My constant fantasy is certainly not uncommon, but includes a range of variations. I love the old, perhaps well-worn fantasy of being held in some desert tent by a renegade prince who has taken me by force from my ambushed caravan. He holds me as hostage, but keeps me as a sex slave as well, making sure that I am available whenever he wants to take me and take me he does in every possible way. As a modern, modest, conservative young woman who works in a middle management job inside the headquarters of a large corporation, I could never reveal these secrets to anyone. However, in talking about them here, I find that I have a need to reveal at least what I feel and why, especially in this one, somewhat hackneyed scene which so often repeats itself when I am home alone, usually just before bed time.
I am wearing only minimal underwear and, if it’s not too warm, stockings or panty hose, (although the desert prince loathes pantyhose). I know that sounds really funny, but in my fantasy, I make up and retain these things. He keeps me tied to his bed or at his bedside bound to a stout wooden post driven deep into the sand under his lavish tent. I am well fed and cared for by his other women, who find me somewhat amusing, but often display great jealousy towards me. My wrists are tied with a soft silk or cotton rope, with two loops around each wrist and then cinched between my hands and tied off so that my fingers cannot reach the knots. He has them bind my ankles as well in the same fashion and normally, for my own safety he says, my legs are tied at the knee, keeping any rascals from violating me…he says. I am gagged much of the time with clean rags stuffed in my mouth and a wide silken band around my lower face, holding the rag gag in place.
My large bed at home serves as the scene of my constant violation as his captive. I bought the bed especially because I liked the massive four posts at the corners and these serve well as the posts to which I am bound in the master's tent. The silk ropes I use came from an interior decorator shop and I bought enough of this red rope to meet present and future SB needs. It is soft and feels lovely, even when tied tightly around my ankles and wrists. I have set up this rope so that the large open loops at one end go over the top of the bedposts and reach just far enough to allow the brass clips at the ends to connect to the multiple rope circles around my limbs. I prepare for bed, gag myself and then attach the four thick ropes to my ankles and wrists, saving the right wrist for last. Settling down in the bed, it is most comforting to lie there and imagine the prince coming and taking me forcefully, sometimes on top of me and at other times, from behind. If he wishes, I am released from the corner posts and turned over on my stomach, rebound in the four way stretch and fucked in my ass until I sob with both pain and pleasure. I use a much too large faux penis form for just these times and, if the prince is in a merciful mood, he'll lubricate his prick before thrusting into me. In reality, this involves my legs being held wide to the lower posts and my wrists tied behind my back with enough slack in the ropes joining my hands so that I can reach behind and assist His Excellency. I guide his swollen member between my legs and slowly insert it for him, all the while thrashing about on the bed quilt, resisting the relentless penetrator entering my pussy from behind.
At other times, I lie in the same facedown position, wrists neatly secured with a thinner rope as though they were joined by thin metal shackles, the flexible rubber dick wrapped in a lubricated condom, being slowly and inevitably forced into my ass. This is the ultimate violation and also, for me, the ultimate extent of self-bondage and masturbation. The massive prick goes slowly up my ass while I struggle on the bed, my bound ankles chafing in their silken rope bindings, my one hand tied to the rope around my waist and the other eagerly thrusting the false dick into my rectum, deeper and deeper. The more I fight it the more the thing is thrust into me until only the slightly expanded base remains clamped between my ass cheeks and I am wailing silently into the gag, begging him to not stop and to stop, wishing it was real, but knowing that this is not all that bad.
At other times, I will leave my hands free and one will work the back probe and the other the front. I must be well gagged to do this because the orgasms are overwhelming and I scream loudly and endlessly.
I know this all sounds crazy. I know it is not reality. But I also know that aside from the small hazards to myself, I am hurting no one by this personal indulgence and I find great release in the self-bondage and the fantasy fulfillment it provides.
