© Copyright 2006 - Bob Salinas - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbm; cd; cuffs; toys; cons; X
Part One
I’m a guy with my very own great pair of tits. For whatever reason, Mother Nature decided to bless me with- in addition to the normal body and genitalia of a man- a round, high pair of breasts and sensitive nipples. I’m not an expert in the human anatomy, but part of it is genetic, inherited. My ‘anatomic extras’ developed in high school. Locker rooms were torture and my social life was nonexistent because I couldn’t bear the thought of getting naked and exposing my breasts to a girl, and that’s how I ended up a 36-year-old virgin on the south side of Milwaukee.
Having my very own tits to play with is, naturally, a great convenience- I don’t have to ask some lady on the street if I can play with her tits- all I have to do is reach up under my shirt, and I get the advantage of being both the feeler and the feelee!
At any rate, I’m 6'1" tall, 185 pounds, with hair somewhere between light brown and dark blonde. I have a passable face framed by a short beard. I’ve been single for several years, for reasons that are none of your damn business. And (the item I’m sure you perverts are most interested in) my breasts measure 45 inches over a large rib cage, so when I choose I really fill a 40C bra. I’m no Pam Anderson, but then again I’m not her kid brother, either!
But allow me to spend a moment explaining how I got started on self-tit-bondage, which I’m sure you’re into because you’re finding this story posted on a site which caters to such perversions. Many years ago, when I lived on the south side of Milwaukee, I walked down the street looking for something to do. I found that just down Lisbon Avenue from my apartment was an adult book store and den of iniquity, so of course I wandered in just to scope out the place. It wasn’t a ratty place, actually- it was clean and well-lighted, although it certainly wasn’t the ‘Clean And Well Lighted Place For Books’ many book stores fancy themselves.
After browsing for a while, I picked up a magazine I’ll never forget- ‘Knotty’, a glamour bondage glossy. On the back cover was a lithe young black girl wearing only a vinyl bra and panty set and about fifty feet of rope. Her wrists were tied together in front of her and her elbows were tied, almost touching, behind her. The tension on her elbows thrust her breasts forward, aching to be touched. Her eyes looked directly at me, as if to say “Release me- no, don’t untie me, just release me!” In my imagination, I was her, and from that time on I was never the same.
I bought the magazine, a couple of others, and a few toys. In half an hour, I was back at my apartment and was halfway to helpless. I had started out by getting naked, of course, and then pulled on some cherished items of ladies wear- a bra and a pair of control-top pantyhose.
Never mind where these bits of ladies’ wear came from- a guy alone either jacks off or lies about it, and a guy who jacks off collects a few toys, right? I like the control-top pantyhose: on top of being snug, they make my legs feel extra-slippery against each other. After I finished snugging the Queen 4 size pantyhose (the only size that comes close to fitting me for length) up around my waist, I pulled on the bra. This was an old friend, a pushup style which was really too tight at 36B. It really heaped up my tits and made me really feel their presence!
I had cut a wedge out the cups to expose my nipples, since I always wind up doing something or other with them. Yes, I play with myself and my tits a lot, and their sensitivity is something I cherish. This time, I pulled out a pair of spring clothespins and secured them to my breasts, grabbing a fair chunk of breast flesh as well as the nipples. I twanged the clothespins a couple of times, getting used to the sting.
Moving on, I wrapped a length of rope three times around my waist and then continued the wrapping down around my thighs to my knees. Trying to move with my knees bound was very awkward, humiliating, and a real turn-on. Another short length of rope surrounded my ankles, where three more loops held my ankles crossed. I figured out quickly that having my ankles bound crossed meant true immobility- the only way to get around was snake-style.
My wrists were locked together in front of me by my new pair of police-issue handcuffs, heavy chrome steel things; the keys lay on the kitchen table. I knew I was going to jack off right away, and for a first attempt I wasn’t going to attempt prolonged delay, which I was to find out was the prime ingredient to bondage. From my nipples wobbled a pair of wooden spring clothespins, each of them grabbing a big jawful of breast meat. From my crotch jutted a thick, hard erection, but I’m sure you anticipated that!
I knelt down in front of the table and my lovely model friend, who was considerately exposing herself in front of me, As I knelt, the ropes around my thighs and my ankles pulled very very tight, but I was too horny to worry about the discomfort. My two hands together, connected by my handcuffs, I interlaced my fingers to make the familiar “Mrs. Palms and her eight daughters’ configuration.
As I stared down at the photo story (yes, I had read the story, which wasn’t bad), I stroked my erection and in a matter of moments was rewarded with that ol’ familiar feeling as the head of my cock swelled and threatened to explode. I delayed as long as I could, which wasn’t long, and soon thereafter was rewarded with the blessed burning as my sperm guys scorched their way down my shaft and splattered out across the floor.
