Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories


by Sean Malone

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© Copyright 2001 - Sean Malone - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; bed; rope; spread; nipple; tease; rings; stuck; caught: M/f; sex; cons; X

You are alone in the flat, naked. You are sitting at the bottom of the large bed, ready to begin. For long you have prepared for this adventure, making sure that you will be alone, secretly collecting the equipment hidden in your room and concealing your preparations. The ceiling fixtures are normally used to hang decorations, and nobody has remarked on their unusual positioning. The bed was more difficult, but a cover conceals the fittings from the casual eye. It was hardest to conceal your rings from the interested eyes of your flatmates, but normally you wear other, less obtrusive jewellery, so you are sure they do not suspect, even though it is hard to conceal such things from two young, attractive and obviously very interested men. They will certainly not need that kind of encouragement.

Your breasts jut proudly forward, your golden nipple rings jiggle as you move, and your dark hair falls softly over your shoulders. Your legs are parted a little, and another golden ring emerges from the curly hairs of your trim mound, parting the upper crevice of your sex, transfixing the base of your soft inner ridge. You feel its weight pulling gently, distractingly at your clitoris. It is time to begin.

The strong but comfortable cuffs are ready for your wrists and ankles, and one by one you lock them tightly in position with their strong steel rings outside your ankles and behind your wrists. You stuff the leather gag into your mouth and tighten the straps over your head. You know your cries will be effectively silenced now.

The cleats look neat at each corner of the bed, with shackles to attach the strong, heavily tensioned ropes to your ankles and wrists. Each cleat has swivelling cams which clamp the rope. One by one you lift the ropes clear of their clamps and pull them out until you can fasten the shackles to your ankle cuffs. It is hard, but you manage, parting your ankles a little to reach the shackles as the rope slips back into the clamps under the strain. You feel the tension now, the clamps holding the rope firm no matter how hard you strain your thighs against it. But if you relax the rope will be pulled quickly through the cam cleat until you are stretched taut, exposed and helpless.

You clench your thighs to hold the tension as you ease up carefully onto the bed, but as you move higher your legs are parted, little by little and you are conscious of your intimate exposure. Carefully you clip each of your intimate rings to one of the dangling ceiling cords, feeling the lightness as the cord lifts your lower ring, while the other cords loop loosely upwards from your nipples. There is no tension, but still you feel an exciting sensation, a tingling like a needle-like pulse flashing to your clitoris. Trembling you clip the remaining ceiling cords to your cuff rings, while above the vibrator motor whirrs softly.

Now you lie back, and reach outwards to release the two remaining ropes from their cleats, one at a time. It is a struggle, but one by one you manage to release them, pull some slack free and clip the sturdy shackles to your cuff rings, lifting your arms and holding them taut.

With a snap the ropes slip back into the cleats. You feel their firm grip, and their raw insistent power which will steadily but surely overcome your resistance. As you fight to resist one, another begins to tighten. The rope will slip easily through the cams and millimetre by millimetre you will be stretched out until you can struggle no more.

You twist and turn your hips, fighting the luxurious strength of your bonds, hardly noticing as the ropes tighten just a little more. Now the ceiling cords are stretched taut to your wrists. You know what will happen now, but still you gasp at the soft snapping sounds. One, then another slip knot pulls free and the elastic is tightening those carefully prepared ceiling cords. You hear the cords slithering above you, you feel a tug and then there is a delicious tautness at your nipples. You were very, very careful with the adjustments, but even so your heart beats fast when you hear the third cord jerk free. You yell even before the cord tightens, but you feel the expected jerk at your lower ring and then those impossible vibrations are tormenting your most sensitive flesh. You struggle wildly but you are helplessly a captive, and there is no evading those intimate sensations.

The bonds tighten with every movement, and soon you are stretched so taut that you can barely twist your hips. Your clitoris is a sweet needle of pleasure wired right through to your tautly stretched nipples. You are like a finely tuned wire and it is intolerable, excessive as the vibrations grow into flashes and spasms of sweetness. You feel your inner heat grow, expand and then burst into a kaliedoscope of pleasure of impossible intensity, your hot inner tunnel contracting instinctively with the power of that violent orgasm. You scream and struggle but the stimulation remorselessly continues and the waves of sensation rise again until you swoon in your bonds. It is a roller coaster of pleasure, tenderness, sensitivity and pain and it carries you on, and on, and on, and on.

You are already impossibly, delightfully stretched but with every contortion there is a millimetre to concede and if you do not free yourself before it is too late you will be completely, inextricably immobilised.

You can barely twist your right wrist to feel for the release cord. It is awkward, uncomfortable and the spasms which contract your body continually are a powerful distraction, but at last you manage to grip the cord in your fingers and tug. Nothing happens. You manipulate the cord with your fingers, pulling it tighter and at last you feel something give. The rope has lifted clear of the cleat. You pull back with your wrist and a little of the rope pulls free, but just then you feel another spasm and you pause, gasping for breath. Before you can react the rope has slipped back into its slot, and you are no closer to freedom.

It is a shock to recognise how much your strength has been drained by your prolonged struggles in those powerful bonds and the wild succession of intense orgasms, and you had not imagined how difficult it would be to concentrate on escape while experiencing the tormenting distractions of your stretched nipples, and the intense sensations of the vibrating cord pulling at your aroused clitoris.

You try again. Your wrist scarcely reaches your shoulder before the rope snaps back into its slot, but now you have a little slack and you try your other hand. After a little effort it too has a little slack, but just then you feel your pleasure rise again, and the ropes slip back into the cleats as you helplessly contort in wild spasms of pleasure.

Your thought is not of time, of the inevitability of discovery if you cannot get free. Reality is far away from your consciousness, while your predicament is its own exciting distraction. There is no sense of time.

There is the sound of a key turning in the lock, the door creaks open and you panic as a familiar tall, athletic figure steps lightly into your room, smiling knowingly. You struggle wildly now, but it is useless and you tremble, moaning into your gag as your flatmate quickly removes his clothing. His body is tanned and muscular, and his cock is rampant as he approaches your bed and casually unclips the cords from your rings. You are silenced, trembling and juicy with arousal, and helpless to resist the exquisite velvety sensation of his thick ramrod sliding smoothly into your gaping hot cunt, pressing against your tender clit with every thrust.

His strokes are long and firm, steady and exciting and you grip him tightly as he thrusts, the heat growing until it explodes into a sweet furnace of sensation. He gasps as your liquid heat surrounds his cock, as if you have tentacles gripping, twisting and contracting around his shaft, until he spurts his come deep into your womb. A moment, he frees your bonds, and then you hold each other quietly close in the still of the winter's afternoon.

  © Sean Malone, May 1991 (slightly revised 2001)


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