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Strait Sitch	By : LordFootinMouth Category: Kim Possible > Het- Male/Female > Kim/Ron Views: 13129 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Kim Possible and all related characters belong to Disney. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Strait Sitch
- 1
Warning: There's no nudity or sexual intercourse in this fic, but there is a lot of bondage with heavy emphasis on institutional fetish, as well as unorthodox, though not really incestuous, relationships between the four characters involved. If any of this disturbs you, please turn back now.

Pairings: Kim/Ron, Kim/Mrs. Possible.

Author's Notes: First of all, this fic has not been beta read, so any and all errors are mine alone. There's some plot here, but it's mostly kink (yes, I do have a certain fetish.) I'm not sure if this will be a one-shot or not. It was just a spur-of-the-moment type of thing. It's also my first fic of any type. Enjoy!

For anyone who's interested, the pictures this fic is based on can be found at my Deviantart gallery, located here:

http://lordfoot-in-mouth.deviantart.com/art/Strait-Sitch-3-Color-103916919

and here:

http://lordfoot-in-mouth.deviantart.com/art/S-S-4-Things-in-Motion-104167170

Comments and constructive criticism are welcome. Flames are not.

*Strait Sitch*

Mrs. Possible placed her hands on her distressed, helpless daughter’s shoulders. She pressed down gently with her thumbs and moved them around in wide circles, a comforting gesture she wasn’t sure Kim could feel through the two layers of thick, heavy canvas wrapped around her torso.

On the outside, Mrs. P. tried to maintain a sad, solemn expression, mostly to dispel the suspicions of any nosy neighbors. On the inside, however, she was positively giddy, making it hard to maintain her sad facade. Kim looked amazing in Mrs. P.’s old institutional restraints; in fact, they fit Kim better now than they’d fit her when she was 18. The thick straitjacket, one of Mrs. P’s favorite restraints, had been pretty tight on her, and she worried that it would be too small for Kim, who was more muscular than she had been. To Mrs. Possible’s (internal) delight, Kim’s musculature made her just big enough to fill up the open space of the jacket. It clung tightly to Kim all over, as close to a second skin as canvas could be without seriously hampering the circulation in her arms. A few centimeters of space, at the very most, remained between Kim’s crossed arms and the canvas loops on the front and sides of the jacket, which kept her arms pinned safely to her body.

She couldn’t even imagine the havoc the crotch strap was wreaking on Kim’s nether regions as she walked. From Mrs. Possible’s perspective, it looked like it might squeeze her crotch in half.

Not entirely convinced of the jacket’s ability to hold her daughter (Kim was very good at getting out of tight situations, after all; Teen heroes had to be good escape artists), Mrs. Possible had placed a small padlock on each of the jacket’s straps, the keys to which she kept on her person at all times. Next, she had wrapped a transport jacket, made of the same canvas as the straitjacket, around Kim’s already bound torso, and strapped it tight. The sleeveless shell of the transport jacket was designed for application on top of a straitjacket, making the victim easier to handle during transport. Mrs. Possible had removed the control handles from the side of hers; she hated they way they had looked. The typically-baggy jacket was also surprisingly tight on Kim; both of her bound arms were easy to see, pressed into the canvas as they were.

Beneath the two jackets, Kim wore a bright orange zip-front jumpsuit nearly identical to those used in prisons. Acquiring that hadn’t been easy, but Mrs. Possible was diligent, and a modern adage eventually proved true: You really can find anything on the internet. Any protests Kim might have had about being caught dead in such a thing were cut off by the black leather muzzle gag wrapped around her lower face. Two brown leather cuffs connected by a short hobble strap anchored Kim’s powerful legs together. There would be no kicking, flipping, or running. Her ability to walk was restricted to short, hesitant steps. Even her big green eyes, physically harmless but emotionally lethal, were restrained by a padded leather blindfold.

Kim Possible had been completely subdued.

To any outside observer, the scene would be nearly tragic; seeing an upstanding individual like Kim being lead away like Hannibal Lecter would break most people’s hearts (except Shego; she’d just point and laugh). Kim herself flip-flopped violently from despair, to embarrassment, to, and she tried every justification in the book to avoid admitting it, arousal. But Mrs. Possible, a sensible, logical, intelligent woman, felt excitement. What others would have seen as a sad spectacle, she saw as an opportunity. It was an opportunity to unlock something special within Kim. It was an opportunity for two people to connect in ways they’d never imagined.

