Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Additions to the machine include a double probe that allows drilling in two holes at the same time, different extensions, from a simple rubber phallus to more sophisticated, (there's that word again), faux pricks and other long, serrated, twisted, fat and wrinkled forms that I find in sex shops around the world. Adding a double serrated dick probe with its own internal, battery-driven mechanical action is an interesting variation that takes some time to get it right, but I must say it is, at this time, the ultimate configuration.

  Here's how this is set up: I position the FM so that it remains stationary, no matter what my contortions, while bound, may be. This is important because you do not want a heavy, electric motor, drivers and shaft moving around while you enjoy exploring its abilities. So I bolt the base of the FM down to a sturdy platform and this same platform becomes my bondage base as well. I attach various D rings, eyebolts and other "hard points" to this platform. When not in use, it is stored in my garage and no one has ever asked what it's for.

  Once the platform is properly set up and in position, usually on the bed or on the floor, I attach the accessories I want to use and test them. I set the speed and functions of the FM motor. There are more advanced versions that allow remote control of these functions, but again, they are costly. If I am inclined, I attach a special animated dildo to the end of the shaft and this to some degree frees me from having to worry about the FM's operation, which is usually pure in and out movement at a certain speed. Although it may sound dull, the consistent reaming motion can be fascinatingly effective, given time. I know this contradicts my earlier remarks, but the battery-powered working head is where the action is and this can and will drive me mad.

  Once the FM and attachments are set up and I have tested to make sure the reach and extent of the probing is correct, I arrange my bondage gear on the platform. From a German friend who is an expert at using his lovely wife as a test bed for all sorts of S&M gadgets, I learned about the use of common household door springs in such a setting and these have helped me get more movement while still tied or chained to the platform. In this case, I kneel on the platform. Mounted next to my hand is an on/off switch for the FM. I find this is important so that you are not being fucked and buggered until you are ready for it. It also helps me get properly aligned with the FM's long, flexible shaft. I usually use cuffs and chains for this scene, so I lock the cuffs on ankles, wrists, legs above the knee, arms above the elbow, leaving the short chains attached to the cuffs. If I want a gag, I put it on now. The same goes for a blindfold or hood. I often use a hood with a built-in leather collar and use the collar's D rings to pull my head down to the platform. I do this before my legs and torso are fully connected to the platform with chains and, at times, to the long springs, which pull me back into position if I try to escape the drilling of my cunt and asshole. I place chains or springs on either side of my waist belt, make sure they are tight by taking the slack out on the attached turnbuckles, then put on the gag and/or hood. I reach out blindly and snap the spring-loaded safety links into the eyebolts at the far sides of the platform and, in one last move, hit the on switch for the FM. The battery-powered gut-grinder prick on the end of the shaft, already generously lubricated with a sticky gel, has been running for a while, so as soon as the FM starts up, the head starts drilling into my double holes. The effect of the first thrust is surely much like sudden rape, but my body has been primed for this all the while I was getting on the platform, locking down my arms and legs and dripping my own lubricants, so the impact is mostly psychological as the twin probes make their initial entry and rattle around inside, then withdraw. The computer-programmed FM is in its initial mode. Forward, stop, jiggle, stop, backwards, halt for a two-second delay, then repeat the sequence until shut off. There are three available modes and this is the one I like. The others are basic in and out and a series of high speed sequences with short stops in between. The more advanced the machine, the more modes are available.

  As this session progresses, I will struggle on the platform, tugging at the chains and being brought back to center by the springs. I can change this set-up by eliminating the springs and then I am held firmly on the platform and the ass and cunt-hammering becomes more pronounced and explicit. I like being able to wiggle my ass and hips, enhancing the FM's work and bring up the orgasms more quickly. However, if I want to draw this whole thing out, I can reach over with one finger and shut the FM down while I cool off and start it again later.

