© Copyright 2011 - Sinthia - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; cuffs; rope; hood; gag; hobble; outdoors; stuck; caught; M/f; bond; sex; climax; true; cons/reluct; X
I saw the ravine from our living room window on almost a daily basis. It, and the serpentine brook that created it, spanned the length of the small park extending from the lake upstream to a runoff below. This section of the park was about a mile long and no more than a quarter mile wide and was bounded by busy roads bordered by stately homes or apartment buildings such as the one in which I lived with my two roommates. For the most part the ravine’s walls were 30 to 50 feet high, and hovering above one of its deepest sections there was a small collection of townhouses that backed up to the gorge, but otherwise it was entirely surrounded by brush and jogging paths while canopied by dense foliage. At both ends its walls tapered such that access was possible on foot. Nonetheless, I’d never seen anyone hiking it, even in dry weather when the brook was shallow or nonexistent. One summer morning, while staring at it from my window, I resolved to act out one of my favorite activities there – nude, outdoor self-bondage.
I had every detail of this adventure planned out. First, I would have redundant sets of escape keys (more about that later), I would do this on a weekend evening when the weather had been dry for several days and forecasted to be dry for the evening of the ‘event’, I would do a ‘dress rehearsal’ (dressed and unbound) first, and do this all when my roommates were scheduled to be out of town. These planets aligned on the second weekend of August. It had been hot and dry every day that week with temperatures in the mid-to-upper 80’s at night. My apartment-mates John and Chloe were to be out of town – John on a road trip with ‘the guys’ and Chloe visiting her parents across country. Best of all, the hot, dry spell was forecasted to continue through the weekend.
Friday:
I got off my summer job around 4 in the afternoon and hurried back to my apartment, stopping on the way at the convenience store to get some 5 minute epoxy and a newspaper. Even though I was apparently alone I went to my room and locked the door, just to be safe. I stripped out of my work clothes, taking the time to hang my blouse and skirt properly in the closet, but throwing my bra, panties and pantyhose in my hamper. I retrieved my locked ‘toy box’ (actually a hard shell suitcase) from under the bed and unlocked the ends with the key on my key ring and dialed in the three digits for the central combination lock (can’t be too careful about the prying eyes of roommates). First I retrieved some black bondage rope and two locking leg cuffs. I cut a 4 foot length of rope and threaded the ends through the D-rings on the cuffs. I then tied the two ends together with a square knot, so as to create about an 18 inch hobble, and cut off the excess rope. Using the newspaper to protect my desk, I covered the knot completely with the epoxy. When dry it would be impossible to untie the knot. This would create an inescapable hobble without access to scissors or a knife to cut the rope, or the keys to the cuff locks. It would also be silent, compared to using a chain to link the cuffs, so it would not draw attention to me as I made my way through the ravine.
I put the hobble aside to dry and then retrieved a 2 foot length of heavy chain, a padlock, and a pair of my Smith and Wesson safety handcuffs. Lastly, I got a split ring to serve as a keychain, attached a handcuff key and a key to the lock I’d use on my duffle bag, and then tied some heavy twine to the ring so that I’d be able to suspend it from a tree branch. With that, I loosely wrapped the chain around my 22 inch waist, locking it at the small of my back and trapping the short length of the handcuff chain within the hasp of the lock. With the cuffs dangling over my ass, I pulled up a pair of baggy black sweat-shorts thereby covering the cuffs and the chain, and put on a nondescript gray sweatshirt. I then donned a pair of sweat-socks and my thick-soled hiking boots.
As it was still light (and would be for a couple of hours with daylight savings time), I grabbed a pair of sunglasses. I also gathered a few feet of pink ribbon, my regular key-ring for the car and apartment, a roll of duct tape, and one extra car key as well as two copies each of the keys for my building and my apartment itself and put all this stuff in a plastic bag.
I went down to the garage and scoped it out to make sure that no one was there. I ripped off about a foot of duct tape and laid one key each for the car, building and my apartment on the sticky side. I then affixed this to the underside of the rear plastic bumper, smoothing it down. This would be the means for me to get back home and into my apartment. I then went out the garage exit to the fire escape at our end of the building. This was an old building so it had wooden stairs that went all the way to the ground with a locked door at the top, just feet away from our apartment door. These would serve as my backup entry into the building if something happened such that I couldn’t drive into the garage fully dressed and unhooded. Using more duct-tape I secured the remaining building and apartment keys to an inconspicuous and low part of one of the ‘stringers’ (the part that supports and bounds the individual steps on each side – yes, although handy with tools, I had to Google this to get the right word).
I returned to my car and exited the garage, headed ‘upstream’ on the street that was between my building and park. This was the long way, but was necessary for me to easily access the side-street at the downstream end where I wanted to park. This is where I would enter and exit the park on foot. The street was lined with “No parking between the hours of 11pm and 6am” signs and I brazenly parked beneath one. Besides, I figured I’d be back well before 11 tonight – it was only 7 pm. I locked the car, put its key ring and escape key ring in my one of my pockets and locked the doors. I looked up and saw that there were streetlights everywhere but if all went according to plan I’d be fully clothed tomorrow night when returning to the car after completing my nude adventure.
