© Copyright 2001 - IronHawk - Used by permission
This story is intended for
the entertainment of open-minded adults only. If you are easily offended,
stop reading now. This story may be posted and distributed freely,
provided that this statement is attached. The author retains all
rights of ownership.
My plans were done, designed weeks in advance. I have practiced self-bondage ever since I was a 5 year-old boy and, as I got older, the scenes just got more and more intricate. This time, I was going to be locked outside for most of the night, and if I didn’t recover the keys by dawn, I’d have to stay outside all day in the most compromising of positions!
Like other contributors to this website, I first had to prepare everything for that night. My first task was to rig my escape mechanism. I took an empty, plastic, two-liter soda bottle and removed the label. I filled it one-third full with water and put it in the freezer. One end of a five-foot length of string was tied around the bottle’s neck, while the other end was tied to a key. Later on that day, when the water had frozen, I dropped the key and as much string as possible into the bottle, centering the key in the middle of the ice at the bottom of the bottle. I slowly added water until the container was about half full and then returned it to the freezer. Throughout the day, I added water, one inch at a time, until the container was a solid block of ice with a single key suspended in it, like a prehistoric bug in amber. I then inserted a screw into the bottom of the bottle and tied a short loop of string to it, in order to hang the bottle upside down. This was going to be good…
I had taken the day off (Friday) so I had the whole day to prepare and coordinate that night’s scene. This included mowing the yard, clearing it of debris, and checking it to see if there was anything that could be used tonight to “cheat” myself of the ordeal. It’s a large backyard that is fenced for privacy and the landscaping is wonderful. Many would see the bridge over the koi pond under a giant shade tree, a child’s playground, a covered and lighted barbeque area, and a Jacuzzi (among other things) but I saw an outdoor self-bondage dungeon limited only by my imagination. I wondered what it was about self-bondage enthusiasts that make us do this to ourselves. Even if we had willing partners, would that be the same as devising the perfect scene? I doubted it. Part of the game is the planning.
With the yard taken care of and all the toys in place, it was now time to prepare myself. I ran five miles and added an extra ten pounds to my dumbbells, nearly exhausting my muscles. Fatiguing my body was part of the plan as it would make relatively easy tasks much harder later. Although fairly hungry by this time, I denied myself any food, as this could also cause a problem later. Instead, I took a long, hot shower and trimmed my pubic hair. When I turned 30 a couple of years ago, I vowed to be in the best shape of my life. Months of cross-training gave me a lean body that has turned many heads, unlike my nerdy high school and college days.
At 9:00 pm, it was time for my punishment to begin. My mind
slipped into a fantasy mode that transmuted the world around me.
In this place, a tall, dark-haired Dominatrix appeared, Her long legs and
firm, tan body a rival to my own. While we both knew that I was the
stronger individual, the truth was that she wielded The Power, The Power
to control me and do as she wished. She ordered me to strip, which
I did with a deep personal shame and embarrassment. I stood to my
full frame of 5’10” and 180 pounds but could only look at the ground.
She walked around me, inspecting me, and with a slight smile, approved
of what she saw. I was immaculately showered and shaved. She
then asked, “Are you ready for your punishment, slave?”
“Yes, ma’am,” was my reply.
“Good. It’s now time to clean your insides.” She walked outside and I followed…
I proceeded to administer an enema to myself by kneeling on the concrete patio slab, tilting my ass up into the air and receiving the whole half gallon of water. While in this position, I massaged my abdomen to relax and mix it all up. “Now, hold it for ten minutes and if you spill a drop, you’re going to be VERY sorry. It’s about time that you learned some discipline,” I heard my dark mistress say. I had a kitchen timer and set it for ten minutes. I spent the time mostly on my back to ease the pressure but when the timer rang, I rushed to a far corner of the yard and expelled the enema.
I returned to the patio and refilled the enema bag from the faucet outside. I then lay upon my back, lifted my legs high in the air, and gave myself another enema in this position. I returned to that corner of the yard and expelled the second enema, only to return to the patio again. The words, “I demand that my slave be absolutely and thoroughly clean,” rang in my head.
The third enema was taken as I lay upon my left side and the fourth was taken with my ass high in the air again. Once done, I returned inside to make my final preparations. In a couple of minutes, I was done, but spent fifteen minutes watching my favorite BDSM video. This recharged my mood but also gave my body time to evacuate the last of the enema in my colon, that liquid that had reached high into my innards. I soon had to go again and, after a quick trip to the corner of the yard, I took one small and final enema for good measure. “You pick your position,” I heard my Dominatrix say, laughing.
