© Copyright 2003 - Robert Deane - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; bondage; cons; X
A work of fiction by Robert Deane
Julie was one of those girls who would turn heads, no matter where she was, regardless of what she was wearing. First, a natural blonde. Yes, that was the word, "natural." No help from a bottle, though several hours in the sun seemed to turn it from blonde to almost a shiny gold. Plus that sweet smile. That ever-present sweet smile. And, as a friend once said, a 5' 4" body "to die for." Again, all natural, though hours on the treadmill when she was not running in the park always helped.
You could not tell that she was now 30 and had already birthed her first
child, little less than a year ago. No stretch marks on this girl,
she would say to herself.
No signs of aging, at least not yet in what she knew would eventually becoming a losing battle with Mother Nature and Father Time. And limber, agile, able to bend in almost any position. Her husband used to like that, her ability to put her body in whatever position he chose, from the moment that they first culminated their relationship, when she was in her late teens, to little more than six months before Angela was born. But that was when it stopped, when she discovered the pregnancy. It seemed like at that moment Larry lost interest in her, when that "drop dead gorgeous" body began to show signs of their unplanned pregnancy, and it never resumed. Even in the months after Angela's birth, when Julie worked hard, almost every day, to regain the figure that once had her on the cover of magazines across the country, Larry never seemed to have that now-lost sexual interest.
It was about six months ago that she finally got her answer: her discovery of a magazine, video and website. The magazine and video were in the garage; she found them when she was looking for several old Christmas decorations. The website she discovered when she used Larry's computer, the one in his office, instead of the "house computer," the one in the family room, to find a recipe for Christmas turkey. She had been able to push aside the magazine and video, but the website, with all the photographs and stories, was more than her mind could handle.
Bondage. That's what it was called. And other words: damsels-in-distress. A website of women, young women, tied in almost every imaginable position. Tightly tied. "Inescapably tied," screamed the website. Some with clothing, others nearly naked. And the stories, each one telling the tale of a woman who found pleasure in bondage. That's where Larry's interest went to, while she was carrying Angela.
Some wives would have been shocked, some disgusted; yet others would have made an appointment with a divorce lawyer. But Julie was determined to look further into this. She knew Larry to be a kind and loving man; if this was his interest then there had to be something erotic about it. This had to be something that aroused him. And she would discover if it also aroused her. That was where it had started, little more than six months ago. Her sole purpose to reinvigorate the sexual moments in their marriage. And here she was today, with lots of time to think about it, as she knelt in the foyer to their house awaiting Larry's entrance through the front door.
Not just kneeling, but bound, gagged and kneeling. And shaking, shuddering, from the orgasms that continually ripped through her body. And as her body shook, her shoulder-length blonde hair flew through the air as if it were windblown. She had been that way for what she thought was at least two hours, thinking about how it started and how she ended up where she was today. Kneeling on the foyer carpet, her ankles and thighs tied, and her legs pulled up until her heels touched her butt cheeks -- her bubble butt, as she always called it -- and tied tightly. Between her legs was a vibrator, at least 12 inches in length, its tip touching, no, make that pressing against the most sensitive part of her body, everything held in place by coil after coil of white rope.
It was the vibrator that was causing most of the problem, pushing her body into one orgasm, then another, and yet another. But with each one she had to take great care not to tip forward -- as if that were possible. Her hands had been tied, palm to palm, touching. Another unforgiving piece of that white rope held her elbows together, forcing her arms, from just above her elbows down to her wrists so tightly together that she doubted if even a thin, single sheet of paper could be forced between her arms. And then pulled upward, at the same time forcing her to bend forward at the waist, until her arms were almost vertical in the same direction with her body, up and down, with a rope from her wrists then tied to a newly installed hook in the foyer ceiling.
For some people that would have been enough. But apparently not for Julie. In her mouth had been forced a bright red rubber ball -- a ball gag, she had heard it called -- the biggest rubber ball that she had ever seen. She had to stretch her mouth wide to let it in; it was then that she had felt the "pop" as it seated itself in her mouth. The strap beneath her flowing, blonde hair was not even necessary; that ball was not coming out of her mouth without help, lots of help.
