Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Self Tied

by Cynthia Trusscot

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© Copyright 2012 - Cynthia Trusscot - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; M/f; rope; bfold; bond; breathplay; gag; stuck; discovery; cons/nc; X

“If you want me to do that, I’ll have to tie you up,” he said.

She smiled and sipped wine. “No. I don’t think you will. Although I agree that I have to be tied.” He looked at her, puzzled. “How would it be if I tied myself up?”

He smiled. “Ah—that would be interesting. Do you have some rope around here?”

“Of course,” she responded, and rose from the loveseat. He watched her walk across the room to the hallway that led to her bedroom. In a moment she was back, carrying several pieces of soft white rope and a scarf.

“You were prepared,” he smiled.

“I have been for awhile. Now sit and watch.”

In a kind of reverse striptease, she smoothed on a pair of over-the-elbow leather gloves, then sat on the floor across from where he sat on the loveseat. She sorted through the pieces of rope, laying them out, selecting the correct piece. Then she bent over, giving him a look down the plunging neckline of her slinky black dress, and began tying her feet together. She carefully wrapped the rope around her ankles four times, then passed the end between her limbs, cinched it, and knotted it snugly so that her high heeled pumps were secured primly together. She glanced up and smiled at the hungry expression on his face. Then she lifted her black skirt up her thighs, and wound a second rope around her legs above her knees. This rope too was cinched and tightly knotted. She extended her bound legs, then drew them back in.

Selecting a third, long rope, she wound it around her shoulders, then down over her breasts and around her torso. This too was knotted, but somewhat loosely. At this point, she picked up one of the scarves. “Which would you prefer? A gag or a blindfold?”

He considered. “The blindfold. You will not be crying out—later.”

She smiled at his observation. “Very well. See you later, then.” She winked, then positioned the silk band over her heavily made-up eyes and tied a bow behind her head. She re-positioned the ropes around her shoulders, and forced her arms under the rope around her body. This rope was apparently tighter than she had planned, but she worked her arms around until they were tightly bound into place.

“Should I tie your hands for you?” he asked.

“No need, dear,” she replied. She felt around until she found a coil of smaller-diameter rope with another piece knotted in its middle. She forced her hands through the coils with some difficulty, then flipped one hand over the other, putting a half-twist into the coil. She then pulled the slipknot up snugly, preventing the coil from coming untwisted.

“There. How’s that?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” he replied. It was true. The smoothly placed coils of white ropes that bound the lady contrasted wonderfully with her black dress, stockings, and shiny high heeled pumps. The blindfold over her gold hair added the right touch of helplessness to the tightly bound package.

“You are beautiful,” he repeated. She smiled. “Let me just check to make sure you’re well tied.”

“Weren’t you watching?” she joked.

“You bet I was,” he answered. He passed a hand over her heels, then ran it up, feeling the snug ropes binding her ankles together. He caressed her calf, inserted a finger behind her knees, then tickled her thighs above the rope binding them. She giggled and jerked, quite helpless. Leaning forward, he stroked her flank, his thumb finding the hardened knob of nipple inside her black dress. She leaned forward, pushing her breasts into his eager hands. She purred. He bent and kissed her exposed throat, then peered down her back, inspecting the way her hands were tied behind her. He pulled the slipknot up a little tighter.

“What—don’t you trust me? Didn’t I tie myself up to your complete satisfaction?”

“Oh, you did a good job—I’m just making sure,” he answered, letting a cruel note slip into his words. “But you should have wondered about trusting me.” He leaned back as the exposed bottom half of her face looked puzzled.

“Think, dear—Am I what you thought I was? Perhaps I’m going to go through your bedroom and take whatever good jewelry you have. Or perhaps I’m going to raise you to your knees, and make you take my cock in that sweet mouth of yours. I might even invite the doorman up to watch—or take a turn himself.” She had mentioned how she disliked the doorman. “What do you suppose his cock tastes like?”

Although she was trying to stay calm, trying to convince herself that he was simply playing with her, the helplessness imposed upon her by her self-bondage was making her more and more frightened. She twitched against the ropes tying her, even though she tried to sit still and await what would happen.

“Ah, but then you’re a silly working girl, without much in the way of goodies, unless you had a sugar daddy. Do you have a sugar daddy? Thought not. So I guess I’ll just be on my way.” He picked up his coat, so she could hear the sound.

“You aren’t just going to leave me like this, are you?” She squirmed within her bondage.

“Hmmm. I suppose I shouldn’t. I guess I’ll strangle you first.”


“Strangle. As in wrap a scarf around your throat, and pull it tight, so you can’t breathe.”

“You wouldn’t!” Such an outrageous statement from a tightly tied girl called for a response. Picking up another silk scarf, he twirled it into a band. Wrapping it around her pretty neck, he pulled it just snug.

“NO! No, please…” He pulled it just a little tighter, only just until her breath rasped in her throat and her body bucked against the cords binding her. Then he quickly released the pressure, only to flip the scarf up over her gasping mouth. Her sudden protest was neatly cut off by the thick silk.

“Or maybe I should set fire to your apartment,” he speculated. “No batteries in the smoke alarm, the firemen would come, eventually, find where you’d obviously tied yourself up, figure it was a scene gone wrong.” He struck a match. The scent of burning filled the room, and the tied girl squirmed all the harder.

“But I suppose I’ll just leave you like you are,” he said finally. “Who knows? You might get yourself loose, or someone might wonder where you are and come free you. In either case, you’ll have some time to yourself, all tied up. G’night, sweetie,” He cheerfully stepped out the door, closing it firmly behind her.

The girl’s choked sob was muffled by the thick gag in her mouth. She twisted her hands behind her, but the careful adjustment of the ropes she had used held her wrists tightly. Blindfolded, she was unable to find any implement to cut herself free, and tied as she was, she couldn’t go and get anything. She couldn’t even kick off her high heels. She had done entirely too good a job on herself. Another part of her mind wondered how she looked, in her slinky black dress, gloves, and tight white ropes.

After what seemed like an eternity, there was a knock on the door! “Miss? Are you all right?” She screamed as loudly as she could through the thick folds of the gag, and stamped her bound heels on the carpeted floor. There was the sound of a key in her lock, and someone came in. Her blindfold was removed, and she looked into the face of the creepy doorman. She had never seen anyone so handsome in her life. He removed her gag.

“Oh—Thank you! Thank you for coming—“

“I didn’t like that guy’s looks,” he answered. “Something was off—he just didn’t look right when he left. Did he tie you up?”

“No,” she said ruefully, “I tied myself up. It was a game, but it went sour.”

“Oh. I see. Well, do you, er, want me to untie you?” Silly question. Then it wasn’t.

“Do you like looking at tied-up girls?” she smiled.

“Welllll…” he looked her bound body up and down, an smiled sweetly. Inadvertently, his hand rested on her knee, next to the coils binding her legs.

“A heroic rescuer deserves a reward,” she said. “Sit over there, and get an eyeful. But promise you’ll get me loose when I say.”

“Of course, Miss.” The doorman sat down. Smiling, the girl began writhing sensuously within the ropes binding her, stretching her breasts outward, extending her lovely legs, then drawing them in again, giving him a good show.

She may have been less forthcoming had she heard a conversation that took place ten floors down and thirty minutes earlier:

“Your kinky little friend is all set. She didn’t need much encouragement to tie herself up. I added a few scary ideas, then left. Give her fifteen-twenty minutes, then pop up and ‘rescue’ her. She won’t think you’re so creepy anymore.”

“Hey, thanks ‘bro. You de man!”


Copyright 2012 Cynthia Trusscot


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