© Copyright 2001 - Mary Elizabeth Moore - Used by permission
My mom is one of the greatest people in the world. After my dad left us she and I became very close. We would talk for hours about anything and everything. When I got a little older we had long talks about sex and sexuality.
We lived on a farm but after my father left, Mom couldn’t manage it alone so she leased the land to other farmers and sold water rights to the ditches on our land. She also worked at a bank in town. We weren’t rich but we got by.
Our house is a neat old place with big porches, shade trees, flowers and a huge lawn. There is a big barn and Mom reserved a couple of acres next to it for a vegetable garden.
When I was sixteen my boyfriend Bobby and I were poking around in the barn one afternoon. He found some rope and jokingly suggested that I let him tie me up. I did. I let him tie me to a post.
He tied my hands behind the post and it took me about three minutes to get loose. I laughed at how easy it was to free myself, so he tied me again, tighter. It took longer but again I soon wriggled loose. Now it became a test of wills.
Bobby tied my wrists together behind the post, then my elbows. He wrapped ropes around my chest and the post, and did the same with my lower legs. This time he did it right. There was no getting loose. The only thing I could move was my head. I made the mistake of taunting him about that, so he wrapped another rope around my forehead and the post. I was completely immobilized, and I liked it. For the first time in my life I felt that sweet tingle in my pussy.
Bobby started to untie me but I told him to wait. I wriggled as much as I could and pretended that I was trying to escape. I told him to go away for a while and I would get loose. He told me that I would never get loose, but left me alone in the barn.
I stood against that post for about thirty minutes, loving every second. Bobby came back and asked why I hadn’t gotten loose. I pretended to pout and grudgingly admitted defeat. He untied me and we left the barn.
A few days later I talked Bobby into tying me again. I pretended to make it a game and bet him that I would get free no matter how he tied me. This time he tied me in a hogtie. We put an old blanket on the barn floor and I lay on my stomach. Bobby tied my ankles and knees together, then my wrists. He bent my knees and brought my ankles up and tied my wrists to them. I was a slender and flexible girl and slipped the rope off my wrists within minutes. We agreed on another try and this time he tied the ropes so tightly that I lost feeling in my hands. I loved being helpless and pretended to struggle for as long as I could. Then I had to admit defeat again.
Bobby and I sat down and made up rules for our game. I would have thirty-minutes to free myself and win a point, if I couldn’t get free within thirty minutes, Bobby got a point. At the end of each week the one with fewest points had to pay for burgers or pizza.
I didn’t hide our game from Mom. In fact, I told her about it soon after we began. She wasn’t concerned in the least.
Bobby spent a lot of time at our house. He often ate dinner with us and we worked on our homework together. Once homework was done, he would often watch television with Mom and me.
One evening I was teasing him. He wanted to watch the show on tv and I was pestering him something awful. He finally grabbed me and wrestled me to the floor. He tied my wrists behind me with his belt, then sat on the couch to watch the show. Well, it didn’t take me long at all to get loose. Mom was watching and laughed. She told Bobby that he would have to have do better than that. He ran out to the barn and brought back an armful of rope.
I allowed him to tie me in a hogtie on the living room floor. Mom watched in amusement. I managed to get one hand free but couldn’t untie the knots on my wrists or ankles. Bobby wouldn’t untie me and Mom just laughed when I asked her to, so I scrunched around until I was facing the television, propped my chin on my free hand and finished watching the show on the floor.
A few nights later I challenged Bobby to tie me again. Mom watched while he tied me to a chair. It was a simple tie, with my wrists tied behind the chair back, and my ankles and knees together. I slipped the ropes on my wrists within twenty minutes. Mom declared me the winner.
Bobby retied me to the chair. This time he tied my wrist rope to the lower rung of the chair. He did the same with my ankle rope. He also wrapped rope over my chest and around the chair back. While he was doing this his knuckles brushed my breast. Bobby was so intent on what he was doing that I don’t think he realized it, but it was like an electric shock to me.
My breasts were still small and budding then, but being bound was already a sexual pleasure, and they were very sensitive at that moment. When Bobby’s hand touched my breast, just that tiny amount, I had my first orgasm. I gasped and jerked. Bobby thought he had tied me too tight and had hurt me. I managed to regain my composure and assured him I was all right. But my heart was pounding and my pussy was throbbing. It took a great deal of will power to pretend that everything was normal.