With a slight tremble of apprehension, I returned to the back door and, before losing my nerve, I locked the door. I was now locked out of my house, naked. I quickly moved over to the Jacuzzi and stepped on the hard cover. It was 6’ by 6’ square, about 3’ off the ground, and served quite well as a pedestal. I lit the sixty votive candles that lined the edges and stepped onto the pedestal. I basked in the light of the midnight moon and candle flames.
Once again, I found myself kneeling with my ass high in the air, waiting to receive my Dominatrix’s cruel but just punishment. I reached for a 25 cc syringe (minus the needle) containing lubricant and ejected a small dab on my asshole. I groaned slightly and clenched because the lubricant had been microwaved and was still quite hot. “You know you love it, slave! Now shut up and take it!”
The syringe was slowly pushed into my rectum, the heat enough to make me squirm. It was like being skewered with a red-hot poker. Slowly, I pressed on the plunger, shooting the hot lube into my ass. My feet kicked at the Jacuzzi cover in pain. The syringe was removed and after a moment, I touched the tip of a large butt plug to my anus. My heart clenched with apprehension and I slowly pushed the large intruder into my body. My outer sphincter was being violated and soon, the intruder reached the inner ring of muscle. My asshole gaped open to receive the big black probe but the inner sphincter wouldn’t open. With a little relaxation, the large latex object nestled deep in my body, my asshole clamping down on the neck of the butt plug. “Good slave! Now stand up.”
I rose to my feet and secured a chain harness of my own fashioning around my waist. It consists of a 26” length of chain with large links that almost goes completely around my 32” waist. Because it’s too short, the ends of the chain wind up in front of the bony flares of my hips. A 9” length of chain with small links is connected to the waist chain at the small of my back. The small chain is pulled deep into the crack of my ass, down to the perianal space (the region between the anus and the genitals), where it then splits into two 16” lengths of chain of the same link size. Both chains come back up my body, passing on either side of my penis and testicles, where it threads through the large links of the ends of the waist chain. The free ends of the small chain are then brought together, right under my navel, and secured tightly with a single lock. In short, it looks like a chain thong without the panel in front. The steely and final click of the lock in the night air caused me to thrill exquisitely, for I did not have the key; I had mailed one of the keys to myself and since it was Friday, I would not see that key until Saturday afternoon, at least twelve hours away! As a precaution, a back-up was mailed yesterday to my post office box several miles away, meaning it should be in there right now. “Should be” were the operative words, but it was the edge of uncertainty that made it all so intoxicating.
“On your back, slave, and spread your legs!” came my next order. I did as instructed and 13 clothespins were attached to my scrotum. Six of the clothespins had a string attached to them of slightly different lengths, between six and nine inches long. The free ends of the string were all tied together to a single metal ring, to be used later. This left seven of the clothespins free.
Next, I donned my leather ankle cuffs and secured a 12” chain to them, hobbling my steps. The key for these locks were in the deepest part of the house. I should mention now that the anal plug has an eyebolt ring that protrudes from the base and that the eyebolt ring was passed through one of the links of the chain harness that ran through the crack of my ass, before a lock was run through the eyebolt The key to this lock was also in the mail, meaning that the butt plug could not be removed at all without the keys. Another lock was run through the eyebolt, connecting an 18” long chain to the butt plug. It was now like having a chain tail, locked to the butt plug that was deep in my ass. I got an erotic charge from the feeling of the two locks trapped between my cheeks. The other end of this second chain was locked to the middle of the 12” hobble chain. The key to these locks were also deep in the house. The lengths of chain were not long enough to let me straighten my legs, and in order to walk, I had to squat even lower. This was very tiring on my legs (remember, I had run five miles earlier that day) and painful to endure, but endure it I’d have to, for there was no other way to get out of the ordeal I was about to subject myself to. To add to my torment, the movement would cause a jerking on the chain attached to the anal plug, acting as a constant reminder to me of its intrusive presence.
The 4” leather posture collar came next, which has a red ball
gag attached. Once on, it would be impossible to remove without hands.
