Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Bicycle Seat

by Tony-B

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© Copyright 2010 - Tony-B - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; bike; massage; mast; climax; true; cons; X

I’m not sure how you’ll like this little story, but it’s based on a true event, and might give you a glimpse into how some of my stories come into existence…..   Tony-B


When I was young my dad bought me a racing bike to ride to school, and get around in my expanding world.  I remember that within a month, I could name every street in all directions for about a mile from my house.

The trouble was, the seat height wasn’t adjusted correctly for my height.  And it was what was known as a “racing seat”.  Long and narrow, so it wouldn’t rub against the thighs as you were pumping away on the pedals.  It was perfect to arouse adolescent thoughts, and later, as I learned, adolescent sexual feelings.

You see, the shape of the seat was almost wedge shaped, and exerted pressure between the legs, and supposedly on the prostrate while seated on it.  To compound the problem (it wasn’t a problem back then), it massaged the prostrate as you pumped away while riding.

That led to more than one involuntary ejaculation during riding.  On a long ride, two or three could be achieved.  I became a riding junkie, signing up for rides and marathons whenever I could.

The problem, if indeed it was a problem, was that the seat was too high. Whenever I stopped riding and put my feet down to the ground, my toes barely touched the ground.  In effect, I had to stand on tiptoe to relieve the pressure in my crotch.  The seat effectively became a wedge supporting my weight, while the feet became arched to steady myself and keep me from tipping over.  My arched feet became accustomed to the painful arch, much like the arched feet of a woman who was wearing heels.  Or at least what I assumed they felt while their feet were squeezed into pointy-toed shoes.

I imagined that wearing heels was painful for them, which was confirmed as I grew older and was exposed to older women with foot problems.

But I liked it.  I liked having to stand on my tiptoes and in fact, adjusted the bicycle seat a little bit higher to increase the pressure.  I developed the habit of sitting in the garage on my bicycle on many days when it was impossible to ride due to the weather, and found it easy to imagine how a girl would feel while sitting on a similar bicycle seat, and enduring the pain of a similarly equipped bicycle.  I found that I could imagine myself as a girl, being tortured to orgasm this way, while tied and gagged, along with dozens of fantasies of being kidnapped and tortured while in bondage.

It was good!

And still is, although I don’t have the bicycle any more, I do have a bicycle’s racing seat sitting on top of a pole, being held upright by a concrete and pipe arrangement base, much like those used to hold up picnic umbrellas or Christmas Trees.  I can go out to the garage, tie a spreader bar between my ankles, hoist myself onto the seat, gag and blindfold myself, handcuff my hands behind my back, and wait for Sally to come home from work and “rescue” me from the series of orgasms I was forced to endure.

God save Sally, and God save the Queen!



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