Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Absolute Trust

by Mistress Melinda

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© Copyright 2006 - Mistress Melinda - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; basement; bed; cuffs; chains; hood; gag; straps; naked; toys; fuckingmachine; insert; stuck; torment; caught; climax; true; cons; X

Writer’s Note. I am a practicing Bondage Domina living in Brisbane, Australia. My adventures in Bondage Domination are recorded elsewhere on the internet so I won’t be adding to those on this site. Anyone who practices Self-Bondage knows the difficulty in ensuring one’s safety. Much has been written along these lines. Within Gromet’s web-site are many articles and stories about what can go wrong with even the best laid plans. I know many of these are works of fiction, but then again, many are factual. The only truly 100% safe and foolproof method is having someone to whom you can rely on to set you free if all else fails. What follows is the story of how I can now safely indulge my passion for severe self-bondage and know, if something does happen to go wrong, salvation is at hand due to the person to whom, I have given Absolute Trust.


Friday has finally arrived although sitting in the rush hour traffic heading home only adds to my frustration. The Guy I had booked for a bondage session in my dungeon tonight called late today and cancelled due to unforseen circumstances. Oh, he was very apologetic but that did nothing for my heightened state of arousal. I had been anticipating a long sensual night of teasing, tormenting and sexual fun with a bound and helpless captive. Damn to hell whatever had arisen causing him to forgo the pleasures of the dungeon. Sitting in the stop/start traffic as it slowly snaked its way out of the city, I had plenty of time to contemplate what I would do this evening. A couple of girl-friends had been asking me during the week if I wanted to go out clubbing and dancing but due to having the booking, I had given my excuses and declined.

Briefly, the thought flashed in my head to call them up and accept the offer. You would have to know my girlfriends in depth to understand what they mean by a night in the city. They are out to catch the eye of some hot guy and a perfect ending for them would be some passionate sex. Since assuming the persona of a Dominatrix, the desire for regular/normal and what I call ‘vanilla’ sex has waned. I love the power trip of bondage domination. It drags all the most powerful of emotions into the act of sex. Fear, Anger, Anticipation, Lust, Desire, Pleasure and Anxiety all compete within the mind during a bondage/domination session. And as anyone who has played knows, bondage is 20% physical restraints and 80% mental captivity. Without the bondage component, sex to me just isn’t interesting or exciting at all.

So, what’s a girl to do? I decided as I was already in the mood, some self-bondage would be the order of the night. My mind wandered back to my childhood to where I am certain it all began as I sat amidst the sea of rush-hour automobiles. I would have been about eleven or twelve years of age, very tall for my age and completely without shape or form unless comparisons with a drinking straw were included. One day while playing with the local kids (mostly boys in my neighbourhood) as one does when I was ‘captured’ by the raiding Indian boys. The premise was, the cowboys would come to my rescue and the boys could indulge in a good old-fashioned gunfight with the Indians as boys are want to do. I was simply the token trophy to be won by the victors.

The Indians proceeded to tie me between two trees at the rear of someone’s backyard and once I was secured, they went about planning for the upcoming attack. So, there I was, secured and struggling while the sounds of “bang, bang – got you – did not – did so” dragged on. I had not reached puberty but I distinctly remember feeling flushed and a little excited (although I had no idea about sex then). The game was popular for several weekends before the boy’s interest turned to something else. During the interest period, I suffered several tying up sessions, against a single tree, spread eagled on the ground and a couple of other variations. I found I loved the feeling I got when I was helpless. Age sent the local kids and I on different paths. High School meant leaving the games of children behind as puberty arrived.

At times, late at night, I would absent-mindedly twine a dressing gown cord about my wrists as I lay awaiting sleep in my bed, remembering the games from the recent past. I was never able to recapture that excitement I felt when escape eluded me. Then one night, I had an inspiration. I tied the ends of the gown cord into slipknots. Then, I passed the cord under my bed, slipped one wrist into one end and after some determined struggling, managed to slip the other wrist into the other end. I had done it. I was stuck. The trouble was, I was stuck. The initial excitement of achieving a state of self-helplessness was overwhelmed by the thought that I could not get free. Straining on the cords simply pulled the knots tighter. Pins and needles soon made me aware I was cutting off the circulation to my hands and I was getting worried. How can something that is terrifying on the one hand be exciting at the same time?

I knew all I had to do was call out to my parents and they would release me but I was not sure what their reaction would be. Slowly, the hands of the clock turned. Midnight came, then one AM and I decided to enjoy my predicament. After all, I knew freedom was only a cry for help away. My mind was filled with fantasies of how I came to be bound and helpless. Pirates capturing the poor helpless girl, Indians and their prisoner, held for ransom and a dozen others paraded through my mind. Suddenly, something totally weird happened. I had no idea what it was at the time except it shocked and frightened me. I had my first orgasm. Sometime before dawn, I began using my toes to try and loosen the knots. Twisted across myself as I was, half on my side with my right foot working on my left-hand knot, I did not realise it but I was massaging my own clitoris. The onset of the second orgasm of the evening left me panting like a dog.

