Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Sharon Alone

by Siobhann

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© Copyright 2012 - Siobhann - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; naked; cuffs; rope; noose; timers; toys; climax; fantasy; cons; X

WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death.  

Sharon had a gallows built in her garage. It was crude, and a little small, but it looked quite authentic. Rough wood beams, old planking, rickety steps up to the platform. Not thirteen, the room was too small for that, but with its gibbet ending directly over the trap door, it would be effective in any use. A thick hemp rope formed the noose, tied to the wooden beams above, not easily adjustable but already set at the right height for Sharon's soft neck. The trapdoor itself was the advanced part of the gallows, all modern bits demure beneath the planking. A timer switch triggered the drop, electric locks and motors releasing the trap, the control pad mounted to the back side of the upright wood beam. It could be set for a specific time, or for a random release.

Sharon had purchased a set of AutoCuffs from the Modern Medievals Emporium. These polished steel one-piece handcuffs looked like an antique English straight-bar cuff, keeping the wrists about a foot apart. Thoroughly modern, battery operated, they also had a timer to set the release, choosing from minutes to hours to a random setting. Perfect for self-bondage. And that is how Sharon played her noose games, her self bondage fun, her fantasies about some Wild West sexecution, or a bad slave being punished.

She made sure to set the trap door to a longer time than her cuffs. She had to. As she stood there, noosed, cuffed, for a moment in real danger, sweating, panicky, the rope biting into her soft flesh, up on her tip-toes to keep from choking, always near climax, panting until the cuffs would snap open, fall to the gallows planks, then her hands could loosen the noose, hold it away from her neck, when the trap door would snap open, she would fall through, and crashing onto the pillows and blankets below she would climax and climax and climax until exhausted, finally calming down, and lay there spent and delirious in her afterglow, fully satisfied for at least a week.

Sharon had no idea why she loved nooseplay so much, what strange perversion of her Eros led her to this deadly obsession, but she knew she needed it. It was her favorite fetish. And her lover, her Domme, Lisa often fed these fantasies by whispering sweets in her ear about how beautiful Sharon would look hanging out for the crowd. Her round, smooth ass, moist with sweat. Her full pendulous breasts swaying gently, her delicate hands just barely touching her thighs, her pretty little feet not quite on the ground. Lisa could feel how deeply this thrilled her Sharon, and played along for their mutual pleasure. But they both said aloud that it was just fantasy play.

But this obsession began to take hold of Sharon more and more, and she was too shy to tell Lisa about the thrill of the danger, the danger creeping in and pushing the fantasy humiliation aside. A fantasy based on being used, humiliated, displayed, sacrificed for the crowd, that thrill grew weaker and the actual danger, the real fear, grew larger and hotter in Sharon's psyche. She craved the danger of the noose. She shortened her safe time, that moment between cuffs falling off and trap door falling open, she cut it down, from a minute, to 30 seconds, now just 15 seconds. Laying on the blankets below, looking up at the ceiling through the trap door, the rough wooden halves swaying on their hinges, she now used a vibrator to get off again and again. The fall always drove her over, climaxing before she hit the ground even, but months ago she could just lay there, hands splayed out, and her pussy would explode in passion multiple times, her mind a delirious mix of humiliation and panic and lust and pleasure.

But that had faded recently, and it worried her. She did not want to loose the depth and completeness of her self bondage play, her secret time to release fully, unhindered by her lovers gaze.

Next time up, she didn't finish. Alone the same time every week, she liked to play her game, it was a ritual. But this evening it felt wrong, and while she stood there with her neck in the rope and her hands in the cuffs, she lost her sexy edge. Her total sensual involvement in her own game waned, and she knew she would not get off. The cuffs opened, she had ten seconds to get the rope off, which she knew she could do, and tonight as the trap opened, she stood on the side and looked down into the hole. No climax tonight.

