© Copyright 2013 - Ron McIngle - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-M; Sbf; discovery; naked; cuffs; gag; hood; rope; toys; electro; tease; torment; voy; mast; climax; mpov; cons; X
Sometimes you’re given lemons and you can make lemonade. Sometimes the lemonade just gets made for you.
Take my in-laws moving to the desert for example. They retired, sold their Los Angeles area home for an incredible amount of money and bought a brand new house in the desert for 1/10th the amount. It’s great if you don’t have to work.
The bad part was that family gatherings continued to be at their house. The problem was that it was no longer an afternoon affair; we had to pack up and make a journey. And stay a while.
Don’t get me wrong, Mom and Dad are okay, but I can only take so much of their endless chatter about nothing. I go stir crazy and have to get away.
So I made lemonade. I bought a dirt bike, and started riding through the desert. I could start from their house, ride to the end of the block, drop into a wash, follow it to the outskirts of town and then pick up trails into the uninhabited areas.
Normally I would get my brother-in-law to go along, but on this occasion I was riding alone. More lemons. That [email protected]#$% bike just quit. No warning, no coughing, no sputtering, just plain quit. I was miles from home, and worse, it was a week day and there were damn few people about.
I hid the bike between some large boulders, made a pile of rocks next to the trail I had been on (so that I might possibly find my bike again), took the emergency water from the bike’s pack (I wasn’t completely stupid) and started hoofing it back to town.
It was early May so the weather wasn’t really hot, and it was slightly downhill towards town so the hike wasn’t too bad. Still, I had a long way to go and figured that I would be better off taking a straight line rather than following the meandering bike trails.
So it was that I happened into a small canyon, still a mile or so outside of town. The area is littered with rundown and abandoned shacks, remnants of a time when the U.S. government gave away an acre homestead to anyone who would build a house. Thousands of people flocked to the desert and threw up the minimum structure to qualify, expecting to reap huge profits from the expected land boom.
Unfortunately, the land boom didn’t materialize and most of the dwellings were abandoned. Squatters moved into the better ones, or at least the ones close to a maintained road. The poorly built ones simply vanished, but a few well built but isolated structures remain.
Such was the case of the cinder block structure in the canyon. My spirits rose sharply when I spotted a SUV parked next to the building; maybe I wouldn’t have to walk all the way after all.
This definitely wasn’t a squatter’s home. First off, the piles of garbage typically littering a squatter’s home were absent. Second, squatters rarely drove nearly new SUVs. Fearful of walking into a drug deal or similar I decided to sit back and watch for a bit.
What a saw next surprised the heck out of me. A totally nude woman emerged from the shack carrying an armload of miscellaneous objects. She opened the back of the SUV and piled the armload into a large trunk, which she then closed and locked. She took a nervous look around, and then disappeared back into the shack.
I remained in my hiding spot for a good hour, waiting to see who else might emerge. Nothing. I finally decided that I would cautiously check it out so I quietly approached the house. There was no conversation, no discernable sounds at all.
The walls of the dwelling were constructed of cinder blocks, which were still intact. The windows had the remains of plywood nailed over them, but numerous holes provided opportunities to peek inside. At first I thought the building was empty, but then I glanced down and spotted the woman’s body sprawled out on the floor! I could see that she was tied in place, with a hood over her head.
I moved around to the main entrance, which at one time was secured by a heavy steel door. Now the door hung askew, obviously pried open a long time ago. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I was able to confirm that there was no one else there, just the bound, naked lady and myself.
She was quite a sight. In her thirties, I would guess from the shape of her body. Her head and face were hidden by a leather hood that was fastened on and locked with a small padlock. Her mouth was held open by a ring gag, which appeared to also be locked in place by a strap under the hood.
She was laying spread eagle in the dirt. At one time the dwelling may have had a wood floor, but all traces of it were gone, probably burned as fire wood by the various people that happened upon this place. Four large iron stakes had been pounded into the dirt, two by her hands and two just beyond her feet. The tops of the iron stakes were mushroomed over, indicating that they were well set into the dirt.
The two stakes near her feet had u-bolts clamping steel rings to the stakes. Ropes passed through the rings and fastened to leather cuffs on her ankles. A spreader bar held her ankles 36 inches apart. The ropes that held her centered between the stakes tied to a length of chain, which ran up to the stakes next to her hands, where they were secured by padlocks.
Off the center of the spreader bar was another bar which appeared to be pushing a dildo deep into her vagina. A pair of electrical wires ran from the dildo to an electronics box that was secured to the bar, roughly half way between her crotch and knees. Another set of wires ran from the control box to the stakes next to her hand, where pushbuttons (similar to a nurses call button) were taped. The women had her fingers wrapped around the stakes with her thumbs holding the buttons depressed.
Around her neck she wore a very tall collar, perhaps 4 inches wide. The top edge was padded where it pressed into her chin, forcing her to keep her head still. A chain was locked to the collar, which also served to lock the collar on. The chain ran off towards a stake set in the ground a good ten feet away where it was simply clipped to the stake.