I was able to free myself shortly afterwards and fell into a deep sleep. I wasn’t sure what had happened to me. My only thoughts were how good it felt competing with the anxiety of not understanding my own body. A year passed, then another but I was never game enough to once more put on the bonds. Thoughts turned to boys and talks with the more knowledgeable girls at school soon filled in the blanks as what I had experienced. I finished high school a virgin although I had engaged in some very heavy petting including being fingered to orgasm by a rather ‘more-adventurous-than-the-others’ boy. By now, I had reached my full height, over six feet tall and the curves had filled out in all the right places. I knew I was the object of much desire, being ‘sweet and virginal sixteen’. By now, my scholastic desires had kicked in. University beckoned and I was determined to excel in my chosen field, namely gaining an economics degree. Requests for dates once being declined many times soon earned me a reputation as that of an ice-maiden or lesbian. I knew what people were saying about me but if only they knew. Several times every evening, I would masturbate myself into an almost comatose condition. It was a sure-fire way to relieve the drudgery of perpetual study.

I finally relented and accepted a date to one of the semi-formal dances held every semester. I had a wonderful time with the rather handsome guy who asked me. We danced and laughed the entire evening away. I happened to quip when the last song was announced that I wished the night would never end. He said, he was planning on going to an after-dance party and would I like to go. In my euphoria over the pleasant evening so far, I eagerly accepted his offer. The party was like nothing I had ever experienced before. A live band was rattling the windows with their volume. Everyone was rowdy, shouting and basically being as wild as I have ever seen. I accepted a glass of punch from some one and a little later, another from someone completely different.

The punch was spiked obviously and my inhibitions drained away with my sobriety. I had never tried alcohol before and the effects hit me like express train. I was soon dancing and flirting with everyone in the place. The memory blurs here. To this day, I only have odd recollections of the night like snapshots from a stranger’s photo album. I found myself on a bed, devoid of most of my clothes with a guy between my legs fucking me. Did I object? I honestly don’t know. Consciousness was at best a fleeting thing that night. Later in the evening, I became aware of the same situation but a different guy performing his sexual act on me. Of the guy who invited me, I did not lay eyes on him again that night. The next week at Uni, he studiously avoided me. Whether he was feeling shame or remorse, I have no idea. I was never able to confront him about it. Whenever I tried, he would mumble something about having to be somewhere else and scurry off.

Did I enjoy it? I honestly have no idea. I do know I have enjoyed sex immensely since that night so I guess I probably did then as well. One’s memory can be a fickle thing at times. What followed was a long period of abstinence from sexual encounters. I relied more and more on self-pleasure as a means to alleviate the sexual tension within me. With my virginity gone and now knowing the feeling of a penis penetrating me, my self-bondage games turned from clitoral massage to masturbation with phallic-shaped objects. Candles became a favourite. The tallow wax was easy to clean and sterilise after use. It also offered a chance that by applying a little carving, it could even be made to resemble an actual penis.

It was probably a year before I decided to begin dating again. A succession of short-term relationships followed, some ending in some form of sex but more often than not, I would find the guy lacking and decline his advances. I honestly didn’t care at the time. Sex was good, but nowhere near as good as I could provide for myself. I always felt like something was missing. One night, I was at a guy’s house on the pretext of watching a couple of movies but which we both knew would most likely end up with us in bed. He was fondling me, hands inside my top and up my skirt but with the end of the movie so close, I really wanted to see what happened. I threatened to tie his hands up if he didn’t stop and in a flash, he produced some soft cord and the challenging gleam in his eyes dared me to try.

As the movie credits scrolled across the screen, I found myself binding his hands behind his back. Incredible arousal like I hadn’t experienced before welled up inside me. I felt myself getting wetter with every wrap of the cords. In my excitement, I hauled him to his feet and practically dragged him to the bedroom. In my haste to remove his clothes, my fingers were all thumbs, so to speak. I was trembling that hard. His erection sprang to life before my astonished eyes. I dropped to my knees to suck all that I could into my mouth. One of my hands was between my own legs, massaging my clit for all I was worth. We came almost together. As his hot ejaculate squirted down my throat, I shuddered into a massive orgasm but it wasn’t what I craved. I wanted that cock inside me, filling me with its fullness so I pushed him onto his back on the bed and climbed on top. I leant forward, pinning his shoulders down with my hands while I rode that cock for all I was worth. Four, five, ten orgasms followed in short succession. Sometime during my pleasure, he came again as well but I did not relent my riding him. On and on I went, taking all he could give until he was thoroughly spent and started pleading with me to get off him. It was the best sex I had ever had including my own self-induced pleasure sessions. Finally, I had discovered my sexual calling. Only in bondage could I find the highest peaks of ecstasy.

Well, the effect of this was, the number of guys who graced my bed sharply declined because when they asked me and I replied, only if I can tie you up, most were decidedly against the idea. The few who agreed suffered more teasing, tantalisation and torment than any poor man should ever have to face. I refined my techniques, learned all I could and before long, a couple of lengths of soft but strong cord went everywhere with me in my handbag. I began trolling the internet in search of information. Well, a veritable world of knowledge and understanding was there for the reading. Bondage found its way into my self-pleasure sessions and before long, I was devising ways to incarcerate myself whilst inflicting sexual pleasure at the same time. Candles gave way to dildos and when I discovered vibrators, I was in heaven.