Of course, once I had finished my orgasm, I still had to go through the mechanics of unbinding myself. My first mistake was reaching up with my cuffed hands and immediately removing both clothespins at the same time. Being a rank beginner at playing with my own tits and with breast bondage, I wasn’t aware that the blood flow to my sensitive flesh had been severely impeded, and right after the pins were removed, the blood rushed back in. This produced a burning sensation that no amount of rubbing could soothe. I just waited until the burning eased, and then I continued to soothe my abused nipples, well, because I could.
Anyway, the orgasm was incredibly intense, partially because of my new-found fascination with bondage, partially because of my paper girlfriend, and partially because I was discovering a whole new aspect of my personality. Naturally, I continued!
Shortly thereafter, I discovered a new use for a vertical support beam in the basement of my townhouse. The intended use of the 4”-diameter steel beam was to support an 8” steel I-beam which supported the weight of much of the house between the outside walls, and it was indubitably solid. I whacked it with the heel of my hand, and the only sound that came out was a meaty THUD! as I connected. Yes, it was plenty sturdy for what I had in mind.
I collected some things I’ll delicately call ‘implements’, which will be described as they come up, and piled them on a folding chair. I started my self-bondage by getting naked. My second preparatory step was to attach to a sturdy cord a pair of nipple clamps I had just purchased, a pair that were to become long-time favorites- ‘clover clamps’, which resembled small spring-loaded pliers with a devious mechanical linkage. As more pull was applied to its end tab, the jaws were forced together, pinching harder on whatever happened to be between the padded jaws of the clamps.
My two clamps were connected by a three-foot-long cord running through an inch-diameter steel ring, On this ring I clamped a ten-inch Vise-Grip - in addition to being a super tool, it’s a handy heavy chunk of steel weight. I carefully fastened the clamps to my nipples, positioning them carefully so only a small nub of nipple projected from between the jaws of the clamps. They stung, but the sting went away as my nipples became numb.
I backed up against the steel column, reaching behind myself to spread the cheeks of my bare ass so their cleavage embraced the solid, cold steel. I used a nylon strap to fasten my ankles to the column, another to fasten my knees. One more longer strap went around my waist and the column, and finally another strap fastened my chest to the column, across my breasts just above my nipples. This last strap pressed down on my breast flesh, forcing the rest of my breast to bulge out even more. The pressure caused the skin to pull tight, and my clamped and weighted nipples stung even more.
About time for my fantasy dominatrix to take over! Mistress Yolanda seized the cord attached to my nipple clamps and tugged down on it. The clamps pulled my nipples out from my chest. Mistress Yolanda gave the ViseGrip a shove, watching it swing from side to side. It twisted my nipples as it swung, and she smiled a cruelly beautiful smile at the grimace on my lips.
“Lock your hands behind your back, slave. Make yourself helpless for me.” As She commanded, I put my hands behind my back, holding them there as if they were cuffed. This position pulled tighter the skin of my breasts, and I felt even more the pinching of the clamps. (If you’ve had the painful pleasure of having your nipples clamped, you know why this works.) My erect cock projected out rigidly and eagerly.. “Please, Mistress, may I cum?”
“No, you may not cum- you may cum only when I say you can. I want to watch you suffer for a while.” I struggled against the straps for what seemed like an hour, pleading occasionally, until She finally relented.
“Okay, slave, you may spit in your hands and make yourself cum for Me.” Eagerly, I raised my hands to my face and spat. With that pitiful bit of moisture, I clasped my hands together around my aching erection and stroked until my cock exploded, spurting my juices onto the floor
Part Two
My ability to release myself at any time was dampening the whole bondage experience- I was finding out for myself something that any self-bondage fan finds out. Bondage has to be real for it to be satisfying! The ability to free yourself any time you want makes obviously unreal bondage. I knew that if I was to experience the ecstasy of real, inescapable, desperately struggling helpless bondage, I had to either find a real Mistress to take me truly captive or I had to develop some way of simulating one. Since I knew I didn’t know how to find a trustworthy and serious Mistress (I’m not into sex professionals), I put my wits together.
My first thought was to build a battery-operated timer of some sort, but it would have to be totally fail-safe and faultless. (I eventually made such a device, but more on that some other time.) For now, I figured out my first way of binding myself inescapably and still getting loose sometime. I got my idea about this on Gromet’s Plaza, what turned out to be a tried-and-true ice cube trick.
