The padded leather cuffs around my ankles were easy to ignore. A snug but not tight fit the soft pressure had become a background sensation, like wearing socks for the first time in a week. I’d noticed them but only for a short while.
I noticed them again now. The ropes were soft too, gentle against my skin but they didn’t lack strength, more than I could resist as they relentlessly tugged the metal loops on my ankle cuffs, pulling my ankles inexorably apart.
Obviously I tried. Legs straining to keep themselves together, and even as that was proving futile I was trying to sit up, lean forward to remove the cuffs.
I couldn’t. The cuffs were locked on, I lacked anything that could cut them off, had no chance of slipping my feet out of them. Not that I even got close enough to try, the strap across my chest arresting my motion scant inches from the bed. I’d have had the cuffs off long ago had that been possible, my reaction now was instinctive, protective. Pointless.
It wasn’t clear whether the chest strap was locked in place. I couldn’t see where it was secured, near my armpits at the side of the bed. Maybe below. Also out of sight was where the waist strap was secured. Perhaps it wasn’t, just a simple fastening out of my reach.
Everything was out of my reach. Even if I’d been able to sit up, the ankle cuffs hadn’t been locked in place, I had no real options anyway. Thick padded mittens kept my hands in a loose ball, no way to grip anything, my thumbs out of use. Those weren’t just locked on, more padded leather around my wrists, they were attached to the rails lining each side of the bed. Even with no restraints I couldn’t easily have got out of bed, those rails keeping me in place like the bars on an infant’s crib.
The only thing that had any freedom was my head. I could move it freely, look in any direction, gaze in frustration at my useless hands. I couldn’t even slide up or down the bed, straps from the band above my breasts going over my shoulders, attached to the head of the bed. Worse was a strap from the restraint at my waist, running down between my legs. I really didn’t know where that led, just that it stopped me sliding down.
Almost.
It let me slide far enough to feel the wetness between my legs. Secured like this the toilet was clearly not an option; a diaper needed in case I couldn’t hold on until released. I hadn’t, and now I could feel the results, thick padding swelling between my thighs.
Which meant the ropes on my ankles gave me a twisted hope. If they weren’t going to release me, hopefully this was the prelude to a change, easing access to someone who could remove the soiled diaper, wipe me clean, leave me comfortable again.
Comfortable in context.
The ropes stopped tightening, although by now my ankles were near the edge of the bed. My knees no longer touched and someone at the foot of the bed would be able to see my diaper with ease. See its soiled state.
She stood there and looked at it, and smiled.
“I thought so,” she said, “You were wriggling in that ‘I just wet myself’ way. Very cute but I couldn’t leave you like that.”
She paused, caught my eye, smiled at me, then turned away.
She looked back as she left the room. “So I’ve made it easier for you, less pressure on your diaper. It’ll be good for a few more hours yet.”