Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Andreabound is Beaten

by Andreabound

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© Copyright 2007 - Andreabound

Storycodes: F/f; Sbf; bond; sawhorse; toys; chain; cuffs; chastity; clamps; pain; spank; fight; outdoors; cons; XX

As long time fans of Andreabound's work may know, her website has been offline since 2007. Her earlier stories were published here on, but there were eight more stories on her own site at the time it went offline. Rather than risk the remaining stories being lost to the aether, I'm republishing them here, despite them not being submitted through the usual channels. I hope you all enjoy these lovely works, and that having them all together in one place brings more fans to Andreabound's work.

The original text for this story can be accessed here on the Wayback Machine; it is a great resource preserving many interesting stories that otherwise would have been lost. If you can then please donate to show your appreciation for the service they provide.

I felt it was time to try out my horse again. As I was wearing higher shoes this time, I would have to put myself on the slightly taller end of the horse. This would mean impaling myself on the built in dido. Hmm, I’d really wanted to use a vibrating dildo but this one is just a huge cock sticking up from the top of my horse. In fact it’s the biggest dildo I have and so it seemed an appropriate place to mount it at the time. This is something I would later regret. You see, apart from briefly testing the horse for a minute or two, I’d never actually sat for any length of time on that end of it. Sure, I’d used the dildo in the past, but that had usually meant just sliding it in and out of me. As I mounted the horse and impaled myself on the dildo, I realized I’d never had the whole of the monster pushed right inside me before. Wow, this was a new experience!

Ok so far, because I was standing on a couple of small bits of wood, giving me a little more height.

I had already wrapped a chain around the top of the horse in the middle of it and now I reached behind me and fed one end of my handcuffs though the chain. Then I reached above me and pulled down a piece of elastic I had earlier tied to an eyelet above the horse. My nipple clamps (clover of course) went on next and I tied the end of the elastic to the chain running between the clamps. Ow, that hurt. I would know they were there that’s for certain. I’ve worn these clamps so often now that I ought to be used to the pain they cause. But every time seems to be as bad as the first time I tried them on.

Before I could chicken out then, I put my hands behind my back and fumbled for the cuffs. First one hand; click, click, click (I just love that sound!) and then the other; click, click, click.

I was trapped, and with the huge dildo working its magic inside me, I came right there. Better make the most of this, I thought. Once that chastity belt comes, these orgasms will be denied me. That thought sent me over the edge again (God, I was horny today). I squirmed with pleasure at the thought and felt one of the blocks of wood slide from under my foot. I slipped down on the dildo, not too much as the blocks weren’t that tall, but enough to feel the difference. Ah, well, can’t have asymmetry, so I kicked the other block away and now I found the whole length of the rubber cock pushed inside me. I came again at the sensation and, when I came back down to earth, realized my left leg was shaking. I was still holding my feet away from the tacks in the shoes. I experimented lowering my feet onto the tacks but quickly raised my arches again.

Hmm, this was going to be an interesting battle; between the elastic pulling my nipples skyward, the tacks keeping me from putting my feet down, the waning strength in my, now shaking, legs and the desire to not impale myself any further on that huge dildo against the force of gravity, pushing (technically pulling, I guess) my body down on the horse. Of course I knew who would win this battle – Mother Nature, but of course, as usual, I would give her as good a run for her money as I was able. Let the games begin! 

I had decided I needed a rough session and, instead, I found myself only bound by a pair of handcuffs and a pair of nipple clamps. I wasn’t even wearing a gag. I’d just put myself into this bondage without thinking too much about it. Yet as I endured the unexpected torment, I realized I had unwittingly achieved my aim. This was going to be tough. Oh well, Sara would be home soon and, as tempting it was for her to leave me in any predicament she found me in; her curiosity always got the better of her and she always changed my position or released me, knowing I had built up a sexual head of steam she could use to her advantage.

But Sara didn’t come home.

