Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

I Need a lot of Bottle

by S M Ackerman

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© Copyright 2010 - S M Ackerman - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; Sbf; naked; insert; cuffs; gag; outdoors; toys; cons; X

(nb:  "bottle' means courage or boldness, to "bottle it" is to lose it.)

The problem with me is that deep down I want to suffer and feel humiliated, scared, and everything else I have read about other women feeling when they do self-bondage. You know the sort of things, the tight ropes, the helplessness, the fear and the risk; and of course the potential of being caught and all that entails. Previously that is where my problem has been, I wanted all of this, but each time I decided to inflict it on myself I bottle it in some way.

I always seem to be able to get out of my bonds or escape the potential humiliation, or even avoid it at the last moment by not actually doing what I fantasised. Well today, this day, I have decided that is not going to happen again, today there will be no escape, today there will be no laziness allowed and no easy way out for me. Today is going to be the day that I realise my fantasies, and hang the consequences.

To this aim, I have purchased a number of items and each lock perfectly, and does its job efficiently. Today I am going to become the bondage slut I have desperately wanted to become, and everyone reading Gromet’s Plaza is going to know every little detail of my humiliating bondage scenario, because I am writing each little incident down and posting it to the net right now.

 Damn whether anyone recognises me from the detail, if they do they must read bondage tales and so should sympathise on some level, and if they don’t sympathise with my desires then hang the consequences; I will survive the humiliation I am sure. Though my reputation as being the normal girl-next-door, the nice, always has a smile, nineteen-year-old daughter of the rector, will have been shattered. That is the risk I must take if I am to obtain my perfect fantasy and that includes telling everyone interested all about it in detail, with no holds feelings or humiliations barred.

Now I have launched the first part of my adventure and intent out onto the net, I am committed to writing the rest, so read on to find out what happened when I finally faced up to my desires and undertook the bondage walk of my life. There is no way, having promised you the readers the details, that I cannot keep my promise, so here goes.

Bare with me please, first you need just a little more background information, which should make your reading of my tale more interesting I hope. My name is, I mean you can call me Rosy (its not my name but you can understand why I have changed it). I am five-foot-six, British; slim, almost pretty but in a plain unnoticed way, with medium length dark wavy hair. My hips are slim, almost boyish, but my breasts are slightly too large for my frame which makes me look a bit gawky sometimes.

 I live in jeans and T-shirts (much to my mother’s disapproval) and I am definitely single. Its not that I don’t want a boy friend, or even that I am not asked out, it is more that they want only ‘one thing’ and its not the one thing I want from them. The local boys are just too immature and straight for me to be interested in, I want a man, not a boy, and one that knows how to make a girl like me appreciate everything they do for and too her.

I lived and have grown up in a small village; dad’s church is at one end of the main street, our home at the other. The manse as our home is referred to is a big rambling detached place, with a large garden and dad’s green-house at the bottom in a sun-trap. There is a low stone-wall encircling the place and with wooden gates (permanently open) at the far end of the drive. Oh yes I nearly forgot, and the fish pond which is large and well stocked with dad’s Koi carp.

People come and go all the time, there is always someone that wants to talk to dad about church matters, or to mom about the women’s institutes latest fund-raiser. Our lives seem revolve around endless fund raisers, if its not the church roof, its the local homeless, or some foreign country in dire need etc. As you might gather we are not rich but we are well liked, and very well known to everyone, which makes what I intend to do that much more risky if I am seen, let alone caught.

Mum and dad have to attend a seminar and will be gone for the whole weekend, which gives me the opportunity I have been desperately waiting for. Having seen them off and promised to be good and careful, both of which I intend to comply to fully, I will be good (and strict ) with myself, and I intend to be very careful to avoid being discovered and the horror such discovery would lead me into.

Step one is to go straight upstairs and fetch down my toys, once I have them I walked the half mile from home to dad’s church, but instead of entering I go around the back to where there is a little wooden gate which leads directly into the woods and fields surrounding our village. I stuff my bag in the gap formed behind a grave-stone, which is leaning against the low stone-wall and with a smile I turn away.

The walk back in the full afternoon sun is very different to the walk here carrying my bondage gear. On the way I had been feeling nervous, I had found myself stupidly thinking that everyone I passed could see into my bag, and so knew what I was about. My heart thudded in my chest as I passed the chemist and Mrs Cross called out to me. I turned dreading the coming conversation but it passed eventually, and I got to walk on, though with shaky legs and a sweating brow and sticky palms.

At the butchers, old Joe the owner waved and then turned away. The greengrocers was slightly different, Mr Smith was talking to his lad James as I approached, now James has the hots for me, I can tell because every time he sees me his stammer returns; he is a nice young man but just not my type (clearly to straight) much as he would like to be.

