Zip

I am tied to a chair. Or possible a stool.

It’s hard to say because I’m not sat on it. I’m sat on the floor with my back to it. Everything is struggle. The furniture I’m tied to is struggle. The broad leather belt around my waist is struggle. Sturdy leather cuffs, attached to short lengths of sturdy chain, attach my wrists to the struggle belt. My elbows are sturdily tied to the struggle legs of the sturdy chair. My neck is enclosed by a sturdy orthopedic collar. This too is fastened to the sturdy furniture behind me with the same sturdy brown rope that she used to fasten my elbows.

I am not unsturdy, but I have no leverage. Those three points, elbows and neck are enough to keep me in place. My tied hands mean although I have a bit of movement, I can’t reach any of the knots that bind me. The weight of the thing I’m fastened to, with the friction of a carpeted floor making moving it even a few inches difficult. Even with my legs free, which they are. And I can’t get my centre of grAvity far enough forward to lift the seat off the ground.

So I await my Lady’s pleasure. It is a pleasure to wait.

She’s not far away. I can hear her in the room next to this one, opening cupboards, getting a few things together, then…

Footsteps. A moment later she appears in the doorway in front of me. She looks at me with a thoughtful expression on her face, as if she’d somehow expected to see something different than me, exactly where she’d left me. She is wearing ordinary clothes, so if you’re picturing some leather and latex clad minx, put that image away. She’s wearing an old and comfortable grey woollen cardigan over an olive drag t-shirt, and some brownish coloured pants in what looks like quite a hairy, itchy fabric. Her feet are clad in well hurt fluffy slippers, one of which has a hole in the big toe.

She’s not even that good looking. Even after a couple of beers.

But for all this, there are two things she does undeniably have. Firstly, she has a wicker basket that I recognize as her craft basket. The other thing she has?

She has complete and utter control of me.

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She walks over to me, her slippered feet almost noiseless against the carpet. Bending her knees, she knees in front of me and places the basket on the carpet. Then she turns to face me, and looks me right in the eyes. I look straight back at her of course, since I can’t move my head more than a couple of degrees in any direction.

“I thought of a new idea. I hope you enjoy it.” she says, with a broad and somehow unsettling smile. I open my mouth to speak, but before I get the chance, she puts one finger to my lips.

“Shush” she says, and I do as I am told.

Now she’s opening the basket and digging around inside it, pulling out scissors and reels of bright thread and putting them to one side before finding whatever she was looking for. With an “Aha!”, she pulls out a translucent plastic bag. Leaning forward,she puts this on the seat behind me before sitting back, and delving again into the basket. She pulls something out but she has her hand wrapped around it and I can’t see what it is. Something small anyway. She tidies the other stuff back into the basket, which she closes and puts at arms length to her side.

I follow her with my eyes. Now she’s kneeing up in front of me. Forward again as she takes the bag from the seat. She opens it in front of me to reveal…

Zips. Lots of zips. All the same size. All the same colour. All black. Black plastic teeth glisten dully beneath the familiar mechanism, also black, and the whole thing is stitched onto a strip of black fabric. Just your everyday zips. A staple of Haberdashery for over a century. She picks one of the zips up and dangles it in front of my face. It sways a little, to and fro.

For a moment I get a mental image that she’s trying to hypnotise me. Then the word “zipnotise” pops into my head, and I have to suppress agiggle.

“There are two types of zip” she tells me, as the zip dangles before me like a particularly unappealing lure.

“There’s the sort that don’t separate, like on your trousers.”

She points at my crotch with her free hand, before continuing,

“And there’s the sort that do separate, like the zip on this cardigan.”

We both look down at her cardigan then back up at each other again.

“These zips” she says, waggling the zip in her hand, “are all the sort that separate.”

She says this in a way that strongly suggests this means something important, but I can’t think why. But I don’t have much time to think about this anyway because she’s opened her other hand to reveal a… tube of…

what?

Ah. Superglue. Is she planning to zip my mouth? Surely not?

Yet here she is, unscrewing the lid.

And now here she is running a line of the stuff along my top lip. The fumes go straight into my nose, and I jerk my head back, as much as I can, which isn’t much. She actually apologises, and tells me to hold my breath, while she fans my top lip with a flapping hand, mitigating the fumes, at least a little.

And now here she is pressing one of the zips along the line of glue, pressing firmly along its length, as I watch her with crossed eyes until the fabric is glued along its whole length, extending slightly to either side of my mouth.

And Now here she is preparing to do the same to the bottom zip. A line of sticky, smelly chemical gle, followed by a careful and firm attachment.

She pulls on the top zip. My top lip moves in lockstep with it. She runs her finger along and under it, trying to find any gaps or areas that didn’t stick. Then she does the same thing with the bottom lip.

Satisfied, she unzips and separates the two zips, and Pulls them free, leaving me with just a single row of teeth, and no faster. She holds a round mirror before me, and I can see she’s done a good job of it. The zipper follows the curve of my lips neatly, and she’s managed to position everything so that the actual zip is close to the edges of my lips, but not so close that she risks actually catching a lip in the mechanism. Now she produces an old leather strap.

“It used to be a belt, but it got pretty hurt out, so I cut the ends off.” she explains, as she glues the other half of the zips, one on each end. After giving them a minute to bond, she puts the zip fasteners to my lips, first the bottom, then the top, leaving me with a leather strap hanging from my mouth.

“A handy handle. Lovely!” she says with some triumph in her voice, as she pulls on the straw experimentally. “We’re going to have so much fun with this!”

Holding my lean firmly, she unhooks the collar from my neck, and unties my elbows.

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Author’s note: Readers of my previous submissions will no doubt have watched as I started but failed to finish successful stories. This is partly amatter of attention span. It’s also partly that my own kink is evolving, so that something I found hot enough to inspire me to write became last week’s turn on. Finally, the challenge of writing something interesting about what is essentially stasis was too much for me.

So a different approach was called for.

This story sets up a scenario. Then it stops. I will be exploring this idea further (probably)