For the first time since our relationship began I suddenly had the awful thought that something might have happened to her. This was the first time I had tied myself up with absolutely no chance of escape. I usually put myself in self-bondage and set up my ice timer or some other release method to ensure I would get free. Of course sometimes I set the timer so that it would be a race between the melting ice and Sara arriving home from work. That risk was a fun one. Sometimes she would arrive home none the wiser that I had just got free, minutes before she opened the door, other times I was looking longingly at the last chip of ice as she walked in and took charge. It was a win, win scenario for me!

After another hour I really was starting to panic. It was so long ago that I had last got myself really stuck that I had forgotten how to deal with my panics (they used to occur fairly often during the days before Sara). It was only the increasing pain in my nipples as I thrashed up and down trying to lift my leg over the horse that brought me back to my senses. Right, calm down; take deep breaths (at least not having a gag made that easier). That was better. I would just have to wait this out.

Of course Sara eventually came home. It turned out a girl from her office had a birthday and they’d all gone to a bar after work. I don’t know what time it was when she finally walked in the door and having shouted for me had quickly realized I must be in the basement. I’m surprised it wasn’t the first place she looked for me, as it’s almost my second home.

By the time she stood in front of me My feet were planted firmly on the tacks in my shoes, the pain they caused having, long ago, become the least of my worries. My nipples were the worst bit. I had really pulled hard on them and, although there was a little give in the elastic, they were still very, very sore some hours after my panic attack. It was probably that pain that motivated my uncharacteristic anger towards Sara. Part of my brain was telling me none of this was her fault, but she had given me a scare, nonetheless, and for some reason I was as mad as hell at her.

“where the fuck have you been you little tart!” I shouted at her. Sara was taken aback (I hardly ever swear) so she bit back;

“I read your post. Isn’t this what you wanted, to be tied up and forgotten? What’s the matter with you, are you all talk after all you said? I should just leave you here you ungrateful slut!” Sara is so much better at being rude than me. And the truthfulness of her words stung me as if she’s slapped me across the face. This gave me an idea.

“I’m not all talk. Take me down right now and slap me about, if you’ve got the balls for it, fat girl. You’re just a spineless dyke and I hate you, Sara. What are you going to do about it, pussy licker?” That showed her. 

I could see a fire start behind her eyes. Had I crossed the line – I had never spoken to Sara like this before. Then the fire dimmed a bit as she realized I was almost certainly trying wind her up. “You really want me to slap you around? If you do I won’t stop until I want to” she said.

“Do your worst bitch! I can handle anything your girly hands can dish out” I told her. God that was crap as insults go and I found it hard not to burst out laughing at our bizarre exchange, but I was determined to push my limits once more. Besides, I knew for Sara to do anything to me she would have to take me off the horse and remove those excruciating clamps. Well, of course Sara would simply take them off if I asked her to, but that’s not the point is it?

She looked me up and down, not sure whether to laugh or be angry and simply said “Wait here, I’ll be back” At least she didn’t say it in an Arnie voice. Sara turned on her heels and strode off up the stairs to return a few minutes later minus her coat and wearing my leather gloves. She was carrying a bundle of stuff in her arms.

After wrapping leather cuffs around my ankles and wrists, Sara unclipped the clamps from my nipples and I admit I might have even shed a tear at that, it hurt so much. Next she unlocked the chain from the horse but then wound it around my waist after adding a couple of solid rings to the chain. She locked the chain at the front. Sara next locked a chain to each of my ankle cuffs and fed the left one up though the ring at my waist and locked it to the leather cuff around my left wrist. My hands were still handcuffed behind me and the chain was short enough so that my left foot was pulled off the floor. I guessed that the chain was just long enough for me to straighten my leg if I held my hand at the ring at my waist. She did the same to my other side and so I was now balanced on the horse with my legs in the air. This was severe and I hoped she wasn’t going to leave me like this. She finished off the ensemble by fixing a leather color around my neck. A notch too tight maybe, but she knows I like it that way.