A pair of leather cuffs were locked around her wrists. An individual chain from each wrist cuff ran up to a point on the neck chain well above her head. The slack in the wrist chains would allow her to move her hands a fair amount, limited to an arc of motion centered well above her. Despite the relative freedom of her hands she strained to hold the stakes and keep the buttons depressed. The wrist chains seemed secondary: what held her in place was the chain from her collar to the stake well out of her reach and the rope/chain holding her ankles in the opposite direction.
Directly above her head was an eyebolt, screwed into the heavy beam supporting the tin roof. A heavy string ran from the stake next to her left hand up through the eyebolt and terminated in a block of ice. A second string emerged from the opposite end of the ice and fastened to a heavy weight. The weight had a second string attached that fastened to another beam about 5 feet away.
On each nipple was clamped a clothespin, which had a string attached that ran loosely up to the weight above her head. Six more clothespins were clamped on her labia, three on each lip. Strings from these clothespins tied down to the stakes below her feet.
I marveled at the ingenuity of the setup. There was obviously a key frozen in the ice. Once the ice melted she would be able to pull the key through the eyebolt and unlock the chains that in turn held her feet in place. Then she could scoot the ten feet to the stake that fastened her neck chain in place and release that. Two other keys were hanging on a nail beside the door, completely out of reach until she released the neck chain.
Release came at a price, however. When the ice melted, the weight would fall, swinging an arc until it was arrested by the strings tied to her nipples. Would they hold, or would the momentum yank them off? Either way, it was bound to hurt.
Once she unlocked the chains/ropes holding her feet down she could make her way to where the neck chain was secured, but she could only go a short distance before she was stopped by the cords on the labia clothespins. It didn’t look likely that the slack in her wrist chains would allow her to reach her crotch, which left her no option but to continue, forcing the clips to pull off.
As the ice melted water dripped down upon her head, providing both additional torment and relief. If she positioned herself just right the drips would land in her open mouth, easing her thirst.
She moaned softly and struggled against her bonds. I couldn’t tell if the moans were from pain, frustration, or pleasure. Perhaps all three…..
Many thoughts raced through my mind. She was helpless, and blindfolded. I could take advantage of her and move along and she would never have any idea who did it. I could torment her, adding to her self imposed torture. I could release her, freeing her from her obvious distress.
Alas, I decided the best thing to do was nothing: just observe. I moved as quietly as I could but at one point she sensed something.
“Whooo’s errrr?” she mumbled through the gag.
I remained motionless, and eventually she relaxed and went back to her fruitless struggles.
I sat and watched, mesmerized by the scene. She would occasionally arch her back and thrust her chest, making her breasts bounce slightly and the clothespins wobble. A sharp intake of breath was indication that her efforts only caused her pain.
She would also scoot up and back, as much as the minute amount of slack in her bonds would allow. She scooted down towards her feet, tightening the chain to her collar but allowing her to bend her knees slightly. As her knees bent the dildo, fastened via the pole to her ankles, shifted in her vagina. She would attempt the hump the dildo, which only made the clothespins on her labia hurt more. Soon she would scoot back up to relieve the tension on her neck.
It was the hands that confused me at first. She held tight to the stakes, but her hands were not bound to them. Eventually I was able to observe why.
It started with a twitch of the nose. Isn’t it always the case that your nose itches when you can’t scratch it? She tried to turn her head to rub against her outstretched arm but the width of the collar prevented it. She struggled with it for several minutes, then finally let go with one hand to scratch her nose.
Immediately upon releasing the switch the control box wired to the dildo beeped and came alive. She shrieked through her gag as various indicators on the control box lit up, indicating that it was causing her considerable distress. She quickly rubbed her nose and grabbed the switch again, but the control box was not so easily pacified as a numeric display counted down from nine. She jerked and thrust her hips, twisting left and right as the electrified dildo worked her over. The numeric display reached zero, then everything shut off. Her wild gyrations ceased but she laid panting and moaning for several minutes afterwards.
I believe she fell asleep a while later, for she let go of the switch for no apparent reason. I am sure it was a rude awakening when the control box shocked her back awake.
I had been watching her for a little over an hour, and she could have been secured for up to an hour before that. It was pretty hot near the tin roof of the shack so the ice melted fairly quickly, considering the size of the block. I could see the shape of the key getting closer and closer to the edge of the ice and knew it would pull free soon. I watched closely, but still managed to blink and miss the actual release of the key.
Anyone within a hundred yards would have been alerted to the fact that the weight had released, however. In the corner of my eye I saw the motion of the weight as it swung down. It was moving pretty fast when it reached bottom and started to continue on its arc, but that is when it reached the end of the slack in the nipple clamps. They were no match for the momentum and they jerked cleanly off.
The woman’s howls were ear splitting within the shack. She let go of the stakes with both hands and attempted to reach for her breasts, but slack in the wrist chains stopped her well short. Meanwhile, the control box beeped back to life, apparently adding to her agony and forcing her hands to retreat to the stakes. Her howl subsided into a sort of gurgling cry that really made me want to help her. I didn’t, though. I just watched.