Then there was the last bit of torment, the clamps on her nipples. Before they had been put in place, her nipples had grown hard, erect, from this bondage experience. As each part of the bondage had been completed, she had felt herself slide into the experience, already damp between her legs and her nipples begging to be touched. Hard, erect nipples on almost perfect breasts. It was when she was pregnant and in the short time afterward that they grew from their 34B size. And it was only with constant exercise that they returned to that size, without stretch marks.
At that last moment her mind screamed, and her mouth tried to scream, the sound of course blocked by the large red sphere in her mouth. The clamps, applied one at a time, pinched her nipples tight. But, no, that was not enough. Added to the chain between the clamps was a large padlock, the kind that one would use to padlock the door to a backyard shed. The type that no one would mess with, large, and heavy. It hung from the chain, pulling on the clamps, and swinging with every motion of her body.
How long had it been? Two hours? Maybe longer? Her body was already covered in perspiration; her thighs were soaked from the ever-growing wetness between her legs. Her arms ached, both from the bondage and from the bondage position, one she thought was called a strappado. At least Angela was not in the house, so there was no fear of her crawling into the foyer. Julie had prepared for this, having her mother watch Angela for the weekend.
So there she knelt, in what she was sure was the tightest bondage that a body could ever experience, waiting for Larry to come in the front door. And while she was waiting, thinking of how she came to this moment.
* * *
As best she could estimate, she had been there at least two hours, maybe more, probably more. Two hours of kneeling, bound and gagged, in the center of the entranceway foyer. Her arms pulled up, almost perpendicular, and tied with a rope pulled up to a hook in the ceiling. Her head, hanging down, her mouth filled with a bright red ballgag. And the vibrator still buzzing away. She thought it had slowed a bit, perhaps the batteries, mercifully, were running down. She had also lost count of the orgasms long ago. Now the only sounds in the house were that constant buzzing and her soft, pleading squeals, often each one higher pitched than the one before it as she was pushed into another orgasm.
Larry was to have been home by now. But the sounds of the message on the answer machine still bounced inside of her head. When the phone rang, the four rings sending it to the machine, it was followed by Julie's soft, sultry voice: "I'm sorry, I'm a little tied up right now but leave a message and I'll call back as soon as I can."
She had changed the message to the one with the hidden meaning only moments before her bondage experience had begun that day. No one would probably figure it out, not even Larry.
"Hiya, sexy" his message followed. "I'm stuck at work, and I guess you
are still at your mom's with Angela. Call me on my cell phone when
you get home, and
I'd head for home then. I'm going to stick around her to finish up that new project and if you haven't called by the time I'm done, I'll head out with the guys for a couple of drinks."
Call me? Her mind screamed, call me??? How was she to do that, tied, gagged, immobile, in the foyer? Had this plan gone too far? How long was she going to stay tied, waiting for Larry to eventually come home? Another hour? Another two hours? Or even longer?
Her anxiety, combined with the increasing sense of helplessness, pushed her over the edge into another mind and body numbing orgasm. Her body shook, from her head to her toes, each muscle reacting to the physical and mental stimulation. And that scream, that high pitched scream that tried to escape from within her soul, was trapped from exiting by the ballgag.
As she slid into the depths, the darkness, she once again saw the mental images, the pictures, the visions, of how this had started and how she ended up where she was at that moment, finding the magazine, the video and the website. Those images of bondage, the damsels-in-distress, tightly tied and gagged, much like how she was at that moment. It hadn't been long after her discovery of those images that Julie began her own search on the Net, to find out more about what seemed to have caught Larry's interest. And what she discovered continued to amaze her. Men and women who liked stories, photographs, of other women and men in bondage. It seemed like there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of places on Net where she could find it. She eventually ended up in a place where other people who had the same likes, a "fetish" she learned to call it, could meet and talk. They were called "chat rooms," and some of them did more than just chat.
Some would even play, describing in intimate detail what one would like to do to another. Julie would find herself transfixed, staring at the screen, her mind taking in every word.