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Kim’s curious sitch had started exactly one week prior. Mrs. Possible had come home from work two hours early to find Kim and Ron necking on the couch. This was certainly nothing unusual. Kim and Ron were young, hormonal, and in love, and this was hardly the first time Mrs. P. had caught them swapping spit. As long as they kept their hands out of the danger zones, she was fine with it. James would threaten Ron with a black hole when he caught them, but he really loved the boy like a son, and did so more out of tradition than anything. Mrs. P’s father had done the same to him, and he felt it only fair to pass along that same…fatherly concern.

She was about to look away when a flash of light, reflecting off something metallic, caught her attention. And then she saw it; Kim’s hands were cuffed together behind her back, and Mrs. Possible couldn’t be sure from her position, but she thought she might have seen another pair on her ankles. Mrs. Possible just stared in shock. Not the sort of outraged and disgusted shock that one would feel if they came home and found a wildebeest had spontaneously combusted in their living room, but the sort of momentary shock one feels when finding something familiar in a completely unexpected place. Then, her shock was replaced by the warmth of nostalgia, and a small smile crossed her face. She cleared her throat gently.

Kim and Ron’s heads both whipped to the doorway where Mrs. Possible was standing, and they both turned as white as ghosts. Ron shot up off the couch, nearly dumping his GF to the floor in the process, stammering hasty half-apologies and excuses that made frankly made little sense to him. Face red with embarrassment, he bolted for the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Possible down in the process. The smile didn’t leave her face as he passed, but she was sure he missed it.

Kim, for her part, was too embarrassed to anything but roll on her side and bury her face in the couch, trying hard to hide the deep red blush across her skin. She remained silent when her mother picked the keys up off the table and freed her limbs, but Mrs. Possible noticed the slight hitching of her shoulders. This bothered her; Kim did embarrass fairly easily, and she acted flustered or silly when she did, but crying? Kim wasn’t the type to cry over something like that. She placed her hand on Kim’s shoulder.

“Kimmie?” she asked. “Are you alright?”
Kim barely nodded her head.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Possible felt somewhat stupid for asking that.

Silence.

Sighing, Mrs. Possible left the living room, hoping that Kim would come clean to her on her own.

But she didn’t. Nor did she have to. The answer presented itself the next morning, when Kim and Ron were leaving for school. All during breakfast, they acted normal, though Ron shot a number of nervous glances at Mrs. Possible. When they were leaving, Ron wrapped his hand around Kim’ wrist and tugged her toward the door. And she cringed. Ron, facing away from Kim, missed it, but Mrs. Possible did not, and she finally realized what was going on. Kim wasn’t upset because she and her BF had been caught, nor had Ron done anything to her (not that Mrs. Possible seriously entertained that thought). Kim hadn’t acted that way until Ron had left and the haze of hormones had cleared. No, Kim was ashamed of herself, ashamed that she enjoyed being cuffed like that, at least, if the noises were anything to go by. Ron’s grip had reminded her of the cuffs, and of the intense arousal and crushing shame she’d felt.

Hours later, after intense deliberation, Mrs. Possible began hatching a plan to intervene. She knew that, at best, it was highly questionable both morally and ethically. It could backfire spectacularly, opening a chasm between herself and Kimmie that might be too wide and too deep to bridge. She absolutely hated the thought of their relationship growing distant like that.

But if it worked…If she could make it work, not only was she confident that Kim would be more comfortable with herself and her sexuality, but she was sure that it would bring her daughter and Ron closer together, and thicken the already strong bond of love, trust, and friendship that had bound the two of them together for 14 years.

That night, she called her dear friend and former cohort, and spilled the entire plan to her. They met up two days later, under the pretense of a girls’ day out, and spent the entire afternoon ironing out the details of the plan, which, at her friend’s insistence, had been expanded to include one other person. Before returning home that evening, they made two more stops. One was at a rental storage locker, where they both withdrew several large boxes. They made their final stop at a building just outside the Middleton City Limits.

Everything was ready. They just had to wait for the right opportunity to strike.

