Chapter 2: Strapped and Gagged - Catwoman
Harley Quinn dusted her hands with satisfaction after cinching the last rope that held Lois Lane snug in the swivel chair. “There we go, puddin’ — lesson twelve all wrapped up nice! Don’t go nowhere, cupcake — teacher’s gotta check on her other projects.” She blew Lois a mocking kiss, then locked the office door with a loud click.
From behind her gag and hood, Lois wriggled furiously, ropes creaking against the chair frame. Her muffled protests followed Harley faintly into the hallway, but Harley only twirled her mallet like a baton, humming as she bounced away.
A few corridors down, she heard it: the hiss of a triggered trap. “Ooooh, music to my ears!” she squealed. Darting around a corner, Harley found one of her gas dispensers still leaking its purple haze. Curled on the floor was none other than Catwoman, limp and groggy, her whip slack in her fingers.
Harley gasped theatrically, pressing her cheeks with both hands. “Well, wouldja look at that! The cat’s really outta the bag. Or should I say… in it?” She crouched beside Selina, poking her gently on the shoulder. “Welcome to Harley’s School o’ Hard Knocks, kitty-cat. Don’t worry, yer right on time fer class.”
With a grunt and a mischievous grin, Harley hooked her arms under Catwoman’s and began dragging her down the hall. “Lois already had her first lessons on the mattress, remember? So it’s only fair ya start from square one too. Gotta keep things even.” Selina groaned faintly, still dazed from the gas, boots scraping against the tiles as Harley tugged her along.
At last, Harley kicked open the door to the training room — the very same where Lois had been introduced to Lesson One. The mattress lay waiting, right where she’d left it. “Ahh, home sweet home,” Harley cooed, hauling Catwoman onto the mattress with a huff. She planted her hands on her hips, looking pleased with herself. “Now, let’s get ya comfy, kitty. Class is in session.”
Harley plopped down on the edge of the mattress, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Rule number one, puddin’s — before ya try to make someone harmless, ya gotta take away their toys!” She waved a roll of white microfoam tape like a teacher with a pointer.
Step one — disarm. Harley made a show of patting Selina down while she still slept off the gas. Out came the coiled bullwhip (flicked into a dented pail labeled CONTRABAND), a slim pouch of lockpicks (clink — in the bucket they went), and the retractable claws from Catwoman’s gloves. Harley peeled the gloves off with an exaggerated flourish and dropped the shiny claws in with a triumphant laugh. “No tools, no tricks—just you and me, kitty,” she crowed, giving the bucket a little shake so the lockpicks chimed like a school bell.
Step two — prep and safety check. She set the contraband aside and held up the white microfoam tape. “Always check yer subject first, kids — breathing, pulse, nothin’ that needs a doctor. Don’t be reckless.” Harley leaned over Selina, fingers hovering to confirm she was still out cold and steady, then snapped the tape roll like a ribbon.
Step three — left paw. “Now — the wrapping. Step one: grab the paw.” Harley gathered Catwoman’s limp left hand and smoothed the fingers together. “Step two: wrap from the base, snug but not stranglin’.” She began long, even passes of tape, winding over each finger so the whole hand became one bulky mitten. With practiced speed she layered until the hand stopped looking like a hand and started looking like a little white club. “Make sure fingers ain’t pokin’ out, and check the circulation — ya want ‘em useless, not blue.”
Step four — right paw (matchy-match). Harley repeated the same motion on the right hand, matching the wraps so both mitts were identical. “Uniformity, kids — you don’t want one claw left roam-in’ while the other’s asleep,” she teased, tearing the tape off with her teeth and patting each taped “paw” into place.
Final flourish. Harley tossed the emptied tape roll aside and gave the taped hands an approving squeeze. “There — no scratchin’, no lockpickin’, no nothin’. Declawed and de-tooled!” She nudged Selina gently with a toe. “Wake up in a minute, kitty. We’ll have a little chat about manners.” Then she hopped to her feet, delighted with her handiwork and ready to chalk another “lesson” off the list.
Harley pranced into the training room carrying a heavy canvas jacket over one shoulder, humming like a carnival barker. “Alright, puddin’s! Today’s the big one — the reverse straitjacket! Looks normal enough, but it’s got a twist so sneaky even ol’ Zatanna wouldn’t see it comin’.”