The next afternoon I was home alone. I got the ropes and tried to tie myself up. The first attempts were unsuccessful. I wanted to be tied, but I also had to be able to get loose. I finally put a knife on the floor beside me and placed myself in a pretty good hogtie. I tied my ankles and knees and made a simple slip noose for my wrists. As soon as I tightened it I felt my pussy tingle. I lay on the floor of my room imagining that Bobby was caressing my breasts. By rocking I could press them against the floor. I liked that. I was getting close to another orgasm when I heard my mother come home. I got my hand on the knife and was able to cut myself loose before she came in to my room. I hid the ropes and was innocently brushing my hair when she entered.
I spent the next few days in a state of confusion and guilt. I wasn’t sure if my feelings were “proper” for a good girl. Mom and I had talked about sex, but nothing like this had ever come up. I felt dirty for getting so excited and I also felt guilty for not confiding in Mom. I wanted to talk to her about it, but couldn’t bring myself to.
One evening I was hogtied in front of the television. Bobby had crossed my ankles before bending my legs. This forced my knees apart. The position felt very sexy and I was making only perfunctory efforts to get loose. Bobby was bragging that I wouldn’t win any points that night. Mom agreed with him and made the comment that I had given up too easily. I had to pretend that it was still only a game. I told Mom that getting loose was easier that it looked and that if she thought it was so simple she ought to try it. To my surprise she agreed. She bet us that if she couldn’t get loose, she would take us to the movies. If she did get loose, Bobby and I had to clean the house top to bottom. We agreed on two out of three.
Bobby untied me and asked Mom to sit in a chair. He tied her ankles and her knees, and her arms in front of her. It didn’t take her long to get loose. Then Bobby tied her wrists behind the chair. I suggested that Bobby tie Mom’s ankles to the front legs of the chair.
Mom got a strange look on her face when Bobby he pulled her ankles apart and tied them to the chair. He tied her wrists behind the chair, then wrapped a rope around her body and the back of the chair. He crossed the rope between Mom’s breasts and I watched closely to see if he tried to sneak a touch on her. He didn’t seem to.
Mom struggled but couldn’t get loose this time. I demanded to be the one to tie her the third time.
I retied her wrists behind her, then tied her elbows together. Then I tied her wrists to the rung of the chair and told Bobby to tie her knees to the chair arms. When we finished Mom was completely immobilized. She tried to free herself for a few minutes, then gave up and asked us to untie her. We told her that she had to wait until the thirty minutes was up. Surprisingly she didn’t argue. When we released her she told us that she would take us to the movies on Saturday night.
Bobby and I continued our game. We thought up all sorts of ways to tie me. I got used to being tied for longer and longer periods. And in private I tied myself. I also began masturbating at this time. Bobby and I didn’t have sex together. I was still a good girl. Oh we smooched and petted, but nothing too heavy. Oh, Bobby was typical teenaged boy. He could be very grabby at times, and I had to push him away more than once, but oddly, he never tried anything improper when I was tied up.
Mom and Bobby’s mother are friends. Years later Mother told me that she told Bobby’s mother about our game. They talked it over and decided it was harmless. After all, we were just kids playing a childish game. She even let us tie her up again.
One evening we were watching an old movie. There was a scene where a scantily clad girl was tied to a stake. By that time I was spending every evening tied up. Watching the movie made my pussy tingle. Mother remarked that she had never seen me tied the way that girl was. We told her that that had actually been the first tie I had experienced. She said that it looked interesting. Bobby suggested that we tie her to a post so she could see for herself.
Two ornamental pillars flank the doorway into our dining room. Mom stood against one reached behind it and crossed her wrists. Bobby tied them and her ankles to the pillar. I said that I wanted to play too. Bobby tied me to other pillar.
Bobby left us tied to those pillars for almost an hour. He made a big show of stretching out having the couch all to himself. During that hour something earth shaking happened. For just a second, I caught strange look in Mom’ eyes. I can’t define the look, but something in her expression and in a brief movement of her body told me that she was enjoying herself.
If my mother, my wonderful, smart, angel of a mother was turned on, did that mean that she was dirty inside too? Or, , , maybe it wasn’t dirty. Maybe it was ok to have the thought s I had. Maybe I wasn’t a bad person after all.
I thought about this all the next day. When I got home I went to my room and undressed down to my panties. I tied myself spread wide on my bed, arms and legs tied to the corners. Then I called out for her to come up to my room. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me, but she didn’t seemed too surprised. She didn’t say anything, she just waited for me to speak.
I told her that I had been doing this to myself for sometime and that I didn’t just think that bondage was a game anymore. She said that she understood. I began to cry and told her about all the sexual thoughts I had, and about masturbating and having fantasies, and the guilty feelings I had. Then my Mom, the most incredibly wonderful person in the history of the human race, told me that I wasn’t bad, or dirty, or even unusual. She said that many women have the same kind of fantasies, and that I wasn’t alone. We talked for hours. She even told me that dad had tied her up a few times. I cried when she said that, cried for happy. She kissed my forehead and went down to cook dinner.
