Self Inflicted (ass, M/f, SelfBD)
Author:   Tied Tightly
Date:   1998/11/16


This story contains themes of adult content. If you are not at least
18 years old, or have no interest in this type of story, then please
go back teh way you got here .....

Self Inflicted

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

Now understand, we already had 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 hte 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 and
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 lenth, 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 spread in front of me, I pulled a
lenght 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, makng 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 an 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 anf 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 ot and
horny as could be. I knew my husbnad 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 wole thing.