Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

The Differences

by kittin

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© Copyright 2002 - kittin - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; present; cuffs; gag; stuck; M/F; bdsm; nipple; slave; oral; sex; cons; X

Five minutes:

You’d think that ten straight days of bondage, tied out to a bed unable to move except for a few minutes a day after the first three days to use the bathroom and grab a couple of quick showers - in handcuffs, and with my grinning captor watching me - would have been enough to cure me of wanting any more such treatment for a while. Oh no.

Just after I’d put myself in that position, gagged, naked and helpless and completely alone and vulnerable for the next ten days, I had an immediate shock as to what I’d done, and as expected, I pulled and fought against my handcuffs and ankle straps hoping I’d made some mistake and could slip free. No such luck - I was in for it, and good.

After the first waves of soreness and cramping from the hard rubber ball strapped in my mouth had passed, I cried for a little while, not that crying helped any either. And just to help keep me hoping and thinking of the only person in the whole world who could come and make the slightest arrangement of the suffering and discomfort I was in, I had added a pair of clothespins to my nipples, just as the guy who’d first taken me to bed in my handcuffs did when he wanted my complete attention. I cried and whimpered for him when he did that the first time, and I was crying and whimpering for him now, even if he wasn’t there to enjoy the entertainment. But I wouldn’t be drifting off to any lazy dreams and sleep my way through my ordeal, oh no. I had given myself the whole treatment, and I was going to pay the price for it.

And so I lay there helpless the way he liked and thought about him and us. In the e-mail I’d sent him telling him what I’d done and what was waiting for him if he wanted it, I’d ended it by telling him I loved him, and I’d never said that to him before. Sometimes when he had me gagged and he’d tease or tickle me and make me beg I’d scream those words as loud as I could into my gag, but he never knew - and now he did. Would he come to me, happy with the thought and present he’d been given? Or would he teach me a lesson by avoiding me for a week or two for presuming too much. I’d really have been happier saying those words to him the first time, with his arms around me even if mine were cuffed behind my back or locked to the bedposts. But it was up to him whether to accept those words as anything more than empty promise, and what to do with the little surprise package awaiting him.

So I lay there thinking, about him and about us. We’d been friends and sometime bed partners for almost two years, but the time I was spending at college and at work kept us from spending any real time together, and he was usually out of town on weekends. But sometimes we’d get together, and some lucky nights I’d find myself handcuffed to the bed while he slowly gave both of us enough passion and pleasure to make up for anything we might have missed previously. Some mornings I’d wake up to find him starting all over again, knowing that my morning was going to be a repeat of the night before. That’s a wake-up call not to be missed or slept through.

But that wasn’t what I got on the next morning after I’d made him my e-mailed offer, nor on the second morning. That made me cry again, knowing I was going to have another day like that alone and unloved, and that I might just be spending the next one the same way, and that my ten day treat would just be a lonely waste. It was ten hours later when he came through the door.

I wanted to kiss him and hug him and tell him how glad I was to see him, but I was still gagged and he was quite happy to keep me that way. He asked me if I was cramping or in pain and I shook my head no. He asked if I was enjoying myself, and I shook my head yes. He asked if I needed to use the bathroom and I shook my head yes again. He asked if I could wait about 4 more hours, and I nodded yes again. Then he gave my clothespins a good hard pinch, which made me scream into the gag again, and kissed my forehead, said he was going out for supper, and he’d be back in a few hours. And so he left for a while longer, and got to wait some more.

Three minutes:

It was just amazing the difference his arrival had made, before my suffering was meaningless and lonely, now it was all in his hands just as I had wanted. I’d be spending a week as he wanted, doing whatever he wished. I was really, really his.

The differences between us are many and real; he’s nearly twice my age. We’re from different parts of the country and he’s from a rural small town; I grew up in cities. I have parents and aunts and nephews and nieces galore, and he’s alone in the world and likes it that way. I’m in college and like my classes and teachers and he joined the Army rather than go to college. So we’re different.

When he came back, he undid me from the bed, pulled my wrists behind my back, and cuffed them like that. He walked me to the bathroom and watched while I was in it. I’d never done that in front of anyone in my life. He asked me if I wanted a shower, and still gagged, I nodded yes. He adjusted the water and helped me in. He soaped me up and the water sprayed me off, just warm enough to be nice. I’d never had anything like this in my life. And he was enjoying it all.

And so my next seven days went. I learned how to please him well enough that he took one of my clothespins off. Then it took me three more tries before he told me I’d outdone that first effort and removed the other one. I spent the evenings on the bed, just as I’d expected. I spent some days there, and some cuffed to a chair, and one afternoon hogtied on the floor. Sometimes I was gagged and sometimes not. And we talked, a lot, when I wasn’t.

Two minutes:

So I learned about those differences, and they scared me more than the worries I’d had earlier that he wouldn’t show up, or would laugh at me as being a silly young girl.

And every night since that week-plus ordeal, I’ve slept in my handcuffs, which gives my roommate no end of amusement. And when he said he’d be out of town this most recent weekend, I didn’t complain or cry or nag at him. Instead I spent Saturday getting a cute new outfit, and later that evening I went over to his place with the key I’d given me.

And I thought about all those worrisome differences that could wedge us apart, and I found that if my wrists just fit through the railing of the headboard on his bed. I lay down there in my new dress with it riding up around my hips, and closed my handcuffs around my wrist listening to their magic little clicking sound as they closed.

Ten seconds:

They really are magic, from the way that they came to me, to the way that I got them fixed and working again, to the way that now, when I have worries about differences, they can make them all go away. Because when I close them on my other wrist, trapping myself on the bed of my lover and master, there’ll only be two differences that matter: I’m female, and he’s male, oh so very male and masculine. And I’m helpless and at his disposal, and he’s free, to have any sort of fun he wants with me, for as long as he wants.

Two seconds:



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