Now the self-bondage games really became serious. The vibrator became a rapist, having its wicked way with the poor helpless girl. In my imagination, it was the perfect situation. The fantasies became more elaborate in time. The bondage became more strict until I began approaching limits as to what was possible to both get into myself as well as get out of. Mostly, I relied on a ‘weak-link’ situation with one arm tied with strong rope but the rope secured to the bed with a short length of breakable string. It would hold firmly enough but when the time came to free myself, a seriously strong straining against the bonds would snap the string enabling me to get free. It wasn’t a perfect situation because I knew at any time I could free myself. I longed for some way to imprison myself with no means of escape, as this would have been ideal. It was a very ‘Catch-22’ situation. I longed for inescapable bonds but knew to actually do so was not possible.

Then I discovered the ice-in-the-stocking timer method. In no time at all, I was designing a system utilising this escape method. I tested it several times and it was foolproof. My bondage equipment could now include things involving locks. Handcuffs, shackles, chains and padlocks began to accumulate in my toy box. The ice method delivered the keys to my hands after a suitable time of inescapable restraint. My plain and ordinary vibrator yielded to a top-of-the-range remote controlled model with a marvellous random setting as part of its mechanism. Depressing this random button on the remote triggered the vibe on and off at various intervals and at various intensities and speeds. The fantasies that filled my mind now turned to multiple rapists. The short intervals when the vibrator was silent and unmoving became the time when the rapists were exchanging positions. The different speeds and intensities were simulating the different techniques those rapists used on their defenceless captive.

My collection of toys now includes things like Meo clockwork release timers, leather and latex outfits, a lockable leather hood, ball-gags. a marauder fucking machine (imported from the USA) and a remote control butterfly clit vibrator. This last item is a wonderful device. Often on a date, I will wear it under my panties and slip the remote into my partner’s hand explaining what it was. It’s a marvellous way to torture myself in public, never knowing when or where he might get the urge to give my clit a buzz. The bondage became more elaborate, more severe and most of all, more intense in the pleasure it delivered.

Advertisements placed on BDSM web sites have provided a constant source of play partners for the bondage Dominatrix I have become. This satisfies my craving for someone real as well as guaranteeing I do not have concerns regarding a guy going beyond my limits should I ever decide to surrender my freedom into his hands. My desire for my own need for bondage I satisfy myself. The ultimate rush I get when I have someone helpless and in my control comprise what I consider a perfect sexual life. Only rarely have I ever adopted a switch situation, namely me as the captive and my partner in the dominant position. It all comes down to trust and I just don’t have that much faith in the male of the species not to use or rather misuse my trust. This rather wonderful state of sexual utopia has existed in my life for several years now.

After loosing my parents, the family home passed into my hands being the only child. The wine cellar Father built has been converted into a very convincing dungeon. The only window is small with bars mounted vertically and located high up on the back wall. I can only see out of it by standing on a chair. The view from it is also very uninspiring. The house overhangs the rear of the cellar and all that can be seen from this small window is the brick wall supporting the back of the house. Some sunlight penetrates the murky gloom of the cellar but not much.

Initially, the only item I had in the cellar was an old iron-framed bed. I had visions of what was possible with its solid block walls, high ceiling with thick stout timber beams on the ceiling and solid concrete floor. It served its purpose though on most occasions when I played my self-bondage games. Puddles of water on the floor from melting ice didn’t matter. Drool that escaped past ball gags wasn’t going to stain any expensive carpets. The stout lockable door guaranteed I wasn’t going to be interrupted and I have spent many, many pleasurable hours locked away in this room living out every self-bondage fantasy I could imagine. On rare occasions, I have even kept a captive within its confines, either hung from the ceiling beams or chained on the old bed.

Finally, I was able to turn out of the traffic and head up my street. The streetlights were on but it had not yet become full dark. My neighbour was at his mailbox as I passed and I waved a cheery greeting at him. When he first moved in next-door, both he and his wife popped over and said hello, introducing themselves as my new neighbours. Over the next year or so, we exchanged greetings over the fence on occasion. He’s a rather young-looking guy, wears long hair in a pony-tail and looks to be in very decent shape for his age. I found out he in his late forties while she is a petite but a little overweight brunette. They are obviously very much in love because I often see them holding hands while out walking or working about the yard. They have four children, three girls ranging in ages from twelve to late teens and a blonde tousle-haired boy just under ten.

He has done a couple of handy-man type jobs for me, fixing a broken hinge on a window or mending a kitchen drawer that refused to close. I have offered to pay him for his work but he always laughs it off saying he loves tinkering and besides, its what good neighbours do. The children have fed my cat for me during the times I have been away on holidays or on business trips and he has allowed me to give them a few dollars as a token of my appreciation. He always acts the perfect gentleman when he is over at my house. I like the way he looks me in the eye when we are talking. His eyes never roam to my breasts or any part of my figure. I rather like that in a guy. Not so much for my own sake, but it must be wonderful to be a woman with a man who is so obviously trustworthy.

