© Copyright 2013 - Anne Woolsey - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; outdoors; public; tree; rope; gag; thrill; discovery; cons; X
After the divorce I moved out of the city. With my share of the equity from our town house I was able to put a down payment on a small cape style house in a town half way between the city and the NH state line. It had everything I needed including a commuter rail stop a short walk away. I got a rescue dog and settled into the suburban life.
I could do my work from home most of the time, but I rode the train several days a week to my office in the city.
After moving in, I began to look for places to take the dog for walks and to cross-country run. There were several I found in town and nearby, but I had to drive to them. While riding the train, I noticed a small park-like area on the north side of the track just before my stop.
From the Town web site, I found that the area was part of a park and conservation network maintained by local groups. This particular area, Pole Hill was its name, was a conservation easement and included a mile-long loop trail and several crossing trails of varying terrain. .
The access was a short walk from my new home so I began to take the dog there for walks and did some running as well.
On a dozen trips over the span of the summer, I found that it was generally quiet and underused. I bumped into only two other people all summer!
The loop trail paralleled the railroad track for a short distance. My visits coincided several times with the passing of trains; the rush of air and the roar and rattle of the train freaked the dog out, but to me, it was thrilling. I had always loved trains and being that close to one as it sped on its way was way cool! I could see the faces of the people on the train. If they spotted me, most appeared startled to see a human out in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere!
Any way I don’t know from where the idea came to tie myself up in view of a train.
I mean I know where it came from; I was a regular practitioner of self-bondage and had been since my early teen years. As a tween, I found and read and re-read my Mom’s old Nancy Drew books. I really focused in on the parts where the heroines got themselves tied up. I started to tie myself whenever I had the chance. Since I didn’t want to get caught, I did a lot of my tying up outdoors. We lived on a large piece of land out in the country and there were a lot of places I could do it and be safely out of sight. Since my Mom was a single mom, I had plenty of opportunity after school to play.
As I got older, I made a connection between being tied up and sexual arousal. I found I could get excited just by thinking of tying myself.
I was afraid to tell anyone about it; I thought I was a total weirdo for doing it! So I dated and hung out and did all the other things kids did, but a part of my mind was always on being tied up.
I sometimes ached to tell someone, to have a boyfriend gather my hands together and tie them and take advantage of me, but I was too embarrassed and afraid to act on it!
I researched what I called my hobby and found that while certainly not main stream, BDSM as I found it was called, was fairly common. I discovered that there were all kinds of variations, some that were totally disgusting and perverted.
My interests, formed by the Drew mysteries and my early fumbling around, lay in being kidnapped and held captive, bound and gagged, of course in some type of a scenario where I was in danger, but not too much danger.
I continued to self-tie through college and beyond. When I got my first apartment, it was heaven! I could put myself into bondage whenever I wanted and I became very proficient at it, but I did it so much that I kind of wore myself out so I drifted away from it, packing away the rope, gags and other toys.
I met a guy and eventually married. He turned out to be a complete asshole, an alcoholic and a sometimes physical abuser. The second time he hit me I kicked him out and filed!
Between us we had made good money and when we divorced, we split a healthy sum, some of which went towards my present home.
When I moved in here, and was unpacking, I found my old toys among the many boxes.
It was like a switch had been thrown. I was right back into it!
After I settled in, I spent a lot of my free time in some form of bondage, if only just wearing my leather collar or braided rope bracelets or clothing I found to be fetish-y. Since I didn’t really know anyone at first, I could get away with it. As I came to know my neighbors I began to be more circumspect, but I still sometimes went for walks with the dog wearing a rope harness and crotch rope under my clothing.
I also bought a camera with a remote timer and a tripod and began to post pictures of myself in bondage at various sites on the ‘net. I got a lot of comments and, of course, proposals. I loved the comments, but I ignored any and all proposals to meet and ‘play’.
I loved that, although computers and wires and whatever were in between, people could see me tied up! I became a comment whore, even sending ‘special’ request photos to some of my on-line friends.
I was a surprise to me that I craved that attention. Once I found I needed it, though, I scratched the itch often!
Back to the present!