After checking both ways, I dashed across the street running along the park and down the shallow embankment toward the brook. The vegetation was relatively sparse so easy to make my way without having to forge a path. When I got down to the brook I stopped and surveyed my surroundings. What lay before me was a meandering brook bed – in some places dry, others with pools of standing water and the rising steep walls of the ravine as I looked further ahead. I was well out of sight of any of the streets and the brush and trees were such that I would think it difficult or impossible to be seen from anyone standing on the edge of the ravine. I looked around and found a suitable spot to hang my duffle bag tomorrow night and marked the branch with the pink ribbon.
With that, I began my hike up the brook (actually on its bank). What beautiful scenery, mostly in shadows because of the low sun and overhead canopy of trees. Once I got a bit further down the ravine, I couldn’t even hear the traffic on the adjacent roads due to the steepness and towering heights of the ravine’s walls. There was an occasional fallen tree trunk that I had to climb over and in some areas the bank disappeared entirely leaving nothing but the steep walls and the brook so I had to walk on the bed and through some puddles but overall if was easy going. I came upon the section where the condos perched on the edge of the ravine and surveyed the situation. If I hugged the wall on the side of the condo it appeared that there was no way they could casually see me unless the occupants were looking down over the edge (also with some source of illumination as it would be night).
Feeling buoyed by this discovery I headed further along the way until I reached my first real obstacle. About two-thirds of the way to my destination was a small waterfall that had been carved by the brook over the millennia. Right now there was only a dribble of water over the edge, but there was not a bank which I could easily scale to the higher elevation of the brook (particularly hobbled and with my hands cuffed behind me). I stopped and pondered this turn of events, then observed that there appeared to be some step-like structures set in the stone on the far side of the falls. Whether these had been carved by a human or were some kind of natural phenomenon really didn’t matter. What mattered was whether I could safely scoot up and down these while bound. As it was only a few feet high it looked doable so I made my way across the brook bed, and sat down on one of the steps with my hands positioned behind me at waist level. I then successfully made my way to the top and never felt in danger at any time. The only catch would be getting back to my feet at the top, but there were some conveniently placed trees that I could use to help prop myself up despite being hobbled and cuffed.
The remainder of my trek to the far end of the park was uneventful. The brook diverged from the old ravine as it had been rerouted by engineers some time ago so they could dam it up and create a lake across the street. I continued along the old, dry bed until the far edge of the park where I could just see cars on the road through a thicket, but where they could not see me. There I looked for a suitable branch to hang my escape keys. A sturdy branch that would be easy to find (due to a nearby boulder), high enough that I could tie the string to it but not so low that I could break it or reach it with my hands bound behind my waist. At last I found the perfect candidate. I pulled out the escape key-ring and looped the string around the branch a few times which would hold it in place while I adjusted the height. I reached back and pulled the cuffs out of my shorts and clasped the bracelet around my left wrist making sure the keyhole was facing outwards toward my fingers. I then backed up to where the key-ring was hanging, reaching as high as I could with my left hand. I grabbed the ring to lower it just to where I could get a firm grip on it with my cuffed hand. Having found the optimal height, I maneuvered the handcuff key into the key hole and released the cuff. Then I turned and tied the string to the branch to maintain that height.
With mission accomplished I headed back to where I started. It was getting dark now and so this would closely mirror my experience tomorrow night, at least from the illumination standpoint. As it darkened my eyes adapted well and the ambient light reflected off the tree canopies from the surrounding streetlights produced enough light to work with – at least in most places.
I eventually made it back to my starting point. I couldn’t see the pink ribbon, but this was OK as I would start this journey at dusk tomorrow when there was still enough light and the location for the duffle bag was less critical than that for the escape keys. I made my way across the brightly lit street to my car still parked on the side street. As I approached the door I saw a light colored rectangle of paper under the wiper blade. A damned parking ticket – what time was it anyway? I fished my regular key-ring out of my pocket, opened and started the car. The clock showed it was eleven-fifteen! Damn cops must have seen the car earlier and pounced on it when it turned eleven. I shoved the ticket in the glove box pissed as all Hell, and drove home. Once there I gulped down some water (mental note to bring some water bottles along tomorrow), then sat back on the couch to have a leisurely glass of wine and watch some late night TV. I quickly fell asleep, dreaming about my adventure tomorrow night.
Saturday
I awoke around 9 in the morning and lazed around the house, making myself a light breakfast with some toast, jam, juice and the prerequisite coffee. I had plenty of time to prepare, but thought starting too early was better than starting too late – at least in assembling the pieces of equipment I would need. By now it was pretty clear that I, indeed, had the apartment to myself so I got somewhat bold and got to work on this in the living room which, fittingly, overlooked the ravine.
