I Need a lot of Bottle 2

(nb: "bottle' means courage or boldness, to "bottle it" is to lose it.)

Standing up this time was easier than the first time, as there were plenty of trees, wiping the disgusting cow muck from my face was not. In the end and after a few valiant attempts, which only managed to smear the stuff across my face further, I gave up on the idea and headed back to the main path. I reached the path and carefully, ready to duck away and hobble for all I was worth, looked in both directions. There was no-one in sight so I stepped out and turned, my long walk began again. This time I found myself listening and jumping with every sound I heard.

I reached the point where my direction had to change without further interruption; I turned to my right following the pathway, which would eventually loop around the village and get me home safely I hoped. I tried to make haste but after a couple of near misses (falls) I decided that slow and steady would best suit my situation.

Breathing hard with the physical effort created by my bonds, I shuffled forward ten short inches at a time. Tree roots were frequently encountered reaching out across the pathway, each had to be judged and carefully stepped over if I was to avoid splatting on to the ground again and possibly hurting myself.

I had just got my balance on an exceptional gnarled and large root, I was about to step over and down to proceed when my butt plug switched on, as did my vibrator. Now imagine how I felt, first the stimulation instantly drove me into sexual overdrive, my legs turned to jelly, my pussy contracted beneath my tight rope bondage. At the exact same moment my ass felt the first plunge of many, and then the head deep up there swelled and began rotating. All whilst I was attempting to balance on one foot, with the other lifted clear of the ground and in the process of stepping over the damned root.

Obviously the effect had massive consequences! I fell forward, twisting so that my shoulder took the bulk of the impact, not my face. I found myself rolling over onto my back and feeling the cuffs digging in hard again. My sex responded even as I fell, being horny as hell before I had started out on this trip, I now found myself out of all control and subject in full to the demands of my body and my bondage.

My toes curled, my ankles straightened out, my knees drew up and my arms hurt, but most of all the feeling of orgasm built almost instantly. My sex contracted then pulsed; in desperation, I gripped the tube of my vibrator. Sex filled my mind, flooded out everything including the pain in my back; the fall had knocked the wind from me and I was gasping heartily through my ring-gag, desperate to feel the cool air filling my lungs.

Orgasm approached relentlessly and I had little option or energy to resist its arrival. I bucked, twisted and writhed in subjection to my vibrators and fantasies. I rode the wave, cresting as the sea would just before shattering on the rocks of the land. I came not once, but twice, and then still had to suffer through mini wavelets as my orgasms slowly subsided. The vibrators had done their work, leaving me a rag-doll cast on the floor, hoping that they would release me from their grip and allow me to continue soon.

Time, they say is a great healer, with the passing of some time I regained my regular breathing, felt my sex calm and return to a semblance of normalcy, and I eventually sat up as best I could. I had to butt walk towards a tree before being able to regain my footing, but that posed no real problem; I was getting quite good at standing up now having had some practice.

A glance about to confirm that my experience had gone unnoticed by anyone; despite the noise I remember making as I came. Pushing back against the tree with my cuffed hands I propelled myself forward, I had little choice, and so my walk continued. Though now I was feeling slightly sated, I was beginning to question myself and my motivations. Fear crept up slowly and entered into my thoughts, slowly replacing my lust with its sticky tendrils.

Fear of discovery, of humiliation, of failure, of being vulnerable and bringing shame on to my parents. Not so much fear of being revealed for my sake, as for theirs. I would be leaving the area soon, heading for pastures new or if you prefer going away to University. My parent would have to remain in the diocese, and if I had been discovered, it was they that would have to deal with the fall out, more than I.

Of course I would be subjected to close scrutiny by them, but at least it would only be them, and the person that discovered me that I would have to face. For them, it would be each parishioner; each person that called at the house, each family that dad had to visit as the local minister. All would know every tiny detail, every nuance of my perversion, and it would be my dad that would have to live with, and down, the tales that would fly about our village.

I would have to face the dissection, only when I returned during holidays etc, they would have to live with it. As I said, fear reared its ugly head in my thoughts…

If I was going to survive this fantasy with my image intact, I needed to concentrate, so I deliberately drove the fear away using the only weapon available to me, which was lust, good old fashioned lusty fantasies. I deliberately turned my thoughts to sex, to bondage, to being a slut, quickly the fear retarded, leaving me a lonely bound slut with only one thing on her mind, that of coming again and soon.

My bloody vibrators did nothing, they remained silent and still, my previous orgasms had released so much natural lubricant that I could barely feel the things, my insides were apparently swollen up to the point that hardly any contact remained. No matter how hard I tried squeezing my vaginal muscles I could not get enough purchase to stimulate myself to orgasm.

I have of course read about the delights of enforced frustration, now that I am suffering through it, they don’t seem quite so delightful to me!

The track ended, a field lay in front of me, a farmer’s field one with a cottage located just a few hundred yards across the fallow grass. I should have walked this route prior to tonight, then I would have known that the cornfields I had expected to provide cover for me, had been left to grass this year.