She flung the jacket open on the mattress, letting the long sleeves flop dramatically. “Check out the gear — tough canvas, reinforced straps, shiny buckles. Built to keep troublemakers like our kitty right where ya want ‘em.”
Step one — slip it on. Harley dragged Selina upright, giving her a mischievous grin. “First thing ya do is slip it on like a regular jacket — from the front. No tricks yet, just get the coat snug over her shoulders and arms.” She eased the sleeves onto Selina, letting them dangle down past her taped fists. “Nice and easy. Now she’s ready for the real magic.”
Step three — secure the body. Harley moved to the jacket’s waist and torso straps. “Ya wanna make sure the body of the jacket hugs real snug, puddin’s. No wiggle room. That’s what keeps your captive put.” She buckled each strap along Selina’s torso with deliberate pulls, the canvas tightening across her back and chest.
Step four — the crotch strap. Harley pulled out a set of three heavy-duty canvas straps attached to the jacket’s bottom section. “Now comes my personal favorite — the three-part crotch strap. One strap wraps around the left thigh, one around the right, and one right in the middle. Keeps the whole package locked tight.” She clipped and buckled each strap, pulling them snug so Selina couldn’t shift or escape. The straps made a satisfying, firm sound of canvas tightening under pressure.
Step two — cross behind. With the body secured, Harley moved to Selina’s dangling sleeves. “Now for the twist, puddin’s.” She swung them behind Selina’s back, crossing them over her spine. The sleeves were buckled together with a final flourish, drawing Selina’s taped fists tightly behind her shoulders. “See? Arms trapped behind — no reach, no scratching, no nothin’.”
Harley stepped back and admired her work. Selina sat slumped on the mattress, her body tightly bound in white canvas, the heavy-duty crotch straps locking her position, her arms fixed behind her in the reverse configuration. Harley planted her hands on her hips and beamed.
“That’s lesson fifteen, kiddos! A little more complicated than the regular straitjacket, but perfect fer tricky captives. Practical, stylish, and 100% Harley-approved.” She gave a grand bow. “Class dismissed… but don’t worry, there’s always more fun ahead!”
Harley bounced in like a teacher ready to show off her latest trick. “Alright, puddin’s, welcome to Lesson Sixteen — the fine art of the mouth wrap. We’re goin’ deeper today!” She flashed a grin at Selina, who sat patiently in her bindings.
Step one — removing headwear. “First thing — take off any headgear. Ya want a clean workspace for your masterpiece.” Harley reached over and carefully removed Selina’s hood, letting her hair spill free, making sure it didn’t get caught.
Step two — stuffing. Harley pulled out a soft foam ball and held it up dramatically. “This lil’ buddy’s our starter piece — comfy, soft, and keeps our captive nice and quiet.” She placed it gently into Selina’s mouth so it was secure but not uncomfortable.
Step three — wrapping. Harley grabbed a roll of gray duct tape with a flourish. “Now here’s the real show — more than one wrap, puddin’s. We’re talkin’ layers.” She began wrapping firmly but carefully, going around Selina’s mouth several times, keeping each layer smooth. She made sure to avoid Selina’s hair, keeping the wraps focused just around the mouth area. “No pauses, just smooth, even layers. Wrap until it’s snug and secure.”
Step four — final check. Harley stepped back, hands on her hips. “Alright, lesson’s almost done — always check your work! Gotta make sure your gag is solid, but also safe.” She gave Selina a nod. “Lesson Sixteen — done and dusted.”
Harley twirled her roll of tape. “Next up? Who knows — but it’s gonna be a showstopper!”
Harley was humming a cheerful tune. “Alright, puddin’s — Lesson Seventeen is in session! Time to check our work and make sure everythin’ stays as snug as a bug.” She leaned over Selina, who lay still in her reverse straitjacket, gagged.
Selina stirred, her eyes blinking open slowly. A muffled sound escaped her lips — mmmmmmphf. She tried to lift her head slightly, shifting her legs. Another muffled whimper followed — mmmmmphf. Her arms, trapped tight in the jacket, twitched weakly.
What happened? Where am I? Selina thought groggily. Harley… of course. But this… this is some kind of lesson. I’m still… bound. She gave a soft, muffled sound — mmmmmphf — as she tested her restraints. Her legs were free, but her position made movement awkward.