But no, Sara unlocked my handcuffs and so I was able to out my feet back on the floor. That was a relief. Then holding me around the waist she pulled me bodily from the dildo which popped out of my pussy with a loud plop.

“My, my” she said, “making the most of your sex before I lock that belt on you?” We both knew that was so true and I found myself strangely embarrassed. “Just do it” I said, half heartedly.

“Patience my dear. All bad things come to those who wait” Sara replied as she bent down to lock a short chain between my ankle cuffs. I wasn’t too badly restrained now. I could walk around, albeit with small steps, and I could even pull my hands up to my face, if I bent my legs far enough. But I certainly wasn’t going anywhere fast, chained like this. I checked the cuffs, but of course Sara had remembered to lock them on with the little colored padlocks I keep just for that purpose. Two red padlocks for my ankles and two blue ones for my wrists. I don’t know why I use those particular padlocks for my cuffs. Maybe, I just like the way they look. You can’t miss the locks with their colored plastic sleeves, and they are a constant reminder that the cuffs aren’t coming off.

I assumed Sara would whip me now. I wasn’t immobile, but I couldn’t run very fast and there was no way I could escape the basement without her catching me. But instead, she walked right up to me and slapped me hard across the face (had she read my mind?). 

“That’s for calling me a dyke, bitch!” she spat and slapped me again, even harder. I felt the taste of blood in my mouth and I was worried she would see it and stop so I called her few choice names for good measure. It seemed to do the trick and before I knew it, I was stumbling backwards under a flurry of blows. Now I could see the logic in the way Sara had chained me, I desperately wanted to raise my hands to protect my face but the length of the chains prevented that. I fell to the floor under the unrelenting torrent of blows and for a moment I thought Sara would kick me. But it seemed like she’d learned that lesson and the ‘out of control’ look in her eyes was just an act.

I lay there wondering what would happen next. I didn’t have long to wait. Sara got her breath back and reached down to loop a couple of fingers through the ring on my collar. She pulled me roughly to my feet and holding the ring continued to slap me about. By now there was a trickle of blood seeping down my chin from where she had obviously cut my lip, and my nose felt like it would start bleeding at any moment. I sniffed heavily and, sensing I’d had enough of that, Sara turned her attention to the rest of my body, majoring on my already sore breasts.

I tried to kick back of course, but the chain between my ankles prevented that. Besides, I was really struggling to keep my balance on the six inch heels; they weren’t meant to work if you stood on just one foot.

The onslaught would have stopped at any moment; all I had to do was say the word. I could see that between each flurry of blows Sara would look at me quizzically to see if I’d had enough. I did want it to stop of course, but I also wanted to find out if I could withstand the torture I would be getting for (almost) real in a few months. So I kept insulting her and, that way, I stuck it out until Sara had exhausted herself and run out of fresh places to slap me.

Now before you all write up comments about this treatment, bear in mind Sara only used her open hand to slap me; there was no punching, chopping or indeed kicking involved. Also she kept to the fleshy parts of my body and went nowhere near any organs. Just to be clear about that for those of you who worry about such things. Anyway, after Sara had allowed me to collapse on the floor again she wiped away the blood from my chin and made me have a drink of water.

If I leave you like this you’ll only be fingering yourself you dirty whore” she said. “But I’m not going to make you wear the leather belt. What to do?”

Sara cast around our basement playroom and her eyes alighted on the yoke propped up against one wall. And so I found my neck and wrists entrapped in its wooden embrace. Of course with my hands pulled up to my neck, my legs were almost bent double. At least she remembered to take the collar off first; that would have been too much. And the shoes came off too – at last! Sara’s face, when she saw the tacks sticking up, was a picture.

Picking me up by the chain around my waist and the yoke in the other hand, Sara carried me into my cell and dropped me gently on the floor.

