My Own Boss

by guardian46w, 2019-02-09 21:06:13

By 'Nob'

Illustrations by Robert Bishop

Originally published in Bound To Please Vol. 1, No. 12

Scanned by Ekrayon, Edited by guardian46w

Story Codes: Sbf, ropes, chains, leather, straps, manacles, cuffs, boots, heels, gags, X

Solo-Bondage In My Cellar Of Exquisite Torments

I'd been vaguely discontented as a coed, despite the fact that my good looks were enough to make me popular. I'd had my share of affairs and one-night stands with football stars and even some young professors, but I felt somehow that I was missing something terribly important in my relationships with men. It wasn't until my parents were killed in a plane crash when I was twenty that I discovered what I really wanted.

As an only child with no living relatives, it was up to me to settle my parents' estate. I left college, made arrangements for the funeral, and then settled down to the dreary job of straightening out their effects. Dad had been wealthy and well-insured so money was never a problem, but I was alone for much of the time and my sense that something was missing in my personal life became painfully stronger.

One morning, a week after the funeral, I was moving some boxes into the basement of our isolated hilltop estate when I found a hidden door. Curious, for I had not known of it before, I opened it and followed some stairs down to an elaborate sub-basement, which was how I discovered that my parents had been secret bondage devotees.

Not only did I find a vast collection of bondage materials carefully stored there, chains, cuffs, straps, ropes, bizarre costumes, helmets, gags, and so on, but also a tremendous library of books, magazines, cartoon strips, and movies, all devoted to bondage. It is a good thing I was alone that day, for my initial shock might have led me to give the secret away. But I was concerned, first for my parents' reputation, and then with why they had obviously been so committed to bondage.

There was no question that this had been their "hobby." A few large photos of my mother, attired in exquisite bondage outfits, hung on the walls, and there were others of my father dressed in leather torturer's garb. Out of curiosity about what they had found so satisfying in this unusual activity, I chose some things at random from a book-shelf and read through them carefully.

At first, I was repelled by the stories and articles, even though the pictures fascinated me. But before long, I discovered that I was becoming aroused and excited by the materials. The idea of being held helpless in such exotic ways appealed to me and I found myself identifying with all the "damsels in distress" pictured in the magazines. I read more and more, marveling at the ingenuity that had gone into some of the girls' bondage and imagining some of the pleasure they must have experienced.

GRATIFYING EXPERIMENTS

I think I spent most of the day and a good part of the evening reading through that library. By the time hunger overcame my fascination I had the feeling that I was on the verge of a great discovery. I tore myself away from the collection long enough to eat a quick sandwich and then hurried back down to my new-found interest. As I remember, I finally fell asleep on a sofa there, one more issue of Hogtie still tight in my hands.

The next morning, I was still feeling this particular thrill. After breakfast, I determined to try out some bondage for myself. Luckily, my mother could have been my twin (except that I am a bit more buxom), so it was not difficult for me to don a leather corset, thigh-boots, and long gloves that I found in a cabinet. The feel and smell of the leather so snug against my skin excited me, and the next step was to try on some chains. Even a simple ankle-chain added to my excitement.

Then I found a body strap and fastened it between my legs as I had seen it done in the magazines. It felt marvelous! After I had added a pair of manacles to my wrists in front of me, the body strap felt so good that I began to tighten it and had the most fantastic orgasm I had ever experienced!

From that moment on, I was thoroughly committed to bondage. I understood completely why my parents had invested so much time and money in it. It was perfectly clear to me that sex without forced restraint would be flat and meaningless. It was not hard to figure out that I needed a strong dose of enforced submissiveness to make sex "right" for me, and that bondage was the obvious answer.

It was a shame, I thought, that my parents had not seen fit to introduce me to bondage years ago. But I suppose they had thought themselves wicked in fascination with the subject and had wanted to spare me their guilt feelings. Bondage, however, was just what I had been missing all along, and from that day on my life had a new and intensely gratifying direction.

