid blinked in surprise. A safeword? For a second, relief washed over her—proof that this wasn’t some insane trap she’d stumbled into, but something with real rules. At the same time, the word itself—Redhead—echoed in her mind, oddly intimate. She wasn’t sure if she felt reassured, embarrassed, or… uncomfortably excited.

Jane’s rope moved with the precision of a professional—each wrap snug, each knot efficient, no wasted motion. Jessica’s wrists were crossed palm-to-palm, lashed tightly together until she could do nothing but flex her fingers.

At the same time, Jane turned her head toward Astrid. Her tone was calm, almost instructional, but carried the weight of authority.

“And since you’ll be gagged again soon, Astrid, you need a way to tell us if something’s wrong.” She held up her own hand, making a fist, then slowly opened it wide. “This will be your signal. If you can’t speak, just open and close your hand like this. Understood?”

Astrid, still hogtied and blushing furiously, nodded quickly.

“A very important point,” Jane continued, her voice steady as she began looping a new length of rope above Jessica’s elbows. The blonde sighed almost dreamily as the coils tightened. “If you use your safeword or your safety signal, the scene stops immediately. That does not mean you won’t be able to play with us again. It only means we pause, talk about what happened, and—depending on your choice—either resume another day, or not at all.”

Jessica tilted her head toward Jane, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips.

“Oh, I doubt she’ll ever use it. Your little flatmate’s a natural bondagette!”

Jane didn’t rise to the bait of Jessica’s teasing. Instead, she tugged the rope deliberately tighter around the blonde’s elbows, her movements calm and methodical. Each pull drew a faint creak from the fibers, each knot snugging into place as though they belonged there. Jessica exhaled in a dreamy sigh, her grin only widening.

But Jane wasn’t finished. She reached for a fresh length of rope and measured it against Jessica’s torso with the eye of a professional.

“Arms back,” she instructed, her tone level but absolute.

Jessica obediently rolled her shoulders, pressing her forearms closer to her spine. Jane threaded the rope under one arm, pulled it snug across her chest, then passed it around the other side. Soon a band stretched just beneath her breasts, pinning her arms tight against her back. Another pass came higher, crossing diagonally to lock the first in place.

Slowly, patiently, Jane built the harness—the rope moving in precise lines that framed Jessica’s figure as much as they restrained her. Each wrap was cinched carefully, never sloppy, never rushed. By the time the third band had been tied off, Jessica’s upper body was firmly immobilized: wrists lashed, elbows snugged together, arms welded to her torso.

“There,” Jane murmured at last, stepping back to inspect her work with the faintest nod of approval. “Secure. Symmetrical. Comfortable enough to last.”

Jessica shifted slightly, testing the ropes. She found no give at all. Her grin turned almost radiant.

“Perfect as always,” she teased, wriggling her fingers to prove just how little she could move otherwise.

Astrid, still hogtied on the bed, could only watch wide-eyed as the scene unfolded.

Right. Forget James Bond villain. This is more like Jane Bondage, licensed to tie, Astrid thought, staring in disbelief at the astonishing scene unfolding before her eyes.

But Jane was already moving on to the next step.

She had retrieved the harness panel gag Astrid had worn earlier and now brought it toward Jessica’s face.

“Ugh, Mistress! This gag’s already been used!” the blonde complained lightly, though the mischief and amusement in her tone were unmistakable.

“And whose fault is that?” Jane shot back, her voice firm but betraying the faintest hint of amusement. “Open your mouth.”

Jessica rolled her eyes playfully but obeyed, parting her lips with exaggerated reluctance.

Jane wasted no time. She pressed the thick red ball firmly past Jessica’s teeth, the leather panel settling flush against her lips and cheeks. The blonde gave a muffled grunt as her jaw was pried wide, the ball filling her mouth with merciless finality.

“Mmpphh—!” Jessica’s protest was cut short as Jane pulled the first strap tight around the back of her head, the leather creaking as it locked into place. A second strap slid neatly under her chin, forcing her jaw upward, while a third arched over her crown, drawing everything snug. The final strap circled her throat like a collar, sealing the gag in place so completely it looked less like a toy and more like an inescapable mask of silence.

When Jane stepped back, Jessica’s face was framed in black leather, her cheeks bulging faintly around the ball, her voice reduced to a helpless series of muffled whimpers.

“There,” Jane said with quiet satisfaction, patting the panel once as if testing her handiwork. “Much better.”

Astrid, still hogtied on the bed, stared wide-eyed. Jessica—usually all cheek and chatter—was now silenced completely, wriggling in her ropes with only playful, frustrated noises escaping.