It occurred to me that I could tie myself up in some fashion in the park and be seen by the train passengers! I could remain anonymous and be physically separated while getting my attention fix!
There were risks of course. I could be discovered in the park by passersby or someone on the train could call the cops. I thought it through and figured the risks were small and manageable, so I decided to give it a try.
I figured that a week day afternoon would be the rest. The late afternoon trains carried the most people, of course. The 5:17 was generally loaded to capacity. I figured to make a cameo for that train and then get out of there.
I decided to go full out bound and gagged.
Adjacent to the tracks just north of the stone arch bridge the train traveled over there was a u-shaped cleared area approximately 30 by 45 foot extending away from the tracks. The trees on both sides of the ‘u’ extended to the edge of the right-of-way.
The tree line obscured a view of the clearing as the train approached from either direction. If I was standing against the tree line I couldn’t be seen until a person looked straight into the clearing. That was important because I didn’t want the engineer to see me figuring he could communicate ahead to someone if he did. Of course so could the conductor should he see me, but that was one of the risks!
The outbound train, at that point, would be moving relatively slowly since it had just passed through a switching area and was accelerating for the run to the next station.
There was another conservation area southerly from Pole Hill. A small water course separated the two; there was no dry land connection between them. Rather than come in along the Pole Hill trails, I decided to enter along the railroad tracks from the other area. I figured if I went in along the tracks and left the same way, I would be less likely to be seen and I could park over there in a small lot.
So that’s what I did!
No one was in the area as I parked and walked along the track and over the bridge into Pole Hill.
When I reached the place where I would do the deed, I stripped off my sweats. Underneath, I wore a grey sweater and dark patterned tights, black skirt with knee high boots
As I set about doing my tying, I was hyper-vigilant and nervous. I strapped in the gag and set about doing my tying. I did a chest harness and a crotch rope and then tied my ankles and knees. I backed up to a tree and tied myself to it with a tight rope around my waist. I wanted to be only minimally attached to the tree in case I had to flee!
I took one more look around and then did my wrists. I could have faked that part by just holding my hands behind my back, but I wanted to experience being helpless as much as possible.
It was several minutes to train time! I waited, heart pounding, for the sound of the engine.
There it was!
The train growled over the bridge picking up speed. The engine passed; the engineer looking straight ahead. As the passenger cars began to pass, I began twisting and straining in my bonds as if in panic and searching the train windows with my eyes.
I could clearly see that I had caught the attention of some of the riders. I saw several open mouths and people pointing and at least one person took a picture with a phone. I hadn’t figured on that and could only hope the pics didn’t come out!
It was over quickly; the train was gone, but what a rush for me!
I wanted to hang around to work the crotch rope and savor the feeling, but discretion was needed, especially since pictures had been taken. I listened as I shucked the ropes for sounds of the train stopping, but it continued on.
I gathered my ropes, shoved them back into the pack, slipped into my sweats and headed back across the bridge. I half ran, half speed walked and made it to my car in record time. I was clear of the scene of the crime within 15 minutes of my performance for the passengers.
And a good thing too, because, on my way home, I drove past the entrance I usually used into Pole Hill. A police cruiser blocked the entrance.
Apparently someone on the train had called the cops!
I made it the rest of the way home without incident and once safe inside, began to shake. I was totally psyched and aroused by the experience and simultaneously appalled at the nearly being caught.
I couldn’t wait to do it again!
The next morning, the local coffee shop was abuzz with the story. A fuzzy grainy shot of me tied to the tree was included with the story in the local daily rag. Several passengers, alarmed at the sight of a woman apparently in danger had called 911 and the police had quickly responded. They searched the area, but found no sign of the woman.
I speculated and buzzed along with everyone else, wondering who it might have been and what had happened to her!
After a day or so, the noise settled down. The police announced that they were satisfied it was a prank of some kind; no foul play involved.
Life went on!
I rethought my plan to do it again. Obviously the risks were higher than I had thought.
A week after the affair, my snail mail yielded a small envelope postmarked in town. The envelope included the folded up article from the newspaper showing me bound and gagged and a hand written note on a filing card.
The note just blew me away!
WTF! Now what do I do?
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