Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult

by Jurgen von Stuka

  It took about a half hour for me to complete, as well as I could, my binding to the cart and its sturdy upright post. I locked the metal collar with its harsh chin support into place, put the combination bit and mouth-filling metal plug in my mouth and secured the thin chains to the back of the post, using the same ingenious adjustable clamps to tighten the gag until the edges of my mouth and cheeks were pulled back in a rictus-like grin. The metal blindfold device, which was more like a pair of swimmer's goggles, shut out all sight and light and fastened the same way, helping to hold my head secure to the top of the post.

  The final few items, two different sized, wide oval cuffs that I thought would fit around my elbows, (maybe), and wrists, I left for last. Before I tried them, I had to put on the chest harness, which I investigated carefully before doing the blindfold, but found easier than expected to secure. The sexual stimulation from the dildoe, plus the intimate nature of the many metal forms and bindings was driving me very quickly towards the inevitable initial orgasm and I was shaking and sweating as I fitted the upper chest braces that encompassed my breasts and upper arms.

  It was already clear to me that the person this cart was designed for was perhaps somewhat smaller in stature than me. So, most of the accessories that I attached to my own body were a bit undersized. This held true for the chest portions that required that my breasts be placed through holes in the metal plate as it wrapped around my chest and upper arms. I had to pull my nipples and breasts through the small holes and when this was done, the small diameter of the holes constricted my breasts not unpleasantly, forcing the rest of the skin outward and making the breasts smooth and rigid. The nipples, of course, were as hard as little rocks! Reaching around behind my back, I fastened the clamps of the breast/chest harness with ease, it being no more difficult than clipping on a bra. Nevertheless, the effects were devastating. I was panting and sweating and still on orgasmic edge. I knew that if I merely twitched my hips, the thing inside me would bring me off instantly, so I remained as still as I could.

  Finally, I slipped one arm into the larger, oval metal cuff, put it behind me and, using my long ago developed, adaptive ability to put my elbows close together, eased the cuff upwards until it held my arms together, parallel from elbow to wrist. Knowing all too well the potential consequences of this self-confining move, I experimented briefly with the elbow cuff and found that with the usual amount of manipulation, it would slide back down to my wrists. So again, secure in the knowledge of being able to get out of this, I slipped the elbow cuff back up to its place and then put on the wrist cuff as well. The designer of this outfit intended, of course, for some sort of locks to be placed in critical places, so it was without locks that I closed the cuff, heard it lightly snap into place and felt for the open hook on the back of the post that easily engaged the wrist cuff. Again, being overly cautious, I tested this arrangement and found that I could release both the post hook and the cuff with no trouble.

  It was a self-bondager's dream come true. I was incredibly well secured, kneeling helplessly on a centuries-old metal cart in my own laboratory. Blind, gagged, bitted, collared, breast-bound, impaled and locked to the cart, I was in the throes of total erotic bliss. The waves of orgasm came surging up from my impaled pussy, drove relentlessly through my entire upper body and then, slowly disappeared as I shivered and shook. My only movable body parts, my fingers, fluttered madly and my rigidly confined tits jiggled and thrusted outward against their confinement. I was already rotating my hips madly, working the phallus deeper and against the sides of my cunt, then lifting my body the fraction of an inch that the restraints allowed, sliding around on the iron dick deep inside me.

  When I was done, I was done. I was thrilled not only with the experience, but with the discovery that someone, sometime in the distant past, designed and built this thing as a way to keep his or her partner, slave or prisoner not only immovably bound, but also mobile. It was not hard to imagine some captive queen or princess, all of her nakedness fully on display, being pulled around some palace by another slave. The concept was so practical, so brilliant; I could not wait to tell my associates what I discovered.

  However, for the moment, I was enjoying my own erotic pleasure. I dozed off, sleeping the sleep of the sexually satisfied on my cart. Before I knew it, I heard sounds in the building and knew that I had to free myself before anyone arrived at work. As I tried to remove the wrist cuff, I found that they would not come free from the post nor could I open the unlocked clasps which a few hours before had opened easily.

  That was when I suddenly knew that I was no longer alone.

  "Well done, Charlotte," I heard my ex-husband say. He was nearby and the sound of his voice, coupled with the realization that I was very much on display was a double embarrassment. I moaned into the gag, but little noise came out. I struggled and fought the now locked bindings, but to no avail.

  "No need to struggle, dear."

  It was Loraine's voice. I knew it well. She was the reason Don was now my ex and she was no longer an employee of the lab. "You're not in the lab any more, Honey," she said smoothly. "We went up there last night after a wild and slightly drunken stint of bar-hopping, let ourselves in and found you all nicely trussed up on your cart. So, we gave you a mild sedative, fucked on your desk, then wrapped you up and brought you to this place. I think we're going to have a pretty good time, the three of us."

  I struggled against the metal forms, the chains and the cuffs. Nothing gave an inch. Nothing moved except the thing up inside me.