After I once accepted the idea that bondage was the answer to my problems, I spent the next several months exploring its possibilities. I returned to college just long enough to take my final exams, and then hurried back to the fabulous collection of bondage materials that I had accidentally inherited from my parents. After making sure that my financial affairs were in good order, I let it be known that I would be in mourning and wanted to be left entirely alone.

Once a week I would do the shopping and other errands, but the rest of the time I devoted exclusively to reading through my parents' bondage library and trying out as much of their equipment on myself as I could manage. The only way to work through my fascination, I knew, was to indulge myself in it totally until I could put it in broader perspective. So, I didn't hold back at all, and often spent three or four days at a stretch in the hidden sub-basement.

INTRICATE DISCOVERIES

Although I am somewhat more generously endowed than my mother was, all of her bondage costumes fit me very nicely. I made a practice of wearing nothing but leather during these sessions. High heels, a skintight bikini outfit, and gloves were my usual outfit, but sometimes I wore boots and a full corset for a change. All the while, of course, I was learning more and more about the intricacies of bondage through my reading, and spent an increasing amount of time trying out different forms of restraint on myself.

I was severely frustrated at first because it was impossible for me to put myself into any of the really restrictive forms of bondage that interested me. Nearly all bondage requires a master as well as a slave, and I was alone, not knowing how to find a trustworthy assistance for my solitary fun. But slowly I discovered that it was possible to do much more than I had originally thought: necessity is the mother of invention! With the help of a few gadgets that I manufactured for myself, and others that I subsequently bought, I was able to get closer and closer to experiencing "real" bondage.

For instance, there was a forearm-sheath that would bind my arms together behind me from wrists to elbows. It closed with a heavy zipper, and I soon fixed a special hook on the wall that would help me. After getting my wrists into the sheath, I would back up against the wall and catch the zipper-tag on the hook. Then I would slowly squat down, working my elbows closer and closer together inside the sheath while the zipper was pulled up until the job was finished. At first this placed a terrific strain on my arms and shoulders, but I had seen so many pictures of other girls wearing similar articles that I knew it must be a matter of training. So, I struggled with this form of arm-bondage until my muscles loosened up, and thereafter I found it a reasonably comfortable and very stylish mode of restraint.

My hands and arms, of course, were the most difficult to manage. By leaving them until last, I could fix up almost any form of leg bondage, get my various costumes and straps properly tightened, and even put on gags and helmets. But getting manacles locked on my wrists was always a problem, and freeing them later was an even greater challenge.

TRAPPED AND HELPLESS

I remember one dreadful experience when I had to spend a full twenty-four hours in heavy bondage because I couldn't find the key to my wrist chains. I had pulled on a pair of high-heeled boots, laced a corselet tightly about my waist, and even put a leather pear into my mouth with straps buckled about my head. Then I locked a short hobble between my ankles and crisscrossed my wrists behind me in heavy manacles.

After an hour or so of imaginary, and delightful! degradation, I decided to free myself, only to discover that the key to my wrist cuffs was missing! For once, I got a good idea of what a real slave might think about bondage. I searched the whole place, slowly and clumsily, before I started to get panicky. Then I must have spent several hours in a frenzy of mindless fear. The prospect of starving to death became terribly real. I hopped around wildly. I cursed myself and my parents even though the pear gag limited me to hoarse grunts. I wept a lot. Finally, I fell asleep face-down on the sofa, awakening only when the pressure in my bladder and a ravenous thirst overcame my weariness.

But I could neither relieve myself nor get a drink, the body strap attached to my corselet and the gag saw to that. It took all the willpower I could muster to calm myself and start a systematic search for the key again, but I did it. Before I found the damned thing late in the afternoon, behind a sofa cushion, I was in a perfect agony of arousal and hunger. The more I needed to relieve myself, the more the body strap irritated me; the hungrier and thirstier I got, the more thoroughly dominated I felt.

