Author’s note: This story contains partial nudity, sexually explicit content, some coarse language and bondage. All characters are of at least 18 years of age. If you are not 18 years or older or have an issue with consensual sexuality, please stop here and move on. Thank you.
Elizabeth lets out a slight grunt as her mother tightens the bottom strap of her straitjacket.
“It looks like you’ve been eating well,” her mother says with a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Perhaps a little too well. These things are expensive and I’m not sure we can afford to get another one for you, right now.”
Elizabeth slides her arms through the loop on the chest of her jacket and holds them patiently. Her mom takes the ends of the sleeves and buckles them in the back. They’re tight, but not too tight — just the way Elizabeth likes it. After six months at home, she knows her mom has perfected how she likes to wear the jacket.
“I’m sure it’s just shrinking a little,” Elizabeth says while adjusting her arms to get comfortable. “What would they do if I couldn’t wear this one anymore?”
Elizabeth actually dreamed of a day whens he wouldn’t have to wear her straitjacket so much. It’s not that she doesn’t like the warm embrace of the fleece-lined leather jacket or the downright devious gratification its three crotch straps bring her. But having to wear it every time she visits Dr. Shaw and almost anytime she wants to leave the house for anything not university related has become kind of cumbersome.
Though, she always enjoys going to the theater — and sometimes to the mall. Mother and daughter picked out several hoodies and jackets that are big enough to wear over the jacket and to hide the crotch straps between Elizabeth’s legs.
“I’m afraid you would just have to wear one of the regular Poseys that we have,” her mom says, snapping Elizabeth out of her daydream. “As you know, they’re not nearly as comfortable as this one.”
“No doubt.” Elizabeth bites her lower lip as her mom starts tightening the first of the three crotch straps.
The Posey straitjacket was the first she had to wear. Its canvas material was soft enough on her arms, but she never felt as comfortable wearing it for any length of time. The crotch strap was a little too narrow and she never could find the right balance of tightness to enjoyability. The jacket either felt too bulky or too tight.
“Are you ready for this last strap,” her mom asks while holding the middle crotch strap dangling between Elizabeth’s legs. “They’re going to be here any minute and I have to have you strapped in and ready to go.”
Elizabeth looks down at her straitjacket-encased body. Her arms are pressed tight against her stomach, just below her breasts, which pushed out more than normal lately. Maybe her mom was right, she needed to eat a little less and exercise more. But that’s hard to do when you can’t leave the house unbound. She sighs and slight squats down while pushing her butt out. She can feel the other two canvas straps rubbing inside her thighs.
“Go for it, but remember, not too tight,” Elizabeth says. “They’ve been wondering why those straps are so tightly lately.”
“I understand.” Elizabeth’s mom pulls the crotch strap up between the legs and gives it a good hard tug before feeding it through the friction buckle.
Elizabeth lets out a soft gasp and stumbles forward a step. Her black leggings are pulled up into her butt cheeks. She can feel the strap spreading her butt and already rubbing down under. It’s a nice feeling, but she always tries hard to hide it from the attendants who come pick her up.
Elizabeth is bound and ready to go for her monthly meeting with other patients. Her straitjacket covers her bare upper body, beyond her bra. The mother and daughter duo tried experimenting with different shirts underneath, but they always managed to ride up inside the jacket and get bunched up, making it very uncomfortable. It’s not like anyone was removing her straitjacket while they were out, so the new arrangement worked.
Her legs were covered in a pair of black leggings that conformed nicely to her body and made the crotch straps easier to tighten. As with every official visit, she had to wear a pair of rubber sandals for safety purposes. She finally convinced Dr. Shaw to let her wear a pair of fur-lined Crocs, though she always preferred her Uggs when she went in public. It also made it easier for the brown leather cuffs to be strapped to her ankles.
Dr. Shaw always said she needed to spend more time with other people her age and due to her current arrangement — one that required her to be bound in her straitjacket almost always — it was hard to make new friends. So it constituted another visit to the hospital each month — one where a bunch of 20-something year-old individuals sat around in tight medical bondage, staring at each other and trying to make conversation.
“I think they’re here.” Elizabeth’s mom opens the door as a white van pulls up outside.
The young straitjacketed woman walks down the stairs, the crotch straps rubbing with each step, and calmly leans against the dining room table as a pair of strong-looking female orderlies step inside with a bundle under their arms.
Oh great, Elizabeth thinks to herself. They probably want her to wear a transport jacket again. The canvas “jacket” wraps over her already-straitjacketed body, but doesn’t have any arms. The loops on each side make it easier for orderlies to handle bound individuals. But she’s been so good lately that they haven’t required her to wear one when she’s transported. So why now?
“Hold out your arms, Ma’am,” says one of the orderlies — a woman in her late 30s with somewhat muscular arms and a short black pixie haircut.
Elizabeth is shocked to see the woman unfurl a green-collared Posey straitjacket and even more shocked to see her mom obediently slide her arms into the sleeves and hold them out to her sides as the jacket was buckled onto her.
“Mom? What are you doing?” Elizabeth tried to run over to protest, but her hobble cuffs prevented too fast of movement.
“I’m going with you, Dear,” her mom says.
“But why are you letting them straitjacket you?”
Her mom slides her arms through the loop of the canvas jacket and held them obediently while the orderly pulls the straps around behind her to buckle them. The orderly is efficient — even more efficient than her own mother — in strapping someone into a straitjacket. Elizabeth is impressed by the speed in which her mom went from standing next to her to being straitjacketed alongside her.