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As they neared the unmarked van sitting in front of the Possible home, Kim had began thrashing and struggling in earnest, and that was when Mrs. Possible had placed her hands on the distressed girl’s shoulders. Mrs. Possible felt a little guilty about the whole charade; Kim believed that this van was going to take her away to the Middleton Center for Disturbed and Abnormal Teenagers, a specialized psychiatric facility to which she would be committed indefinitely in order to cure her ‘abnormal’ lusts. Kim was understandably upset when was told. Too upset, in fact, to wonder why a facility that would supposedly cure her of a bondage fetish required her to spend the night and most of the following strapped to her bed while wearing a straitjacket, a muzzle, and that garish orange jumpsuit.

A tall, slim blond woman met them at the back of the van, and opened up the door. When she looked at Kim and Mrs. Possible, she smile warmly at the pair, and nodded at Kim’s mother. Mrs. Possible wrapped her arms around Kim’s waist, partly to get ready to hoist her into the van and partly to hug her reassuringly, leaned over, and whispered into Kim’s ear in a voice that was surprisingly sultry for someone supposedly shipping their eldest child off for an unknown period of time.

“Please try to calm down, Kimmie,” she cooed. “You’re going to be in very good hands. I know Doctor Likely and Doctor Surpassable very well. They’ll take very good care of you, I promise.” With that, she grabbed the strap running between Kim’s legs, and gave it a sharp tug upwards.

The effect was immediate. Kim, who had been hovering on the brink of an orgasm the entire time, was pushed over the edge. She let out a long, loud moan, and threw her head back. Her knees became jelly and buckled, unable to support her weight any longer. Her mom’s tight grip around her waist was the only thing that kept Kim from falling to the pavement face-first. As it was, she hung limp in Mrs. Possible’s arms, that one intense orgasm having sucked all the remaining fight out of her for a while.

Mrs. Possible gestured to the blonde woman, who came over and grabbed Kim’s cuffed ankles. On the count of three, the two of them hoisted Kim up into the back of the van. The van was actually an old, retired prisoner transport van that they had acquired at a police auction some time ago for exactly this sort of thing. Low benches lined three of the walls, and set into the wall at even intervals both above and below the bench were eyebolts to which restraints could be attached. The blonde woman put Kim on a side bench close to the front of the van, and took four small tethers from the pocket of her uniform. Two of them connected to Kim’s ankle cuffs, securing her legs to the base of the bench. The other two connected to D-rings set into the shoulders of her transport jacket, one each side, and connected to rings on either side of her body, rendering escape impossible.

On the bench directly opposite Kim, Mrs. Possible could see the lanky form of Ron Stoppable, his messy blonde hair matted down with sweat, and his freckles barely visible between the blindfold and muzzle gag that dulled his senses. Like Kim, he wore a bright orange jumpsuit with a straitjacket, but his was different. For one, his straitjacket looked like it was on backwards; the closure buckles faced forward, rather than backward and his arms were crossed behind his back and strapped in the front. Two small straps secured his arms to his torso on either side, and a high, stiff collar held his neck rigid. Intrigued, Mrs. Possible made a mental note to ask where that had come from. She just had to get one for Kimmie.

Ron started had started struggling and grunting when he’d heard Kim moan. Once the blonde woman had Kim secured, she walked over to Ron and stroked his face gently with the palm of her hand.

“Shhhhhh…” She whispered to the bound boy. “Everything’s going to be okay.” When he was settled, Janet Stoppable climbed out of the van, shut the door, and straightened out the white leather nurse’s uniform she was wearing. This was one of the many things she and Anne Possible had taken out of storage. Anne was dressed in a white leather mock doctor’s coat, knee-high black leather boots, a choker, and a smile. It kind of strange, being dressed like this after so many years, but both of them had to admit, it felt really good. Neither of them had gotten fat with age, as they’d feared back then.

Without a further word between them, the two old friends, now partners again, climbed in to the front of the van and drove off into the tranquil night that had settled upon Middleton. However, they were not destined for the Middleton Center for Disturbed and Abnormal Teenagers. They couldn’t be; no such place existed. The facility they had visited earlier that week was not a hospital, but an old dungeon that had closed down years before when the two dominatrices in charge of it decided it was time to move on with life and settle down. One of them, Miss Janet Surpassable, became a well-respected financial adviser and started dating John Stoppable, a slightly portly actuary who was looking to set up an office in the Middleton area. The other, Miss Andrea Likely, known to her friends as Anne, became one of the world’s foremost brain surgeons, but not before falling in love with an aspiring rocket scientist (and total geek, but she wouldn’t have him any other way) named James Possible.

The End
And The Beginning
- 1
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Strait Sitch