I had taken off the belly chain, handcuffs and lock last evening and put them on my dresser. These I brought out to the living room and placed them on the carpet. I also grabbed a couple of black fuzzy covers (which came with a pair of gag handcuffs) that slide over the bracelet for more comfortable confinement. I got my rope and cuff hobble, my leather hood (which would disguise my identity if I got photographed or worse), my leather dog leash and my lockable spider gag. I also got locks – two for the leg cuffs, one for the spider gag, one for the duffle bag chain and a special lock for the hood, and another differently keyed special lock to keep my duffle bag closed tight (one of its keys was already hanging at the far end of the woods). I made sure that all the locks worked with their respective keys and that the special locks and keys were differently marked with colored permanent marker.
Into the bag I put the leg hobble, gag and hood as well as the locks. There I also put a short chain to secure the duffle bag to a tree and a ring of keys to the ankle cuffs, gag, and hood I went back to my toy box and found the chrome nipple chain with the nipple nooses on each end. There I attached the second (and only other) handcuff key (with the primary key now also hanging from a tree in the park), backup key for the duffle bag, and the remaining keys for all my other restraints (except I placed the second and last key for my hood lock on my bedroom dresser). If for some reason I couldn’t retrieve my keys from the bag, at least the hood would remain in place, concealing my identity, despite my naked drive home.
To make the trek more interesting I decided to add a crotch rope and some intruders. I rummaged through my toys and got medium and large butt plugs that had eye-rings on the outside. I also got some more black bondage rope that I would use to secure everything in place. I came across a ‘tickler’ that is designed to mount on a guy’s cock and serve as a ring for him and a clitoral stimulator for me and thought this would make for a nice addition, stretching it over the body of the large plug and sliding it to its base.
I stepped back, looked at my equipment and made a mental run-through of the adventure and decided I had everything I needed. “Oh yes,” I thought. “Also, got to take a couple of water bottles along with me in case I get thirsty and some insect repellent, just-in-case. “
With that I grabbed a glass of chilled white wine and drew a hot bath. Resting there I shaved all over and took a short nap. It wasn’t clear how long I had slept when I awoke but the water had cooled. I toweled off and found a clock. It was 7 pm. “Perfect,” I thought.
I returned to the living room where everything was just as I had left it. I started, once again, with the belly chain with the lock in back. I noticed that the cuffs had an odd number of links so I threaded the hasp through the middle one and – click. I got some silicone lube and a towel and lubed up the smaller butt plug for my backdoor. With some effort and a little discomfort I was able to drive it home. Rubbing my clit with my other hand helped, but I wanted to be careful not to come and ruin the anticipation. I was, by now, wet in my pussy and burying the larger plug was much easier and didn’t require artificial lubrication. I then treaded the crotch rope through the hasp of the lock in back, down my butt crack, and then took one strand and passed it through the eye-rings of the two plugs. The other passed along side and I brought the pair up to the front of the chain, brining one end over the top from the front and the other over the top from the rear. I pulled hard on both ends before starting to tie a double knot. Because of the slack in the belly chain (my waist was about 22 inches), this resulted in the chain forming a “V” in front and back and the ropes really pressing the plugs into my holes. I twisted the tickler around so that it was directly over my clit with one of the ropes holding it between my pussy lips. “We’ll see what, if anything, this adds,” I thought. Standing up and maneuvering I could feel the pressure and movements of these devices in and on my nether regions. It was kind of a mixture between discomfort and pleasure, but not something I couldn’t tolerate for a few or even several hours.
I put on the nipple chain and gathered all the other materials and put them in the duffle bag. The rest of the equipment would need to wait until I was at my starting point at the park. I put a paperclip (to double lock the handcuffs) in a pocket of my sweatshorts along with my car and apartment key-ring. I put on the shorts and top as well as a pair of sandals. I made sure that all of my toys and my toy box were neatly hidden away in my bedroom and that there were no traces of my bondage preparation activities in the living-room or elsewhere in the house. On a whim I grabbed a permanent marker, went into my bathroom and pulled up my sweatshirt. I scrawled something on my chest, using my best mirror-reversed block letters, then pulled down the shirt and put the marker aside.
I went down to the garage, threw my bag in the trunk and got in the car. Siting in the driver’s seat really drove the plugs deep and I really had to catch my breath for a few minutes before driving off and retracing my route to the side street where I had parked the evening before. I decided to take the ticket out of the glove box and put it under the wiper. Perhaps the cops would think it was already ticketed and leave it alone. Worst case I would get another ticket – this city gave them out like candy and by now I had accumulated quite a few. Fortunately they didn’t seem to enforce them as I had yet to pay even one!
I locked up the car, went to the trunk and got my duffle bag , then threw the keys inside and closed the lid. Now the only immediately accessible keys to the car and my apartment were taped under the bumper (and yes, I checked to see they were still there before locking the other set in the trunk).
I then carefully crossed the street and, when no one was around to see, made my way into the park and the ravine. I quickly found my tree and the pink ribbon which was to be my start and endpoints. I removed all my equipment and gathered it into a neat pile on the ground. It was now dusk and starting to get dark. I had timed this perfectly if I kept moving. I did make sure that I separated the key for the duffle bag lock and placed it on one of the pulls for the bag and did the same thing for the lock for my hood. If it got too dark I wouldn’t be able to see the identifying colored markings and I didn’t want to get them mixed up – that could be disastrous. All the other locks were keyed identically (except, of course, for the handcuffs).
