Yoga bondage

Brooke checked her image in the full-length mirror. A fit woman in her early forties, wearing a sports outfit and standing on a pair of shiny black high heels. The combination made no sense, but it sure made her legs look great! She turned around in the small booth, picking up her clothes and draping them over the stool. She was so grateful that Ted had built this cabinet in the shed. Before that, she always changed clothes in the bedroom of the house. But the ten yards she had had to walk to the shed had always felt like a walk of shame, even in the dark of night. Sometimes, a window would light up in one of the neighboring houses. At one time, someone even shone a flashlight right into their garden.

She opened the door and stepped back into the shed, or the atelier, as Ted used to call it. Bondage furniture was everywhere, and gadgets were everywhere, on workbenches, in various phases of completion. It was a happy, busy mess, and he never seemed to get tired of it.

She was familiar with a few of the larger contraptions—the Frog bench, a copy of Stocks in a Box, and the infamous One Bar Prison, of course—but others were new to her, and she wondered about their functions. She didn't have time to ponder too long because at the front of the shed, the door opened, and Ted came in.

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