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woman’s lovely milky cleavage. When the final
button was released, the woman reached up to pull the shirt off her
shoulders, a movement that thrust her full breasts forward hard
into the stiff cups. The bra cups were large but her breasts were
big enough that they filled them completely. As the tender flesh
pressed into them, she could not suppress a gasp. She moaned softly
as she lowered her arms and relaxed her shoulders. It was a ragged,
breathy moan.
    Rob didn’t know if women normally wore
leather bras or not. But he did know that he had never heard such
an erotic sound as that moan in his life. This was the stuff of his
dreams.
    “Why don’t you take your own bra off?” he
asked.
    “I can’t,” she replied. “I need help.” She
turned to present her back to him.
    He was astounded to see that, instead of a
simple hook and loop clasp, the bra was fastened with a small black
in-line combination lock, exactly like his bicycle lock. Most
likely someone had made this bra by taking a bicycle lock apart and
re-riveting the lock to the reinforced bra straps. Now he
understood why the woman had been wearing the oversized flannel
shirt; the lock would have made a noticeable bulge if she had been
wearing a lighter, tighter blouse.
    As well, he could see that the geometry of
the straps in the back made it impossible to remove the bra until
the lock was unfastened. The shoulder straps converged just below
the nape of her neck to form a single strap that came down her
spine to split again right above the lock where it was attached to
the cross strap at either side of the lock by loops. The cross
strap could only be pulled from the loops if the lock was
unfastened. Furthermore, the cross strap curved upward to put the
lock in the upper part of her back where it would be difficult for
her to reach. It was a fiendish design.
    “Do you know the combination?” he asked.
    “Yes, but I can’t see to work it. I can’t use
a mirror because the numbers are too small and I can’t get close
enough.”
    Rob could see what she meant. The numbers on
his bicycle lock were painted white to stand out against the black
rings. On this lock they had been repainted black so that they no
longer contrasted with the background. You had to get within a
couple of inches of the lock to read the numbers.
    She explained further, “Besides, I can barely
reach it. I can force my arms up there briefly, but I can’t hold
them there for long enough to try all combinations. That’s why I
have no choice but to get someone to release it. Please unlock it
for me. The combination is five eight six nine.”
    “Five eight six nine?”
    “That’s right. That’s the combination. Five
eight six nine.”
    “Five eight six nine.” Rob wrote the numbers
on a piece of paper. He noted that all the numbers had a similar
shape that would make it even more difficult to read the right
combination unless your eyes were within a couple of inches of the
lock.
    The woman’s predicament puzzled him and, when
he was puzzled by anything, Rob automatically shifted into
problem-solving mode. Rob’s insistence on being methodical was one
of the characteristics that made him so good at debugging computer
programs but which made him so boring around other people. Rob’s
first step in solving any problem is to gather as much information
as possible; a process that can be long and tedious, but is
critical for success.
    “Why is your bra locked on?” he asked.
    “It’s a punishment bra. It’s locked on so
that I can’t remove it myself no matter how much it hurts.”
    “Does it hurt to wear it?” Rob didn’t know
much about bras but he did know that they weren’t supposed to hurt,
even when a woman wore one all day.
    “Yes. It hurts like hell. Please take it off
now.”
    “In a minute,” he said absentmindedly then
continued, “Why does it hurt?”
    “Because the inside of the cups have
thumbtacks glued to them and they are poking me.”
    “You mean that you