© Copyright 2018 - Robert Deane - Used by permission
This was going to be a long night for Kimberly. It wasn't planned that way, but it was headed in that direction. It had started out as an evening of self-bondage for Kimberly, an evening not unlike many others. But she had made a mistake, one that would result in her self-imposed bondage continuing until the morning when her roommate came home from her nightshift work.
Which presented another problem: Kimberly's roommate did not know about the selfbondage games; but she would find out in the morning unless Kimberly could find a way to get the key to the handcuffs that were now around her wrists.
And then there was that pesky vibrator, between Kimberly's thighs, stuffed deep inside her. She had, earlier in the day, installed new batteries so any hope of the vibrator stopping on its own were slim. Yes, it was going to be a piece of soaked carpet under Kimberly's butt; soaked carpet and a still-bound Kimberly.
How she got to this moment, this frustrating yet sexually invigorating moment, bears explanation. Kimberly was a statuesque young lady of just over 5' 7", with an attractive, and proportional body. Her dark hair had those streaks of blonde that provided enough contrast for her. She had no trouble attracting the opposite sex; in fact, when she went out on a Saturday evening she usually had her choice of suitors for the night. But none of them, not a single one, knew of the other side of Kimberly, the young lady who craved bondage to the extent that she would voluntarily, and eagerly, place her body in the tightest position possible. It was a matter of trust, she often told herself, finding someone she could truly trust when she was to be in such a helpless position. She had not found anyone like that, not yet anyway.
Several nights a week, when her roommate was at work, Kimberly would begin her selfbondage games, always sure that she could eventually release herself. But when she was in the bondage her mind would wander, sometimes to being a kidnapped damsel in distress, perhaps the victim of a robber whose intention simply was to place her in tight bondage until he could ransack her apartment. Other times, those rare moments, she would imagine that she had found "him," whomever he would be, and that they had begun the first step in their lifetime of bondage games.
Tonight, however, her mind did not wander. It was grounded in reality, the reality of gaining freedom from the self-imposed bondage.
She often used handcuffs with her bondage. She would tie her ankles, sometimes in a cross tie, and laying on her stomach would use the handcuffs to create a hog-tie. And always with a gag, usually the head-harness ballgag, with the large two-inch ball, that she had been ordered from one of the online fetish stories. The large ball would force her to open her mouth wide; with the head-harness straps from front to back and from top to bottom, the gag was staying in place until she could free her hands and unstrap it. And only her soft moaning noises would ever escape.
Other times she would wear a posture collar, forcing her to keep her chin up. On those occasions, she would usually tie her ankles while sitting in a lotus position. The cuffs would be attached to her collar, usually by a lock that she had as a part of her bondage toys. Release was not supposed to be easy; it would only come only when she slid across the floor on her back to the corner of the living room where the cuff key awaited her. It usually took some intensive struggling, first to make it across the floor, then roll on her side while trying to make sure that she did not hit her head on anything as her body would slam to the ground with no arms to break her fall. On one occasions she fell on her back, which forced her wrists closer together and, at the same time, caused the cuffs to ratchet tighter. She remembered that, especially the stabbing pain of the cuffs very tightly around her tender wrists, and would always take care not to do that again. Always before, however, no matter how tight the bondage, she found the key and gained her freedom.
Tonight, however, was different. She had purchased a new set of handcuffs from a local police supply store. She told the clerk at the counter, when he questioned the purchase, that they were for her boyfriend, a police officer. Of course it was not true, but Kimberly was sure that the clerk had bought the story. She guessed that him asking her for her name and address was just part of their record keeping. After she paid for the purchase she thought nothing more of it and left the store.
She had prepared for this night like she had prepared for many other nights. She never did her selfbondage without clothing. To Kimberly, clothing was often more erotic than total nudity. She would usually would wear one of those skimpy little T-shirts and her daisy dukes. But other times, like tonight, she would wear a bra and panties, usually one of the more frilly sets. Tonight her nipples, hardened from the eroticism of the moment, were pressing on the flimsy material of her bra. And her panties were already soaked, first from the crotch rope that she had added to the bondage, and to the vibrator that she called "the silver bullet" held inside her by the crotch rope.
She had, as before, sat down on the carpet in the center of the living room, after she had tied the crotch rope tightly; she then tied her ankles in a lotus position. At that moment, she slid the silver bullet inside her; that it went in easily told her that her mind had already begun to cause the reaction her body desired. The control mechanism was slid between her waist and the rope that was part of the crotch rope tie. Next came the posture collar. Yes, tonight was going to be the "complete treatment," as she often referred to it.
That, and several suggestions she had received from those unnamed individuals on the Net who found her online profile both a challenge and exciting. Selfbondage, her profile screamed, and always looking for a challenge.
Hanging from the collar, down her back, was a chain and her new handcuffs. The chain, also part of the items from her bondage toybox, was padlocked to both a silver link on the back of her posture collar and around the cuffs. She had to use a larger lock on the cuffs, since there was no chain between the cuffs. Rather, these were the new hinge-type cuffs, that folded and then opened, keeping the wrists in place. The cuffs hung at the center of her back, so that her elbows would be pointed outward from her back where her wrists were held fast by the metal toys.
Next came the head-harness ballgag. She would, later in the evening and into the morning, ask herself why she did that, why she had pulled it tighter than she ever had before. The ball was pulled deeper into her mouth; yet she still enjoying wrapping her lips around the bright red invader in her mouth.
Almost there, she had thought to herself. Almost there to the moments, perhaps even hours, of erotic bliss. As she usually did when she was using the handcuffs, she took hold of the key and tossed it over her shoulder across the room. That meant that part of the challenge was finding the key.
One more addition to the selfbondage for tonight was a rope from the front of her posture collar to the rope around her ankles, pulled tight until she was sitting forward her upper body leaning forward, halfway down to her thighs. She was sure that she could still move and still roll onto her side for the key to the handcuffs.
Taking one long breath, and before she changed her mind for the night, she reached around behind her back, and with a degree of difficulty slid her right wrist into the cuff, and then her left wrist. While pressing the cold steel against her soft warm skin on her back, she heard the ratcheting sound as the cuffs tightened around her wrists.
It was an awkward position, her legs tied in a lotus position, her upper body leaning forward, and her wrists pulled up to the middle of her back, palm facing palm. It was then that it hit her, the difference in these handcuffs. Normally she could move her hands, and with her fingers feel the small hole for the key. These cuffs hand hinges, and severely limited any movement of her wrists. And it was also at that moment that the panic-induced orgasm, helped along by the silver bullet on its highest setting, hit her like a speeding locomotive. Hit her and kept on rolling, and rolling, and rolling.