You are always so good at making lists, Becca! This is a compliment I hear a lot from colleagues and friends alike. Always meant sincere, it does have a backhanded element to it. It labels me organised, bureaucratic, predictable. Rebecca, the Excel Queen. Rebecca, mind you. Not Bec or Beckie. Not Becca, either. But people are so quick with shortening my name. Just as quick as with making list-related compliments. ...
Author's Note: This story was originally written by Clinton Crayle (“C. C.”) in the late 1970’s, and it was published in Bondage Life magazine. I edited and updated the original, and I am posting it with the permission of the original author. I’d heard about a new night spot in the heart of the Olde Towne district: “Shackles” - ultra-chic, ultra-kinky and ultra-in. My job as the highest-ranking female executive at HQ didn’t give me much time for leisure though, and none of my dates ever had the courage to take me there. So, I never went into the place… until the night my car broke down right outside. ...
This is difficult for me to talk about but my first true self bondage experience is something that I, unfortunately, will never forget. Not a lot happens in Eaton, it’s a small town in southwestern Ohio that you might miss if you blink too fast. I had just graduated high school three months prior and was working at Mary’s Coffee. Mary’s proximity to the town square, courthouse and local newspaper meant that I got to know most of the residents fairly well, from Sheriff Rouscher who used to come to our school and teach criminal justice to Jean Marie who worked with my mother at the courthouse probate office to Agatha and Charlotte Ray, twin sisters, almost in their 80’s now, who would stop by for hot chocolate and wheat muffins almost every night before church. ...
Author's Note: Following a discussion on Twitter about how clothing can be bondage on its own came up with this story of just using clothes to restrict movement. Feedback welcome. Raquel stopped in the middle of the shopping mall trying to catch her breath and relax before continuing on her walk. It seemed like a normal Saturday afternoon shopping trip, but it was nothing like a normal trip for her. ...
Author's Note: English is not my native language, so if there are some writting mistakes, I apologize. _How can we learn to love the light if we’ve never been in the dark? The story seems pretty dark and sad in the first part, but please, be patient. The main character is deaf, so every sentence written _like this* means that someone is using sign language.* 1: “Magda, please, I need the report about the north Bolivian weather”, said the note on my desk. A message from Maria, my boss. She must had left it there while I was on the bathroom. We both worked in a company dedicated to build big infrastructures like bridges, stadiums, dams, and so on, all around the world. We both were engineers, and we did pretty much the same work, but she had a bigger salary because she arrived here early and she was the boss. That month we had to travel to Bolivia for a new mountain road, and she was affraid it would very likely rain a lot. She was right. My desk was in front of her office’s door, which had a lot of glass and the curtains used to be open, so she always knew when I was siting or not. ...
Author's Note: After ‘Dreams of Mirkada’ I was going to leave Sally in peace to have her baby rather than subjecting her to more humiliation and stringent bondage for our pleasure but I’ve had several emails asking for another Mirkada story and I couldn’t resist putting her through just a little more. I couldn’t resist the title either. For those who’ve read about Sally’s journey into ever increasing bondage and submission beginning with ‘When in Rome…’, and becoming increasingly intense through ‘Return to Mirkada’ and ‘Dreams of Mirkada’, this story sees her face up to the fulfilment of her desires. For those who haven’t read the previous stories, Professor Sally Frost is an academic and historian now living in Mirkada; a city where women must be subjected to bondage when they leave their houses and those who are not citizens must also be leashed. ...
Author's Note: This is a true account of the events of 13th July 2011, which my friend SNAP has kindly, and brilliantly, illustrated. SNAP and I have formed a collaborative relationship which I call ‘Remote Control Bondage’ – from the USA, Master SNAP gives me my instructions and I, Slave Jenny, put them into effect, in England. I hope you enjoy the picture and text – if so, let me know (readers of my stories know how much I appreciate feedback !). If there is sufficient interest, we will do this again. ...
Author's Note: Hay out there is my very first story. Let me apologies ahead of time for any big spelling and grammar errors. A really nice Image that goes with this story can be found on Reptileye’s DeviantArt _Update (2012/05/23):* Hay out there this is a remix or extended version of the first story I posted a some time ago. There should be fewer spelling and grammar errors this time around. Thank you for reading. Your comments are welcome.* ...
Author's Note: This is the 10th story in the series “The Stories of Bound Friends.” I will continue to post the series here but I will also be posting extras and updates the moment they are ready on my blog: http://jessbbaby.blogspot.com The next few days after Carl’s death were slow and painful for Sophia. She met with a lawyer who said the contract could be passed down just like it could be sold, and so all the same restrictions apply. Which was especially terrible because there was then no one to give her permission to do the things she needed permission to do. And with the contract transferring ownership, she would likely be under extra scrutiny. She couldn’t ever be sure she had a moment where she could be free to break the rules without being noticed. ...
Author's Note: Follows story of Anna/Julia/Donald from “Engaged”. “Kneel my dear. That’s right.” Donald was naked except for the Lori’s Tube, Anna was naked except for the high-heeled black court shoes. “Kiss please dear.” Donald kissed Anna’s shoes enthusiastically. “There’s a good boy. Now, let’s have a little chat.” They both knew that having a little chat involved Anna talking, Donald listening and agreeing where asked to do so. She always asked, never ordered. Always polite. “No need to stop kissing dear. You can move up. Slowly though. If you go too quickly I shan’t be pleased.” Donald knew that Anna not being pleased would not be in his interest. He’d been wearing the Lori’s tube now for four months. He had never loved Anna more. But he knew that she’d begun to get a taste not just for keeping him in chastity, but also for increasingly dominant behaviour. Her latest ‘innovation’ was the riding crop. “I love horse riding” she’d explained, “And men are so like horses darling. Julia was saying that both species want to get between your legs and both need a little correction from time to time, don’t you think?” Donald had agreed, as he always seemed to do these days. Anna was so right about things. He loved her. Not Julia though, he didn’t love her at all. Why did Anna need a friend like Julia. He’d probably be shagging Anna’s brains out if it wasn’t for that bitch! ...