© Copyright 2015 - Cynthia Trusscot - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbm; cd; heels; computer; thumbdrive; rope; gag; silk; fantasy; email; cons; X
In order to have some dramatic tension, most every self-bondage story utilizes one of three plot points: Either the self-tied person cannot get themselves free, or they are discovered by someone, or some other disaster befalls them.
I wanted a challenge that did not involve any of those catastrophies. I decide that I would write Gromet one of my self-bondage stories, then attempt to send it while tied up.
I dressed in a nice blouse and skirt, with high heels. Blonde wig, makeup and jewelry converted me into Cynthia, the perfect authoress. I sat down and knocked out a simple story of a woman in bondage, and saved it to a thumb drive.
Now, I wondered, how far would those enemies of erotica go to deny us the right to read what we wanted? I imagined someone sneaking up behind me, and striking me across the back of the head – OH! I crumpled to the floor, supposedly unconscious.
Of course, at this point I had to tie myself up. I sat up and efficiently tied my ankles and legs together. I thought about wrapping a cord around my torso and arms, but decided it would make my task too difficult. I placed my laptop on the floor, tied a silk scarf through my mouth, and finally slipped my hands through a looped rope, giving it a half-twist to tighten it.
I lay back down to recover consciousness, only to discover that I had been tied up and gagged! I struggled briefly against the rope binding me, but there was no escaping the cunning knots which tied me. My screams for help were efficiently muffled by the silk between my teeth.
I had to get my story out to Gromet! I squirmed across the floor to where my laptop lay on the floor, fumbled it open and hit the “on” button. Now where was that thumb drive? I’d put it in my purse. I spilled the contents of my purse on the floor and pawed through the makeup and feminine objects. There was the thumb drive! I got it in my hand and reached around to the laptop. It took a few tries to find the UBS port and get the drive in right way too. (If the inventor of the UBS port was a woman, I’d like to tie her up and make her put the drive in – but no woman would be so stupid as to make a plug that only went in one way without making it clear which way that was.)
Drive in, laptop booted up. I scooched around until I was sitting side saddle to the keyboard. Carefully, using my bound hands, I opened the mail program and manually entered Gromet’s E-mail address for submissions. I snarled in frustration through my gag when I made a mistake and had to start over. Finally, I had a letter addressed and the story attached. I extended one fingertip like the maid in “Highwayman”, and pressed the key….
Only to get an error message. “Incorrect address.” Once again I prepped and sent the E-mail, only to have it bounce again! Now I really was frustrated by my bondage. I shook my torso and rubbed my bound legs together. I substituted Gromet’s alternate address. Once again I pressed the key…
This time, it worked! I heaved a sigh of relief against the ropes encircling my body.
As a final challenge, I made myself shut off the computer and close the lid. Then I worked myself across the carpeted floor to the cabinet where I had placed a pair of shears before I started. Touching them gave me permission to untwist the rope binding my wrists, freeing myself.
And the story? Why, you’re reading it now, dear.
The End – or is it?
(swish. Crack! ‘OH!’ Crumple. “Tie the bitch up so that she can’t send this claptrap to that awful Gromet”)
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