A couple of weeks ago, the lock on my back door just fell apart one day when I put my key in it. He had promised to come over and fix it some time over this weekend, probably Saturday afternoon. He had already looked at it and told me it needed a whole new lock. He said he would get one from his work at a cheap price and let me know what I owed him.

A touch on the remote opened the front gates and the garage door and I drove straight in and parked the car. I tapped the PIN code into the controller, which closed both the gates and the door. At last, the business day was done and the night for some fun had arrived. I went straight to the bathroom and started filling a nice hot bath. I dumped my clothes in the hamper and headed naked into the kitchen to organise something for dinner. I had some lasagne left over from the previous weekend and popped that into the oven then went and had a nice, luxuriating hot tub and washed my hair. I was towelling my hair dry when the oven timer chirped. After eating, I made a final trip to the toilet. Then, after gathering up a tray of ice cubes I was drawn inexorably towards my dungeon.

In just a few minutes, I had laid out all the equipment I would use. The wrist cuffs were locked to the bed head. The ankle cuffs were also locked on to the foot of the bed and laid out ready to be clamped on. Everything was pre-measured because I had long ago worked out the perfect lengths for all my restraints. Around my hips I locked a wide leather belt with metal rings attached at the sides, front and back. Next, I positioned my marauder XL fucking machine on the bed between where my widespread legs would be and plugged it into the timer. Finally, I slipped my butterfly clitoral vibrator on, positioning it just where it would do the most good. After a quick test to make sure it worked, I set the room light timer to switch the lights off in around fifteen minutes. This was plenty of time for me to get myself secured. I emptied the ice into the stocking and slipped the key ring with the keys I would need to free myself over the top before hanging it from its carefully positioned hook. At the present temperature, this would guarantee me at least four hours of bondage.

My pussy was dripping wet by now in my excitement. My fingers trembled as I buckled on the ankle cuffs. I had these positioned so as I pulled myself up the bed to tighten the slack in the chains, my legs were pulled wide apart. No matter that my pussy was very, very wet, I still liberally coated the dildo with lubricant. I had learned the hard way that during a long session, I had on occasion dried out making the use of this machine a very painful experience, one that I had no wish to repeat. I positioned the marauder and from the ‘D-ring’ attachment points located on the corners of the machine, I clipped the short chains to the metal ring on the front of the leather belt I was wearing. This stopped me pulling myself up and off the dildo because, if I did try, it simply pulled the machine further up the bed maintaining the perfect distance. Any attempt to twist myself away would have the result of pulling the machine even closer and allowing the dildo to plunge even deeper inside me.

Reaching over the sides of the bed, I located the short chains with snap locks and these were attached to the side rings on the belt. This further restricted my movements, as without these short chains, I was not very restricted in my ability to roll from side to side. Between these chains and the belt, I was held immobile and in the perfect position to receive the full impact of the sex machine. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t locked the dungeon door but this trivial omission wasn’t going to spoil my fun. I was not about to undo everything now just to lock it. The ball-gag went into my mouth and I buckled it on. I took a final glance about the room to make sure all was in order. The slow drip-drip of the melting ice told me this was counting away the time until I was once again free. The remote for the butterfly was in easy reach. The light and machine timers were set. It was time to play.

My leather hood came next and using a small padlock, this was secured about my neck. The eyeholes were covered with leather patches that had small holes punched in them to allow the perception of being able to see with out actually being able to. The view through them was like looking through a cut-crystal jar. I could see light but the image was disjointed and vague. With a final sigh of resignation, I tapped the remote on, pressed the button for the machine timer to start and pushed them both as far away from me as I could. I snapped the lock closed on my left wrist and only hesitated a moment before I aligned the lock on my right wrist and pressed it shut. My fate now was in the unrelenting grip of a heartless stocking full of slowly melting ice cubes.

Always, when the final lock snaps shut, a surge of panic threatens to overwhelm me. The urge to fight my restraints is overpowering and I begin twisting and straining with all my strength. The result is the dildo on the machine now penetrates me just a little. Almost as if the two items have conspired together, the room lights go off at the same instant the butterfly comes on. My mind is pleading within seconds. “No, please, don’t.” If I had the use of my voice, I am sure these pleas would be enough to weaken the resolve of even the most stonehearted rapist. “Oh god, no, no, nooooooooo.” My mind screams as the first of many orgasms erupts within my loins. The buzzing vibrator is relentless as it torments and teases my clit. I am fighting my bonds with all my might. Another orgasm is almost upon me when the butterfly stops suddenly in a moment of frustrating agony. Oh, that’s so cruel I think to myself. Bound, helpless, maddeningly frustrated, alone in the dark, my mind is filled with my fantasy. I am a sex slave, nothing but a toy for my unseen rapists to vent their lustful desires upon.

Without warning, the marauder switches on. The first two strokes are slow as the motor winds up to the selected speed. The first stroke presses up slowly until its almost painful and then withdraws. Again it pushes up as the speed picks up and I involuntarily try to pull myself up the bed and away from this demanding intrusion. This only serves to pull the machine a little further up the bed and strains my legs a little further apart. Trial and error has taught me that a speed of about forty five strokes per minute will guarantee that I will eventually be able to orgasm but not too soon. My pathetic struggles as I fight my tormentor only serve to pull the machine a little closer. The powerful strokes pound me in a relentless rhythm. That big dildo is travelling its full length inside me because I can feel the wider part at the base pushing against my labia.

