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| dungeonmouse | |
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| copyright 2004 by dungeonmouse Monday morning comes not a moment too soon. I have the day off. People have been around the house all weekend. My brain swirls with fantasies. I need a bondage fix. I collect all my bondage gear from various places around the house. I assemble everything in the garage where my tools hang neatly on the well. I start with the cuffs. My leather cuffs have several leather straps bonded together in over lapping layers. They bolt together with screws set into blind fasteners buried in the leather layers. I take my time putting them on, getting all the screws lined up just right. I wrap them around my wrists and ankles slowly, feeling the soft touch of the felt linings and the hard strength of the leather straps as they snuggle against my wrists and ankles. I connect the cuffs with chains. A short chain joins my wrists. A longer one connects my ankles. From ankle chain's center, a longer chain leads to an eyebolt on my scrotum collar. This chain keeps the leg irons from dragging on the new floor. It also pulls deliciously on my balls anytime I move. A warm glow builds inside me as I bolt the last chain in place and tug my wrists gently apart. I look at the leather collar. No, the nipple clamps first. The nipple clamps are the only item easily removable once applied. I put them on before my collar so they will settle in while I'm fussing with the collar screws. The clamp’s rough edges bite into my skin then burn as they sink into my flesh. I hurry on to the collar. The collar, like the cuffs, screws in place. I take a while getting the screws lined up since I'm working by feel. By the time I'm done, the nipple clamps have settled into a slow burn. They will hurt more to remove now than to let them stay. Good. I attach a long chain to my collar. The other end attaches to my leg irons. My cuffs attach to the middle of the long chain. All these chains tingle a beautiful tune as I move around, testing the limits. I pull out my butt plug and bend over. The plug stabs into my tight hole. I've neglected my plug these past few months. I slowly press it home, relishing the violent intrusion into my insides. I gasp loudly when the last bulge passes into me and my body clamps around the small neck just above the base. The plug squirts quickly into me. Shivers run up my spine. I wrap the leather plug harness around my hips, cinch it tight then pull the crotch straps through and cinch them down. The straps press the plug farther into my now willing body. I sigh with pleasure. I lock the straps in place. I take out the last item, the trainer gag harness. The gag is a regular horse bit held tightly in my mouth by straps and ropes. I pull everything tight and lock the straps. The bit forces my mouth partly open. My tongue cannot decide whether it belongs over or under the intruder and flips back and forth. The first glob of drool leaks past my lower lip and splatters down my chest. I pause and rub my tender nipples. My body clinches around the butt plug and my erection tugs at the chain. I breath deeply, savoring the feeling. I take my hands away reluctantly. I walk towards my computer, chains jingling. I take steps intentionally too long and feel the chains pull my ankles up short. I move my wrists around while holding the chain between them tight. I sit at the computer and open this file. Drool slides down my chest. My nipples burn under the clamps. The plug squishes around inside me. I focus on the screen and begin typing. For a while, I make good progress. Then my nipples burn with increased intensity. I pause and rub them gently. The burning subsides a bit and I resume typing. The head harness digs into my scalp. I wiggle my head around in the harness and get a little relief. And so it goes, type a little, attend to the bonds, type a little more. My body sits chained, clamped, violated and tortured. Fantasies race through my head. I'm chained in a dark dungeon. I lying in a slave ship‘s hold. I feel a strange urge to go outside for a walk, waving to the neighbors as they return from the grocery store. Finally, just now in fact, my body creates too many hormones. The fire inside burns brightly then erupts into a blazing conflagration. I dash to the bathroom as the first wave crashes through my body. I let the waves roll through me. Eventually, I come down. My nipples hurt. OK, I'm a wuss when it comes to post-orgasmic pain. I dawdle a few moments then take the clamps off. I suck in my breath as the blood rushes back into the nipples. I also take off the head harness. Something didn't go together right and the straps gouge into my head. I leave everything else on and return to the computer. I type this paragraph. I sit back in my chair and pull at my chains. The plug moves inside me. I don't know why I love them so but I do. I could sit here all day, feeling the chains and cuffs grasping my limbs. Someday, somewhere, I'll wear them for days, weeks, months. I've worn them all day more times than I can remember. The feeling never gets old, the desire never goes away. I don't desire slavery. I've no interest in serving another person. I just want bondage. I want my wrists and ankles chained together, all day, every day. I want to get in the shower by sitting on the tub edge and lifting my manacled ankles over because the chain in too short to step right in. I want to grocery shop with leg irons and manacles jingling lightly as I fill my cart with vegetables and milk. I want to see a movie with steel around my neck and wrists and ankles. I want to carefully lift my wrist chain over my pancakes as I reach for the syrup at IHOP. I want to climb into bed and arrange the chains under the covers before I fall asleep. These thoughts are called "fantasies." They should stay in my head. But they don't. One day they'll jump out for good. Then they will be "realities." The thought fills me with a warm glow. dungeonmouse |
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