  "Indeed," said Don, his cold hand stroking my shoulder gently. "Indeed. Your discovery will soon be our discovery and you, well, you'll be the model, the demonstrator, I guess. We'll get photos and videos of you on your cart and the revelations, shall we say, will be dramatic, I'm sure. However, right now, just to show you that we are fully in charge here, I think a bit of stimulation is in order. Lorraine, will you do the honors?" Don said.

  The first blow of the cane was like the hot bite of a flame across my rigid, confined breasts. More of the same followed. I cried, wiggled, struggled and came while the cane did its work on every exposed part of my body. When they finished, I was a sweaty, weeping mess; a kneeling and bound mass of whipped female flesh, desperate to get free. But, they left me there and went to dinner. Clearly, I had reached the nirvana of self-bondage. I had bound and chained myself only to complete the fantasy with evil third parties taking advantage of me.

  They eventually took me off the cart, moved me to a dank, cold basement room that was conveniently outfitted with chains fastened to the walls and floor. Periodically, they returned to feed, whip, spank or fuck me. I stayed chained in the cellar for a few days and then, after making clear threats that they would release their pictures and videos to the museum board, they let me go.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  This is a verbatim translation from a narrative

  given by Nadia from Brussels.

  Perch Post Perfect

  A friend and I went to a BDSM club one weekend and the one thing that stayed in my memory afterwards was the array of tightly bound women (and men) on display in what they called their Perch Room, (best translation). These helpless figures were each mounted on upright posts set into the flooring and then tied or chained, hooded, gagged, blindfolded and enduring just about everything else that could be done to them. From what I observed, they stayed there all night with the ends of the posts impaled in their body openings. The men had the posts up their ass. The women usually had double impalements. They stood erect, usually with high heel shoes or boots on their feet and often nothing else. Each figure was, nevertheless different. Some had clips on their nipples with weights attached. Others displayed metal rings in nipples and sex. One man had a device that included a thin rod up inside his penis, metal weighted clamps on his balls and a ring in his nose showing through the latex hood on his head.

  Even though each individual had specifically asked to be bound and displayed in this manner an
d even though each obviously enjoyed the experience, all complained in some way, the women weeping and pleading for release and the men moaning in discomfort as the hours stretched out through the night. Every now and then someone would come into the room with a flail or whip and apply it to the shivering breasts and asses.

  I could not get the images out of my mind and clearly, I wanted to be in the line-up of helplessly bound individuals perched on their posts in that dark and foreboding room.

  My ex husband was a fitness freak and we had a full size, square workout frame in one downstairs room. The more I considered it, the more convinced I was that I could set up this sturdy, open, box-like metal frame in such a way that I could put myself in a position like that of the people in the club room…standing up in chains or ropes with twin phalli up my ass and pussy. Just thinking about it almost made me come, so I got to work.

  First, I made sure that the frame was well anchored to the ceiling and floor. Then I removed much of the exercise junk and left the pulleys and balance weights for later consideration. That the overhead bars would support my weight was critical, so I did a number of tests, suspending myself from the pulleys and cables, making sure that they worked flawlessly. I found the perfect post and this thrilled me because it was heavy and very strong, being the lifting bar that normally carried various weights...I don't know what it’s called, but it was the correct height and allowed me to place a slightly angled set of twin dildoes on the top end. I set these up so that they were perfectly mated to the post and could not be easily removed once they were mounted. I also knew that the length and size of the dildoes might have to be changed, so I made accommodations for that.

  Each day's work left me exhausted because, as you can imagine, I had to try out and test everything. From the start, the hardest thing about my SB plan was figuring out how to mount it and, when finished, how to get off the probes. This is why I needed the strong overhead pulley system. I considered several ways to lift myself up and onto the prongs, but in the end, it was simpler to just rig a strong bar well over my head. By holding onto the bar, I could lift myself up and ease down on the impalers.

  `The next puzzle was how to bind my legs and still get onto the post. Once I was there, I knew I could not do much to secure my ankles and knees, yet that bondage was important to me, so I struggled with this every day. In the final design, the overhead pulleys were the solution, which I'll explain shortly. Other details kept me from reaching my goal for nearly two months. Finally, as I left for work one morning in February, the dead of winter, I wrote a reminder on my phone to buy a good bottle of champagne on the way home that night. I was going to celebrate the final completion of my project. Since it was Friday, I had the entire weekend to play with my new toy and I told the few people who might want to talk with me or see me over the weekend that I'd be traveling elsewhere and would be back Monday.

  So, with a chilled bottle of Mumm's in my bag, I arrived home, secured the house and went to the training room. Everything I needed for the weekend was there; even an emergency toilet and refrigerator. I made sure my cell phone was charged and available, then shut off the lights in the house and closed the training room door, locking it from the inside.