Just when I feel I am reaching a plateau, the butterfly comes on again, this time at full speed. My groan would surely be audible across half the neighbourhood if not for the hood and gag muffling most sounds. All I can do is squeeze my eyes tightly shut, bite down on the gag and let the double clitoral/vaginal orgasm envelope my helpless mind and body. Does this stop the torment? No. The machine is uncaring and unmoved by the pathetic struggles I offer. Sweat is trickling down my body as on and on the machine continues to drive its intruder inside me. At times that I have no idea of predicting, either the butterfly or the marauder will stop or start, sometimes both together. Orgasm after orgasm rocks my body. My ability to fight and struggle wanes as my strength begins to fail me. Time looses all meaning. The only thing I am aware of is the pounding intrusion in my pussy and the maddening buzz of the butterfly as they work their magic. How long has it been? An hour, two – I have no idea. Time marches past in a state of dazed ecstasy.

During a rare period when both the butterfly and marauder are both still, I strain to listen for the telltale dripping sound of the melting ice. It’s hard to hear clearly through the leather hood but I am sure I can hear the faint splashes as the drips pool on the floor. Even though the butterfly is almost totally silent when it’s running, the sound when it starts up again is enough to prevent me hearing any more. The time of my freedom must surely be close by now. The orgasms are becoming further and further apart as my desires are well and truly sated. The excitement still builds when both machines are running and I cannot focus enough to gauge the passage of time. My tingling clit tells me I have reached the normal time when release is imminent. Please, oh please, let the keys drop now. Again, the marauder starts up with its merciless pounding and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. It has to be time by now.

In the darkness, I have no idea how long the ice has left before the keys drop free. The system is supposed to let the keys fall and the string attached over the bed should leave them hanging right beside my hands. I begin to frantically grope about with my questing fingers. Perhaps they have already dropped but are not hanging exactly where they are supposed to be. My efforts to gain a little more slack in the wrist chains means I have to pull myself further up the bed. The result is the marauder is pushed even deeper inside me. It won’t matter if the extra freedom allows me to find the keys. I’ll be able to quickly free my hands, undo the snap lock holding the machine to the leather belt and push it away. The first hints of panic begin to reside in my head but I force myself to remain calm and continue feeling all about with my fingers. In spite of my most strenuous efforts, I cannot locate the keys. What’s gone wrong? My mind screams. Panic really begins to set in now.

I know the time I set must be up by now. In the quiet moments, I can no longer hear the dripping water. I start crying in spite of the gag. Sobs rack my body as the full weight of the predicament I have placed myself into finally sets in. The marauder continues to deliver its pleasure strokes and the butterfly relentlessly vibrates my clit. I really am powerless to fight the waves of pleasure washing over me now. What a paradox it is. My mind is filled with terror and panic but my body continues to welcome the unrelenting pleasure. The buzzing stimulus of the butterfly is weakening I notice in a rare lucid moment. The batteries must be running low. For a while, I can’t decide if this is a good thing or not. Whether or not this situation was self-imposed means nothing now.

The marauder continues to pound away. The fact I no longer want to suffer the almost painful pounding means nothing. A mindless fucking machine really is raping me and I am helpless to prevent it. Well, I say to myself. You got your wish. You are the bound and captive plaything of an uncaring tormentor. In spite of the panic and fear, a new wave of excitement rushes headlong into my mind. On and on the machine continues to fuck me. The intervals when it falls still only give me time to recover and begin to panic all over again. Then it starts up and the fear recedes as the stimulation grows. My exhaustion takes over. During a period when it is stopped, I doze off. I can only guess that the relaxation of sleep allows my body to slump down the bed a little so when the machine starts up again, the first stroke pounds into my uterus painfully. I am forced to tense up, pulling myself up the bed a little but not so far as to pull the machine even closer. This cycle of pain and pleasure continues uninterrupted and seemingly endlessly.

Faintly to my ears came the sounds of birds chirping. I forced my eyes open and notice light is visible at the window. Dawn has arrived and I use the increasing light to try to see what has gone wrong or if I can locate the keys. Just barely, I can make out the shape of the limp stocking hanging forlornly from the ceiling. By closing one eye and easing my head around a little, I manage to catch sight of the string attached to the keys. It still hangs in a loop leading towards the stocking. Finally, I manage to focus on the source of my dilemma. The key ring seems to be hanging from the stocking still. I can’t see why but guess one of the keys or the ring itself has caught on a strand of nylon. It might as well be on another planet for all the good it does me. There is no way I can reach it or the string. I deliberately designed it this way to stop me chickening out of my self-bondage sessions. I had fallen into complacency.

