Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Freely Given

by Max Roper

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© Copyright 2016 - Max Roper - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; outdoors; strip; rope; mask; zipties; M+/f; captive; transport; used; release; cons; X

I was nervous but determined. My letter of instructions had arrived a week ago. Today was the day.

The instructions were extensive and detailed. I had rehearsed my actions and double checked that I had all necessary items. I drove to the remote location I had been given and parked my car. As expected, there was a lock box attached to a pipe stanchion next to an empty trash barrel.

I put the keys and my driver’s license in the envelope and dropped them through the slot in the box as ordered. I removed all my clothes and put them in the barrel, doused them with gasoline from the can I brought, tossed in a match.

I assumed I had been under observation since my arrival but perhaps the smoke from my burning clothes would serve as a signal. I hated to think what might happen if I wasn’t ready when they arrived.

I walked down the path to the clearing and got to work. I spread my tarp on the ground and dumped out the bag of ropes. I tied and cinched four wraps of hemp at my ankles, below and above my knees, and at my upper thighs. Another tied tightly around my waist.

I worked my way up onto my knees and bound my calves to my thighs. I put on the sleep mask, leaving it above my eyes. The pre-tied coil went around my left wrist in back with the cable tie positioned in the center and through the waist rope.

Mask down, right wrist behind and into position. Don’t hesitate, don’t think about what this means, just pull the cable tie snug. Then two more clicks to be sure.

It’s dusk and the crickets start up. I lie in the dark of my mask. When I did this at home, practicing, there were EMT shears nearby. About now I’d be slipping them in to snip the cable tie. No shears this time.

Of course I’m having second thoughts. That’s probably why they let me sit and stew for a while.

Eventually I hear a vehicle approaching. It stops nearby and sits idling. I smell the exhaust. Someone is smoking a cigarette. I hear several car doors open, footsteps, then a sliding door. My heart is pounding. I hear my car start up and drive away. Two sets of hands pick me up and I’m deposited in the back of a van. Someone checks my ropework and grunts. The sliding door closes. We drive away.


Four days after I left my car, I’m dumped on the ground exactly where I was picked up, still naked, bound exactly as I was, thoroughly exhausted, dirty and sweat-streaked, used and abused in every way imaginable. There is a small knife tucked into the rope around my wrists, put there at the last minute by my captors.

I struggle to extract it and work the blade into the cable tie. Eventually it snaps and I work myself free. I stagger to the road and find my car where I left it. My keys and license are on the front seat, wrapped up in a large tee shirt. I put on the shirt. It comes to my knees. I start the car and drive home.

I take a shower, make a sandwich, but before my well-deserved date with my bed I go online and reserve another visit for the following month.

I’d go every week if I could afford it.


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