So, now the time of reckoning. I stripped off my shorts, shirt and shoes and deposited them in the bag. I wrapped the chain over the base of a thick branch at about head level and through the handles of the bag and locked it in place. I made sure all the relevant keys (restraints and hood) were in the bag, then closed the special lock to the zipper pulls, locking in my clothes and the only means of removing the hood before getting home. I sprayed the insect repellent all over my body and head with the hope that I’d keep the critters off me over the next several hours.
I now got busy donning the rest of my bondage. I put on the ankle cuffs with rope hobble and locked them in place. Then I pulled my leather hood overhead, tucking my blonde hair inside so it wouldn’t show. There were laces in the back that I cinched tight and tied into a knot. This was covered by a leather strap that also locked in back – this time using the other special lock for which the only keys were in the bag and on my dresser. I clipped the leather lead to the D-ring on the front collar of the hood. I then took the spider gag and fitted it into the mouth opening of the hood and the ring part behind my teeth. I pulled hard, fastening the buckle behind my neck and secured the last of the uniformly keyed padlocks. I had only one thing left to do – secure the handcuffs. Before that I assessed my situation. It was now pretty dark – dark enough to start the trek. I grabbed a water bottle and squirted some fluid into my mouth – kind of like the sports players do. (Note to self: Do this before you put on the spider gag.) I could still abandon this now if used the keys on my nipple rings and was willing to run to my car naked, retrieve the bumper keys and drive home, hooded and naked to my apartment building.
I reached down to what was left of my bondage equipment: another water bottle, the paper clip and fuzzy bracelet covers. I picked up the latter two and slid the covers over the open bracelet, made sure the key hole was facing out and closed the left cuff securely yet comfortably around its respective wrist. I used the paperclip to push the safety button and repeated the process on my right wrist. Once secure I was committed to the whole trek as there was no way I could reach the keys dangling from my nipples nor rationally drive my car home to my apartment. Perhaps I could get there on foot naked and hooded and use the keys I had taped to the escape stairs but that was too terrible an option to even consider.
Click-click-click-click. The cuff ratcheted down by my own hand and I was now truly trapped. I punched the safety lock pin, checked that the safeties were engaged and discarded the paper clip – no use for that now. As is usually the case, I struggled to test my bonds and found them secure. The pull of the cuffs on the crotch rope also got my attention as it moved the plugs in deeper and rubbed the tickler on my clit a bit.
I got my bearings (boy was it dark down here) and started upstream along the bank, carrying one of the water bottles in one of my pinioned hands. “Should have thought about the water yesterday and left a bottle by the keys on the far end,” I reproached myself.
This was a lot slower going than yesterday, unhobbled in the daylight and wearing shoes. The hobble wasn’t too restrictive but being barefoot made me think about each step, being careful not to put my full weight down with each stride without gauging whether it would be on something sharp. Also, I had to be more careful when walking on the rocks and stones in the brook bed as they were much more slippery than when I was wearing my hiking boots. Eventually, the hobble did cause a problem where a large fallen tree blocked by path. Yesterday I had just stepped over it but now that was impossible because of the hobble. After thinking about if for a moment I decided to sit on the tree, then swing my legs 180 degrees onto the other side. Although this did work, it provided a whole new experience (and not pleasant) with respect to my anal and pussy intruders. I regained my composure and pushed onward.
As I anticipated, the passage by the condos was uneventful and I eventually I got to the waterfall. This could make or break the adventure. If I couldn’t get to the upper level, there was really no way to get home without being on public display for a large run of well illuminated road. I’d be trapped! But just as I had rehearsed, I was able to sit on the steps and scoot my way upwards despite the cuffs and hobble. At the top I was, as predicted, able to use the trees to help me get back to my feet. At this point I felt exhilarated and invincible; I could taste victory (although my mouth was now very dry). I trudged along, headed toward my release keys. The trek seemed to be taking forever, but I anticipated that the return trip should be a lot shorter with my hands, arms and legs freed up. Even then I wasn’t sure what time it was and that I’d actually get back to home base before sunrise.
The brook had now diverged and I made my way along the dry bed to where I had tied my keys. I had to look for a bit and I was starting to get a bit worried when I spotted them, dangling just as I had left them. I squatted and placed my water bottle down on a nearby boulder (a handy landmark that helped me find the keys). I surveyed the roadways – almost no traffic so it had to be around two or three in the morning. I did want to be a little careful as my nipple chain was the only highly reflective adornment on my body and I didn’t want it to call attention to me by catching a ray of streetlight and reflecting it toward a driver or pedestrian.