When that day of the week arrived again, Sharon was at a loss. Her favorite game no longer worked, but it still called to her. The thrill was gone. She had heard this phrase often enough, but this time she suffered through it. All the fantasies about humiliation were cold now, the Wild West bounty hunter, the condemned spy, they were dull. Her favorite, the bad slave whom her Mistress punishes in front of the other slaves, she could barely keep their leering faces in her minds eye now. A vibrator and a bathtub shower-head would have to do. Her safe game was no longer enough for her. A few weeks passed.

She needed the danger. She knew it, felt it in her loins. But Lisa would never play that, Lisa was too careful, too motherly. Which is why Sharon trusted her so. But, well, Sharon could no longer overcome her own desires, her own Eros, she knew she had to face the danger at least once, in order to defeat it. I can overcome anything, except temptation, she often said. And the temptation nagged at her, pestered her, dangerous thoughts popping into her mind while at work, or on the subway even. She had to try, she had to get real. But she had to do it alone, face the danger alone, Lisa would never help her. It had to feel real. At least once, Sharon told herself, just this once, make if feel real once and I can be done with this temptation. Finally, after three weeks, she gave in to herself.

Naked, as always, wearing only high heels, she mounted the scaffold. Step by step she climbed up, already thrilled and aroused. She was going to try tonight. The old thrill was back, her pussy ached with desire, her crotch warm and wet with anticipation, her breath shallow and tight. She carried the cuffs in one hand. Once she stood upon the platform, she went to the gibbet post, there finding the trap door controls. Instead of the usual set time amount, tonight she hit the random button. A small clock device inside the controller was activated, and it would, at some mathematically random time, stop counting, make a small electrical connection, activate a relay and snap open the trap door. Sharon had no way of knowing when. She stepped onto the trap, the noose brushing her face, and she deftly placed the rope around her neck. Her practiced hands welcomed their old friend immediately, and she was secured in no time. Snug on her throat, she loved the roughness of the rope, and she began breathing deeply now, deep slow breaths, she was comfortable up there, ready, aroused. Now it seemed real to her, dreamlike but real. The danger was real, the thrill was real. Her fantasy almost real.

Sweating now, scared, her mouth dry, she feels her hands moving behind her back, one wrist in a cuff, the other wrist now snapping itself in, the cuffs click, a click she knew well, but it sounded distant, different, real. She had set the cuffs to random as well, and as the second wrist snapped in, the small digital clock inside the steel restraint began to count down. But no one could know to when, no one could tell how much time they had left, it would come as a surprise. Perfect for self-bondage. She surrendered control, surrendered herself, the game was in charge now, the gallows her Mistress. Sharon imagined in her mind that she could hear some ticking, but it was only her heart beating, her pulse throbbing in her ears, her body quivering with a more real thrill than she had ever known. A fifty-fifty chance, that's pretty good, she thought to herself. Either the cuffs come off or I get..... she paused with fear, either the cuffs snap off first or.... she couldn't actually say it to herself, but she knew it in her heart, in her mind, and in her pussy. Dripping wet was how she would describe it, her inner thighs actually glistening with her own moisture. She loved it. The thrill was back. Fifty-fifty pretty good chances, she told herself.

From her high heel taut posture it was hard to look down, but her eyes went to the corner of the platform, by the stairs, and she could see that it was still there. A small note to Lisa, just in case. Mounting the scaffold she placed the note on the wood planks of the gallows, when suddenly all that old sexuality of humiliation came flooding back into her. A small note for Lisa just in case her body was swaying on the rope. Her sexy, curvy body, breasts just swaying a touch with some odd muscle spasm, her toes pointing uselessly to the open gap where the trap had been. A sex object on display. If that was how it ended, Sharon thought, I will be so fucking sexy. A good fucking sexy slavegirl. “I had to know” is all the note said, enough information for Lisa to figure it all out. I had to know. That is the only way Sharon could explain this to herself. The thought of Lisa reading the note pushes Sharon into a reverie of sensualities, her mind fills with a half dozen fantasies at once, she reaches the point of orgasmic inevitability, moans aloud and takes whatever is coming.

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