“Hi Rosey.”

James could not resist the chance to talk to me, if only he knew what I had in my bag and how I intend to utilise the contents. His boyish erection would be reaching for the stars and I would never get rid of him. Luckily by the time I had to stop and say a few words to James I had adapted my mental state and accepted that people just never would think I was heading out on a bondage adventure, let alone intending to risk my all for the return payment of physical pleasure. Poor James he would so love to see me naked, but that isn’t going to happen, he is just too damned straight where it comes to girls.

We talked about nothing for a short time, and then I told him I had to go, ‘commitments you know,’ I said, which he accepted easily. My first trip of the day then remained uneventful and I reached the church gateway, passed beneath the kissing gate with a smile, and then I headed around to the back and the gravestone.

Leaning against the back wall, exactly as it has been my whole life was my target. A quick glance around, a hasty shoving of my bag behind the stone and my delivery was made. Now I walk somewhat aroused at my bravery so far to the low back gate, where I look out at the footpath, which leads away from the church rear. Trees lined the path, leading it as it enters into woodland the a quarter of a mile in the path splits, one pathway heading left towards the next village the other turns right and loops around our village in a wide circle, passing by a couple of farms and an old Roman fort.

My route looked exactly as I expected it to look, overgrown a bit and barren of any sign of life, perfect for my walk home. All I need to do now is return to this spot, and having stripped and secured my body begin my journey to sexual salvation and many longed for orgasm I hope. My self-demanded dare should be completed tonight, I only have to contend with loosing my bottle and chickening out. Deep inside of me a little knot of determination grew, tonight I would finally do everything I have set myself to do. I sat back from the key board and hit send. Already the first part of tonight’s adventure has now been sent. I think back ordering the events in my mind, selecting the word to use before I begin to type again.

My Adventure Begins.

By nine-thirty the sun had faded and that half-light darkness had arrived. I leave the comfortable security of my home, hide my back-door key beneath the green frog for later, and head as quickly as I can through the village. I see no-one thank god, and am seen by no-one I am certain.  

This might seem odd to those that live in a city, but remember this is a rural area and farmers get up early, so they go to bed equally early; something I am counting on for tonight’s adventure.

The church-yard is silent, almost eerie but I have little to fear, the dead won’t harm me, only the living pose a threat and there are none of them about, they are all in bed I hope!

My bag is exactly where I left it, which is a positive start; I glanced about hesitating, putting the moment of commitment off, but then after some serious telling off (in my head of course) I begin to strip. Once naked and standing alone I sit down on the slightly damp grass.

First, I tip out all of the contents of my bag and sort through them, laying out each fiendish article of torture.

The gag is clearly the first thing I needed to fit, it is a ring-gag, one that slots inside of the mouth and forces it to remain open, but equally silences the wearer. This straps behind my head and has a little padlock to secure it permanent in place. The feeling of arousal as I pulled the straps tight filled my whole being. My reaction as I clicked the tiny padlock shut, knowing that I cannot remove this horrendously uncomfortable gag until I am safely inside of my home, sets my erotic desires racing.

Next and with trembling fingers I pick up the large butt plug with its self-timer. This device will switch on and vibrates whenever it decides, with no input from me other that selecting ‘random’ on its base, and inserting it. I have practiced fitting and wearing this damn thing many times as a prelude to this my adventure. I know exactly how much lubricant I need to ease it inside of me and having applied the jelly like lube I twist over on the ground, part my buttocks and inserter the monster with a gasp.

Next follows the vibrating egg, that enters me quite easily as I am already (to my surprise) flooded with natural lubricant. To hold them both firmly in place I take a length of course hemp rope, and wrap it around and through between my legs. Almost like fitting a nappy to a baby, only I am no baby, but a mature young woman who is randy as hell and desperate to complete her adventure, and get this damn construction of rope-bonds off, and her my fingers in.

 I have two short leather belts each lined with plastic spikes which face outwards, they will not pierce my skin, but any part of me that rubs against them will quickly regret it. I strap each to a thigh my intent is to make walking normally quite impossible, and to increase my difficulty I fit twin ankle straps with ten inches of chain linking them together, no striding out or running for me tonight.

Now comes the final piece of my self-bondage, the cuffs; these are my pride and joy, a set of real police-issue handcuffs, bought off the net for a very cheap price, suprisingly. Once locked, they are impossible to remove without the key. I snap one ratchet over my left wrist (making certain that the key- hole will be available later) and then before I can baulk at my impending captivity, I reach both hands behind my back and lock the second ratchet tight. I am stuck, naked, alone, bound and captive to my own decisions; though in my mind I am a prisoner on the run from my masters, and escape requires that I remain hidden and arrive safely at my salvation, where freedom and my life wait for me.