I maneuvered my backside toward the keys and toward the street (thereby addressing the reflection problem) then reached up for the keys. My plan was to grab the keys firmly, then snap the string to make it easy to manipulate them into the cuffs. Only when I grabbed for the keys the only thing I grabbed was air. “Well,” I thought. I’ll just have to try that again and reach higher – and I did – and all I grabbed was air. So I tried my other hand with the same result. I turned around to see that they were still there and, indeed, they were – but they looked higher than I remembered them from yesterday – at least higher with respect to my body. I turned my back to them again from a different direction that exposed my front to the street – “To Hell with the reflections. I got to get out of this,” I thought as I began to progressively freak out. I backed up so that I could feel the keys on my back. They were at least a few inches higher on my spine than yesterday. As I probed with my fingers I realized that they weren’t even close to my keys and that my hands were pinned much lower than during my dress rehearsal yesterday. If you have never experienced that ‘sinking feeling’ it is difficult to explain other than it is, indeed, the feeling that your innards are sinking inside of you. I was experiencing it for this first time.
“OMG!!!” I thought. Yesterday I was wearing my boots – the heels are a few inches (at least three) thick. The belly chain was loose allowing me to raise it up a few inches from where it rested – now it was cinched down two or three inches from its neutral position by the crotch rope. Lastly, I had let the handcuff chain slide in the hasp of the lock at my back, now I had fixed the hasp to the middle link. I did some quick mental math – boots plus crotch rope plus middle link equaled fucked. My grasp might be as much as ten inches lower than the damned keys! I tried standing on tiptoes but not even close. I looked around for a log or rock I could maneuver to stand on. There was what appeared to be a log a few feet away which I hobbled over to and tried to roll it into place with my feet. I got it moving but there was a stump of a branch that kept it from rolling further – it wasn’t going anywhere. At this rate neither was I.
“Think, think, think,” I chanted to myself. “There must be some way out of this”
“Well, maybe not, “ I replied, now engaged in an insane dialog of panic with myself. The plan rested on getting those keys so I could easily get back to my duffle bag, unlock the rest of my bondage, retrieve my clothes and drive home. Perhaps if I could get back to my bag I could wedge it open with a stick or something and dump out the keys. My handcuff keys weren’t there, but if I could release the lock at the small of my back, perhaps I could scoot my hands under my butt, bring them in front and get the rest of the keys from my nipple chain. “It just might work,” I thought hopefully. It was now that I realized that I was getting really thirsty and there was no way to use the water bottle I had dragged with me. I resigned myself to making the long journey back without it – perhaps drinking some brook water (Ugh!) if push came to shove.
I made my way back quicker this time, taking a bit more risk but recognizing the risk of not getting out of this by sunrise. When I got back to the area of my starting point it was still dark so I still had some time. I had to look for a while to find my bag as it was black and blended in with everything else that was, well, black at this time of night. Finding it soon proved to be of no help. It was suspended at head level so all I could do was impotently bat at it with my head – the chain, branch and straps holding firm. There was not even a way to get to the lock or pulls and I couldn’t use my mouth to bite anything because of the gag.
As panic grew and I lost the capacity for rational thought, I determined that my last chance was to make my way to my car (nude, hooded and cuffed), peel away the keys, get inside and try to drive back to my apartment building using my legs to steer the car. I’ve done this in the past mostly to keep the car going straight on the highway when my hands were otherwise occupied, but never to make right and left turns. Nonetheless, this seemed like my last chance to get home safely that night (or get home at all).
I crept through the brush to the side of the well illuminated road – minimal traffic but I had to move my head quickly in several directions to make sure the coast was clear. Taking a deep breath I darted from the woods, across a small clearing and the main street to the side street where my car was parked. Correction – where my car had been parked. There was no fucking car! THERE WAS NO FUCKING CAR! I stood there like the proverbial deer in the headlights although I was the proverbial bondage slut under the streetlight. I looked around in disbelief and saw an orange tag taped to one of the ‘No Parking’ signs. I walked over to it and determined that it was an impound notice! The fucking cops towed my fucking car! I stood there in all my glory for a few seconds before I realized I had to find cover and that meant back to the ravine. I made a dash for the woods – I didn’t have the luxury of checking out the roads as I had on the way out as I now had nowhere to hide. Fortunately I made it into the brush before any traffic happened by.
“OK, OK. Sin, get a hold of yourself. There has to be a way out of this. There’s still a set of apartment keys taped to the stairs. If you can get those, you can get back into your apartment, get a knife to cut the crotch rope, free up the belly chain and maybe get the nipple chain and keys into your hand. Once you do you’re home free,” I said, in this protracted monologue to myself.
I realized I there was no way I could make it to my apartment this late in the morning. Doing so would mean making my way to the other end of the park, exiting along the side facing my building, and making my way along the edge of the woods, hopefully in the shadows of the trees. Dusk was clearly approaching and traffic was picking up. I needed to get to a place in the ravine where I could hide out during daylight and get some sleep. I also desperately needed something to drink. I started back upstream along the bank. I found a pool of water that looked reasonably clear and I got down on my knees, bent over and began lapping at the water. It certainly wasn’t as efficient as drinking from a glass, and under any other circumstance the water would be repulsive, but I can tell you that that in my state of dire thirst and confinement, that seemed like the most refreshing drink I’ve ever had.
