Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

A Different Perspective

by Clare

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© Copyright 2004 - Clare - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; cuffs; rope; susp; chain; climax; M/f; bdsm; cons; X

For today’s adventure, I decided to see the world a different way. I’d wanted to do this for ages but couldn’t figure out a way to make it work. Being tied was Ok, but I was always looking for new ways to do it. Once I’d put the key to my handcuffs in a small box, and a coin in five identical boxes so that they weighed the same. I placed each box in a corner of the house and thrown the last one out of the window into the back garden. Then I stripped, gagged and blindfolded myself, chained the cuffs to my ankles and dragged myself around the house in search of the key. The two boxes upstairs yielded copper coins. Getting downstairs was hard work and gave me carpet burns on my knees, elbows and breasts. I was lying across the front doorway, resting, when a shower of letters, bills and junk mail dropped on me as the postman made his delivery. Fortunately the door is half solid, with frosted glass at the top. I’d like to think he went on his way, oblivious to the shock and suffering on the other side of the door. I was thankful that the key was in the next box, and I didn’t have to slither across the patio in search of a small object sitting in 150 square yards of grass.

I’d never tried this new method before, and didn’t know how long I could endure. As it was the first time, I reluctantly had to do without blindfold and gag to make sure I didn’t batter my brains out or come to some other untimely end. I was expecting Peter home at half past six, so at quarter past five, I started my preparations. I opened the hatch to the loft and pulled down the ladder, leaving it in a position that didn’t lock it in place. Then I locked a long chain around the bottom step and threw the other end into the loft  To save me going up and down the ladder several times, in search of things I’ve forgotten (difficult if you’ve just tied yourself) all the toys now live in a sports bag under the bed, so I pulled that out and pushed it ahead of me into the loft then went back for the duvet and a couple of pillows off the bed. Once I was up again, I used the chain to pull up the bottom section of the ladder until it mated with the top half, then slid the whole thing clear of the open hatch.

It was pleasantly cool in the loft. We’ve been having a late heat wave and the rooms at the front of the house which face south have been a bit warm in the afternoon. Jeans, pants, blouse and bra were soon in a puddle, no shoes as I’d been gardening all day and hadn’t needed to go anywhere – I always take my clothes off in the loft rather than going up naked, as it gives me somewhere I can put my glasses where they won’t get scratched. What’s in the toy bag? First, a long chain that I fastened to the beam running along the centreline of the loft. It ended about two feet above the level of the floor, but was over the hatch. Next, a shorter chain, which went around my waist, padlocked at the front. The loose end went between my legs and I opened myself up so that it rested against my clit. Another lock through the links secured it to both the waist chain, and the middle of the handcuffs.

Before going any further, I hung a two pillows over the far edge of the hatch, covering the edge, and put two more, and the duvet over this side of the opening. I didn’t really want any serious head wounds today. We bought a new clothes line recently. It was cotton, and had been through the washing machine several times (a hint I got from the Joy of Sex) so it was nice and soft. I wrapped it round my ankles fifteen times, then between my feet a couple of times to secure the loops. There was still thirty foot of line left that I wouldn’t need, but I didn’t want to cut it too short this time. I’d know for next time. I lifted my bound feet and threaded the hanging chain through my ankles, locking it in a loop around the rope. It was hard work in this position, but more fun than crunchies at the gym (gym is a form of torture, but I’ve never seen it in the same light as self bondage. I think it has something to do with the helpless aspect, whereas at the gym, you can just give up and go for a cup of hot chocolate in the juice bar with the rest of the girlz). 

So there I was, sitting next to the hatch, with my feet hanging two feet in the air. I studied the opening for a few minutes, but couldn’t figure out the best way to get through it. When the alarm clock in the bedroom bleeped the hour (I normally make sure it’s off so that I don’t know how much suffering I have left to endure, but this was a trial run) I clipped clothes pegs to my nipples – a lot easier when you don’t have a rubber ball in your mouth stopping you looking downwards – closed the cuffs on my wrists and scrunched myself up into as small a size as possible whilst keeping the long chain taut. I rolled to the left and immediately felt the duvet and pillows start to slide. I tucked my head in and fell through the hole in a cascade of bedding. 

Because the chain had been kept taut, the strain on my ankles wasn’t too bad, although the rest of me was flicked out straight in a violent manner. Once my heart stopped pounding and the fluid in my inner ear had stopped whizzing round uncontrollably, I took stock. I was swinging gently several feet above the landing floor, hanging by my ankles, with everything from the knees up (or down, if you prefer) on view. I hoped Peter wouldn’t bring anybody home for dinner.

The rope around my ankles was tight, but not too painful and the strain was bearable as I only just weight nine stones (I’m only small). The pegs on my nipples were burning nicely and the chain between my legs was pressing against me with a delicious sensation as I had obviously pulled it tighter when trying to flail my arms about when I fell through the hatch.

I briefly considered self restraint (oops, sorry) and waiting for Peter to get home but decided against it; not a hard decision. By pulling my wrists I could get the chain to move backwards and forwards. The movement was only slight, but enough that I slowly worked my way into a semi conscious state of pleasure. I felt my back arch and my toes curl tightly before the white light blocked everything out. It was a shame he wasn’t there to see it, he would have really enjoyed it.

Once I’d clamed down, flicked most of the hair from my eyes and given up trying to figure out how to get the dribble off my face, I started listening for the sound of the car. Several cars went past but, disappointingly, didn’t stop. Then I heard a car door slam, and keys in the door. Keeping quiet, just in case he wasn’t alone, I waited to see how long it would take him to find me. It wasn’t long.

“Hello” he said, “what have you been doing today?” Wasn’t it obvious?

“Just been hanging around. “ What a wit I am.

“Hmmmm, don’t know how I’m going to get you down. I don’t think I can get the ladder down past you.”

I hadn’t thought of that. The ladder was in the loft and I was in the way. He wandered off and soon returned with a free standing step ladder which he managed to manoeuvre into the hatch and then climb. With a bit of twisting, he got into the loft and I could hear footsteps on the boards as he tried to figure out how to free me without dropping me head first onto the floor. 

I didn’t hear a swish of leather so I was totally unprepared for the stinging bite of a belt across the soles of my feet. I let out a screech, partly of pain but mostly of surprise and thrashed about for a few moment. I heard the next one coming, but being prepared was of no use and again I yelled and bucked helplessly. Another saw the tears start to flow and scrunching my toes up didn’t protect me from the fourth lash. Number five and I was shouting “stop.” Number six and I was begging – please, no more, I can’t stand any more, please.

“How was that?” I looked up to see Peter grinning at me through the hatch.


“OK.” He didn’t ask if I was sure. If he had, I’d have changed my mind. 

He might have given me another six lashes, it might have been sixty, but I wasn’t counting. I was pleading, screaming and swearing. I swung back and forth on the chain, almost colliding with the walls, long after the beating stopped. Eventually reality caught up with me and I knew he had stopped. I couldn’t see through the tears any more but guessed that he was watching again.

“No more.” I’d never been beaten across the soles of my feet before and had no idea it could hurt so much. I thought my feet were quite tough as I spend a lot of time barefoot, but a leather belt was a completely different proposition from walking to the shops without shoes.

“Enough for today?”

“How about you get me down, then put a couple of dozen across my backside?”

Me and my big mouth.



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