Damn it, bound like I am I have forgotten that I am sitting on the grass, the butt plug has all my body weight on it, which I can tell you is damned uncomfortable. I needed to stand up, but without the use of my hands that is at best very awkward. I try levering and twisting trying to get my feet beneath me, but the chain makes it hard, and the twin point filled straps makes closing my legs together impossible or at least very painful.

Finally I had to lean my back against the gravestone, having butt walked the short distance to the gravestone behind which I had hidden my bag. Its not only ice cold granite, it is also covered in wet sticky feeling moss, and so not pleasant to lean against. The only other option is remaining exactly as I am for the night, and being discovered in the morning, this thought overrides my disgust and I push my back against the stone.

 I draw my knees up to my naked breasts and leaver forward with my arms. The cuffs cut into my wrists but I tilt forward all the same, and finally my feet are beneath me and I can stand. A bit wobbly at first but that soon passed. Now to leave the graveyard and get home as quickly as I can. I turn towards the gate and again realise I have screwed up, the gate is shut, normally not a difficult problem to solve, just lift the latch and pull, but bound as I am it takes on a whole new set of problems.

I can back up and lift the latch, but I discover that it is very hard to back up to grip and then walk forward pulling the gate open at the same time. In the end I lift the latch shuffle an inch or two dragging the gate, and then let go and manoeuvre myself so that I can push the gate with my right knee. Of course this drags the spikes across my inner thighs and twists them as well, but at least it opened the gate (which damn it squeaked loudly) just enough for me to twist and shuffle through.

I walked forward, making a mental note to return in the morning and close the gate fully again. The path has always seemed smooth and even, before tonight, but now it seemed rough and root lined as I walk in a short stepping, bowlegged, energy sapping mince. The chain pulled tight with my every step, I need to learn to shorten my steps, but my mind is insisting on speed, my bonds though demanded a much slower pace from me.

Soon my inner thighs start to hurt, as the spikes are dragged repeatedly across my flesh. I increased the bow in my legs trying to stop or at least reduce the pain, this makes me walk like I have a full diaper on, certainly not lady like, or comfortable; but at least I will soon have entered into the woodland proper, and be hidden by the trees from accidental sight.

I had passed through the gateway into the wood and further along the path, a pair of massive oak trees rooted to either side of my chosen path towered high above me shading me beneath their canopy and hiding me in dappled fading light. That was the point that my damned butt plug decided to come to life and not in a gentle pleasant way, but with vigour pulsing and rotation.

I fell to my knees, I had just taken an awkward step over a protruding root, which normally I probably would not have even noticed, when the explosion occurred. My butt turned to instant jelly along with my legs. I collapsed, which is at least preferable to falling forward to splat on my face. I pulled my legs up to my chest as I lay on my side trying not to writhe. The damn thing had never been this violent, deep inside my arse felt as though it was being violated. I instantly regretted inserting the thing but it was clearly too late to remove it now.

Pulse followed pulse, the rotation of the deeply inserted rubber coated head was the worst though, the pulsing along the stem of the thing came a close second, at least the shock mechanism had not engaged. I had only just remembered that I had read in the instructions that this plug had the capability, when set on random, to deliver an electric shot to my sphincter via the outer plate.

The electric shock arrived and passed and just like that, the damned thing switched on then off, leaving me on the floor once more facing the prospect of having to get up, and I am only a few hundred yards into my great adventure. What have I done to myself, the thought screamed, the words highlighted in my mind. My breathing slowed, I hadn’t even been aware that it had quickened. Then I heard the noise, a slow grating squeak a sound that only filled my heart with dread, and made light of the effects of both the butt plug and my fall.

Someone was opening the back gate to the church and they have only one direction in which to walk, and that is along this path. If I do not move and quickly I will be discovered; I tried to stand, which was pointless as I had no leverage. So my only option was to roll towards the side and hope that I could hide myself in the tall grasses and general ground clutter. I rolled, not caring where I went or what I rolled through. The grass crushed beneath my body as I spun deeper into its protective cover. I twisted so as to change my direction and rolled some more, with each rotation I crushed my wrists with their handcuffs into my spine, fear drove concern and pain from my thoughts, all I could think about was getting out of sight from the path. I heard footsteps and a man whistling, as he approached, I turned my face into the earth, he sounded like he had hesitated for a brief second, and then I heard him move on again. I remained frozen to the spot, desperate but hopeful that he had not seen me.

Silence  remained, no sound from the forest alerted me to his return, I eased my face out of the earth only to discover by the smell that it was not earth at all. Somehow, I had found the only patch of what I can only describe as a cow-pat, though god knows what a cow would be doing in these woods, let alone leaving just the one pat.

Whoever had walked along the path had gone now, which meant that they were somewhere in front of me, and I would have to be even more careful as I made my way home.



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