Harley crouched beside her, examining the straps of the jacket with playful care. “Looks good, but I like my work perfect. So let’s give this a lil’ once‑over.” She adjusted the straps just enough to keep them snug, her movements careful.
Selina let out another muffled whimper — mmmmmphf. Her mind spun with thoughts. She’s treating this like… a lesson plan. I can’t move my arms. I can’t talk. I’ve gotta think. Another soft mmmmmphf came from her lips as she lay there, testing her bound state.
Harley stepped back with a grin. “Perfect, puddin’s! Lesson Seventeen — complete. Keepin’ captives comfy and secure, that’s the Harley way!” She skipped out of the room, humming.
Selina stayed still, letting soft mmmmmphf whimpers escape, her thoughts quiet but determined. I’ll find a way out of this.
Harley waltzed into the room with a mischievous bounce, a grin plastered across her face. “Alright, puddin’s — Lesson Eighteen is all about upgrades! Gotta keep your captives comfy… and your lessons fresh!” She clapped her hands and leaned toward Selina, who still lay bound in the reverse straitjacket, gagged with muffled mmmmmphf whimpers, her legs free but restless.
Selina’s eyes flickered open at Harley’s voice. A muffled protest — mmmmmphf — slipped past her gag. She shifted slightly on the mattress, testing her restraints. Another lesson? She’s not even checking properly… this is about show now. But what’s her angle? Another muffled whimper — mmmmmphf — followed as her mind raced.
Harley skipped over to a table stacked with straps of different sizes, textures, and colors. “Now, Selly, you’ve been a good pupil so far, so I’m gonna introduce somethin’ new — and extra snuggly.” She picked up a heavy‑duty canvas strap. “This here is my Surprise Upgrade Strap — keeps your shoulders locked tight, but there’s more!”
She worked deliberately:
One strap snug across Selina’s chest, locking her torso firmly.
Another under her arms, looping around the jacket to keep her upper body pressed tight.
A third strap across her waist, holding the jacket secure.
Two additional straps above and below the jacket’s midsection for extra reinforcement.
Selina let out another muffled mmmmmphf, a whimper escaping as Harley tightened the last strap. “Shhh… Lesson time, dollface!” Harley teased, patting her work.
Selina’s mind was busy. She’s turning this into a spectacle. I can’t move my arms, I can’t speak… she’s loving this. But my legs are still free — for now. A final muffled whimper — mmmmmphf — came as she tested her bindings again.
Harley stepped back with a proud smile. “Perfect! That’s Lesson Eighteen — straps for days, puddin’s! Upgrades keep your work tight and your captives intrigued.”
Harley's grin stretching ear to ear. “Alright, puddin’s — Lesson Nineteen’s the big one! You can’t have a primo upgrade without a solid base, right? Today’s all about legs.” She spun slowly around Selina, who strained against her upper bindings, muffled mmmmmphf grunts and whimpers escaping her gag. Her legs were still free — but not for long.
Selina blinked against the light, her mind racing. She’s treating this like a show… a demonstration. I can’t move my arms, I can’t talk, and now she’s circlin’ me like I’m a prize to be wrapped. My legs are the last line of defense. Another muffled mmmmmphf! escaped when she tested her restraints, pulling her thighs slightly apart instinctively.
Harley leaned forward, kneeling beside her with a roll of heavy gray duct tape. “Now now, Selly… it’s time to lock those legs in place. No escaping without my say‑so.” She tapped the roll. “This here’s a deluxe leg bind — snug, strong, and oh‑so satisfying.”
Harley began her work step-by-step:
Step One: She placed a strip of tape gently but firmly at Selina’s right ankle. Selina instinctively tried to pull her foot back, letting out a muffled mmmmmphf, but Harley held her steady.
Step Two: The tape was wrapped upward across the ankle, then overlapped snugly around the lower calf. Harley ensured each wrap was smooth and even, pressing lightly so the tape adhered without discomfort. Selina’s legs twitched reflexively, her muffled whimpers rising — mmmmmphf… mmmmmphf!
Step Three: Harley moved to Selina’s left ankle and repeated the process, binding it with equal care before bringing both ankles together. She wrapped a wide band of tape around them, pressing Selina’s feet close, creating a locked base.
