Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

The Tape Recorder

by Nickerlas

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© Copyright 2001 - Nickerlas - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; D/s; cbt; nipple; outdoors; electro; bdsm; true; cons; XX

“Stand to attention, Worm!”

I clicked off the portable recorder and grinned.  This would fix the bastard!  He wanted pain?  He wanted  humiliation?  He wanted inescapable restraint?  He was damned well going to get them, and in spades!  I touched the ‘record’ button again.

“You will reply to all my instructions with the words ‘I obey, Master’.” I paused to give him time to say it.

“Now take off all your clothes, Worm.  Fold them neatly and seal them in the plastic bag on the chair.  When you’ve done that stand to attention again until you hear the bleeps.”  I let the tape run on for a minute for the poor sod to undress, then set the cooker timer for a further five. It would give him time to get his mind into the proper state of humble servility.  He is nothing, just an inert instrument waiting for me to mould into a masterpiece, a symphony of sensual experience.  Complete with crashing chords and long, slow passages.

I’d set up scenes for this particular victim before, usually in the form of written instructions, but the tape idea was new.  It was going to be a memorable first.

The plan had been growing in my mind (and trousers!) for a couple of weeks.  I’d added refinements, simplified, then added again.  I’d checked the cabling, sorted out the chains and padlocks, timed several ice cubes melting in stockings and chosen the tree.

“Worm!  In the holdall on the floor you will find a white bra. Put it on.”  It was a DD size, with small holes cut for the nipples.  “You will also find a pair of nipple clamps.  Wear them, with the chain running through the holes in the bra.”  Another pause, while I imagined him stuggling to weave the chain through the loose cups and gently easing the sharp metal teeth into his flesh.  This was where it was going to start getting painful.  A slow, sadistic smile spreads, matched by a familiar pressure between my legs.

“Go to the fridge.  On the top shelf you will find two balloons.  Stuff them into your bra, resting them on the nipple chain.”  I pushed ‘pause’ to allow myself a chuckle.  My own nipples have gone hard and I open my shirt to play with them.  Those tough, water-filled balloons were too big even for that bra.  They would force it way out in front making the chain yank his nipples forward.  From now on the size and weight of those balloons would make every tiny movement painful.  And cold.  You asked for it, sucker!

“In the holdall there is a small plastic bag containing two wrist cuffs, two short lengths of chain and two padlocks.  Put on the cuffs.  Lock each through the strap and through one end of a chain.”  Another gap while he got on with that.  By now he should be naked except for huge wobbly tits and about 6 inches of heavy chain locked to each wrist.  He should also be getting pretty apprehensive. 

“Now put on the heeled boots and the ankle straps”.  He’d have to bend right down to do that, which should do interesting things to those poor, tortured nipples.  My heart bleeds!  The ankle straps have stout D rings for later use.  They don’t need locking as he won’t be able to get his hands anywhere near them.

“Next: the leather thong”.  This is a tight, elasticated thong brief with a stout 2-inch ring in place of the front panel.  Very useful for holding things in the butt.  His endowment goes through the ring, of course. The anticipation is really getting to me, I’m rocking backwards and forwards on my chair!

“Pay attention, Worm.  On the table is a saucer of lube gel; spread it over your ball sack.  Then screw on the ball-stretcher.”  That’s a smooth metal cylinder with a chrome finish, made in two halves that screw together and weighing in at one and a half pounds.  All that gel will make it slippery inside so it settles nicely on his balls.  And the gel has been cut with salt to ensure excellent electrical contact!  Sparks will fly before the afternoon is out! 

“You will see two 4 ft. lengths of wire.  One is bare at one end and attached to a copper disc at the other.  Loosen the ball-stretcher and tighten the bare wire between the two halves”.  What shocking thoughts I do have!  Somewhere along the line he’s due a dose of that special kind of electric pain that builds up and up, echoing round inside the balls.

“The other wire is attached to a cock ring.  Lube the inside of the ring and push it to the base of your cock.”  That’s a copper ring for maximum conductivity, and the other end is also screwed to a copper disc.  A power source is even now waiting with connectors ready to clip onto those discs.

