She was a lady in her late sixties with medium length blonde hair and, for her age a tidy figure. I hadn’t had that much to do with her as she seemed never seemed to go out and kept herself pretty much to herself. That all changed on Friday night last week though when I was playing in a darts match down my local.After the match was over, I was sitting chatting to some of the other lads on the team when I heard a bit of a commotion in the lounge bar. The next thing I knew was Hazel came staggering through the door, and I mean staggering, she could hardly stand up. As I got up to prevent her falling the barman came out from behind the bar. “She lives on your flats doesn’t she Mike?” he said. When I told him that yes, she did, he shook his head. “Well do me a favour then will you and take her home before she wrecks the place. She’s pissed as a fart. I think it’s her birthday. She came in with a couple of other women but they buggered off and left her once she started to get pissed.”I. I was told to turn until he said to stop,and ordered to sit. I sat in what felt like a large, wood chair, witha high back, and arms.My abductor then moved behind the chair, and began unbuckling mycollar, and removed it. He walked a few steps, and I heard the soundof the chain leash being set on a table. Returning to his spot behindthe chair, and puts a hand on my head, pulling me back into the chair.I feel the back of my neck more or less being guided into some kind ofcontoured neck support. I feel a sense of panic as he pulls a wideleather strap around my neck, and I guess buckling it to the otherside, locks me in place in the chair. The strap was restricting, Icould barely move my head, but not to the point where it affects mybreathing.Next, another strap, I guess there are quite a few of them connectedto the chair, is pulled around my chest, just below my breast forms,and is buckled firmly. This process is repeated at my waist, and mythighs, and my ankles are locked to rings on.
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