Gromet's Plaza Self Bondage Stories
Bound, Tied & Tickled
by Wicked Tricks
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© Copyright 2012 - Wicked Tricks - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbm; Sbf; rope; machine; nipple; stuck; tickle; caught; torment; mast; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X
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Bound, Tied & Tickled Wicked Tricks Sbm; Sbf; rope; machine; nipple; stuck; tickle; caught; torment; mast; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X
 

BOUND: TIED, TICKLED, AND TORMENTED INTO SPASMS AND ‘GASMS

I. Oh God, oh Fuck

A ticklish clit can be a bitch. A super ticklish clit can be an agony, but of the very best kind. I learned this from my “sister” in a quite unexpected way.

Karen was not my sister in any true meaning of the term, but had been the daughter of my parents’ very close friends. She was three years older than me and had entered my life five years earlier as a stay-over guest. Our parents were members of the local political scene and spent many evenings and weekends away from home. Because our house was in a very remote area, almost like an outpost in a forest that was adjacent to a huge state park, my folks thought it would be a good idea for me to have company when they were away. I don’t know what they thought when they chose to have an incredibly sexy girl stay alone with me during the most raging stages of my raging hormone period, but it was a decision that put many a smile on my face. They called her my “sitter” as a shorthand term, and they never learned just how appropriate that title would be; Karen would spend a lot of time over the years sitting on me!

Karen and I formed a quick and highly sexual bond right from the start. The remote house, raging hormones, sexual curiosity, and her Catholic schooling made a bonfire of lust that neither could nor wanted to extinguish. Experimentation was our life, and Karen took a very dominant and overbearing role. I was the toy, and she could do whatever she wanted with me. For her, bondage was essential for good sex, and she called our sessions “The Agony and the Ecstasy” for good reasons: I had to be in sexual agony for her to achieve orgasmic ecstasy. It was a situation I never regretted. Some of the details are exquisite sex stories of their own, of course, and I shall share them in other chapters.

But now, back to the super ticklish clit.

I had long been into self-bondage, and Karen actually got her power of ownership over me when she had walked in on one of my sessions. In fact, I was bound and had a vibrator strapped to my erection and was in the process of actually squirting my load when she barged into my bedroom. Being caught in masturbation was THE most humiliating thing I could even imagine, and once she knew my secret she could blackmail me into doing ANYTHING she wanted. Which she did, many, many times. She began right then, preventing my ability to untie myself and then holding that vibrator against my prick for the next three hours. That, too, will be another story!

What I had never known, however, was that Karen was also very into self-bondage. She practiced on herself at her home and in the woods behind her house for years, but I hadn’t known this. I learned her secret that summer evening.

We were living together after my parents moved to Arizona, an idea her folks suggested! “You two can save on rent and expenses during your college years,” her mom, Rita, had said. Rita had divorced her dippy husband two years earlier, and I was surprised by her apparent naivety. She was Karen’s mother, so she was the last person I’d expect to have us live together. Also, she was unquestionably THE hottest MILF I had ever seen, and was the star of many dozens of my adolescent wet dreams. Karen once told me that Rita had somehow become sold on the “brother-sister” routine my folks created, and had never even thought about our sexual possibilities.

Anyway, I had planned to be away that hot and extra-sultry July Friday night, to go camping with some pagan friends—this lot was particularly devoted to exchanging sexual favours—but had driven for about an hour before I remembered that the beach “orgy” was the next weekend. Duh! Or rather, that’s what can happen when my lust hormones reach a certain level (which they often did). I stopped for a fast-food snack, then got in the car and headed home.

Right after I left the house earlier in the evening, Karen made a bee-line to her room, leaving a trail of her clothes strewn up the staircase. Shirt, short-shorts, panties, bra. She had gone to her room and pulled out her most formidable self-bondage accessories. The single best was her brass-rail bed. It was a good, solid bed made of heavy metal. There were four stout posts with intricate designs, and the head and footboards had vertical bars like a jail door. Lots of bondage possibilities. Then there was her new toy.

She had expected I’d be gone all night and return home on Saturday afternoon, leaving her completely alone for a kinky evening of “forbidden” masturbation fantasies. What she didn’t expect was that something would go wrong with her new toy AFTER she was bound and helpless. Neither did she expect I’d be back and discover her!

I had no sooner gotten out of my car when I heard the loud, insane screaming coming from her room.

“Oh god, ohhh god, oh god, aahhhhhhh, GOD, oh god, oh god…” she shrieked. I knew those sounds, though not that intensity, and figured she was giving her dildo extra service, or she had a girlfriend doing her. But there were no other cars present, and her screams never let up. Whatever she was doing, she was somehow enduring the unendurable.

I went upstairs and decided to barge in on her, turn the tables a bit. The door slammed open and I stood in the room in complete shock. I don’t think I ever got an erection that fast.