The ball gag slipped behind my teeth and, once secured, I would be unable
to call for help. Given my particular circumstances, however, I’m
not sure that I would even if I could.
I was almost finished. I took a 6” chain and counted to the middle link. I passed another lock through the middle link and then through a link on my chain harness, at the small of my back. The free ends of the chain were left to dangle for now. “Now, slave, comes your punishment! Follow me!”
With hobbled steps, I walked to another corner of the large yard, where I followed a dark alley behind the garage, a space about 4’ wide and 30’ deep. I walked all the way to the end and kneeled in front of a fencepost, where my torture awaited. I took the Japanese clover clamps (the kind that bite harder when pulled upon) and placed one on each nipple. The chain that joined them was secured to the top of the fencepost by a piece of string and an ice cube. This way, I could not leave the dark alley until the ice had freed my clamps, unless I didn’t have any use for my nipples anymore. I figured this would take about an hour. The metal ring dangling from several of the clothespins on my scrotum was then connected to a snap hook screwed to the fencepost. Thus, I would have to wait until the ice released my clamps in order for me to hobble out of the alley, but in doing so, six of the clothespins on my scrotum would be ripped off, one at a time. This left the seven remaining clothespins to continue their painful attack. Since escape wouldn’t come for about an hour, the pain from all of the clothespins would have lessened some, but then come raging back with a vengeance. To make matters worse, no matter how painful it was later, it was a pain I’d HAVE to endure in order to get to my house key, to get into my house, and to get out of most of my restraints! As an added measure, I chose this particular part of the yard because it was laid over entirely in river stones. These stones, each about 4” across, were extremely uncomfortable to kneel upon.
With hands shaking from excitement, I put the leather wrist cuffs
on and locked them to the free ends of the 6” chain behind my back, before
I could think about how preposterous my scheme was. I was now in
a predicament of my own design, one that would take hours to get out of,
maybe even days, depending on the Postal Service!
My Dominatrix rattled off a litany of crimes that I’d committed, all of them false, of course. “Deny these charges, if you dare!” she sneered. “Mmmmph,” was my only reply. “I didn’t think so, slave. Now, suffer until dawn! I hope you learn your lesson this time!”
I knelt in the darkness, the summer heat causing me to start to drip with sweat. I had not foreseen how erotic a drop of sweat running slowly down my back could be. By the time the drop finished its murderous route down my back, a second one started… My forehead, on the other hand, was a fountain of salty fluid, the sweat falling off of my face and dripping onto my genitals. The thirteen clothespins on my scrotum made my balls look like a porcupine of wood and spring metal. This caused me to splay my legs, denying me any amount of modesty. I did not think I could take any more, so I tested my bonds, sliding backwards in the alley, but the stabbing pains in my chest caused me to rethink this. My self-bondage and self-torture were perfect. I couldn’t even sit on my heels. Although the clothespins had dulled to a pulsing ache, I had no choice but to continue to suffer. Before too long, I had to shift my position, because the pain from kneeling on the stones got to be too great. The combination of bondage, heat, sweat, clothespins, nipple clamps, butt plug, and kneeling caused me a great deal of agony. The only things that could possibly make this worse was the fact that I had done this to myself, and that there was no escape. Time passed slowly under the stars that night, as I was left to contemplate my sins. The words, “In sub-space, no one can hear you scream,” echoed through my head.
When the ice finally released the chain connecting the clover clamps on my nipples, I scooted backwards on my aching shins out of the alley. I didn’t have to go far before the clothespins on my scrotum pulled taut. I was less than a foot from the fencepost, making turning around impossible. The only way to get to the keys that released me was to continue scooting backwards and let them rip off my body, one by one. To make matters worse, I knew that once the clothespins were taken off, the subsequent pain of blood circulation and nerve re-activation would be excruciating. However, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. With one small scoot backwards, the first clothespin ripped off of my body. It took about one whole second before the pain reached my brain, after which, I moaned into my gag. Five more to go! The sound of clothespins snapping off one by one was like a broken popcorn popper that popped one kernel at a time.
After the echo of the last clothespin’s pain subsided, I got slowly to my feet. I was crouched and took a tentative step. The hobble chain pulled taut and, as I tried to stand up to gain my balance, the chain connecting the hobble chain to my anal plug snapped straight, almost yanking it out if it were not for the chain harness. I toppled over into the grass, the nipple clamps jangling noisily and firing stars into my clenched eyes. My Dominatrix laughed from a window inside the house before taking a sip of wine.