Step Four: The tape wound upward, layer upon layer, encasing calves and knees. Harley occasionally paused to pat her work and chuckle at Selina’s muffled protests. “Shhh, baby doll… no talkin’ now.”
Step Five: Finally, she wrapped Selina’s thighs together, moving upward in deliberate spirals until Selina’s legs were completely sealed in smooth gray layers, every movement restricted. The tape was taut but not painfully so — firm enough to hold Selina in place even under her struggles.
Selina’s muffled protests continued in rhythm — mmmmmphf… mmmmmphf! — each a quiet testament to Harley’s work. Her legs twitched and strained, but the binding held firm.
Harley stepped back, admiring the result with a satisfied grin. “There ya go — deluxe leg locks, puddin’s style. Snug, secure, and sure as sunshine. Lesson Nineteen’s complete. Can’t run, can’t kick… can’t do nothin’ but learn.” She gave a playful wink before heading toward her next lesson.
Harley was humming a jaunty tune, boots clicking on the floor. “Alright puddin’s — Lesson Twenty is a real treat. We’re gonna talk hoodin’, but puddin’ style. This ain’t just a hood — it’s an upgrade, a masterpiece of restraint.” She leaned over Selina, who gave muffled mmmmmphf whimpers through her gray‑duct‑taped gag, legs still bound tight from Lesson Nineteen.
Selina’s thoughts flickered rapidly. Now what? I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t move my legs… what’s left? A muffled mmmmmphf escaped her again as Harley’s fingers traced the edge of a shiny black latex hood, pulling it free from a nearby hook.
Harley grinned, holding it up like a prized possession. “Smooth latex, snug fit, and laces, puddin’s. It’s gonna cover your whole head, your hair, your gag — everything. Openings just for your eyes and nostrils. No fuss, all finesse.”
Step by step:
Step One: Harley positioned Selina’s head and held the hood at the crown. The gag and Selina’s hair stayed in place underneath. “We’re not takin’ off the goods, sugar. They’re part of the lesson.”
Step Two: She slid the latex hood over Selina’s head in a slow, deliberate motion, stretching the material so it covered gag, hair, and scalp evenly. Selina let out muffled mmmmmphf protests, tugging gently, but Harley’s hands were steady.
Step Three: Harley adjusted the hood so Selina’s eyes peeked clearly through their openings, and nostril holes were aligned so breathing was easy. “Eyes wide, breath easy — but snug as a glove.”
Step Four: Harley took up a length of black cord threaded through small loops at the back of the hood. She began lacing it tightly, weaving up from the nape to the crown, each pass pulling the hood taut without discomfort. “Laces are key, puddin’. Keeps it smooth and secure.”
Step Five: When finished, the hood was sleek and smooth, laced tightly without gaps, with Selina’s gag fully sealed inside. Harley patted it with satisfaction. “Perfect fit — no escape, all style. Lesson Twenty complete.”
Selina let out muffled whimpers — mmmmmphf… mmphf — as Harley stepped back to admire her work, her grin wide. “And that, puddin’s, is how ya turn a hood into a lesson worth rememberin’.”
Harley skipped into the room like she was showin’ off a brand‑new toy. “Alright puddin’s, you thought we were done? No way! Lesson Twenty‑One is all about lockin’ it down proper. Collar, reinforcements, the works.” She circled Selina, who lay still under her latex hood, gag sealed, eyes wide behind her mask of shiny black latex, her muffled mmmmmphf and soft whimpers barely audible.
Selina’s thoughts raced, muffled by her gag. Now what? I can’t speak, can’t escape, can’t move… This is the endgame, isn’t it? Her restrained body tensed, quiet muffled whimpers — mmmmmphf… mmphf… — spilling past her gag.
Harley knelt beside her, a wide grin splitting her face. “Now, puddin’, this ain’t just about keepin’ ya still. It’s about style, security, and makin’ sure there ain’t no surprises.” She pulled a thick strip of black leather from her bag. “Collar time.”
Step by step:
Step One: Harley draped the leather collar around Selina’s neck, adjusting it so it rested snug and even above the latex hood. The hood’s lacing glistened beneath it. “Perfect fit means no wiggle room — that’s the point.”
Step Two: She buckled the collar tight, letting Selina give a muffled mmmmmphf! protest, but ignoring it with a hum of satisfaction. “There, snug as a bug.”