  My selected attire was a lovely red and black brocade corset that barely covered the base of my breasts and lacked any fabric in the crotch. I clipped the small remote control for the overhead winch to the side of the corset. The suspenders, all six of them, held up my opaque black hose that came up almost to my crotch and subsequently needed shortened suspenders. The tops of the hose had decorative patterns, just another small touch for my own enjoyment. My shoes, chosen with great care, were red leather, high-heeled pair that were just too tall to wear on the street, but, I thought, were perfect for this scene. On each wrist, ankle and again just above my knees, I locked solid stainless steel cuffs custom made for me. They were ridiculously expensive, but fit beautifully, compressing the flesh just enough to stay in place. All cuffs had large, welded steel rings fitted on the outside and I aligned these so that they faced each other, inside and next to the post. The wrist cuffs had double snap connectors. Until I got myself mounted on the post, my ankle and knee cuffs had to have some slack, so I added short dog collar chains with welded rings on the ends. These went through the cuff rings and then the ends were connected with a double snap connector. From there they joined a chain hanging from the electric winch on the ceiling. When the winch took up the slack, the chain loops would pull my legs together.

  I attached a short chain to the rear D ring on my collar, making sure it had a large brass ring at the end. This was where I would finally attach my wrist cuffs.

  Overhead, the short steel bar hung at the right height so that I could stand next to the frame, reach over, grab the bar and lift myself up, spread my legs a bit and then ease down on the waiting dildoes. This was like a chinning exercise and I knew I could do it easily, even in my current highly anxious state.

  Now I attached the weights to my nipple rings, letting them hang slightly over the edge of the corset's bra cups. I knew that as time passed, these weighted devils would pull the corset cups down and expose more and more breast, also placing more downward pull on each nipple.

  I positioned the newly made, thickly padded leather hood over my head, inserting the ball gag with its breathing/drinking tube, and slowly smoothed the sweet-smelling leather around my skull, making sure that it was snug and that the padding blotted out sounds I might make through the gag as well as blocking my hearing and vision. This hood was superb. I used it enough lately to know that it fit in such a way that I could wear it for very long periods without any real discomfort. It was tight, but not constricting. One special feature I nagged the designer to include was a quick release panel that allowed almost instant escape, releasing the three straps and zipper that were secured by a thin stainless steel cable that ran through the fittings. If the small D ring at the end of the cable was pulled hard, the cable worked like a parachute ripcord and immediately opened the hood. Even though this sounds complicated, it is a very reliable and effective design.

  I reached over to the champagne glass standing on a small, waist-high table, took one final sip through the drinking tube in the gag and then reached up for the hanging bar. My elbow length gloves made contact with the bar and I hoisted myself up and then slowly pivoted my legs around the post, allowing the right leg to make contact with the post and then easing myself down until I felt the double prongs between my legs. I knew I could not hold this suspended position for too long, so I settled down on the previously lubricated dildoes and felt the incredible excitement of being twice fucked simultaneously. Finally, my toes touched the platform below and the probes eased further up inside me. As my heels met the floor, I felt the final advance of the dildoes and then the comforting contact of the inside of my upper thighs on the post itself.

  I was double-fucked and perched on my own private post. I was ecstatic. I pressed the remote at my side and felt the slack in the ankle and knee chain loops begin to decrease. As this happened, the chains pulled my ankles and legs closer to the post and finally, the overhead cable attached to the chain loops became taut and I stopped the winch. My legs embraced the cold, hard pole, the two intruders played their vibration song and the nipple weights tugged without mercy on my tits. I was drooling into the hood with excitement and I hadn't even secured my hands yet.

  The temptation to put my hands in my crotch and on my aching breasts was nearly overwhelming, so, in spite of this not exactly being my plan, I quickly put my hands behind my back and clipped the cuffs together, then raised my arms until I felt the ring of the chain hanging down my back from the collar. I clipped the wrist cuffs to this ring and settled back to enjoy this wonderful feeling as long as I could stand it. My sex was abuzz, my heart pounded at an incredible rate and I was breathing hard though the nose hole and the gag tube. I willed myself to relax and settle down. This wasn't easy. Each time I tried to calm down, the dildoes seemed t
o increase their pace and I was on the cliff of orgasm once again, ready to plunge off the edge and scream my way down through the lengthy climax.

  How long I was there I don't know. Time meant nothing. Eventually, the dildoes ran out of power and wound down to a mere occasional twitch. I was twitching as well. My bodily juices ran freely, the corset top was turned down and my clipped-nipple breasts shuddered. Drool and sweat mixed with the fluids ran from under the hood and from my impaled sex. I was exhausted and was ready to escape. My fingers fumbled for the snap links attached to the hanging ring from my collar, but, in my drained state, I was unable to grasp and squeeze the spring-loaded snaps. Repeatedly, I tried to release the links and my sweat-soaked, gloved hands kept failing. I cried. The hood was suddenly very hot. I was breathing hard and my sense of doom was very strong. I ran through the possibilities of escape and kept coming up with nothing. Then, I accidentally brushed the remote clipped to the side of the corset and found that with my arm, I could trigger the release of the overhead cable from the winch. This released the tension on my legs and ankles, but I could not free my hands.