  I have only had one slightly scary experience with this arrangement when the combination of my movements and the vibration of the machine caused the on/off switch to come unfastened and thus I was not able to shut the thing off when I was topping out, screaming into the hood and gag. The fucking machine and its little rotating thing at the end of the shaft just kept on drilling me. The impact was so great that I became a mindless fuckee on the end of a battering ram, tossing about on the platform, chained, gagged, hooded and endlessly fucked and buggered. I can't say how long this went on, but a thunderstorm saved me. The power in the apartment went off and the FM stopped. I was soaked in sweat, whimpering into the hood and gag, desperate to get free. Finally, in the silent darkness, I was able to stretch out my hand and get to the spring safety release. Once I was free, I was okay, but that memory has stayed with me in both the fear and the ecstasy forms.

  My last comment is about safety. I discovered a while back a very handy little item that you can buy on line or in tack stores where equestrian equipment is sold. These are heavy metal connectors intended to be used as an emergency release when you have a horse cross-tied with rope or chain from his bridle to the sidewalls of the stall or aisle. Horses being what they are, in a panic, they will pull directly on the chains. If a knot is tied in the rope or the chain is attached to the walls with snap hooks, it is unlikely that anyone, even risking harm, will be able to release the snap hooks. In the end, the horse either gets hurt or, more likely the thousand-pound animal, in panic, rips the hardware out of the post or wall. The safety releases prevent this because they have spring releases that will work even when the chain or rope is under strong tension. For our kind of fun and games, these devices are very, very good insurance and I use them in almost all SB situations. It is one thing to be able to unlock a cuff or a padlock when you are free enough to do so, but when you cannot reach the key or you have accidentally put yourself in too much tension, the safety releases will save your butt.

  Chapter Seven

  Being bound in a secret closet for long periods of time

  requires resources many SB practitioners may not have.

  Patti's private closet opens some interesting glimpses into how involved and complex this fetish can become.

  Patti - Control Freak

  I'm not sure exactly when it dawned on me, but I had been tying myself up in the closet for many years before I realized that one of the many benefits of SB was that only I am able to control what is going on. No one is telling me what to do or how to do it. This, my psychology counselor assures me, is a very critical element in understanding SB and why I do it. I suspect that it applies to a majority of those here and the rest of the scene as well. Until I sought counseling, I was convinced that what I was doing was weird and wrong. The multi-religious ethics about guilt and sin and corruption didn't help. Fortunately, I found a great counselor. While she does not pretend to understand the entire BDSM scene, let alone the SB portions, she sees no harm in it and is a proponent of self-expression in many forms. Sharing the needs with others, she and I agree, has benefits and drawbacks. And that brings me to the earlier point about SB being a control issue.

  I mentioned that I spend a lot of SB time in the closet and that has double meaning because I have a walk-in closet that is the size of some bedrooms. It once was a bedroom and I changed the floor plan for obvious reasons. The second part of the double meaning is that even with therapy, I remain unable to discuss my SB habit with anyone else. I agreed to the interviews here because it was a chanc
e to do so in total anonymity and I even talked from behind a screen. So I am a closet/closet SB freak.

  The closet is well equipped for my pleasure. It has a small refrigerator and freezer, a phone line and a charger for my cell phone, an overkill assortment of wire cutters, bolt cutters, knives and scissors, as well as spare keys and other such emergency back-up items. Stocking the room has been a long-term enterprise for me. While other women may agonize over a choice of new shoes, I spend hours gazing at displays in hardware stores, home improvement centers and tack shops. Some day, I'll need to expand the closet again because it will have run out of space for the racks, drawers and trunks that are nearly full of costumes and equipment needed in my closet endeavors.

  I have never had an accident or been hurt while engaging in SB, but I can testify that a too tight rope or cuff can leave marks that have to be tended to, perhaps all too often.

  A favorite restraint? That's one of those touchy subjects for me. I must say that if you are not into breast torture, just skip the rest of this story and read something else.