I share this with no one else. It is mine alone. Since the survey asked how and by what means do I assure my escape, I will say that there have been times when I was worried that I had gone too far, that the ropes had accidentally tightened even though they are not supposed to or the gag was too tight and my head was stopped up so that breathing through my nose was difficult. Panic always follows such an experience and I make personal promises not to continue, but I am inevitably back a night or two later, spread-eagle bound to the four corners of my own bed. But escape, as I have planned it, is usually just a matter of flipping the large rope loops up and over the top of one of the bed posts. These posts are smooth and slightly tapered towards the top, so the rope slides up and down easily if I want it to. The only danger is if the loops close and hold too tightly to the post, but since there are two different posts for my hands, I have two chances to get free. The beauty, (if that's the term), of all of this is that I can and do vary it now and then. I can place my hands behind me and toss both of the loops over the same post. I can do the same with my leg bindings and can even diagonally stretch myself across the bed, ankles closely tied to one post and hands behind or in front of me to the opposite corner.
In all of these positions, once I have an orgasm, I sleep soundly for many hours, sometimes awakening and wondering where I am and why I am bound. Adding a blindfold and gag is always an option and I prefer to go to sleep with just a token gag band through my lips, to remind me of the fiction of my mind and knowing well that it is only fiction.
SB is a major physical and psychological outlet for me. On a day off or weekend, I can spend the entire 48 hours in simulated chains, scantily dressed, wandering about my house or apartment with hands and feet linked in rope, a thick rope around my waist and a leather collar on my neck. I can spend hours in simulated chains at the side of my own bed, wrists behind me, neck closely collared to the post, waiting for the prince to come and ravage me. One variation I love is to be tied tightly to the bed post while kneeling with my back to the post. Between my knees is a small plywood platform which I had made, telling the cabinet-maker that I wanted to put my cat's interchangeable claw posts on it. The platform has a metal center post about five inches long. This is where the cat's clawing post fits, but it’s also where one of my several long plastic or rubber dildoes fits as well. I set this up behind me, tie my legs just above the knees and my ankles together behind the post. I press my back against the bedpost and tie my waist there. I tie several strands of rope around my chest, above over and below my breasts, making sure that at least one strand goes right across the already hardened nipples. Finally, my wrists get bound to the top of the post, so that my arms are extended over my head.
Of course, there is a gag in my mouth and an ace bandage around my lower face, holding a ball deep between my jaws. I then lower myself onto the well-primed rubber dickie clamped between my lower legs. The lower I sink, the deeper the dick goes into my cunny. I can vary this action by pulling myself up, but eventually, my thighs begin to ache and the muscles vibrate and I sink down, down onto the huge wide dick that fills my cunt. I can stay there for hours, toying with myself. If I am in the mood and have lots of time, I will free myself, all the while pretending that my captors are letting me loose. I hobble to the bathroom, relieve myself, perhaps clean my crotch a bit with a cool washcloth and then venture back into the bedroom where my imaginary abductors show me a set of chains and tell me what they are now going to do to me. As the aliens used to say, "Resistance is futile", so I stand while they wrap a heavy linked chain around my waist and lock it, then place lighter chains on my ankles, thighs and
wrists, all secured with padlocks. Meanwhile I notice that the platform that held the deep-probing dick has a new feature: a second probe has been added. From where I stand, I see that it is a clear, glass, butt plug that is almost as long and is certainly as thick as the original dildoe. "No, please," I beg them out loud. "Not that. I can't stand that thing."
They all laugh and push me over to the bed once again, locking my sore ankles behind the bottom of the post, and then pulling them upwards to the bed frame, leaving me balanced precariously on my already chained knees. I moan and struggle as the new gag is jammed between my teeth. It's a slightly smaller, rubber version of the Pyrex butt plug now posed behind my ass and this new gag thing goes in, filling my mouth with an odd rubber taste. I shake my head, but the thin leather strap from the mouth plug is pulled around behind my head and tied there. To complete this indignity, a new, heavier discipline hood is pulled over my head and zipped up, then strapped in place with half a dozen leather bindings that hold the gag deep inside my mouth and the hood tightly against my skull. At the base of the hood, a leather collar is wound around my neck and locked. I am still kneeling with my back straight, terrified that I will touch the double prongs poised anxiously only a few inches from my ass and cunt. My wrists, presently chained closely in front of me, are pulled up and over my head and attached to a ring at the very top of the post, stretching me as much as possible against the post. Almost in relief, I think that in this position, I cannot possibly touch the dual penetrators below. I almost relax and just hang there, resting on my knees, arms outstretched overhead.