Astrid couldn’t help a small, triumphant smile at the sight of her “tormentor” now reduced to helpless silence.

But she was quickly reminded of her own situation when Jane turned her attention to her. With practiced efficiency, the brunette unlocked each pair of cuffs in quick succession, the cold steel falling away faster than Astrid would have thought possible.

“You know, Jane,” Astrid muttered, rubbing her sore wrists with a mix of relief and exasperation, “I’m starting to think I really should have asked more questions before signing that lease.”

Jessica let out a muffled laugh behind her gag, and even Jane allowed herself the ghost of a chuckle before reaching for a fresh coil of rope.

Jane didn’t waste time. With the same calm efficiency she’d shown with Jessica, she guided Astrid’s hands behind her back.

“Palms together,” she instructed.

Astrid hesitated a second, then obeyed, her cheeks already flushed. The rope slid smoothly across her skin as Jane bound her wrists palm-to-palm, the coils snug and unyielding. Each wrap was cinched with professional precision, each knot locked in place as if Jane had done this a thousand times before.

Astrid wriggled instinctively, only to find the bindings firm and immovable.

Next came the rope at her elbows. Jane measured carefully, tightening until Astrid’s arms were drawn closer than comfort allowed, but never so tight as to strain. The French girl let out a shaky breath, her chest pressing forward as her elbows were lashed securely together.

“Shoulders back,” Jane ordered.

Astrid complied awkwardly, and the next ropes followed—passing under one arm, stretching tight across her chest, then circling beneath the opposite arm. The band pinned her forearms against her torso, snug just below her breasts. Another pass crossed diagonally higher, framing her chest and locking her arms completely.

Slowly, layer by layer, Jane built the harness: balanced, symmetrical, inescapable.

When the final knot was tied off, Astrid found herself immobilized exactly like Jessica—wrists, elbows, arms, all welded to her back by a lattice of perfectly aligned ropes.

“There,” Jane murmured, giving the ropes a quick inspection tug. “Secure, comfortable, and matching.”

Jessica squealed a muffled note of approval into her gag, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned closer to Astrid as if to say, Welcome to the club.

Astrid, meanwhile, could only blush harder, flexing her fingers uselessly against the ropes that held her fast.

Jane retrieved the ball gag—the very one Astrid had used during her ill-fated self-bondage—and held it up in front of her.

“Open your mouth,” she commanded, her voice firm and unquestionable.

Astrid hesitated only a moment before obeying, parting her lips and letting her flatmate press the smooth silicone ball past them. The strap was drawn snugly behind her head, clicking into place with a finality that made her stomach flip.

Within seconds, both captives were seated on the bed in nearly identical situations. Jessica with her imposing harness panel gag, Astrid with the more classic ball gag—but gagged all the same, their voices reduced to muffled protests and whimpers.

Astrid was no longer hogtied. She was no longer cuffed. Her legs remained free. But she was anything but liberated. Her arms were locked in place behind her, the ropes unyielding, her chest framed and pinned tight. The bondage was mercilessly strict—unyielding, inescapable—yet never painful. Proof of just how skilled Jane Reilly truly was.

Jane stepped back, giving both of her captives a long, measured look. Two girls, side by side on the bed—trussed, gagged, helpless. A faint, satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

“Since I am now… satisfied with your situation,” she began, before turning her gaze specifically toward Jessica, “and since my submissive has returned to her rightful role—one she never should have strayed from—we’re going to play a little game.”

“Mmmpphff?” Astrid tried, the muffled sound carrying the clear shape of a question.

Jessica, by contrast, wriggled with anticipation, her eyes sparkling. If anyone could make Astrid’s first night as part of their twisted little circle unforgettable, it was Jane.

“You have exactly forty-five minutes to try and free yourselves from your bondage,” Jane announced with a sly smile. “Succeed, and you’ll earn yourselves a reward. Fail, and… well, I suppose that just means a little trip down to the dungeon.”

The two bound women exchanged a glance—half amusement, half unmistakable excitement.

The dungeon… Astrid thought, her chest tightening as the word echoed in her mind. Her instincts screamed that she should fight, wriggle, struggle until the last knot gave way. Winning was supposed to be the goal. Freedom was supposed to be the goal.

And yet… the very idea of stepping into that forbidden space sent a shiver down her spine, sharper and deeper than anything she had felt so far. A place designed for restraint, for discipline, for games that went far beyond this bed.

Her face burned hot. She hated herself for even thinking it, but the thought pressed harder and harder until she could barely deny it anymore. Am I really sure I even want to win?

End of chapter