Bobby and I continued to play our game. But things were different now. He had no clue about what was going on inside me. I felt older than him.
Once he came to the house and discovered me when I had tied myself. Luckily I was fully clothed. I told him that I had tied myself so I could practice getting loose and beat him at the game. He accepted this without question.
As my teen years passed I grew. I filled out. My breasts grew and I lost my lankiness. In high school Bobby and I drifted apart. There were lots of cute boys in school and I dated a few, but none of them seemed to be special. I never mentioned bondage to any of my dates. Sometimes, if I liked the boy we might pet and sometimes it got hot and heavy, but I remained a virgin. In most ways I was a normal high school girl.
I continued to experiment with tying myself. I became very creative, both in style and location. Our barn had a hundred places to be tied. I tied myself to posts and spread between posts, hogtied on the floor, in empty stalls, in the loft.
I went to the loft and opened the upper doors. Just inside the shadow I placed an old chair. I stripped naked and tied myself in the chair with my knees wide apart. I sat facing the county road for hours. Any passing car might have seen me if they had looked closely.
Later I improved on this. I installed hooks in the walls on each side of the door about six feet off the floor. I threaded ropes through the hooks, tied myself in the chair with a waist rope, then tied my ankles to the wall ropes and tugged them tight until my legs were lifted up and apart. I tied the ropes to the bottom of the chair. Finally I tied my hands together behind the chair.
Sometimes when I am tied up I go into a dream state, almost a trance, and I have the most realistic fantasies. This time I imagined that passing cars could see me, and dozens of them turned onto our driveway. I could almost hear the sound of tires on the gravel, and car doors slamming, and men’s feet on the loft stairs. And I imagined man after man fucking me. I had several sweet orgasms while tied to the chair, then I freed my hands and masturbated and came so hard that I fell out of the chair.
Mom was very understanding about my curious hobby. She sometimes rolled her eyes at some of my shenanigans, but she never criticized me. Not even when I got in the habit of walking around the house with a hobble on my ankles and my wrists tied. She came home one time to find me studying in a self-induced hogtie. I was lying on my stomach on my bed. I had propped my textbook against my pillow and was turning the pages with a pencil held between my teeth. Mom burst out laughing when she saw me and I actually asked her what was so funny.
That little episode helped me move to another level of bondage. I didn’t like holding a pencil between my teeth. It was awkward. So I wrapped a bunch of tape around the end of a pencil and made a ball about two inches across. That was easier to hold in my mouth. And it was a perfect ball gag.
I like the heightened sensation of helplessness the gag gave me. So I experimented with different kinds. I discovered that a simple rubber ball inside nylon stocking worked great. I just tied the stocking behind my neck and the gag was perfect. (I was still a town farm girl then, I had no idea that an entire bondage culture existed outside my cocoon. I actually thought I had invented the ball gag. It wasn’t until years later that I found out differently).
I love watching any kind of movie that has bound women in it. I get new ideas that way. Anything that shows women tied up is cool. I even like scenes in dopey old horror movies where women were tortured in dungeons or witches were burned at the stake. Now I’ve never been interested in being burned, but at about seventeen I began to fantasize about being tortured. Needless to say, I never told Mom that. I found a picture in a book of a man stretched on a medieval rack. Then I saw a movie where a girl was stretched on a rack. I wanted that to happen to me, so I made myself a rack.
I found a wide plank in the barn. It was sixteen inches wide and two inches thick and it was over ten feet long. I screwed an eyebolt to each end and placed it across a set of sawhorses. I found a big piece of metal from an old dismantled tractor. It weighed about fifty pounds. I tied a roped to it and made a slip noose at the other end. I didn’t put the rope through the eyebolt, not for the trial run. I put the weight right on the end of the plank and laid a broomstick near it. I climbed on the plank and tied my ankles to one end. I lay on my back, slipped my wrists in the noose, and then pushed the weight off the plank with the stick. The board jerked, my arms were snapped straight and my body slid up the board until stopped by my ankle ropes and I had an incredible orgasm!
I lay on the plank in pure ecstasy. The weight dangled a few inches off the floor. It pulled fiercely on my arms tight and made my shoulders ache, but I loved it. I found that I could pull the weight up a little, then let it drop. Each time I came. After five or six orgasms I was exhausted. I just lay back and revelled in feeling helpless. After about an hour I released myself by rolling onto my side and pulling the weight rope off the end of the plank. I tugged the weight toward me until there was enough slack in the rope to untie myself. If I had threaded the rope through the eyebolt, it would have been impossible to get loose.