“Next, put on the leather parachute just above your ball-stretcher, with the metal fixings to the rear.”  Can’t risk short-circuits, can we?  The ball-stretcher shouldn’t be causing him too much grief at this stage, he can manage about 10 pounds hanging from his bollocks. But I have plans for that parachute - extra weight will come in due course.  Meanwhile there are more instructions to give.

Next on the table is a foot of light plastic tubing that once graced a wine-making kit, now firmly fixed into the cut-off teat of a heavy-duty condom.  It’s actually a home-made ‘external catheter’.  I tell the Worm to roll it right on up to the base of his dick, hooking it over the cock ring for extra security.  The purpose of this device will become all too clear quite soon.

“Now smear gel on the butt plug and slide it in under the thong”.  Heh heh.  It’s no ordinary butt plug and he knows it.  It’s a big bi-polar electrical butt plug which gives one hell of a kick, especially at the level I’ve set on the controller. 

And now for the really evil bit.  “There are six plastic pint glasses of orange squash on the table in front of you.”  I’m loving this, perhaps I’m a natural sadist.  “Set the timer for 30 minutes, Worm.”  I have to get my dick out to relieve the pressure.  “Before the timer bleeps, you must drink all six pints!  And when you’ve done that, set it for another 30 minutes and stand to attention again.”  I switch the recorder off while I cool down, before adding, “From now on no fluid must be lost.  If you can’t help peeing, you will catch it in a glass and drink it!  Switch off now and switch on again in an hour.  Drink up, Worm!”

While the wretched boy is loading three-quarters of a gallon of coloured water into his miserable body, we can recap on the fix we have got him into.  He’s teetering on high-heeled boots while vicious clamps bite and stretch his nipples under an absurdly big and heavy bra.  Short, chunky chains hang from each wrist, and straps round the boots give a fixing ring at each ankle.  His dick and a big metal weight pressing on his balls are wired to electrical terminals, and a leather parachute is fixed ready for further loads. A piece of tubing swings from the end of his cock.  All these things are going to get more oppressive as he waits for his kidneys to do their stuff.


“Done that?  Good boy, Worm.  Now go to the freezer compartment and get out the two ice cubes in the tray.  Put them each in a separate paper bag.  Pick up this recorder, the trailing wires and the holdall and proceed to the shed at the bottom of the garden.  Follow the power cable from there to a tree.  Oh, and take one of the glasses with you in case of ‘accidents’.”

The tree has been prepared.  Two strings hang down to where Worm’s fingers will be, each with a keyring clipped to a smooth steel ring.  (The keys are the same on each, the second string is just a safety backup.)  Two nylon stockings are firmly pinned to a branch, each with a hole cut near the heel so an ice cube can be inserted.  The keys are pulled up to the stockings, the stocking ends are pushed through the rings and the ice slipped in to hold the keys out of reach.  Worm knows the drill on this one, its pretty standard stuff.

Less familiar are the three strands of barbed wire ringing the tree at bum height.

The electrical assembly is lying near the tree.  There are two systems already plugged into a power-bar multiple adapter.  The first ends in two industrial bulldog connectors; it delivers mains AC through a timer through a household dimmer switch through a 9v AC bell transformer, with the dimmer set to medium and the timer to pour on the juice in 60 minutes.  The connectors are for clamping onto the discs wired to his dick and balls. The second circuit has a similar assembly but ends in special clip connectors for the butt plug; its controller is set high and the timer for 70 minutes.  65 minutes was the shortest time the test ice cubes melted.

The longest was 90 minutes.

The power-bar plug for all of this is inches away from the end of the live mains power cable; all Worm has to do is connect himself up and plug in – his cock and balls will light up in an hour, and anal armageddon follows an anxious 10 minutes later!

I give terse instructions for the ice and the power and wait while he sets up the release and wires himself for agony.