As the sky lightened I was better able to see the local landscape. I found an area by the edge of the ravine walls well shrouded in bushes. I scooted around them and against the steep grassy bank, coming to rest on the ground, lying on my side, curled up with my arms still pinioned behind me. I knew (or hoped) that I would be safe here. Resting my head on the ground, I fell fast asleep.
Sunday:
Footsteps. I hear footsteps. The unmistakable rhythmic crunch of branches and leaves on the ground as feet step on them. I awakened from a sound sleep, initially disoriented, but oriented enough to know that footsteps in my situation could be bad – real bad. On the benign end were squirrels and chipmunks, but these step were far too robust for such little creatures. On the more realistic end were deer, bears or humans. I think I dreaded the idea that they were human the most.
I assessed my situation, naked, bound, gagged and hooded sometime in midday at the bottom of a fifty foot ravine with no immediate prospects of getting home, and the sound of disembodied footsteps around me. “Aside from that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” I thought. I struggled and dared to get up on my knees and peek over the bushes behind which I was hiding. I scanned the surrounds and, to my relief, saw several deer making their way up the ravine. This was the first thing that had not been a total disaster on what was supposed to be a several hour nighttime adventure.
Sunday. Jesus, Sunday. I should be luxuriating in bed right now, or up and about doing my Sunday errands after a sound sleep in my cushy bed. Instead I’m here in the ravine, still living out my self-bondage dream turned nightmare. God I’m thirsty and itchy. Seems like the mosquito repellent has worn off. My mouth feels and tastes like the Russian army has marched through it. I cringe to think what little creepy-crawlies did march through it overnight.
I look around and up, seeing that I am directly across from the condos and the only thing shielding me from a direct line-of-sight from the condo across from me is the clump of bushes I’m hiding behind. No way I’m moving from this spot until nightfall. In the meantime, I see whether I can make the most of my situation. Amazingly, the furry cuff covers have protected my wrists from getting numb. Unfortunately, they do not allow me to work my hands out of them – snug, comfortable but unyielding.
Maybe I can use rhythmic tension on the crotch rope to get myself off? I was already regretting not using silicone lube on my pussy plug as it had gotten quite dry and sore while my butt plug felt surprisingly good. I tried pulling on the cuffs and bucking my hips. Initially this just hurt but then my pussy juices kicked back in and the tickler started to tickle and I was feeling pretty good and horny. For a few moments I forgot what deep shit I was in and started to have some fun – the most fun I’ve had since discovering I couldn’t reach my escape key, I couldn’t reach my duffle bag, and that my car had been impounded. Of course, thinking about those things led to a resounding crash in my libido and my motions came to a halt.
OK. I had to wait it out until nightfall and orgasms were not in the immediate picture. I focused on my escape plan. Once it was dark enough I would retrace my steps to the far side of the park. I might even take another try retrieving my dangling keys, but wouldn’t dwell on it. If the expected fail, I would return to the newly diverted intersection of the brook with the street than led to my apartment. I knew that for about half of the distance from that point to near my apartment there was decent cover from the street lights (at least the nearest ones) along the edge of the woods due to the overhanging trees. About a hundred feet from my apartment, however, the woods went away completely and the ravine actually almost came to the edge of the road. There had actually been a cave-in there a decade or so ago, I’ve been told, from a small earthquake that shook the area. My plan was to wait until there was a lull in the traffic, run from the cover from the upstream side of the area to the downstream side and take cover once again. Once the coast-was-clear, I’d dash across the street into the alley behind my building, retrieve the keys from the stairs (thank God I had set them at a height I could reach with my bound hands), climb the stairs, enter the building and then my apartment, get a kitchen knife (I think my hands are high enough to open a drawer and get a serrated knife), go to my room and release myself. What could go wrong?
I went over the plan again and again and figured this was my last resort other than presenting my naked bound self out in public to be helped, abducted or arrested. Dusk fell and I was ready to make my move (and slurp up more brook water). Just then the lights came on over the back deck of the condo across from me, bathing my side of the ravine in light, and soon came music and the sound of voices. Many voices.
“Fuck! They’re throwing a fucking party on a Sunday night. What kind of morons are they?” I wondered. Very rich morons I realized considering that those condos were worth a fortune, and who was the moron - those throwing an opulent party in their exclusive condo on the edge of a ravine or the naked bondage slut hiding behind a bush and the ravine’s depths? Game, set, match – condo owner.