“According to new security procedures, if I’m going to participate in your session or come visit, I must be restrained as well.” Her mom bites her lower lip as the crotch strap was tightened. “Whew, it’s been a while since I’ve worn one of these.”
“You’ve been in one before?”
Her mom nods. “Each nurse has to spend 24 hours strapped into one to understand what the patients must feel like.” Her cheeks slightly blush. “Sometimes, we took turns putting them on each other during slow days.”
“That’s enough talk from you two,” the orderly barks. “Let’s get you two strapped in. You’re our last stop, so we need to hurry.”
Elizabeth approaches her mom and looks her over. The green-collared Posey straitjacket looks a little too big on her and is pretty baggy in the front. The crotch strap is pulled fairly tight and her arms are tightly bound. She looks down at her own jacket and feels much better about the jacket she wears.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Elizabeth said — her voice trailing off as the two women are escorted outside. “If I had known they were going to restrain you, I wouldn’t have asked you to come.”
“It’s OK,” her mom says. “I want to support you in any way I can. If that means I have to be straitjacketed with you, that’s fine.”
The second orderly — a woman in her early 20s with longer red hair — opens the side door to the van. Elizabeth is the first to approach. Each orderly takes a position on either side of her and hoists her up by the side arm straps of her jacket. She’s guided to the last heavy seat on the ride side of the van — just next to the back door. The seat is conformed to the person with padded plates on each side of the head and legs. It features multiple straps that go across the forehead, upper body, upper legs and lower legs. Another strap goes up between the person’s legs to connect to the strap that goes across the chest.
Elizabeth knows the drill and sits down comfortably in the seat, shifting her arms in her jacket as she waits for the orderly to strap her in. She can feel the soft fleece and fur lining rubbing against her skin.
“Please sit still,” the red-headed orderly says. “I’m still new at this and I don’t want to get either of us in trouble.”
“My apologies,” Elizabeth whispers and settles down into her jacket and seat while she’s buckled in.
Across from the van, she sees a boy similar to her age sitting in a similar precarious situation. He too is heavily bound in a straitjacket similar to hers with leather restraints on his ankles. The chain between his cuffs is chained to a hook between his feet. She notices he’s not wearing any shoes like her, but rather his feet are covered in pajamas. Trying not to look too obvious as the orderly finishes strapping the seat’s crotch strap to her chest, Elizabeth traces the pajamas up the boy’s legs and under his jacket.
Content with the straps, the orderly steps aside. “There you go. Just don’t move around too much.”
Elizabeth nods and continues to examine the boy. “So what are you in for?”
The boy chuckles, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes. “I threatened my mother with a knife in an argument and she sent me here.”
“My mother sent me here because I was too stressed,” Elizabeth replies. “I guess she thought being straitjacketed 14 hours a day would help me relax.”
“Damn, you have to wear your jacket that much?” The boy asks with a shocked look on his face.
Elizabeth nods. “I wear it to bed each night. I wake up and I’m let out for classes. I get to come home and eat and then I have to be put back in for the night. If I go out somewhere, I have to wear it.”
Elizabeth can’t help but notice a bulge growing between two of the crotch straps on the boy’s straitjacket. “I only have to wear mine when we’re going for meetings. I couldn’t imagine living in it.”
“It has its moments,” Elizabeth says.
"Well, I think you look great in it," the boy says with a grin on his face.
Is he flirting with her? Elizabeth questions herself. Could someone really find a 20-year-old woman bound in a straitjacket "great" looking?
"Thanks," she said. "I'm used to wearing it all the time now. I kind of feel weird when I'm out of it. Say, what are you wearing under your jacket?"
The boy lowers his head. "A set of onesies." His voice tapers off. "I usually wear something else, but my mom didn't have time to get something else out before she had to put me in my jacket. So she just put it on over these."
"I like onesies." Elizabeth volunteers without even thinking. "It's what I mainly wear under my jacket at night."
"You do?" The boy's face lights up.
Elizabeth nods. "Every night. If I had to wear my jacket earlier in the day, mom will even take it off of me so I can change into a set of onesies before putting the straitjacket back on again."
The boy shifts in his jacket a little, as if to try to get comfortable — or perhaps something else. "I'm still getting used to wearing mine." He looks down at the obvious bulge in his groin. "It kind of turns me on a little when I'm in it. I don't know why."
Elizabeth playfully struggles in her jacket back at him. Her one last fantasy has always been to spend time with someone in her straitjacket. She has a great relationship with her mom, but there's just something creepy about enjoying her jacket that much with her mom. But here's someone just like her who obviously feels the same way.
"It does the same thing to me." She yanks on her arms and lets out a soft moan toward the boy.
Elizabeth feels a flutter in her stomach as the boy across from her starts struggling in his jacket. She matches his struggling and felt even more aroused. The two pull on the arms against the straps on their chest and start writing back and forth in their seats, working the crotch straps on their respective groins. The moment was short lived as the orderlies escorted her mom inside the van and began strapping her into the seat just right of Elizabeth. The boy looks slightly embarrassed as he hides his head in shame.
“I see you’ve already met a new friend,” Elizabeth’s mom says with a grunt as she flops down in the chair.
“It’s not what you think, Mom.” Elizabeth tries to deflect what her mom obviously saw.
“It’s OK,” her mom whispers. “I’ll talk to Dr. Shaw when we all arrive and see if we can get you two some alone time.”