Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Self Inflicted

by Tied Tightly

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© Copyright 2003 - Tied Tightly - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; suspension; cons; X

Self Inflicted
by Tied Tightly
Self Inflicted by Tied Tightly

One of the most enticing things about self-bondage is you never quite know what you may be getting yourself into. No matter how well you plan, something can always go wrong, and suddenly you find yourself quite trapped and helpless in a web of your own creation. The outcomes of this can be quite scary and very dangerous, so you always need some form of backup plan, like a friend who knows to check on you. But, these misadventures can also provide the most thrilling experiences for a danger seeking, or should I say danger needing, person.  Quite the example would be the conception of Chastity (there's a conundrum), my husband's and my daughter. This was a prime example of self-inflicted bondage gone wrong and totally right all at the same time.

Now understand, we already had a fulfilling love life. It's just that I have been into self-bondage from an early age, and well, it's kind of an addiction. So, as you can imagine it only served to enhance things for us. He played into my little affliction quite easily, being the more dominant and controlling type; and I am always happy to be the helpless "damsel in distress", acquiescing to the desires of my personal "Snidely Whiplash". As a matter of  fact, around my fertile time each month, I tend to get so "randy" I am probably safest when tied down, so to speak. Ron, my husband, says its probably my Catholic upbringing. Anyway, here's what happened....

It was on a Friday, the day I only work half days, on a flexible work schedule. I was at my fertile state, so already horny, and I had been dealing with a very irate customer all morning, so I had a lot of frustrations to work out. This of course was a situation ripe for me to have a little solo session, and on the drive home I was contemplating what I was going to do about it. Actually, I was throughly uninspired until I breezed through the front door and saw the answer before me. A sly smile crossed my lips as I saw the hanging bar dangling from the ceiling. I had all but forgotten about the contraption until that moment.

Since our love life included forms of bondage, both the type I indulged in myself and some initiated by my husband, he was always tinkering with some new device that could be used to tease and torment me. This one, still partially under construction was pretty straight forward. He had a pully hooked into a beam in the ceiling. from the pulley descended a length of strong cotton rope. This ended where the rope was securely wound around a spreader bar, actually a thick broom handle which had been sawed off. Screwed into each end was an eyebolt. The other end of the rope ran, running back through the pulley, was attached to a small electric winch motor, used to raise and lower the spreader. This could be operated manually, but he had also just installed a timer on it, thinking that I might make use of it during one of my self-fulfilling escapades. Which was just what I had in mind. Now I hadn't yet tested the thing, but it was pretty simple to operate. We had set the winch to a pre-selected height, so I was always pulled up to a consistent level.

Pouring myself a glass of cabernet, I sat on the couch and devised the remainder of my plan. We had dinner arrangements with friends for that evening, so some thought and preparation was needed. I could wear jeans out, so my legs were not a problem, but I was going to need something to ostensibly leave my wrists unmarked, or at least minimally irritated, so as not to show much. That came to me after a few minutes of thought. So, I gathered what I needed and while sipping the last of my wine, I started shedding clothing. I find bondage most exciting when I am only partially clothed or even fully nude. Kind of the exposed and open fetish I guess.   I had to wear nice things to work, so getting where I wanted was not issue.  Today had been a "red" day, mostly because I was in a foxy sort of mood. My red pumps, business outfit, red lace bra, and matching panties were quickly slid off and tossed over the couch back. This left me wearing only a red satin garter belt and nylons.

Then the serious work began. I walked over to the timer and set it for what I wanted. It would pull me up in twenty minutes, and should drop me back down about two hours later. Based on this, I would have about an hour to soak in the bathtub and get myself ready to go out with husband and friends that evening. Next, I went to the couch and after plopping down onto it I grabbed a long length of cotton clothesline. This I wound tightly around my ankles, and cinching them snugly together. With a second length, I repeated the process just above my knees. Wanting to feel as captive as possible, I pushed a red rubber ball gag between my lips and buckled the adjoining leather strap tightly around my neck. With the spreader in front of me, I pulled a length of linen material through each eyebolt. Had this been a normal session where I wasn't going out, I would have also have used clothesline here, but I didn't want the marks. I carefully wound the material around my wrists and the end of the spreader, making sure to loop them so that circulation would not suffer.  The way this worked was interesting. Until the bar rose, I could easily get loose. One it pulled tight, I was stuck, until it again lowered, giving me needed slack. Then, I stood and waited.

Presently, I heard the snap as the timer caught and the little electric winch started to whir. Slowly, my arms were pulled above my head until the slack was tightened in my linen wrist bindings and my hands were entrapped. As always, a rush of excitement went through me. As I was lifted upwards, I quickly realized I had made a mistake and was going to have a problem. Albeit, not a very serious one. When we had set the winch length, I had been wearing high heels. Today, I was in stocking feet and had forgotten to account for this.  By the time the winch stopped, I was dangling on my very tiptoes. My whole body was stretched taut, trying to balance. It was most evident in my calf muscles, which were hard and strained.