Karen had somehow bound her elbows together, and her wrists were locked into fur-lined cuffs that she had secured on the opposite side of the bed bars. In that position there was no way she could lower her arms. That left her armpits exposed and her heaving boobs thrust up and looking like fuck bait. A metal nipple clamp firmly grasped each very erect tit bud, and the clamps were held by cotton clothesline to the headboard so that the cord was pulled tight—no slack in those lines. Her legs were in cuffs fastened to the outer sides of the bedposts, so she was pulled incredibly far apart (she was, after all, a long-time gymnast). The posts kept her from any possibility of closing her legs, though I could easily tell that her ankles were now desperately trying to come together. Overall, Karen was now a large letter Y, and helpless to change it.

Above her bound hands was the mechanism of release: the cuff key had been in an ice cube, and would drop into her waiting hand when the cube melted. Only there was no ice. Her hands helplessly flexed and closed and flexed as she underwent paroxysms of total muscle contraction. In fact, she was so tight that most of her body was arched upward, not even touching the mattress. It seems that something happened that made her drop the key behind the bed when the ice melted, and now she was truly trapped—locked into place—to suffer her self-inflicted and rather diabolical sexual torture.

Her new toy was the cause of the loss of the key. I’d never seen one before, except in online photos, but it was beyond magnificent. It was an electric fucking machine. A motor was on a platform at the foot of the bed, above her cedar chest. Extending from the motor was a long metal rod aimed right at her shaved, shining pussy. The last foot of the rod was sheathed by twelve inches of very soft and flexile, olive coloured dildo. The fucking machine was just that; the motor rammed the dildo in and out of her cunt, mindless to any request or plea or begging. The rod would just go in and out, in and out, until someone turned it off. The controls were on the extreme far end of the machine, facing away from Karen, so she couldn’t even see them. But Karen had erred in placing the machine. She probably didn’t figure in how much her wrist bonds would actually position her towards the headboard. When she was all trussed up, she used a small remote to start the fucking machine, which she set for an intermediate fuck speed. Lucky for Karen, she never underestimated lube doses; the dildo, her cunt, and her entire super-spread open crotch were more than liberally covered with soft slimy juices.

But here’s her problem. That distance miscalculation meant that only about three of the dildo’s twelve inches could actually enter Karen. This just wasn’t enough to do more than drive her nuts. She wiggled and wriggled her hips in a desperate effort to get more penetration, but with all that lubricant the dildo came completely out her happy hole and started rubbing the cleft above. Yeah, the cleft where her very noticeable clit was. When the dildo was in the plunge motion, it rubbed along the underside of Karen’s clit; when it retracted, it tickled the upper side. With every in and out, her clit was being pushed, pulled, pushed, pulled. And tickled.

See, Karen is extremely ticklish, worse than me, and I’m about hopeless. I see pictures of tickling and I get helpless. Karen has, from day one, capitalized on that and uses tickle torture to make me crazy. I am, however, forbidden to ever tickle her, at pain of sexual torture that no amount of my hormones has yet tried to challenge.

So there she was, having locked herself into the worst, most excruciating, most humiliating tickle torture she could inflict on herself, and she’d done it by accident! The very first stroke over her clit was so powerful that she reflexively flexed her hands, dropping the fucking machine’s remote, and missing the key when it fell from the ice. The reality, the view, the sheer sexual agony gave me a near-instant erection, and I was heavily leaking pre-cum. As soon as she saw me, her screams got louder.

“Oh FUCK, god, ohhh GOD, oh GOD, aahhhhhhh, GOD, oh god, fuck, fuck, FUCK, oh god…” Try as she might, she couldn’t manage even the tiniest self-control to say anything else. Like, “help.” Or, better, “Fuck me!!”

For someone in self-bondage, discovery is potentially the biggest thrill of all. Especially if you WANT sex with the discoverer. The big hope: “Find me, don’t free me, and fuck me, hell, RAPE me until you’re fully satisfied. Then rape me some more. PLEASE!!”

If anything could have made Karen’s torment worse than being raped by the fucking machine, well, it was having me watch her being raped by the fucking machine. I knew, too, that, as part of our arrangement, if I took advantage of her situation, her revenge on me would be much, much worse. So I mentally shrugged and did the only thing I could.

“I’ll be right back,” I told her. “Don’t move!”

I ran to my room and got my camcorder, then set it up to get the best, most humiliating view of Karen being machine fucked. Though she couldn’t utter a single voluntary word, I could tell that I’d already crossed a major no-no line. As long as I was already doomed, I plowed on.

“Does it tickle?” I asked, leaning over her straining chest. Her whole body was rigid, the cords pulling her nipples ever so slightly slack. “Want me to turn it down?”

She was able to nod, her head bobbing at machine gun rate, her eyes actually pleading.