So, I had two choices – stay put until the party died down and the lights went out, or make a dash for their side of the ravine where it would be difficult if not impossible to see me. In the end I waited it out for a while, checking out whether there were people looking out off the deck in my direction. To my chagrin – of course there were. How could they resist looking out over this illuminated (albeit dimly) vista? There were couples leaning up against the fence hugging and kissing and pointing at landmarks, but fortunately, nobody pointing in my direction. At least, not yet. Then I saw someone with a pair of what looked like binoculars (by himself, of course) spying into the woods and then my direction. What if they were night vision goggles? I dove undercover hoping that the brush would mask my body heat and made my way to the far part of the downstream side of the bushes where they provided better cover while I spied on the condo deck. After a while, he disappeared, the necking died down and no one was apparent at the deck’s edge. I made my move, working my way to my feet and racing across the brook bed to their side of the ravine. I didn’t hear any whooping or whistling so assumed my sprint had been successful (although I did worry that my hood might mask out enough sound so I wouldn’t hear it). I stood there, plastered against the near-vertical wall of the ravine. I waited for what seemed like an eternity and, after nothing happened worked my way back up the brook and ravine.
I, again, climbed the waterfall uneventfully and made my way to my key destination, but this time I felt defeated, not elated. As I neared the area of my keys, I made a particular effort to find something moveable that I could stand on that would make up the height difference I needed to retrieve my keys. Alas, as expected, no such luck.
I redirected to the brook and where it exited on the road that separated the park from my apartment building. My building was actually immediately across from the waterfall, so only about a third of the overall length of the park. The street was well illuminated but, as expected, the street was lightly trafficked and there were areas where the trees shielded me from most of the light. A few cars passed by but I was able to duck into the brush just enough to evade their headlights and detection.
All was going according to plan (for once), even the part when I made my dash, boobs flailing, where the ravine nearly met the road. I ran into the shelter of the brush and trees beyond this point and directly across from the alley I would use to get into my apartment.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck, fuck,” I involuntarily screeched into my gag (which came out as “Uh, uh, uh….” Why had I never seen the guardrail that separated the two lanes on this side of the road from the three on the far side? What to do? I could run down or up the street to where the guardrail ended and run across, only to backtrack until I got to the alley, but this would have the potential of being exposed to unforeseen traffic for longer than I felt comfortable. No, I would run straight toward the alley, plant my ass on the rail, just like I did on that damned fallen tree a few times, pivot and make for the alley. This is what I did and damned if it didn’t work before a single vehicle or person passed by.
I paused by the stairs and caught my breath. My heart must have been racing a million times a minute and I needed to get my act together. After several minutes of slow breathing I went to the stringer and found my tape and keys. Unlike everything else the last two days this actually worked and was at a level I could reach with my bound wrists. I peeled off the tape, retrieved the keys and quietly made my way up the stairs. I paused at the top, inserted my key, took a deep breath and turned the key. It opened!
I cracked the door and peered in. A brightly illuminated hallway, devoid of life-forms. Quickly I took the few steps to my apartment door, inserted that key, opened the door and stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind me. “Safe at last,” I thought, then realized that something was wrong. There was an eerie blue light from the living room. I peered around the corner and saw that the TV was on and that there was an inanimate body on the couch. It looked like John. I limited my “fucks” to mental ones, not daring to make a sound. Perhaps I could still exit the foyer through the dining room to the kitchen and get a knife, then quietly make my was back though the foyer and then through the part of the living room that led to the bedroom hall and my bedroom in particular. I decided to quietly stash my building and apartment keys behind a vase on a shelf in the foyer and shuffled silently into the kitchen. Thank God that I hadn’t used chains for a hobble. It didn’t take long to get into the kitchen but it was pitch-black. I dared not turn on a light as it would radiate into the living room betraying my presence.
I quietly opened the utensil drawer and felt around until I found a serrated knife. Grasping this behind me, I quietly tread into the foyer, ready to pass though the near segment of the living room to get to the bedroom hall. Just then a commercial blared at a gazillion decibels louder than the previous programming rousing John from his sleep. I froze and put the knife down on the shelf hoping that if I was motionless he wouldn’t see me. No such luck.
He gazed around and, to his male credit, he didn’t fail to notice the naked, bound, hooded woman standing in the foyer.
“What the…,” Emerged from his mouth as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and turned on the table lamp next to him.
He looked at me, nearly jumped off the couch and strode toward me in what seemed like a millisecond, taking my leash in his hand and putting some tension on it. He looked down at my naked chest and said “Happy to oblige.” It was then that I first regretted writing the words “Fuck Me” on my chest in big block letters.
John pulled me into the dining room and undid the knot on my crotch rope. He removed the pussy plug, then turned me and pushed me chest-down on the dining room table. My next thought was whether Chloe had put the padding under the tablecloth - otherwise the keys on my nipples would likely scratch the finish on the table (what is it with this estrogen thing and decorating?). Also, it was then I realized that John didn’t know that this bondage slut was his roommate Sinthia. Perhaps if I could drag this out long enough I could stay anonymous and get free. John wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box, but he was a jock on a football scholarship, had a great body and I secretly had the hots for him. The prospect of anonymous bondage sex with him started to get me hot – really hot and I started to gush. He felt my crotch to see if I needed lube and immediately realized I was good to go. Amazingly, I heard him rip the foil on a condom, put it on, then plunge into me. This guy was more prepared than a Boy Scout!