When the tide of pain subsided, I tried to stand again, only slower this time. I found the new posture afforded to me by my bonds and made my way slowly to the kids’ playhouse. Very, very slowly, in fact. Because of the limited stretch of my legs, I found myself resting often. I estimate the trek took me half an hour to go about 50 feet.
The kids’ playhouse was present when I bought the house. Constructed entirely of wood, it started with a sandbox, about 5’x5’ square, which was covered by a flat platform about six feet off the ground. A wide, deck-like stairway led up to the top of the platform, which was covered by a pointed roof, giving it a fort-like appearance. Finally, a giant slide brought you from the “fort” back down to earth. I made my way very carefully up the stairs to the “fort”. I looked up at the underside of the roof and could see the empty two-liter bottle hanging upside-down. It was still quite full. I exhorted my disappointment through my nose. My breaths were ragged due to my aching nipples. I was hoping that the melting would have been faster due to the summer night heat, but at its current rate, I was going to have to wait for at least another two hours! I had deliberately not tested how long it would take for the key to drop, as I wanted the time of my release to be an factor unknown to me.
My cards having been dealt, I lay on my back and looked out at the stars. From my high vantage point, I could see into my neighbor’s yard, which also meant that I could be seen. This was a risk, but being well past midnight by now, I figured it was a low one. The lighting was low here but if it were daylight, I’d be a beacon of B&D/S&M. “Are you enjoying yourself, slave? Say, ‘Mmmph!’ for me if you are!”
I was alone with my thoughts and it was here that the seeds of psychological torment that I had planted finally came to bear fruit. Would the key to my chain harness be mailed today? If not, I’d either have to wait until Monday to get it (which would also mean taking Monday off, too, unless I wanted to go to work trapped in my device) or put clothes on over my device and drive out to the post office box. But what if the spare key isn’t there, either? THAT would mean I’d be trapped in my harness for two days! I wouldn’t be able to eat because I couldn’t go to the bathroom. What would such a long period of time do to my poor stretched asshole?!? I imagined never sitting on a barstool again for fear of it disappearing up my ass! Despite such grim ideas, a new pain arose from my groin, this time from a throbbing erection.
Part of the reason for leaving some of the clothespins on my scrotum was to prevent me from rolling over onto my stomach and masturbating at any point. This was a good thing, as I almost certainly would have done so right then and there, with nothing else to do. The fact that the clothespins continued to torment me was also a delightful stimulus.
I could have fallen asleep out there, if it were not for the continued nagging ache in my nipples. I thought about my next session, how I might use regular clothespins on my nipples and tie them to the fencepost so that I’d have to yank them off, like the ones that were on my scrotum. Or maybe I would go to work on Monday, still trapped in my chain harness, and mail the key there? Or maybe I’d stash the key at some 24-hour store, forcing me to go in to recover the means to my freedom? While these ideas were gleaned from other self-bondage stories that I’d read on the Internet, the possibility of experiencing the reality made my heart pound.
After some interminable period, I heard the key fall. My muscles had turned stiff in my restricted position, so sliding over to the key was easier said than done at first. It was a good thing that I tied the key to a piece of string, because the key had bounced and slipped between posts of the guardrail, which meant that I’d have to go find it in the grass! Once I had the key, however, it was a relatively easy task to insert the key into the lock that held my wrist chain to my chain harness. With the lock opened, my arms now had more range of motion, although they were still bound behind my back. Still, success in the next leg of my ordeal depended on being able to lift my arms.
I didn’t dare go back down the steps, as I might tumble down them. As with so many other ordeals this night, the slide was going to be no different. It had been lightly oiled earlier and anything going down it would go fast, especially if it was naked. I had decided that I’d go down on my side and feet first. The plan, though, didn’t include landing on my shins so hard that the clothespins on my scrotum took a sharp jab, or how, in flinching from the pain, I’d twist my body only to pull all of my restraints tight and land on my chest and my clamped nipples. A scream died in my ball gag. Once I could open my eyes again, I made my way to the backyard gate. Here was the greatest exposure I faced in my predicament: I had to get to the mailbox and reach in to get the house key. Without the house key, I was damned to remain outside until the following nightfall, naked, bound, gagged, plugged, and clamped! I had also made a point to close any shades or curtains in the house so that I would never know what time it was. If I were trapped outside for another day, I’d have no way of knowing, once darkness fell, whether it was late enough to expect my neighbors to be asleep or not. I would not be able to accurately judge whether it was 9 pm or 3 am. Based on the darkness of the sky, I figured it was still well before dawn, maybe about 4 am or so. If I was wrong, though, and happened across one of my neighbors out on his or her early morning stroll, I’d be discovered. My ground speed was limited to very tiny steps and there was about 50 yards of driveway between the house and the mailbox. Although the street was unlit, I could make out trees and other houses from the moonlight, so I had no illusion of how much cover I’d have. Knowing that every passing minute could condemn me to a whole day this way, I took a careful look around before starting the long trek to the mailbox.