As soon as I found the key, I hopped frantically into the bathroom. Once my hands were free and the body strap removed, I had a gorgeous, non-stop orgasm at the same time as I emptied my bladder! That left me so weak that I was barely able to get back upstairs for some food, but you can bet that I did it! Later that evening, I decided the experience had been a good one in two ways. First, I had had a genuine experience of helplessness and learned that it was even more exciting than the sense of artificial helplessness that I got when I knew I could free myself at any time. Second, I had learned that a better method of "auto bondage" was definitely needed.

I finally hit on the idea of locks fitted with timers so they would open automatically after a set period of time had passed. Such things are not for sale in every hardware store, naturally, so it took me some time to order them custom-made through the mail. Fortunately, some of the B&D magazines advertised confidential services of this sort, and it was only a month or so (and a lot of money) before I received what I needed so much.

ABSOLUTE CREATIVITY

What I finally got was a complete set of suede-lined iron cuffs for my wrists and ankles, together with a slave collar and a snug iron belt. Each had a lock that could be set to open at any time from five minutes to six hours. Once the timer was set and the lock closed, there was no way to release them any sooner because locking it made it impossible to change the timing. Each article, of course, was provided with several sturdy D-rings so chains or straps could be attached to each as needed.

Well, you can imagine what a good time I had then! Now I could design fairly intricate forms of bondage for myself, get into them, and be assured that I would be freed after the selected number of minutes or hours had gone by. Experimenting with the more advanced types of bondage that my time-locks made possible occupied most of the remainder of the summer.

For example, I would double my legs and lace them tightly into a pair of thigh-sheaths, put my belt on over a wasp-waist corselet and fasten a body strap to it, fix a head-brace to my collar so I couldn't move my head at all, and then struggle to get my arms locked wrist-to-elbow behind me. With all the locks set for three hours, I would be in for a lengthy period of delicious helplessness.

I would pretend I had a devilishly sadistic master who had put me into this bondage and then ordered me to carry out a number of meaningless tasks within a certain time. These I would have posted on the wall ahead of time:

Waddle around the room 20 times.

Dust all the furniture.

Turn 10 somersaults.

Polish the mirror above the sofa.

Stand on your knees for 30 minutes.

Lap up all the water in your dog-dish.

Spill the bucket of marbles and then put all 50 back again.

Straddle your crotch-bar and wait to be released.

In forcing myself to do all these things I, of course, had to develop a fair amount of agility and physical stamina. Waddling around the room in thigh-sheaths, for instance, required me to balance on the balls of my feet with my knees tucked up against my breasts. I took more falls than I care to remember while I was learning to waddle properly. Turning somersaults was even more difficult, but eventually I learned to throw myself backward with enough force to make me end up on my knees again.

To dust the furniture, I would have to take the duster handle between my teeth and maneuver it over every surface I could reach. To polish the mirror, I had to hold a towel in my mouth, climb laboriously up onto the sofa, and stretch as high as I could on my knees while moving the towel back and forth on the mirror with my head.

As "punishment" for being so slow, I would then have to rest my motionless head on the sofa and stand on my knees for the required half-hour. That was a good time for erotic fantasies, but it was also hard on my leather-bound legs. Having filled the dog-dish with water earlier in the day, now I would have to kneel and bend down to drink it, lapping it with my tongue like a dog or cat. The act was particularly degrading, I thought, and thus particularly satisfying.

The marble collecting job was a real nuisance. Having tipped over the container, sending 50 marbles helter-skelter over the floor, I would have to crawl from one to the next, picking up each in my mouth until it was full and then waddling back to deposit my cargo in the bucket again. With 50 marbles in all, this required about ten trips and left me panting.

But finally, my reward came: having to climb astride my padded crotch-bar. It was slanted up from the floor so I could get it between my thighs easily, and the higher it went the more I had to shove with my knees to get aboard it. The top was level with the floor, high enough so I could barely touch both knees to the floor at once, and it made a lovely place to stimulate myself until the time-locks opened and freed me.