Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories


by Bob Salinas

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© Copyright 2002 - Bob Salinas - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; susp; transform; F/f; bond; toys; cons; X

Somehow I knew that Friday was going to be ‘one of those days’. Everything went wrong at the office, my normally serene boss blew up, and dinner (which I fixed myself) was lousy, but at least I had that night’s long-awaited self-bondage games to look forward to.

I went down to the basement and prepared by setting up a portable TV and VCR to give myself something to fuel my fantasies during the time I was to be bound. Then I got naked (it’s always a good idea to get naked with your partner) and set up my bondage timer: I pulled out of the freezer a Styrofoam cup of ice; through the center of the block of ice ran a string to which was tied the key to my handcuffs. When the ice melted enough, the string would be dropped out of a bracket on the wall and the key would drop near enough to my hands to seize it. Ice makes a great timer- the laws of thermodynamics are inexorable and foolproof!

That done, I set about binding myself. I took a long piece of 3/8” sisal rope and wrapped it around my chest over and over again, over and under my tits, weaving a rope cross-your-heart style bra and gathering my tits into respectable boobs at the same time. That finished, I took another length of ½” rope, tied it around my feet, and wound my way up to slightly below my crotch, where I cinched it and tied it off. When I finished, I was pretty much helpless! Well, except for being able to slip a butt plug up my ass, a last-minute addition to my script. This plug was an old favorite, with a neck a bit less than an inch across and the body almost two inches across; it won’t push out and it’s wide enough to make me feel really full! Now I needed to start the tape, a favorite 90-minute bondage-and-jiggle special. I lay down on the floor (since I couldn’t walk) and spent several minutes squirming over to the TV and start the VCR.

I dragged myself back (another couple of degrading minutes) to the chair and pulled myself up to sit for a moment, feeling my weight pushing the plug deep into my bowels- maybe a little too deep, but then moderation isn’t how I get my jollies. After I tied a ¼” rope around my ball sack, I set the 2-pound clock weight its the other end on the chair. I crawled up on the chair and then stood on it, supporting myself by hanging on to the chain dangling from the ceiling. The clock weight hung against my shins, its weight supported by my balls. I hooked the hook at the end of the chain to the center of my rope bra where the ropes crossed in my new cleavage. I looked around at things, assuring myself that everything was in order, and then reached behind myself for the handcuffs I’d tucked into the ropes around my thighs.

With a pair of click-click-click-clicks, I was completely helpless- no way could I back out now! After one more look around (there was nothing I could have done at that point, but I looked anyway) I leaned back to pull the chain snug and shoved the chair out from underneath me; it crashed loudly to the floor, folded up, and skidded halfway across the cement. I swung and spun dizzily for a minute, coming to rest mostly facing the TV. For the next fifteen minutes, I squirmed in my ropes, watched the bondage action on the TV and fantasized, my cock pointing rigidly at the action.

Just as Mike was tying Sylvia to the bed, the TV went black. I looked around the basement- also black. Damned Pacific Gas and Electric! Five minutes later, the power came back. The TV came back on but I heard the VCR unload the tape, and for the next year or so I hung helplessly, my balls and tits screaming at me, while I watched the 700 Club. Shit! Finally I felt the keys slap against my back. It took another 5 minutes to get the handcuffs unlocked- my fingers were miserably stiff) and another forever to get the rest of me untied. By the time I was finally free of all my self-imposed bonds, I wasn’t at all horny. I made one futile attempt at getting a rise out of Mr. Unhappy and then went upstairs to get four fingers of Stolichnaya and crawl into bed, where I finally fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, I woke up hugging the pillow as usual. I rolled over- 9:30 Saturday morning. I was hungry as a bear; I felt my stomach, flat and empty. I rolled over; something didn’t feel right. I ran my hand across my chest. WHAT THE FUCK!! On my chest I felt two gorgeous heaps of firm flesh!  I grabbed my crotch-. NOTHING! Wait one damn minute- I grabbed again- I found lips- holy fucking shit, I had a pussy! This is unreal! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON??

I lurched out of bed and staggered to the dresser mirror; a babe looked back at me! What the hell was up? I pinched myself hard enough to make a bruise and I didn’t wake up. I touched my face and everywhere else on my body; yes, I was her, or however the hell else I should say it. The girl was me- I had become a woman! In one miserable frustrating night, God had decided that I needed to change universes like in some bizarre Star Trek plot. I glanced around; this was clearly my townhouse, but then it wasn’t. Everything was the same and subtly different. I didn’t have a mirrored dresser. I pulled open a couple of drawers; instead of my shorts I found a sexy collection of Victoria’s Secret slinkies. I explored the house and found that everywhere things were the same way similar but different. In a corner of the bedroom closet I found her ‘toy chest’- a closed cardboard box just like mine- containing Cynthia’s secret collection of sex toys: dildos, three vibrators, handcuffs, ropes, and a ball gag. Yes, Cynthia was very much like me!