Needless to say, with all I had been through and having this hunk boinking my G-spot I came in an instant and again and again. John came after a few minutes, dripping sweat all over my back and butt. Once he recovered from his post-orgasmic bliss, he yanked my leash and led me into the living room. For a moment I was hopeful for release when he unclipped the leash from my collar, holding the ring only by his index finger, but my optimism was crushed when I saw him take the clip though the leash loop after wrapping it around a metal bar on our obscenely heavy cocktail table. He then clipped it back to my leash and I was now inescapably tethered to the table.
“One more thing to keep you in place,” he said, disappearing into the bedroom hall. He returned with some clothesline and scissors (who knew this guy was also into bondage?). With that he pulled my ankles up to my butt and wrapped several loops above my upper thighs and through my ankle cuffs, tying these off in front of my thighs. I was now in a tight frog-tie and he then cut my hobble saying “We won’t be needing that. In fact, it will only get in the way”. With that he grabbed his cell phone from the table and snapped a few flash pictures of his “FUCK ME” bondage slut onto his cell phone. It appeared he took pity on me and retrieved a blanket from somewhere and threw it over me. “Make yourself comfy bitch,” Mr. Romantic said. “I’m tired and need some sleep, but I’ll make use of the rest of your holes in the morning”. I was positively swooning – the man really had a way with words (not). Actually, I was positively determined to get the Hell out of there once he got to sleep.
His regular breathing gave way to snoring. I figured now was the time to try to work the problem. The only keys near me for my escape were on my nipples. Instead of my cutting the crotch rope, he had untied it for me. Although the handcuffs were still secured to the belly chain, now it was loose and could rotate and elevate. Sitting up I was able to get the fingernails of my right hand on the nipple loop of my right breast. With considerable time and discomfort I was able to peel it free leaving me with a very sore nipple and a nipple chain with accompanying keys dangling from the left nipple. I now worked with my left hand and, despite being right-handed, got the left loop off in what seemed like half the time.
Decision time. What to do with the keys before he woke up? I decided to undo one of the cuffs so that I could get a hand in front of me as soon as possible. If he hadn’t frog tied me I might have just released the cuffs from the belly chain and scooted them under my butt and legs, but this way I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get them past my feet of my frog-tied legs. I am really good at using handcuff keys behind my back and it really only took seconds to release my right hand. All the while I was closely listening to his breathing and snoring which didn’t miss a beat.
Another decision. Make for my bedroom and leave evidence of my presence and, more importantly, identity (hobble ropes, knife, apartment and building keys), or collect them and then make for my bedroom. I chose to clean-up as he appeared sound asleep and it would only take a few more seconds than the direct escape. What could go wrong?
Well, for the second time this weekend – nothing. I got all the stuff, made my way to my bedroom and locked the door. There I was able to remove all my bondage equipment including the hood. I didn’t have a glass so I put my mouth under the faucet of my sink in my en-suite bath and got the second-best drink of my life. I took a quick shower, washed my toys and put things back in my toy box. I hit the bed and set the alarm clock so I could call in sick for work in the morning.
Monday:
The next morning, I was still sore from my misadventure and my limbs were marred by cuff and rope marks so I put on a pair of sweatpants and long sleeved shirt. John was rummaging around in the kitchen making himself breakfast; Chloe was still away visiting. I made small talk with him like usual and unlike he had fucked the begeezers out of the anonymous me the night before. He asked if I wanted to join him for breakfast and since this was nothing unusual, I said “Sure.” He made a cheese omelet and some toast while I made up some juice from the freezer. We did some chit-chat and then he started to recount this “amazingly real dream” that he had the night before about this woman who miraculously appeared in our apartment, bound and with “FUCK ME” written on her chest, and then after some serious fucking and his rearranging the bondage, disappeared without a trace when he awoke this morning.
I commiserated and said “Wow, that’s amazing and pretty hot. Too bad there isn’t something left behind to prove it’s real or not, and if so, who it really is,” I said.
It was as if a light bulb went off in his head and he then reached for something in his pocket. “Check this out,” he offered as he showed me his cell phone with a picture of the nude, hooded, frog-tied woman. He turned the phone back toward himself, did a few maneuvers with his fingers and turned the zoomed-in photo back toward me. “Looks like the only identifying marks are these two moles on her right shoulder,” he said.
“A lot of people have those,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could while I gathered up my plates and utensils and deposited them in the sink. “Well, see you later John. Thanks for breakfast. I have a few errands to do,” I said as I strolled back to my bed room. Indeed I had errands to do – Retrieve my car from the impound lot, retrieve my bag and keys from the ravine, and then go to my dermatologist to get a couple of moles removed.
If you do a web search you may still be able to find a picture of me leashed to the table, hooded, cuffed and naked. Although John may have his suspicions that I was his one- night-bondage-slut-stand, I seem to have maintained my anonymity despite John’s photographic evidence and what, if any, pictures were taken during my sojourns through the park. Despite my spate of bad luck, I made it out alive and unscathed.
That said, my advice to you – don’t try this at home.
The End
14.10.11