Step Three: Harley circled Selina once more, checking every binding from head to toe. “Lesson Twenty‑One’s not done till every strap’s perfect.”
Step Four: Harley stepped back and admired her work. Selina was bound, hooded, gagged, collared — a masterpiece of restraint. Harley’s voice softened with pride. “Lesson’s complete. Bound, gagged, hooded, collared… and totally mine.”
Selina’s muffled mmmmmphf turned into soft whimpers under Harley’s triumphant gaze, the sound fading into silence as the lesson closed.
Harley returned a big roll of clear saran wrap tucked under her arm, her grin wide and mischievous. “Alright puddin’s, Lesson Twenty‑Two is all about takin’ our little kitty to the next level of lockdown! We’re gonna wrap her up so tight she won’t even think about squirmin’.”
Selina lay sprawled before her, reverse straitjacket straps securing her arms rigidly behind her back. Her legs were fully bound in heavy gray duct tape from thighs to ankles, but the bindings still allowed her some movement. She bent her knees slightly despite the pressure, trying to shift herself away. Through her gag came muffled protests — mmmmmphf… mmphf! — punctuated by strained whimpers of frustration.
Ugh… damn it, Harley’s laughing again. This was supposed to be a game, not torture… but I can’t even pull my arms free. My legs are taped tight, but I can still… just barely… bend them. Doesn’t matter. She’s making sure I can’t move. I can’t escape.
Step by step:
Step One: Harley anchored the end of the saran wrap around Selina’s fully duct‑taped ankles. “We start low, puddin’, where it all begins.” Selina strained and twisted her legs, the bindings holding but not fully restricting her ability to bend them. Her muffled mmmmmphf! escaped again. Why is she smiling like that? She knows exactly how much I can move — she’s testing me.
Step Two: Harley spiraled upward over Selina’s calves and knees, pressing the wrap tightly over the duct tape. Every turn compressed the bindings and increased the pressure, though Selina could still flex her legs slightly. Her muffled protests turned into frustrated whimpers, mmphf… mmmphf! as Harley worked. I hate this. I’m stuck. My legs feel… wrapped tighter now. I can barely move them without pulling against the wrap. And it’s so… suffocating.
Step Three: Upon reaching Selina’s hips, Harley repeated the wrap downward, covering the legs again to reinforce the immobilization. The double layers of saran wrap made movement harder, forcing Selina to fight to bend her knees, her muffled noises sharper and more urgent. It’s getting worse. I can feel every inch of wrap pulling tighter. This is relentless.
Step Four: Harley then wrapped upward once more, over Selina’s torso and shoulders, locking the reverse straitjacket straps even tighter. Selina’s breathing quickened under the increasing pressure, her muffled mmmmmphf… mmmphf! growing more desperate as Harley smoothed the cling film over her body. No… I can’t… breathe normally. My shoulders… everything’s pressed down. I hate how she’s laughing.
Step Five: Finally, Harley reinforced the wrap by going downward again, locking every section from ankles to shoulders. Selina was now a fully wrapped, gagged, collared, reverse‑straitjacketed bundle — her legs duct‑taped but still slightly flexible, her arms secured rigidly behind her back, every movement restricted.
Harley stepped back and clapped her hands. “Lesson Twenty‑Two: locked and loaded, puddin’! No wiggle room, no escape — just a purr‑fect, helpless kitty.” Selina could only let out muffled whimpers under her gag, every muscle tense under the saran wrap’s tight grip.
She did it. I’m… trapped. Every move’s impossible now. This is exactly what she wanted. Damn her.
Harley strolled into the office with a bounce, her boots clicking on the floor. “Alright puddin’s, Lesson Twenty‑Three — today’s class is all about comparison. Every captive’s got their own style of bind, and we’re gonna break it down.” She glanced toward Lois, still seated in the office chair, arms locked in her straitjacket self‑hug, legs taped together, lips sealed under thick layers of white microfoam tape, her body fixed firmly by the ropes to the chair’s central leg.
From the hallway came a muffled struggle — Harley grinned and strode over. “And here’s my next guest!” With practiced ease, she dragged the struggling Selina across the floor, her boots scraping softly. Selina gave muffled mmphf! grunts and whimpers, twisting against her bindings, but Harley’s grip never faltered. She hauled her toward the office, ignoring the protests, and with a dramatic flourish dumped her onto the sofa. Selina shifted under her restraints, the reverse straitjacket tight, her legs duct‑taped and wrapped in saran wrap, her hood and gag in place.