"Now," one of my captors, a wicked younger woman, says quietly, so that I can barely hear. "Now you will lower yourself onto the dicks."
I moan and shake my hooded head. It's not possible, I know. I am stretched to the max and even if I wanted the double impalements, I could not reach them. But suddenly, there is a slight metallic sound from overhead and I feel my wrist chains release slightly. There is still some tension on them, but my tired body wants to sink lower and, despite my best efforts, while they watch me and chat and laugh, I sink slowly lower, inevitably down until I feel the two hard heads easing into my crack and asshole. I resist and pull myself up, only to sink back again out of pure fatigue. This process continues over several minutes. I slump and the things barely enter. I pull myself up and they retreat.
In time, though, the massive invaders win. I slide reluctantly down the length of the double posts, the cold, hard butt plug forcing my anal sphincter painfully wider and wider as it tries to accommodate its fat, ugly head, stretching, pushing like an impatient lover, driving that thing deeper and deeper into my ass while the cunt probe is already inside, drilling deeper yet. The battle of my double penetration ends with me kneeling, back pressed to the post, arms still stretched overhead, the twins below rummaging around in my gut and me exhausted from the multiple thrilling climaxes I experience.
While playing quite well, I think, the role of kidnapped captive being forcibly raped while chained to the post, I have felt not so much terrorized by the capture and torment as I might really be. Rather, the event is a lengthy experience of discomfort, sexual gratification and satisfaction that I cannot get in a sexual partnership. Entering into this fantasy world, I am always anxious to begin and to sustain it. But there is no urgency now. The deed is done. I relax, settle down on my double-pronged seat and let the calm and the exhaustion take me.
Later that night, I awaken, unlock the chains and pull out the invaders, take a quick shower and collapse into bed. This is how I spend a lot of my spare time. I would not give it up for anyone or anything.
The rest of the time, I am a normal, ordinary female in this world. I know others are doing the same thing and often wonder what life might be like if we all knew and shared our secrets of self-bondage. By the way, I don't have a cat.
Chapter Sixteen
Penny headed her questionnaire with the words:
"Who Needs Handcuffs?" Although she tells us that cuffs and shackles are illegal where she lives, she seems to have found workable substitutes.
Penelope - Strapped
I'll start off by reminding you that in the country and area where I live, the possession of certain bondage equipment is illegal. To have handcuffs or shackles in my home places me at some risk if it should ever be searched or the contraband discovered, even by accident. For this reason, I am, more or less by law, restricted as to what I use to tie myself or a partner, so, over time, I found that I can make do with rope, chain, padlocks and, my favorite, leather straps. I have a large collection of straps, some I bought and some I made myself. All are quite useful in SB because it is difficult to get totally trapped with a belt or straps, but the intensity of the experience, for me at least, can be quite overwhelming.
Of course, there are pro and con arguments about straps. The pros are mostly based on comfort and safety. The cons are few, but revolve around getting an exact fit and maintenance of the leather. I'll talk later about maintenance, but the matter of fit is perhaps more interesting. If I use a leather collar with a buckle, it is, at times, difficult to get an exact, comfortable and safe fit around my neck. One hole is too loose and the next too tight. This is true for any confining band, belt or cuff. It's not a major problem; just an annoying one. Most of my leather collars use a U-shaped fitting that in turn goes through a slot in the collar and can be locked with a padlock and these have the same issue as the buckle collars, so having it fit snug and comfortable is always a primary concern.
Maintenance of leather is sometimes a chore. As an equestrian, I know how to take care of saddles, bridles, and such, so doing the same for my SB gear is almost instinctive. Importantly, sweat, because of the salt, can be destructive to leather and thus cuffs, collars, and belts need cleaning and lubrication just as horse tack does.
