Losing Control
By Candi

Everything is ready as I lie down on the bed with the ropes in my hand. As I lie on my stomach, being careful not to get any lipstick on the comforter, I reach my right hand behind my back and slip it through the loops that I have made. Four wraps of the rope ought to be enough to keep from hurting my wrists too much. In my right hand I grab the rope that will remove the slack from my bondage and carefully slide my left hand into the loop. I try to relax; my heartbeat is going crazy. One good yank and there's no turning back.

I look at the clock--8:26--she should be back any minute now. I work the noose tight around the rope that encircles my wrists. Now I pull on the cord to remove the slack. Tingles run through my body as I feel my feet being pulled towards my legs. I allow them to take control of me and my legs begin to move almost with a will of they're own--they pull the noose tighter and my bondage becomes all the more complete.

My silk encased legs are tied tightly together both above and below the knee. I look at the mirror that I've set up at the head of the bed and admire my own bound form. Shit, I look like a slut! But the white rope against the black of my stockings turns me on, and my feet stuck in those five inch black pumps is almost too much to bare. There's no chance of kicking them off because of the ankle strap, but just in case I've wrapped the rope around them several times. I was also sure to wrap the rope between my feet and cinch the coils to make the bondage good and tight. I continue to pull on the cord and my feet are pulled closer to my wrists. As I struggle against my hog-tie, the ropes around my wrists get tighter and tighter. Now I give a good yank and the noose is pulled as tight as it will go. A chill goes down my spine as I realize that there is no way for me to free my hands. But I continue to pull on the cord. It's actually the end of the rope that the noose is made out of. It's threaded through a wonderful set of rings attached to the rope that binds the arches of my feet in such a way that I can pull on it and tighten my hog-tie. The internet is such a wonderful resource. As my bondage becomes more snug I feel like I could kiss the inventor of this mechanism. My wife doesn't like to hog-tie me because it's hard to fuck me. But now I can do it myself. How tight can I make it? It doesn't matter because she'll be home any minute to release me if there's a problem.

I pull my legs up against my ass as tight as I can and keep pulling on the cord. It's harder to do now because my hands are being pulled so tightly towards my feet--I have to pull an inch or two and then work my hands up the rope an inch or two in order to pull again. Finally, the top of the noose is nearly touching the rings and I cannot pull any more. In my determination to pull my hands and feet as tightly together as possible, I've lost my breath. But I find that it is extremely difficult to catch it because of waist cincher that I'm wearing and because of my position which I now realize is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

The phone rings. Instantly my heart stops--or maybe it's just beating so fast I think it has. Who is it? What if it's my boss? What if it's my mother? I feel like whoever is on the phone can see me. The answering machine picks it up--It's my wife! "Hi, honey. I'm just calling to let you know that my meeting's over and my boss wants me to go out and get some drinks. We might play some Boccie if we can get a game; I probably won't get back until late."

Oh, shit! This is what my fantasies are made of--self bondage gone awry, but I can't take this position. I begin to notice how uncomfortable I am and my hands are going to numb. I try to wiggle my fingers to keep the blood flowing to my fingers. I need to assess my situation. I look in the mirror and realize how pathetic I look. A man in a dress. The slim cut of the dress makes my pot belly stick out even more than it should. It along with my oversized, stuffed breasts make my front side look like Mickey Mouse, and my brightly painted, obnoxiously red lips surrounding the oversized red ball gag held in place by a full head harness makes my face look like that of a complete pervert. God, that's what I am. How reasonable is my emergency escape plan? All I have to do is get myself into the office at the other end of the hall and get the knife that I left under the desk. It should work, I should be able to reach the knife and cut myself free.

I try to work myself over to the edge of the bed but find that I can barely move. Jesus Christ this is tight. It takes me what seems like ten minutes to get to the edge of the bed. What time is it anyway? I can't see the clock because I've fallen on my side. Shit, I'm falling! I jerk back away from the edge of the bed. God that was close. But now I realize a problem with my plan--I have to get off of the bed. I almost cry as I realize the horrible truth: I'm a fucking coward as well as a pervert, I too scared to fall off of the bed. There must be another way. I wiggle around to try and get back on my stomach. It's difficult. I can't get any leverage because of the waist cincher--it keeps me from using any of my back muscles. When I finally get on my stomach, I feel even more helpless and humiliated as a long string of drool flows off of my bottom lip. I was so excited to get a new ball gag with a real rubber ball instead of the cheap foam one we had, but now I wish I had the foam one. You can squeeze the ball with your teeth and actually swallow. I look over at the mirror and try to figure out how to undo the ring contraption. But the rings are underneath the arches of my feet, behind the heels. Oh, the heels. I try not be excited and to stay focused on the seriousness of my situation, but the sight of myself hog-tied and wearing this dress is just too much.