I grabbed my wallet- I was Cynthia Kowalski, not Bob Kowalski. I was the same 36 years old, but she was 5’9” tall and 130 pounds compared to my 6’1” and 190 pounds. The address was the same and my sex was of course F- female! As I wondered what Kafkaesque nightmare had swallowed me, I realized that I was in fact Cynthia- I was rapidly remembering both Bob and Cynthia, integrating their pasts. Don’t ask me how I knew, but both Bob and Cynthia were part of my past. Right now I remembered Bob’s past, but Cynthia’s was coming back.

I walked over to the computer and powered it up, waited while it hooked up to Everyone’s Internet (the same one I used, a great ISP for only $10 a month) and checked my/her E-mail. It was familiar stuff; I guess her interests were pretty much the same as mine, a bunch of high-tech stuff. I poked around in her bookmarks- a lot of high-tech stuff, but hidden away under another folder I found links to several B&D sites. This babe thought the same way I did! But I guess that was reasonable- we were the same person, somehow.

Still naked, I cooked up some breakfast; Cynthia was a much better cook than Bob and actually enjoyed cooking. I decided to go out and explore my new world as Cynthia, and I was fishing through her lingerie (feeling like a snoop!) when the phone rang. I picked it up- from the end table (just where I always put it in Bob’s world). “Hello?” That was the first time I’d spoken that morning- I’d had no reason to speak since I was alone. It was very strange to hear Cynthia’s firm alto coming out of my face.

“Hi, Cyn- it’s Marsha. “ I thought and memories came tumbling in- Marsha was a lady I worked with; she had asked to have dinner tonight. I think her motives were more than just friendly, which gave me mixed thoughts. Bob thought it was a great idea and Cynthia wasn’t too sure.

“Hi, lady! How ya doin’?”

“I’m just fine. I’m going out for the afternoon and wanted to be sure we were still on for tonight.”

“You bet- 7 PM at the Hungry Hunter in Fremont, right?” I don’t know how I knew but I did.

“Right- I’ll meet you in the bar.”

“Good enough, see you then!”

I hung up the phone (a familiar Radio Shack model) and went into the bathroom; it was familiar but smelled better than Bob’s. I showered (Cynthia used Dial where I used Irish Spring) and toweled off with familiar Blue Light Special towels. I padded lightly back to the dresser and pulled on a pair of black thongs (they fit much better than Bob, disappearing into my sensuously-fuller ass cheeks), a white bra (my tits felt better, heftier, and filled a bra better than Bob ever did), shorts (hot pants which showed just a bit of the fold under Cynthia’s ass cheeks) and a French-cut T-shirt (which fit my new curves very nicely). Then I pulled on a pair of shoes (my feet were much smaller than Bob’s but seemed just right), slipped my (slimmer) wallet into my back pocket, grabbed my keys (the same keychain and the keys looked the same) and went out the front door.

In the usual place in front of my townhouse was my blue MR2; I opened it up and slid in. It smelled better than Bob’s! I drove the familiar route to Newpark Mall and joined the early-afternoon shoppers. I wandered around, browsing at Sears and then at Frederick’s of Hollywood (Bob had just gazed in from outside, feeling like a pervert), where I bought panties (Bob always bought 3-packs at Target) and a black bra to wear that night. On the way out, I ‘felt the urge’ and went to the restroom, turning right into the ladies’ room without hesitation. I used a seat liner (Bob never did that unless the place was horrible) and took my time, listening to the chatter and girl talk around me. Two girls at the sink were unabashedly comparing memories of the stud they’d both had and cruelly tore apart some poor academic geek. I daintily dried my twat, pulled my panties and shorts back up around my butt, and moved on, forgetting to wash my hands (Bob never washed his).

Back home, I fixed a light lunch (tuna salad- something that would have been a major chore for Bob) and washed it down with a warm bottle of Samuel Adams beer (just what Bob would have chosen). Then I thought about what to wear for the evening. The Hungry Hunter was a semi-casual prime-rib place, but Marsha and her intentions were the deciding factor. I went to my closet and found just the thing- a red dress, seemingly too small, with a slit up the side all the way to the hip. Yes, just in case Marsha wanted to start something, I would be ready! Just the thought of it started a stirring in my shorts; I pulled off the T-shirt and stroked a nipple, which readily became thickly erect. That felt good, so I unzipped the shorts, dropped them to the floor, and slipped a finger down into my panties. My finger felt moisture, and both Bob and Cynthia knew what that that moisture meant. In moments I was kneeling naked in front of the closet’s full-length mirror, my legs wide apart, Bob’s eyes welded to Cynthia’s crotch as she masturbated noisily. When Cynthia came, she squealed like a horny pig! (Bob was more one to bellow.)

At about 5:00 I showered again (showering Cynthia was fun!) and went back to the lingerie drawer. I found a pair of black thongs that went well with the bra (Bob never cared if things matched as long as they came off). The new bra fit marvelously, lifting my breasts and showing off cleavage that would’ve opened Bob’s eyes. Cynthia appreciated the cleavage, too, but she wasn’t such an animal about it. I slipped on the dress; it showed just the right amount of flesh, not enough to be brazen but enough, and the slit was just enough to show thigh all the way up to the side of my panties. If Marsha wanted to make a play for me, Bob would see that she knocked one out of the ball park!