It took a few minutes before she had recovered enough to start working on retrieving the key. Careful not to let loose of the switch, she started tugging gently on the string tied to the key. Unfortunately, there were still chunks of ice on the key which prevented it from passing through the eyebolt. She was apparently experienced with this and kept jiggling the string. It took another ten minutes before the key passed through the eye bolt and fell to the ground beside her head.
She pulled the string along until she had the key in hand, and then paused. I could see her dilemma. There was no way she could keep both switches depressed and work the locks at the same time.
After gathering her courage she let go of both switches and reached for the lock by her left hand. The control box beeped and came alive. She shrieked but continued to work at the lock. Still blindfolded, it took her several tries to get the key in the lock. Meanwhile, the control box beeped a second time and her shrieks intensified: apparently the torture increased the longer the switches were released.
After releasing the first lock her hand retreated to the switches. The control box counted down and shut off. She lay panting for a minute, then repeated the process for the lock by the right hand.
With the locks released the tension against her feet was released and she was free to scoot. Except for the clothespins on her labia, that is. She had moved only a few inches before the shortest string pulled taut. She whimpered at just the manipulation of the clothespin on the tender skin. She had no choice; her only release was to continue.
She inched forward, crying out as the clothespin slowly slipped off. Five more times she repeated this as each clothespin in turn came taut. Once the last clothespin had come off she scooted rapidly until she was a far forward as she could go and still hold the switches.
She paused for a moment, then let go of the switches and starting scooting as fast as she could. The control box beeped. She shrieked and scooted another foot before attempting to sit up. She managed to sit upright before the neck chain went taught, with her hands still out of reach of the control box.
She lay back down and scooted several more feet before attempting to sit again. Now she had enough slack to bend at the waist (an impressive display of flexibility, actually) which allowed her hands to reach the control box. Her fingers felt the face until it located a large knob, which she rotated fully counter clockwise.
After a minute she rotated the knob back clockwise one click. Then another. And then another. After the fourth click she started making soft mewing noises: instead of painful torment the control box was now providing pleasurable stimulation. She started to rub the spots where clothespins had been applied: her nipples and the labia. She moaned loudly and her body shuddered, evidence of a major orgasm.
After her orgasm subsided she continued making her way towards the stake securing her neck chain. I could see that as she scooted the dildo worked in and out of her vagina, and combined with the mild electric stimulation I could tell she was quite enjoying it. She wasn’t in any hurry now and it took a while before she reached the stake. No lock here, just a simple snap hook. After releasing it she started scooting towards the door where the keys to the other locks were located, dragging the chain behind her.
At last she reached the key ring and started working on the lock securing her hood in place. The lock opened, releasing the ends of the laces. She pulled the laces through the bottom eyelets then loosened the upper portion enough to slip the hood off.
Shoulder length brown hair spilled out, matted and a little sweaty. She shook her head and started to wipe her face when she saw me sitting there.
The look of shock and terror in her eyes was priceless.
“Hello” I said.
“Ow ong ave ooo een ere?” she mumbled.
“Long enough” I replied. “That was quite a show!”
I am sure that if she could have she would have run. Unfortunately, here feet were still held by the spreader bar and the dildo was still pinned inside her. There was also no clothing for her to cover up with, so she was quite helpless.
“Carry on” I urged. “I am anxious to see what happens next!”
Now she shut off the control box. The second key she had just retrieved was used to release the spreader bar from her ankles, and in turn the dildo from her vagina.
And then she sat. The collar was still around her neck, the chain dragging the ground. The ring gag was still in her mouth, and the cuffs still on her wrists and ankles. She didn’t seem to have the keys to remove these.
“I was hoping that I could get a ride.” I explained, and told her how I came to be in this location. She nodded, and said “ark”.
“Dark?” I replied back. “You are waiting for nighttime?”
She nodded, and pointed to herself.
“I see. Are the rest of the keys at home?”
She shook her head no. “idthsss”.
“Kids?” I said back. “You have kids at home?”
It was another two hours before dark, which gave us plenty of time to talk, even though talking was quite difficult for her. I learned that her husband isn’t interested in her BDSM hobby so she comes out here about once a month to play. She has managed to keep it a secret from her husband and kids, and until now had never been discovered.
After she became more comfortable with my presence I urged her to masturbate again, which she did with gusto. I must say it was quite a show!
When it was finally dark enough we got in her car and drove back into town. She took back, dark streets to get to a vacant lot where she had stashed the key to the big trunk in the back. She removed the rest of her bondage gear and put on a sundress and was instantly transformed into just an ordinary person.
On the way to my in-laws house she thanked me for “being a gentleman” and not taking advantage of her situation. After she dropped me off I realized that I never even knew her name.
On my next visit, a few months later, I was able to find that canyon again. I could see signs that she had been there: a slightly different arrangement of eye bolts and stakes. Unfortunately, I only get out there four or five times a year, and mostly on weekends so the odds are pretty slim, but one of these days……
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