Harley leaned in with theatrical curiosity. “See here, puddin’? Lois’s bindings are about immobility and endurance. The self‑hug keeps her arms pinned tight, the crotch‑strap locks her hips, and the ropes to the chair stop her from even movin’. It’s neat, it’s tight, and it’s long‑term control.” She gave Lois’s bound form a dramatic pat. “Perfect for keepin’ someone exactly where ya want ‘em.”
Then Harley turned toward Selina with a grin. “Now Selina’s bindings? Ohhh… they’re a whole different lesson. Reverse straitjacket means she can’t free her arms, but her legs have more room to flex. That gives her some movement, but not for long — the duct‑tape and saran wrap lock her down in layers. It’s more about sensory control than pure restraint.” Harley tapped the saran wrap with a satisfied smirk. “Plus, the hood and gag? That’s mind‑play, puddin’. Total sensory surrender.”
Through her gag Selina gave muffled mmphf… mmphf! whimpers, shifting slightly, her bound legs pressing under the tape.
She’s talking about me like I’m a lesson plan. Lois is still locked up tight over there… but my bindings are different. Tighter in some ways, looser in others. Still, I can’t get out. And Harley’s smiling… she’s loving this.
Harley stepped back, hands on her hips. “Lesson Twenty‑Three: every bind’s a story, puddin’. And mine? They’re chapters.” She gave the two captives an approving nod before spinning on her heel with a flourish.
Harley flounced back into the office, her grin wide and her boots clicking like a metronome. “Alright puddin’s, Lesson Twenty‑Four — today we’re gettin’ real up close and personal. We’re gonna compare our captives, top to bottom, bind by bind.” She swiveled her head toward Lois first, still seated in her office chair, arms locked tight in her self‑hug straitjacket, legs bound together with duct tape, crotch strap in place, lips sealed under thick white microfoam tape. “Now, let’s start with Lois.”
Harley crouched beside her. “First thing ya notice — self‑hug arms. That keeps her arms pinned chest‑tight without knots. The crotch‑strap? Extra reinforcement, stoppin’ any wiggle or twist down there. And those ropes to the chair’s central leg? They’re snug and unyieldin’, stoppin’ her from even shiftin’ position.” She ran her fingers slowly over Lois’s legs, tapping on the duct‑tape. “Mmm, nice and smooth. Every inch of her ankles and calves wrapped. That means no slipping, no escape. It’s total immobility. That’s what her straitjacket setup’s about — control through stillness.”
Then Harley shifted to Selina, dragging herself theatrically toward the sofa. Selina gave muffled mmphf! whimpers as Harley knelt beside her. “Now, Selina’s got her own kinda style.” Harley began inspecting her reverse straitjacket, running her hands along the heavy‑duty canvas straps. “These straps here? They’re all about sensory control — keepin’ her torso locked but lettin’ her legs move a little. That means she feels restrained, but it ain’t just about keepin’ her still, it’s about makin’ her feel restrained.” She bent lower to inspect Selina’s taped legs. “Leg bindings? Not just ankles — all the way up. Duct tape and saran wrap both, tight enough to stop breakin’ free but stretchy enough that she can still bend ‘em a bit. That gives me options.”
Harley’s fingers moved toward Selina’s gag and hood. “And don’t forget the gag game. Lois? Layers of white microfoam tape, thick and tight — that’s quiet, immovable, and clean. Selina? Foam ball with duct tape, plus a hood that covers her gag and hair. That’s sensory lockdown, puddin’. Eyes, lips, nostrils — all playin’ their own part.” Harley tapped Selina’s latex hood with a grin. “It’s all part of the art of restraint.”
Selina gave muffled mmphf‑mmphf! protests under her gag, shifting slightly under Harley’s inspection. Lois, still locked in her chair, let out a muffled mmphhh! of her own, the ropes taut.
Harley stood up with a satisfied flourish. “Lesson Twenty‑Four complete — comparison, inspection, detail. Always know yer bind inside and out, puddin’s, ‘cause every bind tells a story. And next? Transport tactics.” She gave a dramatic wink toward both captives, clearly savoring the moment.