  Candidly, (and I cannot believe that I'm revealing this here), I enjoy and get wonderfully complete orgasms from breast bondage in combination with other rather normal ties. I love having my tits tormented and have devised a dozen or more ways of doing this. One side effect of this fetish is creating a group of bras that I wear day to day. I initially bought a few so-called "discipline bras" and found them useless and badly made. That led me to experiment with my own innovations. One versatile device is a bra liner that slips into the cups and drives me nuts. This is nothing more than extra rough sandpaper cut and formed to fit inside the bra cup. Initially, it feels just, oh, sort of funny, but in time, with movement and sweat, it takes on enough impact to send me to the lady's room for a short masturbatory session every now and then.

  Another version is really diabolical and I had to make several of these before I got it just right. I removed the thin interior seamless lining of one bra and carefully inserted thumb tacks so that the points stick through the liner and rub very nastily on the breast that is contained in the cup. The fun thing about this is that I had to experiment with different bra designs and sizes to find one that I could wear without screaming after a few minutes. I settled on a rather expensive model that has elastic straps and allows a lot of jiggle and some space inside the cup. I have, since I grew up, hated the conventional bras that are presently popular in America and seem designed to stop any breast movement at all. No jiggle, no fun, as far as I'm concerned.

  So the tacks work terribly well. Just enough sticks through the liner to tickle at times, penetrate the skin while I'm walking fast or jostled in the metro. I must be careful to keep the tacks clean and sterile so that I don't get infections, but so far that has been okay. One man I was dating grabbed my tit one night as we left the cinema and I screamed so loudly that he didn’t know what to do. I told him that if he was up for it, I'd let him take me home and I'd show him what he'd done. Reluctantly, he went with me and was astonished when he saw the multiple bloody little pin-pricks in my left breast. Full of apologies, he asked if there was any way I could forgive him and I let him tie and fuck me all night long, which settled his obligation and my problem simultaneously.

  Off the subject a bit there, wasn't I? Anyway, there is one position that I seem to always go back to: It's simple because it doesn't use a lot of complicated devices and I can get into it quickly. I have a set of leg irons hanging from a chain that goes to a small electric winch mounted on a strong beam on the ceiling of the closet. I wear a lovely pair of black patent leather heels that have towering height and which I know will start to hurt like blazes after only a few minutes. I am naked and squeaky clean as I close and lock the door from the inside, I cuff my ankles together and fasten the chain between them to a recessed ring in the hardwood floor. Around my neck is a custom-made stainless steel, padded collar. From a D ring welded on the back of the collar is a freezer-frozen, two-piece chain about 15 inches long. The two lengths of chain are joined in the middle by a short PVC tube. At the end of the chain is a handcuff key. The chain is in two four-inch long segments joined inside the frozen PVC tube. This is my primary safety. This hollow plastic tube, cut from a length of PVC, holds water and the ends of the tube are sealed with a quick set waterproof sealer. I have several of these tubes in various diameters and I keep them in a small freezer in the closet. The larger the inside diameter, the longer I must wait for my release. Here's how this works:

  The two ends of the chain with the key on the bottom end are placed inside the tube and one ends is sealed. I fill the tube with water and seal the other end, then freeze the whole thing. As long as there is ice in the tube, the chain remains intact and the key is held in the ice. When the ice melts, the chain is released from the tube and the handcuff key that is attached becomes available. Just in case, but buried in my mind, is a second and emergency safety. Next to my chained feet is an electric switch that operates the winch attached to the ceiling chain. In an emergency, my foot hits this switch and the chain drops free at once. This may seem like a cop out, making escape too easy, but remember that my objective is to get myself off, both physically and mentally, not kill myself. While I have never used the back-up safety, I think having it there eliminates a lot of anxiety.

  I place my usual wooden pear gag into my mouth, give the key two turns so that it expands and cannot come out without they key unwinding the expanded plug, then I fasten the gag strap behind my head over the collar.