The next time I tried self-torture, I left a note on the kitchen table telling Mom where I was. This time I took everything up to the loft. I set the plank so that the end with the weight extended over the lower level. I tied a longer rope to the weight and this time I put the rope through the eyebolt. I tied my ankles to the bottom of the plank, put my wrists through the loop and pushed the weight off. I was in for more than I had expected.
The weight fell fifteen feet. It jerked my body as tight as a bowstring. My wrists went numb instantly and I felt like my shoulders were being dislocated. Something that I hadn’t anticipated also happened. The bottom end of my plank rose into the air. The whole thing, including me, slid forward a few inches. It tottered over edge of the loft and I was terrified that I was going to fall. I screamed with fear and an orgasm hit me in mid scream!
I hung for a second, then the plank crashed back down onto the sawhorse. The weight must have rebounded, because my ropes went slack for an instant, then the weight jerked my arms tight again. I screamed again and I had another orgasm.
I screamed and screamed. I screamed in pain and delight and in wild sexual abandon. When the plank came to rest, and the weight stopped swinging, and my heart returned to its normal rate, I dozed off into one of my trances. I dreamt of being tortured on a real rack, then being fucked by my torturers, then tortured more and fucked again, and again, and again.
Mom came home, found my note and came looking for me. She was horrified when she found me semi conscious. She cut me loose and helped me off the plank. She wanted to drive me to the hospital. I roused out of my dream like condition to assure her that I was not only all right, but I was incredibly all right.
I usually kept the details of my private sexual activities to myself. But I just had to share this one with Mom. She listened, agreed that it was very sexy, then made me promise not to do it again. I promised, but still used it occasionally. I just modified it so that as the rope swung it rubbed across a sharpened sickle blade. The rope would cut through in a few minutes. As another precaution I connected a rope from a hook on the far wall to the foot of the plank. The plank still bounced me around, which was part of the excitement, but at least I wouldn’t fall out of the loft.
I used (and still use) weights to hoist myself off my feet. There was a ton of junk metal in the barn. It was simple to put a rope over a beam and tie one end to a mass of metal that weighs more than me. I put the weights on a board a few feet off the ground. One end of the board rests on a sawhorse; a stick props the other end. I tied a rope to the stick and hold the other end. I slipped my hands through the noose, pulled away the prop and up I went. I absolutely adore hanging by my wrists this way. I had a knife tied to my wrist with a string and could cut myself loose when I was ready. Depending on my mood, I sometimes tied my ankles together, or apart with a spreader stick, and sometimes I didn’t tie them at all. Occasionally it was fun to kick and thrash around pretending I was being whipped.
My favorite fantasy was (and still is) to be hoisted up to the beam outside the loft door and hang there for every passing car to see. A variation was to be hoisted upside down with a spreader bar holding my legs wide, wide apart.
One day when I was seventeen I had an opportunity to indulge my growing exhibitionistic side. The farmer next door was ploughing a field beside our house. I was gazing out my window when it occurred to me that his tractor was getting closer to our house with each pass.
We have an old teahouse on that side of the lawn, a little gazebo with lattice walls. I undressed and walked to the gazebo. I tossed a rope over the roof beams, tied a spreader bar between my ankles and tied my wrists above my head. The lattice partially screened me from sight, but just barely.
I stood motionless as the tractor got nearer. I was sure that if the man were to look closely he would see me.
The farmer glanced toward me a few times, I think he even slowed. While he was out of sight at the end of the field, I untied myself and ran to the house. I peeked out a window as he passed by. He looked very carefully at the gazebo. I waited until he was out of sight again, ran to the teahouse and stood quite still as he passed. Then I hobbled my ankles and tied my wrists in front and shuffled as quickly as I could to a row of bushes on the fence line. I crawled under a bush, spread my legs and masturbated as the tractor approached. It passed within ten feet of me. As the sound of its engine grew to a roar I frantically rubbed my clit. When it was right beside me, it stopped!
He was looking right over me at the gazebo. The tractor was so close that I felt the heat from its exhaust. I lay perfectly still, except for my fingers. I watched him though the bushes as he peered at the gazebo. I bit my lip to keep quiet when the orgasm came. I kept my eyes on him as the delicious shudders coursed through me.
After a moment, the farmer started the engine and moved away. I climbed
to my feet and moved away from the bushes. I stood in the open sunlight
as he drove away. If he had looked back he would have seen me.