Desert Run

The Plaza is looking for some stories, so I thought people might enjoy hearing about an event that occurred to me when I was a young woman. First, I’ll set the stage.

I was living in Tucson and had had several boyfriends by this time in my life. I was reveling in the blossoming of the sensuous and erotic in my world. As my partners and I discovered the wonders of nature, I felt quite satisfied yet knew there was more beyond the basically vanilla sex life I had been exploring. I had (still have) a fertile imagination and, ever since I was quite young, had found my fantasies wandering to dark places. But without any positive role models, I felt these were unhealthy aspirations for such a liberated back-to-nature girl to have. So I kept them to myself - my little secret.

Yet I knew that one of my favorite things was, while making love, to have him hold my arms up over my head, holding my wrists together in one strong hand while he ravaged me as I twisted and writhed underneath him, exposed to his whim and fancy. 

But that was as far as that went with my boyfriends and it was good, but on the inside, my fantasies went further. 

While my friends and I made for an adventuresome crowd, my little secret had stayed that way with them. It was only on my own that my imagination wandered. I suppose that if I’d been living around some of the big cities, I may have found others who demonstrated that they were open to BDSM in the positive and sensual manner that I imagined it (I didn’t even know what to call it then), but with unappetizing images of violent biker gang initiations or real rape, etc. being all I was aware of, I just kept it to myself.

To help you paint a picture of me, I’ll tell you that I am 5’9”, dark brown eyes, with what is described as a runner’s build and breasts on the plus side of B. I have always loved running and put in up to 30 miles a week, but my build is closer to a sprinter’s than the best distance gals, who are lankier than I. I have thick black hair which, at the time of this adventure, I grew to half way down my back and wore in a braid when I ran. My bush is luxuriantly thick and naturally stays clear of my bikini line - convenient and very sexy I’ve been told. I maintained a healthy tan on my olive skin - not too dark (you can tell the tourists in Arizona by their very dark tans) and I laid out in my private yard just enough to keep the tan lines away. 

I have entertained my bondage fantasies since I was quite young, before I really knew what sex was. My fantasies had matured with me and while, for many years, I could just lay on my bed spread-eagled, imagine being so tied and tormented, and get off on it, I was getting a bit more bold in my explorations as I got into my mid-twenties. I began to experiment with ropes a bit - slip knots are not hard to tie, but was very aware of the slippery slope there. I also came up with the idea of using clothes pins on my nipples without ever seeing anything like nipple clamps - like I said, I was a bit naive in this regard. Of course, life held different mysteries before the internet...

While messing around, I had come up with a rope tie that was quite simple. I tied slip knots to each end of a short piece of rope, measured to just the right length. I tightened one of the nooses around my left wrist, then crossed that forearm behind my back putting that wrist near my right hip. I pulled the rope around in front across my tummy with my right hand and tucked the other noose under my left forearm. I then reached my right arm around behind me, just like the left but in reverse, found the noose, slipped my wrist through it and, once pulled tight, I was trapped with both arms behind my back and my hands too far apart to untie myself.

My escape mechanism started off being that I rigged it loose enough that I could reach the knots with my hands. I got the thrill of being restrained and could go off into my fantasy world that way. But I soon yearned to be really stuck and came upon the solution of using a knife to cut my way out. There was a little trick to getting hold of the knife and sliding it between my skin and the rope, then cutting myself loose, but with a little practice, it went smoothly enough.

I had lots of fun with this in the privacy of my bedroom, flopping around on my bed or trying to get up from lying on the floor to reach the knife that I left up on the bed. But perhaps my favorite was just lying on my back. My pinned arms thrust my midsection up, exposing my breasts and pussy to my imaginary observer/tormentors.

At some point I came upon the idea to use this rope tie outdoors by incorporating it with one of my runs. So I set off for a remote place in the desert where I was very unlikely to see anyone else. It was gently rolling terrain, though gentle is not really the character of the Sonoran Desert there, crossed by arroyos that extended for miles. I left my car at a small parking area in one of the big parks outside the city and headed off into the desert away from where the maintained trails beckoned the scattered visitors. I ran the better part of a mile to a high spot with a large saguaro cactus that would be easy for me to find again. I left an open knife and a bottle of water under a bush nearby and set off across the desert with my short piece of rope and two clothespins in hand. 

