Bar Bound (M/F)

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Snidely
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Bar Bound (M/F)

Post by Snidely »

This occurred a few years ago, when I was a bartender working in Sydney. My original plan had been to take twelve months off University in order to save up for an around the world plane ticket; but in the end I enjoyed working the bar and living a 'normal non-University life' so much that I stuck around for the full year. Of course I have to admit the attractions of the night was a factor as well. You know what Bryan Brown said in the movie 'Cocktail'; that '...the bartender is the aristocrat of the working class.' Well every night after 6pm I enjoyed my aristocratic social status amongst the partying female twentysomethings.

It helped that after only a few months after starting the job as a virtual debutant I unexpectedly found myself as head barman. My predecessors, who unlike me were career 'tenders, all burned themselves out with late nights and alcohol (ironically similar fates to that of the character Bryan Brown played). My elevation arose from my ability to turn up punctual and sober each afternoon. However I was under no illusion that if I continued in this profession I might go the same way as those who had preceded me, such was the lifestyle of the job. But I figured I would be safe with only twelve month's exposure. It's a bit like walking through the grounds of Chernobyl; enjoy the excitement, fun and adventure but don't linger.

On this particular evening the revellers had arrived early and my gang of merry men were in full swing. They were all young male Uni students like me that I had employed as they didn't mind the hard graft of bar work, cleaning and lugging up stock from the storeroom, as well as the fun drink-mixing part. We kept an ear out for each other's orders and held up liquor, juice, cream, fruit or ice for each other from our stations when needed to save time; we were a well oiled machine by now. Juggling bottles like Bryan wasn't necessary; just staying alert at all times and passing the right ingredients at just at the right moment made hard work easy.

In between Strawberry Daquiris I noticed a group of girls at one end of the bar. They were watching us work, and in turn were being watched by other men; poor chaps they had no chance; they were beneath us on the social ladder! The girls had ordered the usual milky and creamy cocktails favoured by young women: a poor pre-dinner choice, but I was there to mix drinks not to dispense drinking advice. Two had eyes only for Tim, my Kevin-Costner-In-His Prime-look-a-like who also happened to to be gay (poor girls), and the third was trying to engage me in conversation. She was dark skinned with long black hair and had what I thought was a Spanish accent. Very attractive in white shirt and jeans but what caught my eye were the circular silver bangles she wore on her wrists. They looked nice on her skin and clashed together whenever she used hand gestures to make a verbal point. You may have read my other stories here and know I like this kind of jewellery, especially as I have an (unproven) suspicion still to this day that women who wear silver bangles have an unconscious (or conscious) desire to be handcuffed.

It got super busy for a while and I was buried in cocktails orders. When I was able to look around the bar again some time later, her group was gone. I wasn't too disappointed as I was just getting over a breakup and wasn't really looking to start a new relationship. The rush was over, so the boys and I partially moved into cleaning and restocking mode.

Time passed. It was late now and I sent the rest of the staff home - they were grateful as it had been a busy night - while I remained to serve the few remaining customers. An hour to go; a last quick clean and tally up the cash register and I could go home and relax as well. I bent down to fill up the dishwasher with glasses, turned the machine on, and as I stood up stretching my back I noticed Carla (for I had learned that was her name earlier on) sitting in the same seat as before, smiling at me. She looked fresh and beautiful, not at all how someone should look after midnight. Most of the work had been done so I now had time to talk to her, easy also now that the hubbub of the busy bar had eased.

I was curious about her bangles. She shrugged and said she just liked wearing them. I managed to steer the conversation around to 'life experiences' and asked her if she had ever been arrested.

"Yes, once", she said. "In Guatemala. I was walking in a park when I noticed a disturbance near by. I went over to look and I saw policemen were holding a few people. I was about to leave when a policewoman walked up to me and told me I had to come too."

"Really?" I said. This was getting interesting.

"Yes. I told the policewoman I had nothing to do with the people they had caught. She said she didn't care and told me to turn around. Then she put me in her handcuffs - she put them on very tight - and took me away. I complained but she didn't care and left the cuffs as they were. They let me go that afternoon once my story checked out, but not after I spent a few hours alone in a cell."

It was late, and I was feeling daring. I had nothing to lose. I said;

"What was it like being arrested?"

"It was interesting..." she answered, looking away, half talking to herself.

I took hold of the bangles on one of her wrists and played with them.

"And are these your handcuffs?"

That brought her right back to the present. She smiled slyly.

"No, because I can take them off", and she demonstrated. She then slid them back on again, holding out her wrist so I could keep playing with the silver. "Handcuffs have locks."

It was obviously something she had thought about. So far my bangle theory was holding water, at least in this case.

"Maybe I should lock you up. Arrest you" I said.