Damn it again, now I had to walk around the field-edge where I might have some hope of being shielded by the hedges and their shadows. Rather than the much shorter distance I had expected whilst passing through the corn-heads. The other problem with the field edges is that is where all the stones are dumped, along with the dead tree roots, the old fence poles and assorted wire. In fact everything that is not conducive to growing the desired crop, but is not needed elsewhere but might be in the future. Farmers rarely if ever waste anything; they just dump it at the field edges or in barns until later.

I have to walk these edges now, and that means that I will encounter a lot of odds and ends, rocks and roots etc. My only other choice is to cross the middle of the field and hope and pray I am not seen. Decisions, decisions…

I am tired now, it is late and I have been typing this for hours so I hope you will allow me a break and come back soon to read the continuation of my tale of bondage and sexual discovery with a lot of frustrations thrown in to add some un-challenges.

Part 3. The End or the Beginning.

It is amazing what a good nights sleep can do, how it can revitalise every aspect of ones body and spirit. I thought this rather disjointed thought as I placed my laptop on the table and turned to make myself my first cup of coffee of the morning (it sounds like something my father would pronounce from the pulpit on a Sunday). Once I sat facing the screen I just began to write and what you are reading now is the end result.

For those that know what I am indulging myself in, read on; for those that don’t, look on the site called ‘Gromet’s plaza’ and you will find the earlier parts of my adventure to read.

I was stood looking out over a sea of waving grass; the farmer had replaced the corn I had expected with fallow grasses for haymaking. Leaving me bound, gagged, naked, doubly plugged and only able to take ten-inch steps. Faced I might add with either walking around the rough edge of this large field, or being ridiculously brave and walking directly across it!

‘As I said at the end of my last posting, what a choice?’

Bravery might be the only choice for the fearless, but I am just a naked girl, and not brave, let alone fearless; so I opted for the lesser profile but harder on the endurance of walking the field-edge.

You have all heard of Guardian Angels, well that evening I had one walking beside me. I had minced my way along the field-edge and just reached a rusting hunk of farm equipment when I heard a whistling, and of course I reacted appropriately by literally throwing myself behind the machine and down onto the floor, rolling close to it, despite the pain my handcuffs caused in my back when I roll.

He, for the whistler was a he, exited the woodland path on which I had only a few minutes before been standing making my decision. He, unlike me, strolled confidently out and across the grass field, heading for the far side and the path waiting there. I watched, bobbing my head up and down to see him clearly, well as clearly as is feasible whilst bound gagged and wanting to remain unseen, which is damn little I can tell you.

He very soon vanished from my sight, but even so, he created a major problem for me; now I had a man in front of me and every step I took could be leading me closer to being revealed. What if he sat on a tree trunk to rest, would I see him, would my sixth sense magically appear and warn me of his waiting presence?

I thought not, but then I have no real choice but to proceed do I, going back to the churchyard offers me no salvation; I would be stuck and discovered in the morning. Walking on was the only sensible option, but one that would have to be so carefully done from here on, as if I wasn’t being carefully enough already!

Fear of discovery, of humiliation, of failure, of being vulnerable and bringing shame on to my parents, they who have to live, work and remain in the diocese. If I had been discovered, it was they that would have to deal with the fall out, more than I, as I would soon be leaving the area for most of each year (going to university). Just the thought of the tales that would fly about our village, about me, were I to be seen let along caught, terrified me.    

Careful, as you might imagine readers was not just a phrase to me now, it was a mantra, one with dire consequences hanging over it if ignored or allowed to lapse. I did not ignore it, I was cautious, I was careful and I tried to be invisible as well.

Despite my growing fears I succeeded in edging my way around the field, and eventually arriving at the path down which the whistler had walked; the only path I might point out for me to take. I nervously entered upon it and hobbled forward. Each step placed silently each movement quiet; I even managed to keep the chain at my ankles tight enough not to rattle. I don’t think I breathed much more than once every five paces, and I know that my ears had never worked so hard before.

Something flashed in front of me; my eyes scrunched up, my feet hesitated and I fell, splat to the ground. The flash reoccurred but thankfully I had my face turned away. What happened I don’t know, what flashed I could not tell, perhaps I had caught the quick glare of a cars headlights through the trees! Yet again I found myself struggling back to my feet, with still more bruises to contend with I was sure.

The woodland path was empty silent and reassuring, but I got up as fast as I could, and shuffled forward as fast as my bondage would allow. Ten paces later I remembered the whistler and slowed down, getting my breathing and heart rate something like back to normal, with my panic over thankfully.

The path leads to and past an old Roman fort, it was my intention to ignore it and hurry on, all I wanted was escape from my self-imposed bondage trial. I wanted to be home, safe and warm, the night air had got cold, and being naked I had begun to feel its caress in a not nice way. I shuffled, step following step, listening intently but discovering nothing and the ground passed away behind me. The fort passed away, the track reappeared, and I entered into the last section of woodland left to complete before I reached the back-gate to my home.