“Oh FUCK, fuck, ahhhhhhh, ohhh god, oh god, aahhhhhhh, GOD, oh FUCK, oh god…”

I went over to the machine and looked at the controls. I was toying with her head now, giving her the only relief possible without actually doing something. I gave her hope that her torment of, what, the past three hours, was about to end. The rate dial was set at about one-third speed. I fingered the dial, paused, and then quickly turned it to full throttle. So much for hope!

Karen’s words left her, and became one higher-pitched scream of ecstatic agony.

“AAAaaaahhhhhhhhAAAAAAAHHHHHHHaaaaahhhhhahhahhhhhhAAAHHHHH…”

I walked over and leaned near her face.

“How’s that?” I asked innocently. “Better?”

If looks could kill, her look at me would have burnt the house down. She was not amused. And while our house was so remote that no one could have heard her anyway, I found the screaming a bit loud for my taste, so I got her largest ball gag and silenced her. In fact, her gag is more like a big rubber donut, holding her mouth very wide, but with a hole in the middle. I inserted my index finger and gently tickled the roof of her mouth, and her eyes crossed and rolled up. She didn’t even have enough control of her body to give me a dirty look, and I was loving it! One more thing to do, though.

The line attaching the nipple clamps to the bed frame were set up to be just taut when she was laying down flat and relaxed. That would guarantee stiff nips. But once she went into her catatonic arched posture, she raised her boobs and took all the tension from the clothesline. Terrible oversight, I thought, and I should fix it. I reached over and, one at a time, pulled and retied each cord so that while she was arched the cord was absolutely straight. Abso-fuckin-lutely. You see where this goes? Any time she rested, no matter how slightly (like when exhaling), those nipples would get a wonderful hard yank. It looked so cruel and painful, but in fact Karen loves extreme nipple pulling. I’d just done her a favour. For three hours she’d been mercilessly tickled by her machine, and I knew she hadn’t cum once because she cannot orgasm while being tickled. Unless, I knew, she was having her nipples firmly yanked.

And now I’d set up the perfect self-orgasm for her. The fucking machine tickled her maddeningly, causing her body to arch. Now that I’d tightened her nipple torment, her nips would be tugged hard every time she exhaled, no matter how slightly. That yanking, in turn, set of an orgasm. Soon, her body was bucking like a wave. As her tits came down, her hips went up. As her tits went up, her hips came down. It was a cycle, happening over and over and over again.

All this was having a profound effect on me, too. It was a very warm summer’s night in a non-air conditioned house, and Karen and I were drenched in sweat. Her glistening body, making all those shameful, suggestive motions—bitch—gave me a big itch, and it was only fair that she scratch it. I shucked all my clothes, showed Karen my huge shaft, and then turned off the fucking machine. Karen’s body went limp onto the mattress, her nipple clamps jerking even more than before. She arched her chest, and I damn near shot off.

I got onto the bed between her outrageously spread legs, positioned myself, an inserted my shaft where the dildo should have been. God, she was lubed! I shoved in so far I thought I’d hit her nipples from the inside, and then, halfway out, I jerked a huge load of cum into her. Her screams had turned into moans, muffled by the gag but distinct. She was having a big orgasm, so I just kept slowly jerking my rod in and out of her. I must have orgasmed for three minutes, and when I pulled out I was still long and hard.

So I fucked her again. And when I pulled out the second time, gasping for breath, I looked down at her glistening body. Glistening. Nude. Wide open crotch. Helplessly bound.

Karen had had quite an evening. Three hours of self-bondage that turned into three hours of tortuous tickling, then three hours being fucked by me. The summer heat did me in, though. I was still hot stiff and horny, but exhausted and overwhelmed by heat and humidity. I carefully got up and asked Karen if she enjoyed her night. Weakly she nodded yes, and looked like she was ready for release. As I eased off her well-ridden body, I asked, “Would you like to get free now?”

With a look of relief, she slowly nodded again.

“Okay,” I answered. “Where’s the key?’

She made noises through the gag-donut, but none sounded like any known word.

“What? Can you repeat that?”

She frowned and repeated her sounds, but more loudly.

“I can’t understand you, Karen,” I said. “You’re not making sense. I’m going to bed and I’ll check on you in the morning, IF I get up before noon.”

She started twisting and jerking and moaning louder as I moved away, put the fucking machine back in place, and inserted the dildo full into her cunt. Her eyes grew wide as plates, a look of terror across her face, her grunts as loud as she could make them, shaking her head, “no, no, PLEASE no!”

I turned the machine onto three-quarters speed, watched Karen involuntarily spasm into an arch again. I watched the sweat, beading on her chest globes, trickling down her sides. She finally exhaled, pulling her already pulled nipples, and watched an orgasm rush over her. I took my camcorder to a new position, focused on her tits, and then left the room to sleep. I knew I needed the rest, because when I went back in her room in the morning, her helpless nakedness would give me another Olympic erection, the kind that had a stronger will than my own and had to be obeyed. Karen was nowhere near finished with this self-bondage escapade!

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05.07.12

continues in part two

o0o

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