I ran a couple of miles up over several small hills and across the arroyos in between. The Sonoran Desert is no Sahara - the vegetation in this area is made up of widely spaced creosote trees, usually about 10-15 feet high, Saguaro cacti, the famous tall cactus, and an assortment of smaller cactus and other bushes. It is generally not hard to run between the plants as the dryness keeps them spread apart, but does require a bit of zigzagging, once in a while ducking under some branches or working one’s way through some rocky areas. It was late afternoon in the springtime and, while it was quite warm, it was not the dangerous heat of mid summer, especially since I was well acclimated to it. Still, I became deliciously warm as I ran and my skin glistened with perspiration.

While it was unlikely that anyone would be out this way, some folks did occasionally travel up the arroyos on dirt bikes, so I kept an ear out for that. They weren’t supposed to be up here as I was still technically in the park, but... if the worst case occurred and I was surprised by one, I planned to follow my direction across the arroyo and into the hilly, rocky country between where a dirt bike would have a near impossible time of traveling. And if someone gave chase by foot, I could almost certainly outrun them. Of course, Plan A was to avoid any such problems in the first place.

A couple of miles out, I decided I’d gone far enough. I stopped on another small hill, one with a small rock formation that made it stand out, and listened. There was nothing but the sound of the late afternoon desert. I glistened with sweat as I gulped in deep lungfulls of air.

I stripped off all of my running clothes, leaving only the shoes on. Standing naked in the late afternoon sun felt great, but there was another element that made my heart beat a bit deeper. I folded my clothes and put them on a low branch, then took my rope and clips in hand - the moment of truth. I’d always imagined being in some sort of predicament and here I was facing it. I had somewhat mixed feelings, like if this went wrong it could go really wrong, but it seemed pretty simple, so I got going.

I had measured out the rope and tied the slip knots in just the right places at home, so it was all ready to go. I put my left wrist into one of the nooses and pulled it tight. I then toyed with my nipples to get them a bit more full - they were already fairly hard from the run and general excitement - and carefully placed a clothespin on each one so that they stuck straight out from each tit, which meant they each pointed a little bit to the side with the swoop of my breasts. I gasped at the sensation, then quickly reached around behind me with my left hand, swung the rope so that I could grab it in front with my right, pulled it across my tummy and tucked it in as described above, then reached behind my back with my right hand, found the other noose and slipped it over my wrist. 

I was bursting with excitement at how close I was and I was also hesitating to pull the noose tight with understandable trepidation. I loved the way I looked: peering down my front, my pinned titties were displayed proudly as my back was slightly arched from the position of my arms. I could look down my tummy, which was sucked in due not only to my build but also due to the posture, and see my fluffy bush where I could feel my lips swelling from the excitement. I have generously sized lips both upstairs and down, and my flower puts forth an abundant display when it is in bloom, which it was well on its way to being at this point.

I stood at the edge - I could still back out - but knew that I wanted to continue and imagined a scenario where I had been captured and was being forced to do this. They were watching and I really had no choice. I squirmed around in what I knew was futile resistance. I took a few steps and felt my breasts sway, the patina of sweat on my skin - I could smell the clean musky aroma of not only my exertion to get here but also of my growing sexual excitement.

I put my head back, closed my eyes and pulled. The noose came tight. I let out a little gasp as a surge of erotic energy washed over me - not an orgasm exactly, but a deep sensation, from the pit of my belly. I tried my bonds and they held me tight. I now faced two miles through the desert to get to my knife to cut myself loose, then 2 miles back to get these clothes, then back to the car. I had an ordeal in front of me.

I started to move through the desert. It was predictably more difficult to move with my arms behind my back, but even more so when I needed to duck under a branch of scramble up a small hill or over some rocks. But I was quite fit and was able to maneuver well enough. 

