I’d been living in Arizona for about three months when I decided to take advantage of the good weather and do some outdoor self-bondage. It was mid-September, but even here in the northern part of the state the daytime temperatures were in the 70’s. If I were still back in Minnesota I’d freeze my butt off if I tried going outside without any clothes on this time of year, and for me a lot of the thrill is the chance that I’ll be discovered chained and naked. ...
Sally couldn’t believe that she, a woman in her late thirties, (well, forty two) had become addicted to tying herself up. She had experimented when she was a teenager, but she hadn’t done it again until a few months ago, just after her latest unsatisfactory relationship had ended. At first, she used loops of rope that she could just slip her hands out of, but she quickly moved on to more secure ties. She had a close call during one of her early adventures, when she put her hands through a noose tied to a hook in the ceiling. She’d misjudged the length of the rope; when she kicked away the chair her feet just touched the ground and her weight pulled the loop around her wrists so tight that she couldn’t force it open. If she hadn’t been able to reach the chair with her foot, she never would have been able to get herself loose. This brush with a gruesome death had badly frightened her, but after a few weeks the compulsion returned. Now she took safety seriously and used proper precautions. ...
The summer before my senior year in high school my parents got a divorce. This didn’t surprise me, because my father had moved out months earlier, but I was surprised when my mother’s boyfriend moved into our house two days later and brought his three rotten sons with him. His oldest boy was in the eighth grade and specialized in sexual suggestions. Every time he saw me he made smutty comments about my body and described in graphic detail what he wanted to do with me, as if he could. The middle boy was in the sixth grade and he was a thief. He stole everything of mine he wanted and wrecked what he didn’t want. The youngest boy was never quiet. If he wasn’t shouting he was whining or crying. I put up with all this for a week, but then the boyfriend told me that I was going to have to share my room with the noisy kid. I appealed to my mother, but she just said that the boyfriend didn’t think that it was fair that I had my own room while his boys were all crowded together. I got the message and went to live with my father. ...
I was reading on my front porch when I heard the letter carrier’s old car stop at my mailbox. I looked up from my book and felt a surge of hope. Maybe a letter from Bob had arrived at last! I hadn’t heard from him for so long! The only things about the city I really miss out here on the farm are the Internet and e-mail. I ran down the long gravel driveway to the mailbox and eagerly opened it. Yes! there was a letter, and it was from him! I tore open the envelope, extracted the single page of lined notebook paper, and read the hand-written words. ...
When I was living in Minnesota my ex-boyfriend tied me up a lot, but since I moved to northern Arizona all of my bondage activities have been do-it-yourself. (Although there was some audience participation in my last outdoor adventure). For that adventure I had made a bilbo. This is a medieval restraint which has U-shaped metal bands that slip over the wrists and ankles and are closed by a bar that fits through holes in the open end of the U. Last time I had fastened each cuff separately, but the traditional usage is to have all of the cuffs attached to a single bar, and this is what I wanted to try next. ...
Author's Note: Thanks to Jennifer Harrison for her assistance, and for letting me read her great-great grandmother’s diary. I write stories with bondage, not bondage stories, so this story isn’t just a collection of tie-whip-rape scenes with a little bit of filler. If that’s what you’re looking for you’ll be disappointed, so go elsewhere. My father, Sir Charles Harrison, FRS, DPhil, was dying. He had been dying for months, but now, in this first week of June, 1889, the end was near. He was wracked by another spasm of coughing, and the cloth he held to his lips was stained with blood. “Jenny, come closer,” he whispered. ...
It was mid-May in northern Arizona, and final exams were over at last. Jenny knew that she had done well; studying is easy when you don’t have a social life. She entered the Student Union and looked around until she spotted her best friend Toni waving to attract her attention. Toni rejoiced, “Free at last! What have you got planned for the summer, Jen?” “Nothing much now. I had hoped to work with Professor Slovak on his biodegradable plastic project, but the grant didn’t go through. I promised my father that I’d visit him in Chicago, but I’m going to put that off as long as possible. How about you?” ...