Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

The Storm

by Don Martin

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© Copyright 2005 - Don Martin - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; cd; cons; X

The Storm by Don Martin
A story of the penalty for not listening to the weather forecast and not reading emails from your partner

I had ten days off between jobs so Jenny decided that we should take a break in the country.  She had found just the place, a cabin in the foothills of the mountains not too far from the city.  Here we could do a little walking, some fishing and, of course, play some of our favourite bondage games.  At the last moment Jenny’s boss asked her to work for the first three days as an important client was coming to town.   

So on Wednesday night armed with all my fishing gear and some good books, I set off to the cabin alone with Jenny planning to join me on Friday evening or at the latest on Saturday morning.  I got the place organised on Thursday and, as it was a pleasant summer’s day, I even found time to catch a few fish in the afternoon.  

On Thursday evening I planned a little self-bondage. I spent too long getting dressed - a classic fitted grey suit with a straight skirt, a white satin blouse, black sheer stockings and my new knee-high black boots with 4-inch heels.  I’d also recently acquired a shoulder-length deep auburn wig and this was going to be the first time that I wore it when fully dressed.  I had already frozen a few ice blocks in the freezer for our games when Jenny finally arrived.  So I tied a couple of these in the toe of a stocking and popped it into an insulated cooler bag.  Lockable leather cuffs, a fat leather-covered pear-shaped gag and a couple of lengths of chain also went into the cooler bag.  The result of all this mucking around was that it was late when I set off down the path through the woods.  We pick up the story about an hour later.

* * *

Less than half an hour earlier it had been a clear moonlit night with the disk of the full moon hanging high in the sky; but now it was now pitch black with the sound of thunder rumbling across the distant hills.  The only light in this all-enveloping darkness was the lightning that flickered through the clouds and the fading glow of the lights of a town somewhere over the horizon.  With the passing of every minute the thunder got louder as the storm drew closer.  There was no way that I could get back to the cabin until the ice block melted enough to let the keys for my release fall into reach.  Those ice blocks were now firmly wedged way above my head in the fork in the branch of a small tree.  Why had I tied such large pieces of ice into the toe of that stocking?  Why had I brought the ice blocks out here in an insulated cooler bag?  Would they melt sufficiently to let my keys fall before the storm arrived?  

To make matters worse, even though my eyes had got used to the darkness, I could not make out how much the ice blocks had melted.  I could reach the keys if could stand up, but this was out of the question as I was kneeling on a blanket and hogtied with my wrists cuffed behind me and joined to my ankle cuffs by a short length of chain.  Although this kneeling position was making my knees and the backs of my thighs ache, I dared not let myself fall over to lie on the ground, as I knew that if I did I would not be able to get up again.  As the wrist cuffs were locked on to a chain around my waist there was no way that I could wriggle my wrists past my bum and get them to a more comfortable position under my knees or even, with a bit of luck, past the heels of my boots so that they were in front of me.  

My jaw also started to ache - I should not have tightened the strap of the 2-inch ball gag that extra notch before clicking the padlock shut.  To add to my discomfort the end of one of the bones in my corset started to dig into the top of my leg.  Then the worst of my fears were realised - I felt the first large drops of rain.  Then came an enormous clap of thunder right overhead followed by an even louder one and the few spots of rain became downpour.  The storm had arrived.

The small tree holding the keys offered no protection from the storm - and I’m always wary of getting under any tree when there’s lightning about.  The rain got even heavier and soon turned to hail.  In only a few minutes I was soaked to the skin.   My new shoulder-length wig was a straggly dank mess; water trickled down my back and the blanket was awash.  But on the more positive side, I reckoned that the rain would speed the melting of those damned ice blocks!  And still the rain poured down - it was so hard that I couldn’t look up to check on the progress of the melting ice block.  Even if it had melted and the key had fallen to the ground I doubt that I would have heard it above the noise of the storm.

At last the storm eased a little - now it was just steady heavy rain.  The thunder was more distant as the storm moved on towards the coast.   After another ten or fifteen minutes the key fell to the ground splashing into a large puddle.  I reached behind me as much as my bonds would allow (which wasn’t much!).  In my efforts to find it I toppled sideways and ended up lying in 2-inch deep water.  At first I could not find the stocking or the key so I had squirm backwards on my shoulder and hip.   Then I felt something against my upper arm.  With a lot of struggling I managed to move my body until my fingers felt the knot in the stocking and that blessed key.  