Much of my route was open enough to run and, with the mounting throb of my nipples, I decided to run to shorten the time I had to endure the clothes pins. I let out at least a loud moan, I’m sure, as I started to run and my unfettered breasts jiggled about. The effect of the pins on my nipples was magnified. It was delicious!

I fantasized as I ran. I imagined that my tormentors were forcing me to run tied and clipped like this. In my imagination, I was being paraded through a crowd of onlookers, a captured warrior or some fair lady, forced to run for their entertainment by a man following me on a horse, a whip in hand to keep me moving. The crowd commented, some taunted or jeered, some cheered the event, all obviously amused.

I ran on, my excitement mounting, my exertion causing me to pant deeply and the sweat to roll down my front - I must have glowed. I was maybe halfway- the two miles was starting to look a lot longer with my arms behind me and my titties screaming. I had to be mindful as I ran. There a a lot of reasons why one does not want to take a header in the desert, especially without any arms to help direct the fall. This sobered me up a bit, but it also led me to another scene in my fantasy parade.

I imagined that the course took me across a grassy field. The people watching shouted something about seeing how fast the man on horseback could inspire me to run with his whip, so he set to spurring me on to run faster. As I was now running across the relatively flat and sandy bottom of one of the arroyos, I picked up my speed in concert with my fantasy, stretching my legs out which necessitated swinging my upper body around for balance since I could not swing my arms. Of course, my titties, now feeling like jugs, bobbled back and forth and the clothes pins bit ever more savagely. Back in front of the whip, I ran and the crowd seemed thrilled, even as I heard the heavy clomp or the horse just behind and the amazingly accurately placed sting of the whip on my aching buns. 

Suddenly I felt a sting on my lower calfs and my feet flew out and up behind me. The horseman had swung his whip so that it had wrapped around my running legs and tripped me. I flew helplessly face forward toward the grass and, with no hands to deflect the blow, came down heavily chest and face first. The impact was alarming as was the thought of the horse rumbling up behind. But those thoughts were quickly eclipsed by the shock of landing almost directly on my clamped nipples, letting out a loud “hoomph” as I hit. With the wind partially knocked out of me and the intense pain of my nipples and breasts, I lolled on the ground, moaning and gasping for air. 

I was vaguely aware of the crowd taunting my situation, but after a few seconds, I was brought back to the present by the sting of the whip. “Get up, lazy girl. You’ve got some more running to do.” the horseman declared. I tried to get straight up but that was impossible without my arms, so I rolled onto my side and started rocking and squirming, urged along by periodic stings from the whip. I had gotten as far up as sitting on one bun with my legs pulled up to the side when somebody noted from the crowd “Why, she seems to have lost part of her ensemble.” Others agreed and it was then that I noticed that the shock of the landing had scraped one of the clothes pins off of my right nipple.

The horseman came over, looked down and said “My, my, so it seems. We must reunite our fair lady with her adornments.”

I shook my head vigorously against this idea, saying “No, please!” between gasping for breath as I continued to try to get up, though I seemed to be at an impasse for the moment.

The horseman turned to the crowd and said “It seems the lady is a bit confused, so we shall help her. Let us take a vote. First, all who feel that we should not replace the half of this lady’s wardrobe that fell off, speak now.”

There was some laughter and a few comments that sounded like they were deriding the idea, but precious little that could be construed as support for leaving the clip off.

“OK, then, let’s hear from those who think we should put her back together.”

The crowd roared a clear positive consensus on this, so the horseman looked over them and said to a woman “Jaqueline, would you be so kind as to lend a hand here?” A very healthy looking woman, somewhat older that me, strode forth and, with a certain smirk on her face, said “Oh yes, I’d be delighted!”

I was still struggling ineffectively to stand up as she picked up the clip from the ground and walked behind me. The horseman waved his arm and the crowd quieted down somewhat, the better for them to hear me mewling “No, really, that’s OK, no, I don’t, uh, ...” Then I felt her squat down over me, clasping me from behind with her knees. I squealed and tried to break free but there was no escape. I could smell her perfume which hardly masked the aroma of recently consummated sex, which inundated my senses like when walking past a bakery with the ovens at work. 