I begin to moan and dry hump the bed. No, I must stay calm. But it feels so good. The contrast of the white ropes against the black of my elbow length gloves is making me so hard. I look again at my shoes, at the rope that so tightly wraps my ankles and then cross my insteps to secure my arches together; at the rope that goes beneath the heels and the rope the cinches them all together along with the rings. I try to convince myself that I want to take my high heels off knowing that their removal is impossible. Of course I really don't want to take them off, but the idea makes me hump the bed harder. I watch my lower body in the mirror. With each thrust, my legs pull against their bonds, but I'm held secure. I slow my pace, savoring each thrust, allowing all the muscles in my body to strain to their hearts content, with each tug on the ropes pulling me closer to ecstasy. Now the ropes don't seem so tight. In fact I can barely feel them at all--I feel like I'm out of my body; I'm in paradise. The straining sensation in my groin, the tensing of every muscle in my body: I never want it to end. Eventually it does. I find that I'm still helpless, bound and alone.

What? Something's new. Shit! I've somehow gotten the noose wrapped around one of my high heels. How the fuck did that happen? I'm thinking more clearly now and try to figure out how the rope is stuck. I can't catch my breath. Why in the hell did I wear that waist cincher? And my heels are almost flat against my ass. All of my motions appear backwards because of the mirror. With great concentration, I figure out which way I need to slide the rope and am actually able to move it, but it won't come off of the heel. No, up not down--my fingers refuse to move in the direction I tell them. The frustration sets in... and then the panic. I fight desperately to gain the few precious inches of freedom that the extra slack in the rope would give me, but to no avail. My breaths are short and shallow. Am I hyperventilating? I scream into the ball gag. Help me! Help me! Help me! It's too tight. I can't move. My mind is defeated and accepts it, but my body continues its desperate struggle. Is this how a trapped animal feels? I'm staring at myself in the mirror, pulling frantically against my bonds, but then I'm not. Where am I looking? My mind is blank. But now I'm free.

I'm in shock as I slowly straighten out my legs. Did one of the ropes break? I look down and watch as the rope pulls through the ring device. Did I not do it right? I can't see clearly because my glasses have slid to the tip of my nose. Everything's still intact, but the rings are no longer holding the rope. Now I'm disappointed. Maybe I can get back into the hog-tie. What the fuck? I was so desperate to get out and now I want to be hog-tied again. With considerable difficulty, I manage to grab the cord and pull my legs back up towards my ass. I so desperately want to lose control again, to feel that helplessness, but it alludes me as my feet are allowed to go free. This isn't supposed to happen; the rings don't work any more... Shit!

I sit on the bed for awhile enjoying the limited bondage that I'm still in. I struggle but find that I cannot get my hands free. And without my hands I certainly cannot untie my legs and feet. If I'm going to get myself free, I'm going to have to hop into the other room and use the knife. I look at the clock--9:17. I guess I should call it a night. I grin knowing that I've just have my first true self bondage experience. My wife will never even know about this. I hop energetically into our office. I find that I'm laughing out loud at my ridiculous situation. How many women have hopped around in five inch heels? Carefully I lower myself onto my knees and I reach under the desk and grab the knife. How do I cut myself loose without slitting my wrists? I twist the knife around and begin to saw at the ropes as best as I can. Strangely nothing seems to happen. God damnit! I'm using the wrong side of the knife. I try to twist my hands into a position where I can see them better, but I've tied myself with my palms facing one another and it is difficult to get them in any position that is easy to see. This is a lot harder than I imagined it it would be.

Suddenly the front door opens. I instinctively become quiet. Who is it? Carefully, silently, I climb onto my feet listening intently for any clue as to the identity of the of intruder. I can still make the door to the office and lock it. I don't have any clothes in here, but I could explain being naked better than being in a dress. Assuming of course that I could cut the ropes before the person kicked in the door. Fuck! The key to the padlock securing the ball gag is in the bedroom. "Honey, are you home?" It's my wife, I'm saved. Shit, no I'm not! I realize that she's home early... way early. "Honey?" Is that concern in her voice? Or anger? It's probably both and I'm in big trouble. I try to hop to the door, but I'm too late: she's there. She takes one look at me and smiles. I can tell she's relieved, but then her expression changes to one of anger as she sees the knife. "What the hell are you doing? You know how I feel about you tying yourself up when I'm not here. You could hurt yourself." She takes the knife from my hand and places it on the desk. I'm moved by her concern and want to kiss her. I know she can sense this, but she won't allow me to get close. "Get that nasty mouth away from me."

I had forgotten what I must look like. I had long ago accepted the drool that was constantly coming out of my mouth, but I must look like a complete freak to her. She grabs me by one of my arms and begins to drag me. I try to keep up, but forget that I can't move my legs and almost fall over. "Get into the bedroom." I hop as fast as I can, but apparently it's not fast enough because she gives me push. I almost fall on my face but don't. I try not to show my excitement, but I know what's coming. This is the reason I tie myself up--so that she can find me and have her way with me. I'm so lucky.