  Now comes the good part. Placing the hanging double leg irons around each breast, I close the cuffs until the tissue of each soft mound becomes hard and shiny on the outside. As the tits are compressed, they form a somewhat pointy, pear-like cone with the steel cuff tightly clasped around their base. I make the cuff tight enough so that there is no chance the captive breast will slip out. The pressure from the clamping ring is intense. I can feel the surge of erotic pleasure building, so I must hurry. The last thing I do is put a pair of regular handcuffs on my wrists behind my back. I close them and reach up and grasp the end of the frozen chain tube, just to make sure its there. I cannot release the key until the frozen chain is freed, and I must, at all costs, hang onto the key, no matter what. The combination of fear of losing the key, the pain from the cuffs around my breasts as I more or less hang from them and the mounting discomfort of the too-tall heels all work in symphony to bring me to a surging climax. I place more and more weight on the breast chains while I wiggle and shake from the mounting boil inside my body and my head. My eyes are closed tight, my liquid-soaked thighs rubbing together, my hands closed around the cold tube that holds my fate. The time races along and the ice in the tube finally melts, the chains inside the PVC tube release and the key is now free in my hand. I am still climbing the orgasmic mountain, but the key is now clamped in my hand. The lightning blots strike and I totter on my heels, the steel cuff clamps dig deeper into the roots of my tits and I am humming a silent song into the pear gag.

  Slowly the show winds down. I am spent. I clutch the single key and, knowing that I have only this chance, slowly probe for the keyhole in one cuff. It doesn't come easily.

  I am a dripping statue of sweat, breasts steaming from the tension on the hanging chain, feet aching from the shoes, mouth dry and seeking hydration. The key fits, I twist it and the cuff opens. From there, it is all downhill. I am free and open the closet door to admit nighttime darkness and cleaner air. I stumble to the bathroom, relieve myself at the toilet and step on shaking legs into the cold shower. I'm just a closet case, but I love it.

  Chapter Eight

  From two interviews: insight into creative designs of SB gear beyond picking out which pair of handcuffs to use.

  Felicia - Visual aids & high tech

  It is probably foolish for me to talk about using visual and electronic assists in my self-bondage. I suppose this admission indicates an inability to be creative enough to manufacture in my mind the sort of images that I
need to accompany my restraints. That may be so. I have never discussed this with anyone else except with other SB fans, so it's hard to tell how much of a part photos, videos, electronics and other gadgets play in the SB activity.

  For me, it is simply an extension of what I see in my brain. Watching a film or video is very exciting. I can tie or strap myself, completely naked and with at least one vibrator going in my sex, into a wooden arm chair and watch a film of someone else who is tied up and being "entertained" by another video they are watching and perhaps that person is also watching a video of someone else being bound and excited. This sort of thing can go on and on until it becomes ridiculous with each bound person watching another, but I'm sure you get the point. Nevertheless, it is stimulating and effective. It also gives me new ideas about how I want to be tied, so I see only positive aspects to it.

  On a typical weekend afternoon, while my friends are out pub crawling, I may be in my flat, sorting out an array of rope or leather straps to hold me tightly in The Chair while I run a couple of BDSM DVDs through the machine. When I find the one I want, I set it up, strip, perhaps take a shower and then get into The Chair. This is my special chair. It has several mods that I have personally installed, among them a remote control for the DVD player, a switch to control the lights in the room, a remote to answer the door if I need to and several other fascinating devices that I'll explain later. The Chair resides in my private office. It is usually covered with books, reports and other junk intended to keep anyone from sitting in it.

  Early in my planning, I try to decide how the script will go. I can just get into The Chair and get on with it or I can set up a preliminary scene that may or may not end up with me in The Chair. If I want to play a role in this scenario, I may dress myself suitably first, planning to strip during the "capture" and end up in The Chair or on the floor, squirming in acute bondage and able to view the DVD or film in segments as I wish.