She spoke from behind into my ear with a low, almost husky voice, “Well, let’s see what we have here. Hmmm, I think this will work just fine.” And with that, she reached around and grasped my right breast with her left hand, squeezed and pulled it up. I fell backwards into her grip, firmly secured between her thighs and locked in place by her strong arm. Her grip on my breast swelled the flesh under the already fully erect nipple, presenting it prominently. My squirming was to no avail as she then reached around with her right hand and unceremoniously plopped the clip back onto the already sore nipple. So much for the feminine touch.

I let out an involuntary squeal as the renewed pain rang through my body even as the crowd now signaled its approval of my re-adornment. Then I heard her say “Monsieur, it looks like the other one was knocked a bit askew as well. Perhaps I should reset it.”

“Marvelous idea, Jaqueline. Thank you so much for paying attention to all the details.” he replied. This didn’t quite register with me until, a moment later, I felt the intense sensation that accompanies the swift removal of a clamp from a tortured nipple. I sucked in a moan and let out a growl of pain, but that was only until the next moment, when she suddenly put the clip back on the same nipple only turned just a bit.

This was no time for anything other than a full scream as I arched backward into her lap in a vain attempt to escape the intense pain. But with that, she stood up and moved away from me. As I reeled in the sensations, I forgot to maintain my balance and found myself falling straight backwards and landed with a thump on my back.

I lay there, eyes open but unseeing as my breath came in rasping gasps and emitting grunting moans with each exhale. With my arms still behind my back, my titties were thrust up and out with my legs splayed and slowly writhing below. My pussy was now fully exposed to anyone on that side and, in case there had been any doubt, my swollen and wet lips gave away any pretense that I was anything other than totally turned on by the predicament I was in. 

After a few moments, the lick of the whip returned and the horseman reminded me that I still had some running ahead of me, and so I rolled over to begin the process of regaining my feet. And on I went.

So went the fantasy as I ran, as well as I can interpret it from this distance of time. I was very worked up as I moved through the desert and, realizing I was now pretty close to the hill with the knife, I decided to spice it up a bit by enacting a variation of my fantasy. I found a sandy spot off to one side of the arroyo I was crossing and dropped down onto my knees. I kept my posture erect, crossed my ankles behind me and imagined that I was being made to play some kind of game where I rocked as far forward as I could and still retained enough balance to not fall forward. This was a game I had played on my bed, but never on a sandy river bottom.

Several times I rocked up onto my knees and safely rocked back again. I could feel the sweat rolling down my body as I breathed deeply, slowly recovering from the exertion of the run. Without the distraction of running, I was acutely aware of the clips on my nipples, their effect swelling with each lungful I took in. But one time, as I rocked forward, the sand shifted a bit and I found myself teetering right at the balance point. As I genuinely struggled to not fall, a surge of adrenaline shot out as I realized I was slowly toppling forward, facing an inevitable face first landing on the sand. I reflexively tried to jerk my hands forward, to no avail, and as my fall accelerated, I had to make a split second decision whether to land face first or chest first. It was no decision, really, and I arched my back and stuck my chest out as far as I could to absorb the impact.

“Oh FUCK!!!” I don’t use the word often, but sometimes there’s just no other that will work.

I lay face down in the sand as the most intense pain I could remember shot through my being from my nipples and, so it seemed, straight to my pussy. As I lay squirming for real in the sand, I had an orgasm like I had never had before. It wasn’t like the high voltage orgasms I got when things went well with my lovers, but a deep surge that had me convulsing and groaning, and my clit begging for some attention all the while. 

As the wave passed, I really wanted to get up, cut myself loose and finish this off, but getting up wasn’t so easy. For one thing, whichever way I moved, one of the clothes pins would ratchet up its torment of the nipple on that side. I finally had to just go for it and rolled onto my left side, my left nipple complaining loudly in the process. I was eventually able to gather my legs under me and stand up.

What a mess. My sweat covered body now had a layer of sand covering much of it. As much as a hassle as this might end up being, something about the messy humiliation of it gave me an additional rush. And so I started climbing the last short hill to my knife.