Harley clapped her hands together, spinning on her heel with a mischievous grin. “Alright, puddin’s, Lesson Twenty‑Five — how to move a captive without lettin’ ‘em wiggle, squirm, or get any ideas about breakin’ free.” She glanced at Lois, still firmly seated in her office chair, arms locked in her self‑hug straitjacket, legs taped, crotch strap in place, gagged with layers of white microfoam tape. Selina lay on the sofa, reverse straitjacketed, legs wrapped in duct tape and saran wrap, gagged, and hooded. Both were carefully restrained but still aware — perfect for a transport demonstration.
Harley crouched next to Selina first. “Step one: get a feel for your captive’s balance and limits.” She gently lifted Selina at the torso, feeling how the reverse straitjacket distributed her weight. Selina gave muffled mmphf‑mmphf! whimpers, struggling as Harley shifted her just slightly. “See, even a little movement tells ya where the stress points are — her arms are locked, legs taped, body contained, but she’s still squirmy. That’s fine. That’s good, puddin’.” Harley adjusted her grip, lifting Selina carefully but firmly toward the center of the office.
Then Harley moved to Lois. “Step two: understand yer tools.” She tugged lightly at the ropes securing Lois to the chair’s central leg. “Ropes? Solid. Tape? Snug. Straitjacket? Locked. Gag? Layers. Every piece plays a part. When movin’ a seated captive, ya gotta respect each one. One wrong pull and it’s chaos.” Harley began to tilt the chair slightly, making Lois hop along on her own with Harley’s steady guidance. Lois gave muffled mmphh! noises, trying to resist the movement. Harley laughed. “Hop, puddin’, hop! Don’t fight the fun. See? With just a little help, even the most stubborn captive goes where ya need ‘em.”
Step three: stability and restraint. Harley positioned Selina on her feet just long enough to guide her, then lowered her onto the office sofa. “Always keep ‘em low, puddin’. Height equals leverage, and leverage equals trouble.” She tapped the duct-taped legs and reverse straitjacket. “Everything stays locked, everything stays tight, but they still feel the movement. Sensory input is part of control.” She stepped back, admiring her work: Lois still in the chair, Selina safely on the sofa, both unable to break free but still aware enough to squirm and whimper.
Finally, Harley emphasized the key takeaway. “Transport ain’t just about getting ‘em there. It’s about understanding every strap, every gag, every rope, every bind. Know what moves, what flexes, and what snaps. Then, puddin’, you move ‘em like a pro — safe, controlled, and oh-so-satisfying.” She twirled her hammer on her shoulder, winking at the captives. “Lesson Twenty‑Five? Nailed it.”
Harley clapped her hands, her grin wide and theatrical. “Alright, puddin’s — Lesson Twenty‑Six! Today we’re talkin’ segregated containment. That’s fancy speak for movin’ captives into their own little comfy-but‑secure spaces so there ain’t no mix‑ups or trouble.” She sauntered over to Lois first, still seated in her office chair, arms locked in her self‑hug straitjacket, legs duct‑taped together, gag layered with white microfoam tape, ropes secured to the central leg. Selina lay on the sofa, reverse‑straitjacketed, gagged, hooded, legs wrapped in duct tape and saran wrap, still whimpering softly under her gag.
“Step one: Know yer exits and yer rooms.” Harley tapped her chin, eyes sparkling. “You can’t just drag a captive any old way. Gotta plan.” She looked toward two padded rooms down the hallway. “Lois goes left, Selina goes right.” With a dramatic flourish, she leaned toward Lois’s chair. “Step two: mobilize with control.” Harley tugged gently on the ropes tied to the chair’s central leg, urging Lois forward. Lois gave a muffled mmphhh! and shifted, legs dragging against the carpet. Harley chuckled. “Easy does it, puddin’. Don’t want any surprises.” She guided Lois steadily down the hallway, hopping the chair along under her control, her boots clicking against the floor.
At Selina’s side, Harley crouched low. “Step three: support the bound body.” She grasped Selina under her arms and gave her a careful lift. Selina groaned softly into her gag — muffled mmphf‑mmphf! noises escaping as she protested. “There we go, dollface,” Harley cooed, adjusting the reverse straitjacket to keep everything locked. “Leg bindings, gag, hood — all gotta stay put.” She stepped carefully, leading Selina toward the second padded room. The latex hood glistened under the light as Selina gave muffled struggles, her bound legs flexing slightly against the duct‑tape and saran wrap.