The difference between pleasure and painful restraint
To address the question about my experiences with SB and being trapped once I am bound, I can say that this has never actually happened, although I have had a few narrow escapes when I misjudged the tightness of a leather thong around my wrists or twisted it once too often and lost circulation in my hands. I still keep a safety release on hand in the form of a sturdy knife and a set of wire cutters, but have never needed them. Normally, I bind myself for restraint with comfort, not pain. I seek the enclosure of the thick straps on all of my limbs, a collar on my neck and a leather chastity belt between my legs. Add to this pleasant combination a complex head harness with a bridle gag and I can stay well-secured for hours without any danger to myself.
I usually begin by selecting what I will wear for the SB session. Vain as that may sound, it is important to me because much of my enjoyment comes from seeing the erotic image of me in the full-length mirror, bound in leather and satisfactorily dressed. One of my favorite outfits is a neck to ankle, black leather cat suit made expressly for me. It fits very well and emphasizes my body's assets, as I like to see them in the mirror or on video. This suit has a zipper that goes from the collar in front, through the legs and well up the back, so even with it on I can make certain additions to my outfit, especially to my breasts and sex. If a special dildoe is needed or a butt plug must be replaced, it can be done without removing the suit. I can also add clips, weights or other useful toys to my nipples or labia. I have several Lycra/spandex one piece body suits that offer the same kind of comfort and exposure, but require less upkeep and are certainly, more economical.
I prefer two different postures for strapped SB: strap-bound, either mounted on or facing an upright pole or post, or lying on the floor or a bed. Each of these positions has its own unique benefits.
To be mounted on the pole, I must begin with everything I need readily available, since once I start, I have a very limited range of reach. For these occasions, I wear only a snug leather collar with several straps of various lengths hanging down from the D rings, a cotton thong, bra and heels.
The pole is well affixed on the floor or t
o a platform of 1/2 or 3/4 inch thick marine plywood that can be stored easily elsewhere. The mounting fixture is a bracket with a threaded hole facing upwards and is bolted to the platform. I screw a threaded steel pipe into the fixture and attach a large plastic vibrator phallus to the top. It is important that this fake cock be absolutely correct in its height, because once I am mounted on it, I am not going to easily get off it. Too high will be immediately intolerable and too short will be annoyingly ineffective for the probing auto-fuck I desire. The one control that I do use is to wear a pair of comfortable, moderately high heels. Once I am perched on the vertical probe, if it is too short, I can slip my feet out of the heels and settle lower onto the condomed cock.
Another variation of this arrangement is to mount a small saddle-like fixture at the top of the pole. This looks like a tiny bicycle seat and is hand-carved from hardwood with two threaded metal fingers projecting upward. I attach any of many vaginal and anal probes to these. Again, I must make sure that the height of the saddle is adjusted so that the single or double dildoe on the top is aligned perfectly with my pussy and/or butt. Once this upright post is ready, I bind my ankles with a pair of thick straps or collars. This is a moderately loose connection because I need some mobility to get onto the post and then set my feet on either side of it. I have experimented with ways of closely binding my ankles and not found much success with this so far. I do the same to my legs above the knee, but thread a longer strap through the knee hobbles for later use.
At this point, I stand on tiptoes and slide the lubricated dildo between my legs, usually from front to back, wiggling and stretching until the tip of the thing enters and sinks deeply into my cunt. If there is a butt plug on the saddle as well, this exercise can get dicey and I can work up a sweat just getting mounted. Once perched on the pole, I can actually relax a bit while my insides adjust to the dual impalement. If comfortable, I bend carefully at the waist and take the dangling long strap from my knee hobbles and wrap it tightly around my upper legs, incorporating the pole as well. This movement is a test. If the butt plug or its associate is not by now well imbedded, they may slip out when I bend over, requiring all sorts of onerous and delaying adjustments. I confess that at times I just let it go and carry on without the one plug in place.
Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult Page 12