I made a trip to Wal-Mart, where- under the sneering eye of a smirking young sales girl clerk, maybe 19, who made it quite clear she knew that I was buying them for myself for some perverted cross-dressing fetish- I selected several pairs of nylon stockings and a garter belt. Queen 4 fit my long legs quite well, and they’re available in a variety of styles. Queen 4-size ladies need fun stuff so they can look good, too!
Finally home, with my bag of goodies and still feeling humiliated, I disappeared into my basement dungeon. I first hung my dungeon key ring on a cord tacked to the ceiling so I would be able to reach it when I was bound and ready to release myself. The next challenge was to keep the key ring out of my frantic grasp for some predetermined period of time, absolutely unreachable, but yet ensure that they would be accessible after the predetermined period of time had passed. This would act just like my fantasy Mistress- keeping me bound even if I changed my mind and frantically wanted to get free. Here’s where the stockings and some ice cubes came into play.
Into one stocking went a handful of ice cubes (I wasn’t sure how much would be enough, but too many would be better than not enough, right?), and I tied a loose knot to keep them in the foot. I ran the other end of the stocking through one of several eyebolts I had screwed into a ceiling beam. I tied my dungeon key ring, which was hanging from a cord near my final bondage position, to the loose end of the stocking. Since the ice cubes were heavier than the key ring, the keys were pulled up to the eyebolt near the ceiling. When the ice melted, the weight of the key ring would eventually pull the rest of the ice through the eyebolt and drop to the end of its cord, hanging somewhere near my hands.
That completed, I set up three full-length mirrors, purchases from the thrift shop. One went in front of me, about six feet away. The other two went beside and behind me so I would have a panoramic view of my situation, my bondage, and my naked self. Now I could be both helpless exhibitionist and voyeur!
My construction labors ended, I went about disciplining myself. I stripped naked and collected my toys. I sat down on a steel folding chair, feeling the cold steel against my bare asscheeks as I pulled the smooth stockings up my legs. I got up, slipped on the garter belt, and smoothed the stockings down carefully (I wanted to look as ladylike as possible) before I fastened them to the garter belt.
In my stocking feet, with my ass feeling conspicuously bare between the straps of the garter belt, I stood on another new toy, a homemade implement of restraint. Starting with a 3’ circle of plywood- a table top blank- that I bought at Home Depot, I had bolted to it three eyebolts- one in the center and one at each edge, all in a line. To the outside bolts I bound my ankles with two-foot-long pieces of clothesline; this kept my legs spread wide. My balls dangled vulnerably between my legs.
To the center eyebolt I had attached a short bungee cord with a noose tied in the free end. I pulled this cord up until I could snug the noose closed over my balls. If I stood erect, which of course I did, the cord pulled down sternly at my balls, wedging them down to the bottom of their sack. I wiggled to find that I was in fact quite immobile, although at this stage I could still easily free myself- but I would change that soon enough.
I reached out for my police-standard handcuffs and locked one on my right wrist. Then I reached up for the cord which ran from my nipple clamps up through another eyebolt in the ceiling. The cord ran through that eyebolt to another about eight feet away, then down and sideways a bit to a pipe wrench which lay on another folding chair. I had cut this cord carefully so there wasn’t much slack. Carefully, I attached the clamps to my nipples, jaws down.
I reached out for the cord and pulled slowly down until the Vise-Grip lifted off the chair. It swung sideways away from its support, nothing under it except air and the floor. I slowly paid out the cord until it pulled taut the cord to my nipple clamps. I looked down helplessly at my breasts, my contorted nipples, and the erection protruding stiffly below them.
After a quick check of everything, I put my hands behind me- I wasn’t sure which would be worse, to be trapped in my self-imposed bondage or to be released prematurely! I grabbed the loose cuff and quickly locked it around my left wrist. For the first time, I was truly helpless! I struggled mightily, demonstrating that I had done a very good job of immobilizing myself; I couldn’t move enough to mention. Worse yet, my struggles made the weight of the wrench twist nastily at my defenseless nipples. I looked down to see the distorted shape of my boobs as the clamps tormented my nipples; my breasts were round and firm, but the nipples and surrounding flesh were pulled out into an aching cone.
Just then, my fantasy Mistress Yolanda stepped into my dungeon cell. As always, She was a vision of loveliness. Tonight, She was marginally dressed in a blue nylon halter top, a short short denim shirt, black nylon stockings and 4” heels. “Damn, you fool, you sure have done a number on yourself! I mean, this is sexy as hell, but you just aren’t going to be able to get at Me, are you?” Her nipples poked thick bumps in the thin nylon top; I felt the first aching desire to get my mouth on them, but of course that wasn’t going to happen, was it?
