Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Wet Behind the Ears

by Ty M Goode

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© Copyright 2010 - Ty M Goode - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; fantasy; M/f; bond; water; rope; climax; cons; X

Barbara Gordon struggled futilely. It was no use, the cords were too cunningly tied. She was merely Barbara Gordon now, seeing that the Riddler had stripped off her Batgirl outfit before tossing her into the vat. Ropes pinned her legs at the ankles, knees and mid-thighs, turning her shapely gams into a single, ungainly limb. One, of the two more insidious ties, cinched her big toes together, which were then hooked over the spigot filling the vat.

Her upper arms were pressed against her sides, thanks to the numerous turns of rope around her torso. These ropes passed above and below her ample (and very exposed) breasts, squeezing them at their base and causing them to blush. No doubt, her nudity contributed to this blush.

More rope passed around her waist, pinning her lashed wrists against her navel. The second insidious tie, dove from this binding, down between her legs and up through the dark cleft of her derriere. Barbara found out quite quickly (after she’d come-to), that any struggles on her part, caused this rope to chafe in a most alarming fashion against her chaste nookie.

Still, being a heroine, she could not just give up. Her efforts made her body hot and flush, which made up for the tepid water streaming into the container. Time was rapidly running out, she’d have to find a way to get free, before it was too late. Already, the water was pooling around her swollen breasts, giving them the appearance of two, domed islands.

She wasn’t sure what the fiend had added to the liquid entering her watery prison. Whatever it was, it churned up huge amounts of bubbles which, although rather pleasant smelling, no doubt held a sinister purpose. Once more she tugged on her fettered hands, trying to ignore the jolts of electricity which shot through her naughty bits.

She hadn’t even been afforded the opportunity to voice her patented, “You’ll never get away with this” line, for her nemesis had plastered a wide band of tape across her mouth. As the water rose higher, her carefully crafted crime fighter exterior began to crack. Her struggles became more and more desperate.

“The cad,” she thought, “lashing my toes as he did, keeps my legs elevated. I’ve got to keep straining, in order to keep my head high enough.”

She quickly realized that, “high enough”, was soon going to be “not enough”. The water level rose to her chin, then up over her tape-gagged mouth. To her chagrin, the moisture did nothing to loosen the sticky bond. Barbara pulled yet harder against her restraints.

The water spilled into her ears, muting the flow from the spigot, as well as the increasing desperation in her grunts. Terror was taking hold of her, demolishing any orchestrated attempt at gaining freedom. She pulled more sharply on her hands, the cord sawing back and forth across her velvety cleft and its increasingly sensitive nub.

“Oh lord, no!!!” She thought, as an unwanted climax swelled within her like a tsunami, “it can’t end like this!”

Yet it kept piling higher and higher, its roar filling her submerged ears. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. It was almost on her now. It was…

“MOM!” Came a perturbed voice from downstairs, “I missed the bus! Can you give me a ride to school?”

Shocked, Barbara Gordon (no relation to the real Batgirl) sat bolt upright in the tub. She did not notice how this sudden movement, tightened the cinch around her big toes, which she’d hooked up over the bathtub faucet. No, she didn’t notice, for at the same time, her hands made a particularly violent upwards surge.

It was enough. The orgasm rolled over her like a tractor trailer. She was unaware that she screamed as if branded. Thank goodness for the tape. She sat upright in the tub, her body shuddering uncontrollably. And then she crashed backwards, instinctively protecting her head, but sending more than a gallon of bubble bath-tainted water over the side of the tub.

Her whole body pulsed, her vision faded and her hearing thrummed. Some small voice in the back of her mind, urged her to pull herself together, she hadn’t much time! But the climax stubbornly persisted. Finally, having no idea how much time had passed, Barbara felt herself flutter back to earth. She lay there, utterly spent.

“MOM!” The call was more urgent now. And closer! “I need a ride to schooool!”

Wildly, she looked at the bathroom door, grateful that it was closed, but not sure how long it would stay that way. Her son Timmy, still hadn’t learned the finer points of decorum. Weak as a kitten (and forgetting her current state), Barbara called out to her son.

“hhmmnnn!” fluttered out from the bathtub. She’d forgotten the tape!

Reflexively, she reached up to rip it off, the cord *TWANG*ing through her crotch. It was almost enough to send her into orbit again. As gingerly as she could, she brought her chest up to her knees, fingers straining to reach her mouth. Her plan had been, that upon this exercise’s conclusion, she would untie the ropes first and then remove the gag. The crotch rope bit into her sex unmercifully, causing Barbara to gasp in both excitement and trepidation.

Finally, she managed to grasp one corner and rip the tape free more fiercely than she’d wanted. The silk panties wadded up behind her lips, helped stifle her yelp. She spat these out, just as she saw the doorknob turning.

“Timmy!” she croaked, “Mommy will be out in a second! Just be patient.”

The knob stilled and Barbara let out a relieved breath. She attacked the knots of her self bondage, which proved extraordinarily stubborn, thanks to their saturation and her anxiety. The toe cinch refused to budge, no matter what she tried. Timmy began to whine once more, claiming that he was going to miss art class.

Rubber-limbed and weak, Barbara hauled herself out of the tub and dragged her naked, glistening body across the cold tile floor. A few moments frantic search and she found a set of nail clippers. With shaking hands, she freed her trapped toes. A long minute later, she staggered out of the bathroom, wrapped in a terry robe. She was relieved that her son had gone down to turn on the TV. It saved having to explain the ligature marks around her ankles. Dressing rapidly, the two of them piled into the car and headed off for school.

Waving goodbye, Barbara sped away, anxious to return home. There were six hours remaining before the end of school. But first, she’d have to stop at the hardware store. She was going to purchase some long lengths of chain, something impervious to nail clippers.


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