Not thinking that the storm would hit, I had only brought one key with me - and that was the key to the padlock that secured my ankle cuffs.  It needed a great effort to reach my ankles but, after many tries, I finally managed to get the key into the padlock and turn it.  I wriggled the padlock out of the hasp on one of the ankle cuffs and I was on the way to freedom.  It was not long before I had undone the other cuff.  Wet and bedraggled I struggled to my feet, my wrists still cuffed behind my back with a short length of chain dangling from them.

I squatted down to collect everything together - the stocking and key, the cuffs, the chain and the padlock and stuff them all into my bag.  As I picked up the last item up I sat back in the puddle once more.  Back on my feet and with everything in the bag I went to retrieve the blanket.  This proved to be an almost impossible task.  After falling over in the puddle a couple more times I decided to leave the blanket where it was and come back for it in the morning. I squatted down to pick up the bag and again landed on my backside on the saturated grass.  Soaking wet and muddy, but with the bag firmly in my grasp, I struggled to my feet and set off back towards the warmth of the cabin.

It was only when I started walking that I realised just how uncomfortable my new padded body-shaping panties were when the padding is saturated with cold water.  Every step was accompanied by a squelch as more water was squeezed from the padding.   And why did I wear these boots with 4-inch heels?  I just could not put any weight on the heels without them sliding deep into the mud.   Not only that, both of them felt like they were filled with water (which they probably were).  The unpleasant squelchy feeling was made worse by my legs being restricted by the completely saturated knee-length straight skirt that I was wearing.  This and the fitted jacket had started out being light grey earlier this evening, but I shuddered to think what colour they were now.  In my struggles to get free one of the suspenders holding up one of my stockings had become undone and the cold, wet hose was flapping round my leg.  But all this was better than kneeling in a puddle in a hailstorm and waiting for that key to drop. 

The night was still pitch black and it was difficult to make out the way back to the path.  I must have taken the ‘pretty way’ for it seemed an age before I found the path that led through the woods and back to the cabin.  It was even darker going through the woods that it was crossing the field.  My progress was slow and I had to feel my way along.  Several times I found that I had walked into a bush or strayed off the track. Although it was somewhat easier walking along the dirt path than picking my way across the wet grass, I still had to splash my way through several more puddles in the dark before I arrived home.  

The front door key was still in safely hidden under the garden gnome by the step – I called him Eric.  I kicked him on his back and bent down to pick up the key.  Once more I toppled over, this time landing in the mud of the little garden in front of the house.  Back on my feet I opened the door and headed straight for the kitchen and the rest of the keys.  Using the strap of my gag I flipped on the light switch.  To my horror the kitchen table was bare.  No keys were to be seen anywhere.  At that moment the bedroom door opened and Jenny entered blinking with the bright light.

When had she arrived?  She wasn’t due for another couple of days!  

“I wondered where you’d disappeared to.  Didn’t you get my email?  We got the new contract and our client’s visit was just a formality, so I was able to leave earlier this evening.” 

I ‘mmmmphed’ into the gag.  I was really trying to ask where she’d put the keys but no sensible sounds squeezed their way past that fat plug between my jaws.

“What a bloody mess you are in!  And look what a mess you’re making all over the floor!  You’ll have to be punished for this and tomorrow you can start by cleaning the place up and washing all those filthy clothes.”  

“I’m off to bed.  See you in the morning.”  With that she turned and went back towards the bedroom.   

As she left I again ‘mmmmphed’ into the gag and tried again to ask where she’d put the keys.   She knew all the time what I was trying to say but just played along with my increasing desperation.  Then as she reached the door she paused, turned and said, as if as an afterthought, “Oh, by the way, all the keys you’re looking for are in the mail box down by the road. It’s not a long walk, it shouldn’t take you more than a quarter of an hour to get there! If you’re not back by the morning I’ll organise a search party.  Good night”

What happened the next day and the day after is another story for another time.


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