Mistress Yolanda reached down and grabbed the hem of Her tiny little skirt at Her side and lifted it a few inches. Slowly, too slowly, this exposed the tops of Her stocking, the strip of firm bare flesh framed by Her long garters, and finally Her lacy black panties. She smiled as She saw the desire in my face.
She turned and unhooked Her skirt, dropping it to the floor and presenting me with a glorious view of Her swelling butt. Her backside of Her panties disappeared into Her nether cleavage, forming a triangular wedge shape that pointed down to heaven. The garters painted vertical stripes on Her pale flesh. My cock ached with desire for Her, and I let out a groan.
Mistress Yolanda sneered at my desire as She turned back to me, letting me drink in the frontal view of Her and the way Her panties cupped Her… oh god, Her delights…. I struggled against my too-effective self-bondage, and She laughed happily at my futile struggles.
Mistress Yolanda raised Her arms, unhooked the straps of Her halter behind Her neck, and too slowly (it’s always too slow, especially when you’re a helplessly bound observer) lowered the two triangular bits of nylon to the band which circled Her stomach. Her breasts sagged slightly as their minimal support was removed. Slowly, too slowly, Her fleshy globes came into view, Her thick nipples reaching out to me.
“You like these, you horny little boy? You want to taste these nipples? Sorry, but you decided you wouldn’t get at these when you tied yourself up!” She slapped one breast with Her fingers, making the flesh jiggle for my frustrated enticement. “There’s no way you’re getting free, let alone to My goodies, before the ice melts. Just remember- that’s the way you planned it. You wanted helpless restraint, that’s just what you’ll get, and maybe more.”
She reached up and gently stroked Her nipples with Her fingertips, twanging them with Her long red nails. “Oohhh… I bet your nipples are just as sensitive as mine, but then again I bet yours hurt a lot. Those clamps look like they’re squeezing the life out of your nipples, whereas Mine just feel good.” She twanged them again and smiled, Her eyes half closed. She pulled off Her top, Her boobs jiggling for me, and dropped it to the floor on Her skirt, standing before me in only Her panties, Her garter belt, Her stockings and Her high-heeled shoes. She looked more naked than naked!
I lowered my head. Below my outstretched nipples and above my down-stretched balls, my rigid erection jutted out into space, aching. I was stretched between the bondage platform, to which I was bound by ropes and gravity, and the ceiling, to which I was pulled by the wrench’s weight pulling up on my clamped nipples. I struggled mightily against my self-imposed bondage, but it was of course useless- I had been too effective. Even though I now wanted desperately to free myself, I was trapped.
My mind was working in overdrive; Mistress Yolanda kept my bonds cruelly tight, and I lusted mightily at Her display of Her beautiful, enticing body. As She moved around me, She made sure I had many opportunities to drink in the delights of Her body, teasing me mercilessly. She turned slowly, letting me lust after Her lithe body as She postured Her backside for me, them Her breasts, then spreading the cheeks of Her ass, then pulling Her panties aside to show off Her pussy- over and over again. I was nearly in tears.
The more I fought my bonds, straining for freedom and release from my frustrating self-imposed bondage, humiliation and frustration, the more eager grew my cock. Jerking at the implacable steel of my handcuffs, I struggled, gazing wide-eyed at my Mistress’ delights. I stared into the upright mirror at my humiliated reflection for what seemed like an hour- I really didn’t know how long it would take those ice cubes to melt. To make matters worse, I had deliberately placed the ice-packed stocking behind me where I couldn’t see it, and I had no idea how much longer I would have to wait to be free.
The ice finally melted, and I felt my key ring bounce free against my hands. I reached for them, only to have them swing away- damn! After what seemed like another hour, I finally managed to release my wrists. In moments, I dropped to my knees; the wrench rose far up, jerking to a halt when the wrench jammed into the eyebolt. The pull at my tits wouldn’t decrease, but if I leaned back against the cord it could easily become worse. Of course, I leaned back as far as I could. My nipples were flatter and longer than ever before.
I grabbed my aching erection between my palms, and with my lust-inspired sweat as my only lubrication, began to stroke. I kept my grip light for as long as I could until the head of my cock seemed to swell to the size of a grapefruit as it passed between my palms. I surrendered and squeezed tightly with both hands. My nipples burned as the head of my cock finally convulsed and exploded, spurting jet after jet of my juices across the floor.
After my self-induced orgasm finally subsided, I stood up gingerly. When the weight of the wrench finally lay on the floor, I removed the clamps from my nipples. Damn, that burned! It seemed like the clamps had been crushing my nipples for hours, and rubbing the flattened flesh didn’t make the sting go away any faster.
That was my most extreme self-bondage experiment for quite a while, although I played with variations like strapping my legs double. But always my tits were at the heart of my auto-erotic ventures.
02.07.06