The flash reappeared from the fort, but nothing else happened so I ignored it. It reappeared only once more and that was when I arrived at our gate and was but a hundred yards or so from safety. This time three bright lights exploded, this time I knew that they were not from a cars headlights! They couldn’t be, no car could get over there so deep in the woods. Fear burgeoned in my breast, the only thing I could think to do was escape and so I pushed against the gate expecting it to open; it didn’t, the bolt was locked on and the gate remained shut to me.

I had made a mistake; I had forgotten to open the damn thing for my return. With fear of the flash returning, I bent over the gate, (Its not very high) and toppled forward just as the flash returned. I landed in a heap on the wet grass, but now hidden from sight and in my own garden at last. I crawled forward heading directly for the back-door. The pond appeared in front of me, dad’s pond, with his fish in it. I wriggled around its edge not being able to stand and also wanting to remain low and hidden as much as I could be. I made the back-door, I managed to push myself up the wall (scraping my back on the stone) then I reached for the door handle, gripped it and turned, nothing happened.

Damn it the key was hidden just over there I remembered so I knelt down, turned my back and recovered the key. Standing up again meant yet more grazes from the bricks, but what did that matter! With my back to the door I eased the key into the lock and carefully turned it, just as the whole back of my home and myself was illuminated by a bright light turning on. I had caused the security light to activate, this time I knew what was happening.

The door handle turned, the door opened and I nearly fell into my home. I was home, the house was empty and I was at last safe and having completed my trial thank God.

To my amazement, I was more exhausted than aroused, I suppose fear can do that, but I was definitely elated at having finally seen a plan through from start to finish, without whim ping out along the way or getting caught.

I slept the sleep of the ‘dead tree trunk’, that night, my legs hurt; my knees hurt; my back was scratched to pieces and over all I felt like a wreck. The next morning I awoke with a raging desire throbbing between my thighs, which I promptly dealt with, the rope marks to my surprise were already fading away, and my cuts and scrapes scabbing over. I felt wonderful as I lounged in bed remembering every detail of what I had put myself through. Then I got up and wrote the remainder of my story.

Now with that done and breakfast calling, I sat looking at my story for the last time, and then I pressed send. So that you can read in detail the last portion of my adventure, or that is what should have happened, it is certainly what I expected to happen, but not what did!

Just as I reached out to exit the story my E-Mail activated, I had a message, which I decided to open, read, then close down the system.

The message said…

Good morning, I hope you slept well, I certainly did.

I would love to see you again…?

Would you like to meet up and perhaps go for a walk?

May I suggest the church, at two pm.

All the best James…

I had not even known that James the butchers son had my E-Mail address, nor did I think that he might get brave enough or confident enough to use it. That was when I noticed the attachments, I clicked on them and they proved to be photographs, good quality, well framed and showing me in perfect detail. He had even caught me falling over the back-gate.

James, dear James had seen me, photographed me, and now wanted to take a walk with me; damn it what do I do now? It seems I have little choice but to meet him, and probably I will have to plead with him not to show those pictures to all and sundry. A single word exploded into my thoughts, ‘blackmail’ oh shit…

What have I done, my fear reared its ugly head again and my guts did flip-flops just because they could!

James sweet innocent James, James with the hots for me, and now James with the photos of me in all my bondage glory, oh shit why did it have to be James.

* * * *

Thank you Gromet for allowing me to update my tale for the readers.

Three years have passed since I last wrote of this adventure. I thought that you might like to know some of what happened. James and I got married last Friday, it was perfect and life looks good!

Anyway the bit you all want to know! What happened when we met up that day because of course we did, what other choice did I have?

James was sitting within the kissing-gate of dad’s church, he had shaved and looked reasonably presentable, he had a bunch of flowers (bless him) a box of my favourite chocolates (how did he know) and a brown envelope.

I approached him, his face lit up as I did, which felt slightly reassuring if nothing else. I did not expect the flowers that is for sure, nor the chocks either, but most of all I did not expect the brown envelope in which he had placed the only copies of the photographs he had taken of me. He assured me (in a hesitant sounding voice) that he had removed or destroyed every other copy, but these, and the ones he had E-Mailed to me, and that he would never want to cause me any trouble.

As for the rest of that afternoon, we talked, laughed and he showed me where he had been and how he had followed me. Now I know that the flashes were his camera and not car headlights. He laughed at me for thinking they might be cars!

One thing led to another and finally as you now know we married, and the marriage is based on mutual trust, love and bondage. I no longer have to panic at being alone, nor can I whimp out, as he holds the keys, and we have and share our adventures together…

Good bye, I hope you have enjoyed sharing in this tale, and who knows, I might post some others if James my husband demands it of me, or just because I can…The End.

29.01.11