“There is a plastic bucket containing water at the foot of the tree.  You will stand with your back to the tree straddling the bucket.  A cord on the ground with snap clips each end should be near each ankle.  Clip it onto your ankle cuffs”.  Easy to say, tricky to do.  The cord goes round the back of the tree so when fixed it will pull his feet apart and back.  It’s a big tree.  He’ll have to tie a temporary loose rope round his thighs to take his weight so he can lean forward and then stand up again.  The barbed wire should add further difficulties!  Careful!

“There is a padlock hooked over the bucket handle.  Lock the bucket to your parachute ring.  DO IT NOW, WORM!”  This is where he might be tempted to cheat!  There are six pints of water in that bucket, bringing his ball loadings up to near maximum bearable.  “Well done.  Now ensure your catheter pipe is hanging inside the bucket.  Good boy.  Now take the blindfold and the last padlock from the holdall………  Blindfold yourself securely……… Stretch your arms round the back of the tree and lock the loose bits of wrist chain together”.  Note the gentle coaxing tone for this last bit.  He’s already in pretty poor shape and his nerve might be cracking.  The whole torture depends on him clicking that last padlock.

“Got you, you bastard!”

As the minutes tick endlessly by he will begin to realise the full horror of his predicament.  He has to stand with his legs and shoulders pulled back and his butt pushed forward, or the wire punctures his posterior.  The pressure on his clamped tits can only get more painful.  The weight on his balls is already agony, but the cool outside air will work on his overloaded bladder and, try as he might, he won’t be able to stop himself pissing into the bucket.  The splashing sound will make things worse.  Soon the weight on his balls will be noticeably increased. 

His mouth goes dry, his face cold sweating, he can see nothing and he can’t hold his bursting bladder a moment longer.  He lets fly and manages to relieve the worst pressure, but it will only be a few minutes before it’s back.  All he can hear is the damned hum of the time-clocks.  The bucket is at least a pound heavier than before. It’s unendurable, but he has no option.

It all goes on forever, worse and worse, ghastly minute by ghastly minute.  Sometimes he thinks he can hear the faint drip of melting ice, but he can’t be sure.  Oh God, how much longer?  His muscles are stiff with holding that uncomfortable position, his ankles stressed forward by the heels and the sloping ground under the tree.  He’s trying to stop himself screaming, to avoid discovery by neighbours.

Will it never end?

He left the tape running, and I’ve put in the occasional evil laugh and helpful remark, like: ‘You know you want to pee.  Just relax and let it go’. 

His balls will feel like they’ve stretched to knee level.

Suddenly the first timer kicks in.  His butt jerks towards the wire.  His dick feels as if a megawatt vibrator is operating inside it.  His balls feel twice the size, with pain crawling all over them.  He struggles to overcome and even enjoy the sensations.  And he knows he is into the endgame, for better or worse.

Still no welcome chink of falling keys!  Will the ice melt in time?  Even if it does, how long will it take him to get free?  Will he escape that infernal buttplug?  Or will it explode inside him forcing his bum and legs to spasm, the overloaded bucket to swing wildly on his balls and his tits to bounce on the nipple clamps?  Will it cause an involuntary spurt of piss?  Will he finally stab himself on the barbed wire?  Will he be able to concentrate on the keys with all that endlessly pouring agony?

My own dick’s gone rock-hard imagining all this and I seem to have taken most of my clothes off.  Relief?  Not yet.  It’s time to celebrate setting up a truly memorable scene, diabolical even by my own Machiavellian standards.  I rewind the tape, pour a finger of Scotch and head for the tub and a long, relaxing soak.


Half an hour later I’m back downstairs, washed, brushed, carefully shaved and dressed in a clean shirt and shorts.  The afternoon sun is slanting across the garden, picking out the shed and the white cable disappearing among the trees.  I can just make out a glimmer from the fresh barbed wire.  The holdall is here on the floor and six pints of obscenely bright orange drink are arranged in a neat row on the table.  The whisky has gone, but so has my earlier ebullience.

I walk slowly to the tape recorder, pause with my finger over the ‘play’ button, take a deep breath and press.

“Stand to attention, Worm!  You will reply to all my instructions with the words ‘I obey, Master’.”

“I obey, Master.”

This story is a dramatisation of an actual scene.  Naturally I have to test everything I write about!  Nickerlas.


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