At a quarter to 7 I slid up on a bar stool at the Hungry Hunter and ordered a martini- Bob’s favorite, although Cynthia usually went for something sweeter. I looked around the room and noticed the way several men and a woman were appreciatively reviewing my form and the way my legs disappeared up under my skirt. A few seconds after 7, Marsha walked in the door; Cynthia recognized her immediately. Marsha usually wore slacks at the office, but tonight she was wearing a black vinyl skirt that clung to her butt like- well, like rubber. She was wearing stockings and heels and a white blouse that clung to her slender figure almost as well as the skirt. She smiled at me and stood by me as I tossed down the last of my drink.

We asked for a booth (secluded and romantic) and ate dinner slowly, talking about many many things. Finally Marsha steered the topic to relationships and then to sex. “Have you ever been with another woman, Cyn?”

“No, I never have- I’m too ordinary, I guess. I have fantasized about it occasionally, but I never thought seriously about it.”

“I have; it’s not everything, but it’s an experience you ought to give yourself.” She looked deep into my eyes. “I would really like to show you. Would you spend the night with me? I’ll show you things you never dreamed about.”

Bob spoke right up. “Marsha, you’ll never know how providentially you’ve dropped into my life at just the right time. Yes, I would love to be with you tonight. I can’t wait!”

We finished off a light dessert in about 47 seconds, Marsha paid the check while I left the tip, and she followed me home. I fixed her another drink while she ‘freshened up’ in the powder room, and we talked on the sofa. “Marsha, maybe you can do something special for me. You know I have a very straight background, and I have a few problems with the idea of sex with another woman. So I’ll straighten out one psychological problem with another, could you ease my guilt feelings by taking advantage of me? Tie me up or something?”

Marsha went for it like a hungry shark. “Cynthia, you understand the way a woman’s mind works; that’s a great idea. Do you have some ‘toys’ I might use?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I do have a small collection of toys. Let me show you!”

Marsha followed me up the stairs to the bedroom. As soon as we stepped through the door, she stopped and held out her arms; I slipped easily into them, and we hugged for a long long time. Then I slipped loose and pulled the ‘toy chest’ out of the closet. Marsha knelt down and explored my ‘toys’ while I admired the way her skirt outlined her butt. “Cyn, what you have would keep me busy for days! Yes, I can do just what you want.” She stood up with a coil of rope and dropped it on the bed.

Marsha sat next to it and pulled me down next to her. I returned her embrace, the embrace turned into kisses, and then I found the red dress up around my waist. I repaid that by slipping Marsha’s skirt up, too, and discovered that she wasn’t wearing panties! She giggled. “A skirt like this would show panty lines to much, and I decided to forego them altogether. Okay, Cyn, stand up.”

I stood up, and Marsha had my dress off before I knew it. A hug or two later, and my bra joined it. Almost before I knew what was happening, Marsha had my wrists crossed and tied firmly to the small of my back. I was standing before her, my arms trapped, wearing only my panties. She reached out and gently teased my nipples, which leaped into her grasp; she smiled at my reaction. I squirmed, and she rubbed her own breasts into mine. I moaned, she smiled, and pushed me backwards onto the bed. I bounced and giggled as I felt my boobs bouncing. “Cyn, you have beautiful breasts!”

“Thank you, Marsha- you can share them if you’d like!”

She knelt over my helpless form on the bed and helped herself to a generous helping of my breasts. I responded eagerly and she slipped her hand down over my panties. “Oh, my!”, I let out.

“Oh yeah… you have qualms. Well, I’ll fix that for you!” Marsha sat me up, released me from the rope, retied my wrists over my head, and tied the rope to the headboard. Then she got another rope and in a minute had tied my ankles to the foot of the bed; my legs were spread wide, so wide! Then she knelt by me again and kissed me on the lips before returning to my breasts. After she made my nipples screaming-hard and sensitive, she again slipped her finger under the hem of my panties and into my meat. I closed my eyes and moaned with the intensity of the feelings.

Marsha pulled her finger out. “Wet already… I’m glad to see you’re ready for me!” I just blushed. Marsha peeled off her blouse and tossed it and her bra into the corner, turning to show me small but perfectly shaped breasts, her nipples also eager and hard.  She turned to face my feet and straddled my head; I looked from my helpless position right up under her skirt to her shaved pussy. She spread her legs, and her pussy lips opened. I took a deep breath as her crotch descended on my face.

Cynthia had never been with a woman before, but Bob was an old hand at eating pussy. Between the two of us, we drove our face eagerly into her, slipping my tongue between her lips, slipping it up and down to find her clit. Just then I jerked as I felt Marsha’s tongue on my clit too, and two experts proceeded to drive each other crazy. Minutes later, two unabashed sluts squealed out their orgasms! Maybe fifteen minutes later, Marsha untied me, but I willingly spent the rest of the evening in her arms.

The next morning, I woke up and for a moment wasn’t sure where or who I was, but in a second came back to my new reality. Yes, I was still Cynthia, and Marsha was asleep in my arms! She woke and I fixed breakfast for us. We spent the rest of the day together, my head busily trying to sort out my new life.


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