Based on the timer, I should have had about an hour and a half of being suspended like this before I could get free again. Until the bar came back down and I had slack in the linen bonds, I was trapped. I am not sure why, but this situation always acts like an instant aphrodisiac for me and I was quickly leaking warm juices from my vaginal canal. The really torturous part of this is that hung up like I was, there was nothing I could do to get myself off. In some cases you can wiggle yourself into orgasm, or have something to rub against. In this scene, I was hanging on tiptoe in the middle my living room with no way to gain release. Of course, murderously frustrating as it was, that was the idea. The longer I hung, helpless, the hotter I got and soon my love canal was literally drooling my hot fluids down my legs. Which by this point were also aching pretty badly. Stretched completely up on toes, my calf and thigh muscles were quivering from the strain and tension. I did my best to dream my way into fantasy land with captive game scenarios, but I could not escape completely from the self-inflicted pain I was in. To make a long story short, I was blessedly relieved when I hear the click of the timer. Well, so I thought for about two seconds. Until the winch motor tried to kick in and with a loud snap blew a circuit breaker, killing the electricity, and leaving me hanging without even and inch of slack.

Well, of course my heart sank right down to my screaming for mercy toes at that point. I quickly tried to assess my options. The best guess I had was trying to get myself propped onto the couch and try and release some tension from the bonding attached to the spreader. Unfortunately, the distance to the couch was just far enough that I could not get atop a cushion. After repeated attempts I was left no closer to freedom than when I started. Worse, all my hopping and straining had only served to tighten the wrist bindings, and wear me out from exertion. Soon I was able to do little else but hang limply, feverishly trying to maintain some semblance of balance on my teetering toes. I knew that my husband would eventually come home, so I wasn't afraid of perishing or any other nasty occurrence, but I was now in pretty bad need of getting down, not to mention I was still very horny. I must have lost myself in a semiconscious state, as I lost track of time. I was eventually roused from my stupor by the snick of the front door handle as it opened. I nearly died of fright. Fortunately, it was my husband, and a quick glance towards the wall clock told me it was five-thirty. I had been hanging there for almost three hours. He flipped the light switch and of course, nothing happened. That's when he noticed me, staring at him with a most "pleading for freedom" look. Setting down his briefcase, he walked over and examined me. It was quickly apparent to him what had happened, and my little misadventure with the winch. I could tell by the devilish leer on him that  things were probably going to get more interesting. I mumbled a couple of epitaphs at him as he just laughed to himself and left me hanging there as he walked down the hallways towards our bedroom.

After a number of minutes he returned, making sure to stay behind me and out of my line of vision. But I was quickly aware of his presence as I felt the firm grip of his hands on my waist. Standing closely behind me, I was encircled by his arms as the hands slowly glided across my taut belly and gently teased their way to my breasts. By the time he got to them, my nipples were rock hard. He gently teased them for a minute, before the hands disappeared, only to return seconds later as he snapped a clothespin over each oversensitive nipple. I moaned instantly into the ball gag. But of course, he paid no attention and the hands resumed their exploratin of my body. I could feel him kneeling behind me as his hands caressed first my stocking covered feet, then working their way up my aching legs.  All of me was quickly rejuvenated by this attention and I was once again hot and horny as could be. I knew my husband was as I could feel his hardening shaft as he rose behind me, hands roaming and teasing. Soon he was standing behind me once again fully erect, in more ways than one by the  way. Hands again moved over my abdomen and teased the clothespins on my nipples. By now, they also ached, but is was such exquisite pain. I looked down as he flicked at them and saw his penis. He had inserted it between my legs from behind, and it poked out in front of me through them. I tried to imagine for a moment that it was I, with the long stiff rod. Slowly, as he teased my tummy and breasts, he thrust himself back and forth, lubricating his hot penis on my dripping juices. I watched as it began to glisten with the wetness from within me.

My husband has an unusually long penis, almost fourteen inches when fully erect. Only because of this length was he able to accomplish what he next wanted. Bending backwards slightly, to give himself an upwards angle, he inserted the tip of his lengthy spear, from behind me, into the opening of my vagina. This while I was still hanging there, legs tied and all. Once there, his hands grasped my  pelvic area, just at the top of my legs and he slowly drove upwards and in. Had he been of considerably shorter length, this would not have worked. As it was, he was only able to get about six or eight inches inside when his pelvis met by backside. But it was enough and he began to screw me as I hung there impaled on his shaft. It was right about this time that I remembered exactly what time of the month it was. Of course, since my plan had also be down before he got home, I didn't have any protection in place. AND, I had no real way of letting him know this little fact at that point, and was unable to stop him. Being the natural thrill needing nut case I was, I  decided to take  my chances and ride it out, so to speak. Anyway,  he continued to thrust away in my now sensory overloaded body. I was a jangle of thrills, feelings, and emotions. Soon I was riding the crest as the  wave crashed over and I broke into a exploding orgasm. Yelling and moaning into the ball gag I convulzed and cramped on my husband's swollen staff. This caused his own orgasm  as he began to ejaculate gobs of hot, sticky, virile sperm deeply into me fertile womanhood. It seemed as though we hung in orgasm together for quite some time, moaning, and spasming together until neither had any strength left.

When it was over, he collapsed to the floor, panting and breathing hard as I hung limply. After a while, he was able to lower me down and I in turn collapsed back to the floor, pulling him back down with me. After he untied me and we rested a while, he rolled me onto my back and took me again. It was after this second coming (giggle), that the doorbell rang and our dinner friends arrived. We had to scramble for cover and sheepishly let them in.  We all had a good laugh that night at the resturant about the whole thing.


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