As I hopped/walked, I knew I’d never make the trip to the mailbox again without remembering this night. How many times had I made this trip, without a thought as to how far it really was? In my haste, the unthinkable happened: I tripped. Again, the sudden kicking of my legs translated to the sudden tugging on the massive object in my ass. This paled in comparison to the twisting of the nipple clamps, which felt like two hot little coals sizzling on my chest now. I recovered quickly (I had no choice) and continued towards the mailbox. Once there, I stepped onto the street in front of it and bent over so that my cuffed hands could reach up and pull down the door. I then took a step backwards so that I could reach deep inside to retrieve the key. Once the house key was in my hand, I wasted no time in heading back for cover. My eyes and ears were peeled for motion and/or sound and, while I saw or heard none, it still felt like I was the main attraction at a circus.
I finally reached the backyard again. My heart was beating wildly; I was definitely going to keep this element in my next scene! What a rush! I inserted the key into the backdoor and, turning the knob, was greeted by a blast of cold air. By comparison, it was an easy trek to the farthest point in the house to get the keys to all the locks except one: the one that kept the latex intruder deeply buried in my ass. And that one was either 30 miles or one day away…
I first unlocked the leather cuffs that held my hands together behind my back. I flexed and stretched, as spending so many hours in one position had caused my arms to ache. Next, I unlocked the leather cuffs on my feet, thus allowing me to stretch and flex my legs. Another key released the 18” chain from my butt plug. A fourth and final key separated that chain from the 12” hobble chain. It felt good to be able to move my limbs again. The posture collar and ball gag were next, where I massaged my jaw. Finally, I steeled myself and gingerly removed the nipple clamps, which drew a cry from my throat. When I regained my breath, I gingerly removed the clothespins on my scrotum. I tenderly massaged my nipples and sac back to life. “I hope you learned your lesson, slave. You have almost eight hours before the mail arrives. You may sleep, but not until you clean yourself up first!” my mistress barked.
I looked at myself in the light and I was covered in grass clippings and dirt. She was right, I could not go to bed like this. “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded, as I headed towards the bathroom. She jerked a thumb towards the backyard.
I now faced the final act of my play. I took a bar of soap, a washcloth, and a bottle of shampoo and walked into the night air once again. The click of my Mistress’s heels clicked behind me, a leering smirk on Her face. I headed towards the barbeque/picnic area, just off of the patio space. It was covered and held up by posts at the corners, with a trellis walling up one side. It was lighted and, with the furniture removed, became my shower area. I reached over to turn on the light and I was awash in light. Suddenly, I became extremely conscious of my nudity. Next, I turned on the water faucet and a garden hose jerked to life. The hose led to the trellis, where a nozzle tied to the trellis began to pelt the concrete slab with water, under a stark bright light. With a sharp intake of breath, I jumped under the frigid shower. My mistress watched on and laughed as I danced under the cold water, trying to cover myself under the bright light. I quickly set about washing my hair and body, keenly aware that the sky was growing lighter. What a sight I would be for my neighbors, an athletic man wearing a chain device, showering outside under a garden hose! I continued and carefully cleaned around the chain harness and butt plug. My humiliation was now complete.
My dark Dominatrix continued to watch me, knowing too that I was
under Her Control. Unlike the rest of my scene, this part was voluntary.
There was no escape or release involved. I could have chickened out
but really, the choice wasn’t mine. I was Hers.
And someday, She’ll be Mine.
I hope that you enjoyed this true account. In actuality, I switch
between Dominant and submissive roles, but my imagination comes into play
both ways. E-mail me at [email protected] with your comments,
suggestions, or ideas.