Because the system had always worked perfectly in the past, I assumed it would continue to work perfectly. The low buzz of the butterfly was almost non-existent now. The tingling feeling it delivered was no more than an itch I could not scratch. The marauder on the other hand suffered no loss of power. When it switched on, the pounding was as brutal and unrelenting as it had been all night. My jaw was aching from biting down on the gag. Every muscle in my arms and legs was threatening to cramp up on me. I was dry-mouthed and very thirsty. My poor vagina was starting to get sore. At times, the overwhelming feeling of panic hit and I would start crying. Then I would force myself to calmness and try to think of a way to get free. It was hopeless. Faintly to my ears came the sounds of the neighbourhood stirring to life, a lawnmower off in the distance, a car driving past and a dog barking. I tried to make the loudest noise I could but I could tell my efforts resulted in nothing more than a muffled grunt. I tried screaming through my nose but only succeeded in making myself sneeze which was a mistake. The simple act of sneezing clamped my swollen pussy tight against the dildo at the very instant the machine decided to switch on yet again.

The day dragged on endlessly. I fell asleep at times only to be brutally awoken when the marauder sprang into life. I could no longer raise the effort to cry or struggle. Conserving my strength in the lulls allowed me the tiny luxury of being able to pull myself up the bed a little when the machine switched on. I was numb with fatigue and a sort of helpless resignation had filled my mind. There was every chance I was literally going to be fucked to death. How stupid I had been. Wallowing in self-pity filled the endless hours. At one point, all I could think of was how glad I had been to use the lubricating gel so liberally on both my pussy and the dildo. I was dreading to think how painful the fucking would have been if I had dried out. In spite of this, the constant fucking was slowly becoming very uncomfortable. Every withdrawal of the dildo seemed to be trying to pull my pussy inside out and it was getting slowly worse. It hadn’t reached a painful stage yet but that state wasn’t going to last forever.

I tried to concentrate on my original fantasy. Keeping myself as excited as I could manage might just induce some natural lube to form where it was needed most. I think I was successful for a while because the dragging feeling subsided. One of my arms cramped up just as the machine started up for about the millionth time and I could not pull myself away. That was the worst I suffered. The dildo pounded my uterus painfully. By staying relaxed, the cramp slowly went away and I was able to relieve some of the discomfort. My tense arm muscles offered the promise that the cramp was still lurking there, just waiting for me to strain against my bonds. I became morbid in my thoughts, wondering what the newspapers would report when I was eventually found. Naked blonde fucked to death by machine I imagined the headlines would scream. There is nothing like a little scandal to boost newspaper sales. If I hadn’t been hurting so much, I would have laughed.

And so the day wore on. Moments of dozing sleep would be shattered into wakefulness as the machine sprang into life. I vaguely recall having another orgasm sometime during the long afternoon. I was thankful for nothing more than the little extra lubrication the momentary surge of pleasure it provided.

Was that a noise? Did I imagine it or did I really hear something. Am I starting to hallucinate because of the fatigue and thirst? The machine chose that moment to switch on and the long moan that escaped my mouth was one of a soul tormented beyond all limits. I felt the draught across my skin first.

Then a voice said, "Oh my god, I am so sorry. I thought I heard a noise."

It was my neighbour’s voice. I recognised him instantly. I began nodding my head frantically and trying to make some sort of noise.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I shook my head in an exaggerated signal that I was definitely not all right.

"Are you stuck?" He wanted to know.

I nodded frantically hoping against hope he would not misunderstand and leave. A few moments silence followed and I peered through the hood trying to see if he was still there.

I heard him exclaim in a low voice, "You did this to yourself, right?"

Slowly, I nodded yes. I had done this to myself.

"Ingenious." I heard him mutter. "Are these the keys hanging on this stocking?" He asked.

Again, I nodded.

"You’re really stuck, aren’t you?"

As ashamed as I was to be discovered in this position, I slowly nodded. The machine suddenly stopped its powerful thrusting. I felt his hands touching my stomach and for a chilling moment, I thought, my mechanical rapist is about to be replaced by a living one. The flinch at his touch was involuntary. I felt him fumbling with the snap lock holding the machine deep inside me. For a moment, all I could think of was, this makes sense. He can hardly fuck me with this great monstrosity between my legs. The next thought was to pray he would use a little lube because I don’t think I could have stood being fucked without it. Ever so slowly, I felt the dildo sliding out. What a relief that was. I was willing for him to do anything he wanted to me now just so long as that evil machine was gone. I felt him lift the marauder off the bed and braced myself for what I was sure was about to happen next. I was expecting to feel his weight on top of me, his hands grasping my breasts and his cock driving inside me. What I wasn’t expecting was when I felt him fumbling with the keys and my wrist cuffs.

"Just relax," he said. "As soon as I figure out which key fits what lock, I’ll have you out in no time. Are you sure you are okay?"

What could I say? Nothing actually so I just nodded slowly. Suddenly, one arm was free and the pain of returning circulation hit me like a thunderclap.

"Hurts, does it?" He asked and began to firmly massage my arm. He must have felt my tension draining away because next thing I knew was my other arm was free and he massaged this one as well. "Lie still", he commanded and my relief was absolute.

