“A photo of you, naked, chained to a lamppost.” Those were the message’s exact words.
Angela’s self-restraint dares had become more adventurous as my week-long work trip ran on. It was agony being away from her for so long, but sheer ecstasy following her instructions each day.
I checked that the camera tripod on the balcony edge hadn’t moved in the night. It was still pointing down at the town square, the zoom lens focused on an old cast iron lamppost.
I slipped my feet into my stilettos and pulled a thin sundress over my head. I’d planned this whole thing very carefully and had hardly slept through excitement.
I glanced at the clock at the end of the square: it was 5:40am, and the sun was slowly rising above the buildings, beginning to shine brightly on my chosen spot. The town was deserted at this time of the morning; the first bus didn’t arrive until 6am, and it was never early. I had twenty minutes.
I picked up my handcuffs and the longer ankle chains and ran to the door as fast as my thin heels would allow. My shoes rang loud on the concrete stairs and it seemed to take an age to reach the front door of the apartment block. I stepped outside and looked up at the clock again: 5:42am. I had eighteen minutes.
The stilettos echoed from every façade as I bounded across the cobbles. Speed was more important than stealth at the moment, but with my senses on overdrive every step rang like a hammer blow to an anvil.
I reached the lamppost and stood with my back to it to check my position. I looked up at my balcony; I could see my camera lens looking back at me. I took another anxious look up at the clock: 5:43am. I still had plenty of time. My body was coursing with anticipation.
I put the handcuffs on the low wall behind the lamppost and bent down to clamp a chain around my left ankle. I gasped as it closed, electrified by even this small restriction on my freedom. The ankle bracelets didn’t even need a key to release them, but the thrill was intense all the same.
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