"Do you have real handcuffs? You're a barman, not a policeman?"

I instantly noted she didn't say a flat 'no', which was the sane reply. It thrilled me to the core. Unfortunately I didn't own a pair of cuffs at that stage, in Australia they were (and still are) hard to get hold of, at least the proper police kind.

"No I don't, but I have something just as effective. Come." I lifted open the hinged bar section to allow her into the work area. By now the bar and adjoining restaurant were deserted. The remaining waiters were cleaning up the last tables, telling each other jokes. She paused, hesitating, then allowed me to take her by the arm and lead her in. I replaced the hinged bar section; she was in my area now.

I took her to a corridor at the side, out of eyeshot of the public floor. This is where we unpacked boxes, loaded the stock into the bar and crushed cardboard. It was a very different vibe to the attractive bar with it's lights, gleaming glasses and lit up fridges. It was dim and industrial looking, with hand trollies and stacks of crates. Rather dirty with wet floors. The ice machine hummed in the corner.

"Is this where you keep your captives?" she asked looking around. A crash from the ice machine startled both of us as it dumped a new load into the reservoir. I remember my brain thinking that I had to remember to turn it off before I left. I mentally told my brain to shut up. I told it: 'Did you hear what she just said??'

"Just you", I replied, and from one of the nearby storage shelves I picked up an opened packet of black cable ties. They were the thick industrial type we used in the bar for leaking pipes. They were super strong. I pulled out two from the packet and showed them to Carla.

"Do you tie me with these?" she asked, pushing he bangles up her arms as if making room. "Do they hurt?"

"Only if I tie them too tight. But you understand I have to make them pretty tight so you can't wriggle free."

She put her wrists together and held them out for me. Daring me. Her dark eyes were locked straight on mine. I shook myself out of my daze and fastened one tie around her left wrist, then threaded the second under the first to bind them together and tied her other one. She twisted her wrists experimentally.

"I think I can wriggle free", she said, which was utter nonsense. I could see there was no way she could slip out of the plastic bindings. She just wanted them on more securely. No way I was going to argue with her so I pulled them tighter and each zip tie sang it's delightful clicking noise as I did so.

"The police call these plastic handcuffs. They use them to arrest people in crowds or illegal protests when they can't carry enough of the metal kind. They're a lot lighter."

"Am I under arrest?" she asked. Those eyes again.

"...yes, and I'm keeping you here until I'm finished...then I'm taking you home with me." I added quickly. I sat her on an upturned crate. I didn't have any scissors at hand to cut off the long loose ends of the zip ties, so I left them be. Somehow it looked more authentic anyway.

"Ok", she said sitting, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

I went back out into the bright light of the bar. Everything was exactly the same as it had been, which I could barely believe. I half expected the place to be on fire, to match my nerves. But the waiters next door were pulling on their jackets and pulling down the shutters, everything was utterly normal. In haste I packed up, did the cash register, stashed the takings in the safe and locked up. My mind was playing tricks on me; was there really a bound girl waiting for me next to the ice machine? Had I just imagined the whole thing, exhausted at the end of a long and late shift? I grabbed my bag from under the bar and went back to where I left her. And there she was, sitting exactly where I had left her, testing and pulling on the restraints on her wrists. She had something more interesting than her bangles now; they were pushed up her arms and completely forgotten.

"Hold out your hands", I said, squatting beside her.
She did as I asked, and I took a photo of my handiwork.


[[/img]


I took her arm and raised her to her feet. As she stood her hands settled naturally, joined together in front of her just below her waist in the position I had seen a thousand times on television when a cop escorts away his detainee. The only difference was how her bangles cascaded down her arms to join her bound wrists with a clatter.

"What are you doing with me?" she asked. An electric thrill passed through my body.

"Taking you home and tying you up" I said and she nodded. I secretly thanked her for reminding me and I snatched up the bag of zip ties from the floor; I would need those. I turned off the ice machine as we left.


TBC on Bar Bound 2
Last edited by Snidely 1 year ago, edited 1 time in total.
If the Bindee can reach the knots with her fingertips the Binder has done a poor job.
011020
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Post by 011020 »

Great story so far, love the details. Can’t wait for the continuation!
Mr Underheel
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Post by Mr Underheel »

[mention]Snidely[/mention] Great job! Excited to see the continuation!
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Damsel-Dilara-Dee
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Post by Damsel-Dilara-Dee »

This is a cute and flirty story! I love the banter you two had, and your charms came off well! ;) Thank you for sharing a picture as well. You also set the scene of the event quite nicely.
tickletied84
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Post by tickletied84 »

Lovely story, well written and good to hear that the good guy wins sometimes!

Love the picture too!
FabianStr2016
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Post by FabianStr2016 »

Great story and great pic! I really hope you'll continue this thread
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