Finally, Harley opened the rooms’ heavy padded doors. “Step four: secure in their own spaces.” She positioned Lois in her chair inside her room, making sure the ropes stayed taut, then ushered Selina inside hers and gently set her onto the padded floor. “There ya go, puddin’s,” Harley announced proudly, stepping back to admire her work. “Two captives, two rooms, all binded up proper — safe, sound, and ready for Lesson Twenty‑Seven.” She tapped her chin mischievously. “Now, that’s transport and containment done Harley‑style.”
Harley twirled a coil of thin rope in her hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, puddin’, Lesson Twenty‑Seven! Today we’re talkin’ inverted containment. A fancy way to keep a captive under control and entertained — upside-down style!” She glanced at Selina, still reverse-straitjacketed, legs wrapped in duct tape and saran wrap, gagged, hooded, and fully aware. Selina muffled a sharp mmphf‑mmphf! as Harley approached, her mind racing: Ugh… not this again. How does she keep thinking up new ways to humiliate me? I can’t move an inch…
Step one: Attach anchor points. Harley scanned the padded ceiling. “Gotta make sure yer rope’s anchored solid — can’t have a squirmy cat fallin’ on her face, now can we?” Selina’s legs flexed slightly inside the duct tape as she whined softly in her gag — mmphhh! — thinking: I hate this. Every time she does one of these ‘lessons,’ it gets worse. How did I let her get me into this…
Step two: Preparing the captive. Harley crouched next to Selina, threading the thin rope around her torso and under her legs. Selina’s muffled mmmfhh! whimper escaped as the rope pressed against her saran-wrapped legs. She’s making sure I can’t get free at all… my arms, my legs, even upside down, I can’t fight her. I hate being this helpless. Harley adjusted the loops carefully so the reverse-straitjacket and leg bindings stayed fully secure.
Step three: Lifting and positioning. With steady tugs, Harley lifted Selina off the padded floor. Selina swung slightly, gag muffling every protest — mmphhh! — her mind spiraling: God, the world’s upside down… literally. I can’t even see straight through this hood. Every inch of me is restrained, and she’s enjoying it. I hate it… but I can’t move… I’m completely at her mercy. Harley adjusted her legs, checked the ropes, ensured the hood and gag stayed safe, and finally, Selina was fully suspended, upside-down, secure and helpless.
Step four: Observation and adjustment. Harley circled her captive, inspecting every rope loop. “Check yer ropes, puddin’, make sure nothin’ pinches or slides. Perfect hang, tense, controlled, and safe!” Selina’s muffled mmphf mmphhh! struggles continued as her thoughts swirled: I have to stay calm… any panicking won’t help. She’s in total control. I’m completely… trapped… hanging here like a trophy. God, I hate this. Harley beamed. “Lesson Twenty-Seven? Nailed it. Control, restraint, and a touch of showmanship — Harley Quinn style!”
The padded room was silent except for Selina’s muffled grunts and the faint creak of rope under strain. Harley had gone off to “teach another lesson,” leaving her upside‑down reverse‑straitjacketed captive secured to the ceiling. Selina’s legs, wrapped tight in duct tape and saran wrap, hung locked together, while her arms remained pressed into the heavy-duty canvas jacket. Her head hooded, gagged, and the rope cinched around her body gave her no leverage.
Selina’s muffled mmphhh! turned into a low, frustrated whimper. C’mon… there’s gotta be some way… maybe if I shift my legs… no… the rope’s too tight… the straitjacket won’t budge… She wriggled desperately, flexing her bound ankles and twisting her torso, the rope biting gently into her underarms. Ugh, this is hopeless… I can’t even reach my own bindings… Harley really outdid herself this time. Every movement earned muffled protests — mmphf mmphhh! — and only served to remind her of her complete helplessness.
Minutes passed. Selina’s struggles slowed to small, tense shifts, her breathing heavy and muffled through her gag. She hung there, caught in her own bindings and the strange mix of discomfort and frustration. I hate this. I can’t get free, and she knows it. She wants me exactly like this… suspended, helpless, completely at her mercy. The ropes held firm, the bindings unyielding. No matter how hard she twisted or strained, the padded cell offered no escape. Harley had proven her point: control was absolute.