She shoves me face first onto the bed and I land in a glob of my own drool. It's pink from all of the lipstick that has worn off. My wife climbs on the bed beside me and grabs my head. She's so beautiful. Forcefully she begins kissing my gagged lips. The large ball is too big for her mouth but she eagerly kisses it and my lips. Oh, please take it off so I can kiss you like I want to kiss you. Please untie my hands so I can hold you. She sees my need to hold her and a devious look comes across her face. "Sorry, sweetie, not tonight." She turns me back over on my stomach and grabs the rope that is attached to my wrists, the one that had hog-tied me earlier. She pulls it around the bottom of my feet, between the high heels and then between my legs. Then she yanks on it hard. My feet are pulled, once again, into a very tight hog-tie. But then it gets pulled even tighter; is she sitting on my shins? I feel the rope slip in between my feet, then she pulls it between my heels again. She pulls the rope so tight that my wrists are touching my heels. I can't even touch my hands together because the heels are in the way. Damnit! It's too tight! I shout into the gag, but she doesn't understand because my face is buried in the mattress. Jesus, I'm going to suffocate! But she continues to thread the rope around my feet and ankles. My back is bowed backwards... I can't move at all.

She grabs my head and turns it to face the mirror. "The mirror's a nice touch," she says. "Now you can see how pathetic and stupid you are." Yes, I'm pathetic and stupid, but this is killing me. "For once, Candi, you're not going to get what you want... At least not the way you want it." I try to turn away. "No fucking way, bitch. You're gonna watch yourself. Now, fuck the bed." What did she say? "You heard me. Start moving your hips. I want to see you humping the crap out of this bed. I'm staring at myself in the mirror; she's right, I do look pathetic, but the pain in my arms is too intense to be turned on. I feel like my arms are being pulled out of their sockets. I watch as she pulls up my skirt and slaps my bare ass. Whap! Whap! Whap! "I mean it, Candi, start fucking the bed!" She smacks me again. Shit, that really hurts. I try to move out of the way, but I can't move at all. I begin to feel the panic again--I have to get out of this. She continues to spank me. "You like this, don't you little girl. You've been bad. You need to be spanked." I think I'm going crazy. I pull at my bonds like a lunatic, but they don't give. I realize that I'm humping the bed.

"That's a good girl. Look at the way the ropes pull on your high heels. You like your sexy high heels, don't you Candi. And, oh, poor girl, you can't get them off." I'm becoming extremely aroused. I look at my face in the mirror. It's a pathetic collage of red and black: the red of the ball gag that distorts my face and the black of the straps of the harness that hold it in place. I'm humiliated by the amount of pink colored drool that is all over my face, but even more humiliated by the facial expressions that I am making.

With every thrust my face distorts and I can do nothing about it--my body has control, not me. I try to regain control. I manage to stop myself from humping. But then the spanking starts again. I'm so exhausted. I can't go on. "Oh yes you can, little girl. And you will go on." I must have said that out loud. She pushes against my legs simulating the humping motion. Immediately my body takes control again and starts humping uncontrollably. In the mirror, it looks as if the my legs are part of a machine: they push and pull against my arms and torso as they try to get free. But the pushing and pulling just makes matters worse for me. It takes me five or six thrusts to gain control again. Again she starts me going. This time it takes a dozen or so thrusts to stop. She's laughing. "Oh it's hard to stop isn't it, Candi, because it feels so good. You're such a pathetic slut, aren't you. You'll fuck anything, even a bed, just as long as you're wearing your dress and high heels, won't you?... Won't you?" I guess I'm supposed to answer. "Answer me, bitch!" It's too late as she slaps my ass... hard.

The momentum of the slap starts me humping again. I try to gain control, but cannot. The realization of this makes matters worse. Now I'm in total panic realizing that I've lost what little control I had over my own body. I scream into the gag. "That's right, Candi, squeal. Squeal like the animal that you are." But I can't hear her anymore, I'm too overwhelmed by the sensations coming from my body. I can't move, but I can't stop moving. I can't stop the sensations. Please, somebody, make it stop. I can't take any more pleasure. As I approach my second orgasm of the night, time seems to stand still. I just want it to end, but it keeps going. How long has it been? Finally it passes and my body goes into convulsions.

My wife has undone my hog-tie, I just lay there shaking. Now she has loosened the noose that cinches my wrists, but I don't move except for my involuntary trembling. I begin to realize that loosening the noose is no easy task--how long has she been working on it. She has a screwdriver that she used to pull the rope loose; that wasn't there before. Where did she get it? How long has it been since I climaxed. Now she has paper towels and she wipes off my face as she removes the ball gag. The saliva gushes out of my mouth as it is removed but she expertly uses the papers towels to catch it all. Then she wipes off my lipstick. Now I notice that even my legs are untied. She rolls me over and cradles my head on her lap. "That's a good girl, Candi. I love my good girl." I love her too. I try to touch her face with my still twitching hand, but the involuntary motion scares me. What happens if the next time I lose control, I don't get it back?

Lillan's Nexus

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