This is where I started noticing that my hands were going numb. It was probably due to the instinctive move I made to put my hands forward when I toppled onto the sand, but the nooses were now very tight, rather painful, but most alarmingly, making my hands go numb.

I hurried up to the hill top and quickly found the bush with the knife. It was clear that I would have to lay down on my side to reach the knife - I’d always had it conveniently on a bed when I practiced at home. Not wanting to waste any time, I worked my way down until I could roll onto the ground on my left shoulder - no more tits first dives for me (at least not that day). I skooched backwards under the bush so that my right hand would be in position to grab the knife. But with my now numb hands, I knew I couldn’t tell if I were grasping the business end or the handle of the knife. This was a very frustrating moment and a bit scary. I wriggled around until I could sit partially up and look over my shoulder to ascertain the orientation of the knife. I then laid back down, skooched back over to it and picked it carefully up. 

And, in case you’d forgotten, my titties were screaming at me every time they bumped into the stray branch or the ground.

My hand was wooden, but I had little choice other than to use it. I worked my way back out from under the bush and rolled onto my back. I eventually maneuvered the knife until I could feel the sharp tip scratching across the tender skin on the front of my left hip area. I contorted to look so I could be sure, then slid the knife up under the rope, slightly nicking the skin in the process. Then I turned it sharp side up and began hacking at the rope. Once I knew it was working, I squirmed on my back one last time to savor my captivity, then with a final push, cut the rest of the way through the rope.

Sweet release. The first thing I did was remove the ropes from my wrists. This took a bit longer than you’d think since I had lost much of my dexterity to the numbness, but got them off soon enough and then began removing the clothes pins. 

I removed the left one first and the pain of removal, still new to me then, almost doubled me over. I still prefer the sudden removal technique - so intense. I dropped the pin and reached down with my tingling right hand to play with my begging clit. In spite of the traumas, or was it because of them, my so far neglected puss felt that it was about to explode. It didn’t take long. I struck what must have been some unseemly pose, arching and quivering as I orgasmed standing up and pulled the other clip off with my left hand just as I climaxed. I forgot myself and made all kinds of noise, then remembered that I still had work to do and hushed up.

My body buzzed with all sorts of energy. I should have been exhausted, but I had never felt more alive. I took a quick look around - all was still quiet. Plan A of avoidance seemed to have worked just fine so far. Freed from my encumbrances, I drank deeply from my water bottle  and began the 2 mile run back to my clothes. Running without my arms tied made me feel so loose and free while my sore titties jiggling as I ran naked kept the erotic element fresh. I could feel my wet engorged lips and still throbbing clit pulsing as I began to move through the desert, the sun now close to the horizon. I slipped into an easy pace and covered the ground much more quickly, or so it seemed, smiling as I passed the arroyo where I had played my falling game.

I found my clothes without any problems and headed back to the car, deciding to run with my shorts and shirt in hand even after regaining them. My front was streaked with a mixture of sand, dust and sweat, so I thought better of putting clothes over the top. Plus I was just loving running naked through the warm evening air. 

Approaching the small parking lot, I snuck back to the car still naked - no signs of anyone having been around. I toweled off, took a good long drink (beer was our rehydration and carb replacement preference back then) and surveyed the scene in the dusk light. I had a few small scratches from branches and from scooching under the bush. My wrists had red marks from the over tightened ropes. I also had a small nick on my hip from the knife tip. Other than my deliciously sore nipples, which would remind me for another 2 days of my self imposed torment, there seemed no other evidence of my ordeal. I thought I would have to wear bracelets for a couple of days until the telltale wrist marks faded, but they were pretty much gone the next morning. The thing I would do differently the next time was to tie a small stopper knot so that the slip knots couldn’t over tighten.

I did a variation of this run 3 times and this story is a compilation of the three. There were also numerous other applications of using this tie to create predicaments for myself which did not involve running, but this was the first and still gets me going to think about it. I hope you enjoyed sharing in this early adventure of mine.

Grins,

Leah

28.11.09