Once he had unlocked the hood, I was able to help him gently pull it off my head. I was dreading this moment. I was going to have to look into his eyes and see the judgement contained within. I expected to hear his condemnation but as my vision cleared, all I got was that lovely smile he always gave whenever he looked my way. Here I was, naked, spread-eagled and totally vulnerable to what ever he wanted to do to me and his gaze remained fixed on my face. Here was any man’s dream opportunity to view my nakedness and all he was doing was smiling a sort of soft knowing smile at me. He helped me get the gag undone. In my struggles, my long hair had become twisted about the buckle but with a wonderful gentleness, he got the strands free and undid it. I moaned as I forced the ball from my mouth.

My jaw was aching but I made the effort and spoke. "Thank you. Thank you ever so much."

He just smiled softly and asked. "How long have you been stuck here?"

"Since about seven thirty last night." I replied.

"Oh my god!" He exclaimed in surprise. "I am a devotee of self-bondage as well!" he informed me. "But your set-up makes everything I have ever done look like nothing."

"You do this too?" This was all I could think of to say. "I mean, you are married and all." Suddenly, the situation I was in hit me. Here I was, ankles still chained to the bed, legs spread wide, the room positively reeking of my sweat and sex and a man who was almost a stranger to me telling me he loved self-bondage as well. He helped me ease myself down the bed to relieve some of the strain on my widespread legs.

"Yes, I know I am married but the wife isn’t much into bondage games. Oh, she tried it a few times in the early days, tying me up or me tying her but she was never into it much. We ended up dropping it from our sexual repertoire but the desire for it has never left me. Whenever I am alone for an hour or so at home, I quickly tie myself up and indulge myself in a little self-amusement. I know she suspects I do it but I think she chooses to turn a blind eye."

Is that a wistful hint of a smile I see wash across his face? "Doesn’t she approve of you doing it?" I wanted to know.

"I am honestly not sure", he informed me. "We had a few fights about it back in the early days. Being sensitive to her needs, I let the subject drop and never mentioned it again. We have enjoyed a great sex life and still do if the truth be known. But you probably know how it is, Melinda. Sometimes, you just need to feel the touch of strong ropes to really get yourself off."

I nodded my agreement at that statement. I mean, how could I argue? The evidence of my determination to self-satisfy my needs is strewn all about this cellar. Not to mention the fact I am sitting here, naked, still partially bound to the bed and sitting in a huge puddle of my own pussy juices.

"What are you smiling at?" He asked me softly.

I wasn’t sure how to reply. "Well", I began then hesitated. "What did you think when you came into the cellar?"

"Truthfully?" He replied. "For the first two seconds, I thought you had been attacked or something. I mean, it was quite a shock to push the door open and see that machine fucking you. I instantly realised you were playing self-bondage games and my first thought was to quickly close the door and leave you to your pleasures. I have to be honest though when I say, I instantly got horny. It took another moment before it dawned on me that all was not right. I realised you had somehow gotten stuck. That’s when I asked if you were okay."

I nodded, remembering the first sound of his voice. "I am certainly glad you didn’t go with your first thought and close the door again, leaving me alone. I was in serious trouble."

"Yeah," he said. "I guessed that almost instantly."

"How could you tell?" I wanted to know.

"Well, you were not pushing into the machine but rather were straining to pull yourself away from it. I have no idea about what sex feel like to a woman but I knew if you really were enjoying it, your actions would have been to push down onto the machine rather than pulling away from it. I might not be the greatest lover in the world but I do know when a woman is enjoying sex or not. You definitely weren’t enjoying it."

"No" I replied. "It had gone beyond enjoyment. It was almost at the painful stage."

He gently slipped the key ring into my hands and asked if I was able to free myself now. I thought I was able to do this but as I leant forward to reach my ankle locks, my stiff and sore legs rebelled.

"I’ll do it." He informed me.

I relaxed back to lean on my hands, easing the strain on my legs. Watching the side of his face as he sorted through the keys, not once did I see him glance towards my very exposed pussy. I mean, surely it’s just a natural thing to want to look. I know, had the positions been reversed, I would have been looking at his nakedness with undisguised enjoyment. This man was shattering my pre-conceived notions about the male of the species. Over the years, I have been hit on by numerous married men, wanting either a brief bout of sex or a more permanent arrangement with me installed as a mistress in his life. One ankle came free and with the gentlest of touches, he eased my very stiff and sore leg back to the centre of the bed. Curiosity was building up inside me and I was trying to find a way to frame my next question.

"Can I ask you something?" I said sort of nonchalantly.

"You just did." He replied with a chuckle as my other leg came free. The same gentle touch eased that leg onto the middle of the bed.

"Very funny!" was my sarcastic reply. "Seriously, can I ask you something personal?"

His eyes instantly found mine with not a single lingering glance at my nakedness and he said, "Ask away."

"Don’t take this the wrong way." I began. "You could have done anything to me when you found me. I wouldn’t have had any idea because I can barely see out of the hood. I am not trying to sound like I have tickets on myself, but I know guys think I am attractive. You haven’t even looked at my body. Don’t you like what you see?"

He laughed out loud and I could see he was carefully thinking about his answer. "Melinda," he began. "My god! That first sight of you lying there as naked as the day you were born was a shock I don’t think I’ll ever recover from. That image is going to remain with me until my dying day. Never in my wildest fantasies have I ever imagined seeing a more perfect woman. You could arouse rocks to deeds of passion with your beauty. I love women. I always have. In my younger days, I chased them like there was no tomorrow. Then I met my wife and gave her my promise, to love, honour and cherish her for as long as we both shall live. Ogling beautiful women does not give her any honour. As much as your wonderful beauty fascinates me, I can not and will not ever go back on my word."