There were even parties, gatherings, meetings, of other people who liked these fetishes. Julie would often be invited to these parties; but it would be several months before she would gather together enough courage to even think about it, let alone attend such a party. But each day, as Larry would be at work and when Angela would be taking her nap, Julie would spend time on the Net, meeting more people, and, as she later realized, confessing more and more to one person -- his name was James -- about why she was online and what she was looking for. James, she discovered, lived in the same city, on the other side of town. And each week James would invite her to one of the midweek, evening parties at his house. And each week Julie would politely decline, yet finding it more and more difficult each week to not attend. James seemed to be the perfect gentlemen; he rarely asked questions, instead, as Julie became more trusting in him, she would volunteer more information. Yet not enough, she thought, that James could discover her real identity.
Or so she thought.
It had been one of those warm days, a cloudless blue sky and the sun shining brightly, a perfect day for working in the garden. Larry, always the good provider, had bought the house shortly after he and Julie were married. As he busied himself at work, she worked just as hard around the house, both inside and out. It was the garden that was her most favorite spot, planting and growing many kinds of flowers on both sides of a stone walkway. Almost daily, when the weather cooperated and the garden needed no further work, at least for that day, and Angela was napping on the covered sun porch, Julie would don her daisydukes, a several-sizes-too-small bare midriff top, sans bra, of course, and relax stretched out on a chaise lounge, surrounded by her flowers. She'd lay back, relax, close her eyes, enjoy the southern California sun, and let her imagination roam.
It was on one of those days that she heard that voice, a voice she instantly knew though she had never heard it before, a voice that caused time to stand still.
"Hello, sweet little Julie."
Four simple words. Yet four words that she knew would somehow change her life, because it was James who was speaking those words. So many thoughts went running through her head, how had he found her, and now that he had, what were his intentions. Her emotions, both fear and excitement, had taken control of her body, to the point where she feared even opening her eyes.
She could feel the shadow, his shadow, covering her body as he stepped closer to her. And then, as if a full-voltage electric current had run through her body, she could feel his hand touching hers, a forceful yet gentle touch. Still her eyes remained closed. The thoughts running through her head, the questions, were in a heartbeat overtaken by the memory of the many fantasies that he had presented to her online, most involving bondage and voluntary submission.
In yet another moment, she could feel his body closer to hers, his breath on her cheek, and then his lips pressing against hers. It seemed so natural for her to part her own lips and to accept his tongue seeking hers, challenging hers to a duel. And to feel his hands, now taking hold of both of hers, and in what seemed like a single movement, wrapping a leather strap around them, fastened tight, as their lips continued to be locked in that moment of intense passion.
As she dared to open her eyes, she saw...nothing. Nothing except the deep blue cloudless sky. No hands, no face, no lips, no James. Yes, it had happened again, that fantasy to end all fantasies, that James had somehow found her and had come to make her his bondage toy. This had not been the first time for this fantasy, one that James had introduced to her in one of their many online chats. Yet this one seemed so real, so much that her body had already begun to react, her nipples as hard as if touched by ice now pressing against the soft, clingy material and her butt cheeks grinding into the seat of the chaise lounge.
It was later that day that she had sat in front of the computer and typed the message to James telling him that she had, once again, nearly brought that fantasy to life. And his response, as she had come to both expect and desire, was him telling her of his plans for her. Once Angela was safely in bed, still asleep, in her own room, and James and Julie were together in her house, how he would tie his bondage toy in many positions, each one more extreme and more inescapable than the one that preceded it, starting with the leather strap around her wrists, now behind her back, another strap surrounding her elbows, pulled tight and touching. It would end with her hog-tied on the carpet, release only to come when she could slide across the room to where he was sitting, in the highback chair. She could beg, she could plead, but she would not be released until she had crossed the room on her stomach to where he now sat. That was the rule. Each movement would cause those sensitive parts of her body to rub against the carpet, her nipples, hard and yet so aware of each thrust across the carpet, and her nether region, now soaked from her numerous orgasms.
As she read the words on the screen, his words to her, as he described it in the most intimate of detail, she knew without doubt that she had been drawn, ever so willingly, into his world.
* * *
© 2000 Deane Productions This Story may not be reproduced, copied,
edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without the written