“Sweet dreams” she said, closing the door and locking it before walking off, presumably to get a nice shower, and then bed. 

Part Two

I didn’t get much sleep that night either. No matter which way I lay I couldn’t get comfortable and the yoke would dig into my neck. I spent ages turning over onto my front but that was worse and so I spent even longer turning back over again.

So by the time Sara came down to release me from the yoke in the morning I had only snoozed a couple of times. Each time I was woken by the yoke digging into the back of my neck and I woke each time feeling very stiff and sorry I goaded Sara into this. Only myself to blame, I reminded myself; but it was small comfort.

Sara unlocked the yoke and replaced my collar to which she clipped a leash. That way, I found myself being led upstairs to the bathroom.

“I think a shower is too good for you” Sara said “but you stink, and I don’t want to have to put up with it all day.” With that she dragged me into the shower, tied my leash to the faucet and turned the shower on full blast; cold, of course. At least I got some breakfast and then was set to cleaning the house from top to bottom. A task, as you know, I don’t mind at all. And although the chains made my job somewhat more difficult they did add a little spice to a rather mundane chore. Perhaps what happened next was really my own fault. After all, if I’d managed to drag out my chores until dinner time we might simply have eaten then gone back to playing again. As it was, I did my housework with such good humor and vigor that I was finished just after lunch and so, after my weekly phone call with my mom, Sara took my leash in the hand again and led me to the kitchen door; the one that led out into our yard.

The back yard is very overlooked by our neighbors; even worse since I cut the bushes and trees back. I definitely didn’t want to go out there naked and chained up. But in the end, Sara threatened to put my nipple clamps back on and use those to lead me about instead of the leash on the collar, insisting she didn’t want me cluttering up the house for the whole afternoon. That convinced me, and so I found myself pushed out of the kitchen door and heard the sound of the door being locked behind me. I had expected Sara to lead me somewhere in the yard, so it was a surprise to find myself alone out there. I quickly looked around but could see no neighbors. But I knew, on a fine day like this, it wouldn’t be long before one of the neighbors came out into their yard. I had to find some shelter, and fast.

There was a small bush not too far from the door and I felt that was my best hope for privacy. So with a last desperate look around for spying neighbors I waddled as fast as I could to the bust and hunkered down in its shade. I looked around again and realized, if I could stay low to the ground, I would probably stay unseen here.

And so that’s where I spent Saturday afternoon. Hidden, as best I could, in a bush in my back yard; risking occasional stretches to relieve my aching muscles.

In the evening, Sara came to fetch me in and allowed me to briefly answer some email and check the website for comments.

We ate together and watched some TV (her choice, of course) and even went to bed later on together as if me doing all those things chained up was the most natural thing in the world. 

I’m still wearing the chains. Sara hasn’t told me where she’s hidden the keys, although I suspect they’re currently dangling around her neck on a small chain. They won’t do me any good there, because she’s gone out to yet another party and I’m left here wandering around the house all alone, chained up and still naked, as the chains won’t allow me to dress myself.

She’s implied that I might have to spend the week like this. Well at least the chains aren’t too restrictive; the worst part is the chain between my ankles that means I can’t lift my legs independently. I have to keep my ankles pretty much together which is slightly uncomfortable after a while. Still, I’m happy in my bonds and I know I will be released in a few days or so; probably when Sara gets bored with this and wants to tie me up another way. I know the day is coming, however, when this will be my lot for a very long time. And while some of you might think that’s a little odd, it makes me wet just thinking about it. In fact, I think I’m going to have to leave off writing now and go and chain myself a little more restrictively in the basement. I hope Sara’s late home from her party…

Oh, and in case you were wondering about the bruises; it’s my breasts that are bruised from the nipple clamps. My own doing. The stripes are from wearing the yoke all night and are fading rapidly now. And my lip wasn’t badly cut at all; it felt worse than it looked anyway, but I can feel a lump with my tongue and it feels so good. 


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