I don’t know why, but I felt a tear forming in the corner of my eye. Never had I ever imagined I would hear a more impassioned declaration of undying love than that which this man just said. Where does a girl find guys like this? I know, I have never encountered anyone like him before. For all the perceived beauty nature has bestowed on me, it fades to nothing against the power true love can deliver. That middle-aged, overweight, slightly frumpy woman living next door holds this man’s heart more captive than any chains or ropes ever could. His eyes never left their fixed gaze into my eyes as his hands massaged my aching legs. There was no sexual suggestion in his touch. He eyes never left mine. The touch was soothing and felt marvellous.

Again I thanked him for coming to my rescue. I began to ease myself towards the edge of the bed and he averted his eyes as my feet found the floor. I gingerly stood up, feeling not a little dizzy for a couple of moments. I stretched and twisted in an effort to shrug off the stiffness, carefully but unobtrusively watching him out of the corner of my eye. He never once even turned slightly towards me. Was I testing his resolve? My movements were more sensual then aimed at relieving stiffness and I wondered why I was doing this. In a flash of understanding, I realised for most of my life, I had used what nature had given me to get almost anything my heart desired. I was proud of my ability to twist any man around my fingers. But, as the old saying goes, pride cometh before a fall. I knew he was very attracted, but his willpower and devotion to someone else denied him what I knew he desired. In that instant, I wanted him more than any man I have ever known. I wanted someone to feel about me the way he felt about his wife. To have such temptation staring him right in the face and not take even the slightest advantage of it was beyond my understanding.

"By the way," he said. "Your back door is fixed. That’s how I heard you. I just finished testing the lock worked okay when I thought I heard a noise. I had knocked but when you didn’t come to the door, I assumed you were out. I kept hearing noises. I called out a couple of times but when no one replied, I went inside to see if you had an intruder or something."

I laughed at that. "I sure did have an intruder." I glanced at the marauder sitting uncaring on the floor.

"You need to be more careful when you are playing your games." He informed me of what I had spent all night figuring out. "Not that I have been as deeply into self-bondage as you are, but I do know one should always have some sort of back-up system, just in case of something unforseen happening".

"Like last night?" I asked knowingly.

"Exactly." He responded.

"Well, up until now, the ice system has been fool proof. I have used it hundreds of times without ever having the slightest problem." He was softly smiling but still looking at the floor between his feet. "What are you smiling at?" I asked.

"I was just imagining those ‘hundreds of times’ you mentioned while I was sitting next door without a clue about what you were doing."

"Well, you said you play bondage games too. There are probably times when you have been playing and I have been here totally ignorant of what you were doing as well." I mentioned, trying to imagine him in self-imposed bondage.

"Yeah, well, its not something one broadcasts to the world now, is it? Self-Bondage is a very personal and private time where a person can really get in touch with his or her fantasies."

"Would you like to come over sometime to play?" I finally asked.

He slowly looked all around the room then slowly shook his head. "Melinda, you have no idea how much I would love to have access to some of the toys and equipment you use. Being totally helpless as you just were. Man oh man, that would be a dream come true. But.."

Why is there always a ‘but’? I thought but did not say. "But, what?"

"But, I just couldn’t. It would feel, I don’t know, like I was sort of cheating on her. Playing a quick spontaneous game of self-bondage in the privacy of my own home is one thing. To deliberately premeditate doing it and then going to the home of someone as beautiful and as tempting as you are would not be right. Thank you sincerely for the offer. You have made my day just by asking."

"Okay," I replied. "Well, if you ever change your mind, the offer stands."

"Thanks," he said. "I’d best be heading off home now. The wife knows I am fixing the lock. I don’t want to take too long doing it. Remember, organise a second release mechanism for your next adventure. As much as stumbling across you helpless and naked is appealing, I don’t want to make a habit of it."

"I have an idea." I suddenly stated. "How about, when I am playing, I’ll pull the blind on the lounge window facing your house down so you know what I am doing. If you don’t see the blind up within a reasonable time, you’ll know I might need help."

"Okay," he replied. "My little office room faces that side of your house. I am in there a lot so I’ll see the blind. You are a real tease though."

"What do you mean?" I wanted to know.

"When ever I see that blind down, you know I am going to imagine you here, helpless and thoroughly enjoying yourself. The thought alone gets me horny." He laughed. "Do me a favour" he said as we headed upstairs.

"Anything, anything at all," I replied.

"Don’t follow me outside like that." He indicated my nakedness and it was my turn to laugh. "The wife is fairly broad-minded but she would definitely never understand that."

The urge to hold him close and kiss him filled me but I did nothing but offer a gentle wave as he gathered up his toolbox and headed home. Never again would I ever have concerns about my self-bondage sessions. I now had the best safety device of all, another person to whom I have now given my absolute trust.

Now you can read the story from a different perspective as Melinda's neighbour tells his tale in Absolutely Trusting



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