So now I stand very still and assess my situation. I have already lapsed into the fantasy of the moment and it is someone else who is strapping me helpless to this steel pole with a dick up my pussy and a matching plug up my ass. He is clever and talks to me as he is fastening the additional straps around my body and putting the vile gag/bridle harness on my head. He says that the gag is to give me something to think about instead of the plugs in my lower holes and he jams the third fat rubber plug between my teeth. The jaw-extending plug has a strange taste to it and it is not pleasant, but I cannot force it out with my tongue and he slowly fastens one strap after the other around my head, pulling the dong deeper into my mouth, touching the back of my throat and eliciting the involuntary gag reflex. I must concentrate on ignoring the impulse to vomit while more straps tighten around my skull. The harness is terribly tight when everything is strapped up. The split straps go upward from my mouth on either side of my nose to the bridge between my eyes where they merge to a single overhead strap. That one goes all the way back to the wide band coming over my cheeks and around from the edges of my mouth. Another band goes under my chin, passed through the cheek straps and joins the headband at the crown of my skull. The pressure of this harness is enough to set me off and I must concentrate on relaxing before I proceed with the upper body straps.
One of the longer straps goes around my upper chest, above my breasts, under my arms and is buckled tight to the side. A second duplicate goes under my breasts. If this is done right, the compression forces both breasts outward, the nipple responding with sudden hardening and the shape of my breasts becoming more conical. Now I make a closed loop/belt from one of the remaining long straps and slide it over my head and let it hang around my neck. I do the same with a second loop strap, this one fractionally smaller. The third leather loop is a collar and much smaller. This one I slide into the waistband of my thong for temporary holding while I move the two dangling loops down over my arms and chest. The slightly shorter one goes nearly to my waist and stays there while I bring the longer one down over my upper arms so that the strap rests enticingly over my nipples. I insert my hands into the lower strap at my waist and work my hands around behind me. At this point, I am well bound to the pole and getting all sorts of stimulation from a dozen points on and in the body. As I move my hands behind me, I can feel the tension building. I take the small collar from my waistband and slip both hands through it, making a snug, but not inescapable wrist band. If I use a thinner strap for this, I leave it longer and then can twist it once to tighten it up, but I have had some narrow escapes with this technique and seldom do it anymore.
That's the essence of the pole bound session. I can stay there as long as I can endure the sensations of being gagged, bound and impaled. Sometimes I last longer than others. Getting free is no problem: I just reverse the process.
If I use a longer post or pole, such as those floor-to-ceiling extendable poles you can buy in any home store, I strap myself facing the pole and use the same straps. If it is a narrow pole, I can use leather thongs to bind my breasts around the pole, tying them from the other side and securing them with the thongs. For additional delights, I soak the thongs in warm water first and as they dry, they shrink, producing an interesting sensation. Well strapped and held closely to the pole, I can spend a lot of time in this position, with or without dildoes, but always with a gag and my hands behind me.
A slightly different version of this position involves using a cross bar and putting my back to the pole. I finish my ankles and legs as before, but pull my arms back and put the narrow bar between the pole and my elbows, then cuff or tie my hands below or across my stomach in front. There are many variations of this, but the important difference is the bar holding my elbows back. This can be very stimulating for longer periods.
Bed bondage is long term and I often use it to get to sleep and sleep soundly until morning, sometimes waking up and not instantly realizing that I am in my fantasy. I enhance the multi-strap position with other straps that go to the bedposts or side rails.
Chapter Seventeen
This couple has set up an unusual communication arrangement.
Wendy and June - Partners in phone SB
We contributed to this section of the book even though it deals with an area that is extremely private. We think that our partnership is unique, although there is no way of knowing how many others there are like us. It has interesting potential because we are two partners of same sex who both practice SB on our own and are very much aware of each other's interests. The easiest explanation for this kind of relationship is that both parties support and understand the inclinations of the other, but, on most occasions, carry out independent SB activities, often thousands of miles apart.
We responded to the survey with a great deal of enthusiasm because we feel that our SB actions are perhaps safer than those of many people who do the same thing, but on a solitary basis. Are we totally without danger? No. If you want to avoid danger, you need to stay in bed under the covers and not ever get up. Even then, random hazards still exist, so we do SB with a mutual concern for each other. For example, we talk on the phone at least once a day. We are not sexual partners and have never had sex together, but we know each others' erotic interests and often discuss how to enhance the SB experience for each other.
A typical session for us might start early in the afternoon and extend through the night with our cell phones on speaker mode and connected to a charger so we don't run out of power. We will usually talk a bit about what we are going to do this time, but on other occasions it is random, based on whatever gear we feel like digging out of our stash, what we want to wear and how we feel in general.
June
I think that I am more into the psychological aspects of SB than Wendy is. I like to almost meditate, with perhaps nothing more than a length of soft rope entwined around my limbs. The restriction is minimal and I can get free in an instant, but the feeling of the rope on my bare skin is exciting and by thinking about some fantasy and placing myself into it, I can achieve a very strong and satisfying orgasm.
I have also found that like other women into SB, a lot of what I have as normal articles around the house serve me well for bondage. Yes, I have rope. Plenty of it. Enough to tie myself from ankles to neck and suspend myself from a very strong clothes rod in the closet. This is, by the way, one of my favorite excursions into SB. I first tie my ankles with a short length of rope, usually a three-strand nylon twist with the ends heat-sealed to keep them from unraveling. I also bind my legs above the knee and put a double coil of rope around my waist. While doing this, I am often having a conversation with Wendy, who might be in her hotel room somewhere hundreds or thousands of miles away. I run a double length of rope through my crotch and make sure it is inside my pussy, snug and tight from front to back, and then bring the two ends back again, this time outside my lips and tie them off in back. Tight and snug. I enjoy the feeling of the smooth twisted rope through the center of my sex and up my ass. This feeling is independent of other responses that I can obtain by inserting objects into the same twin orifices, but in this case, I am just running the ropes through and there is no penetration. (I must admit that while engaged in this process, on many occasions after I am fully bound, the need for sexual penetration has arisen and, since there is nothing I can then do about it, the need becomes part of the process.)
Getting back to the closet case, once I am tied from ankle to waist, I set up my suspension ropes, gag, head harness or hood, (if I want it), arm and wrist ropes, and other equipment, arranging it carefully and hanging it from a series of clothes hooks on the closet wall where I can reach them from my stationary position. Now I take a very long and thicker length of braided rope and center the length at the back of my neck, then bring the ends around in front and bring the rope under each arm, across my back and under the arms once again. Then across my chest above my breasts, around back again and then in front under the boobs and around in back once aga
in. This chest harness is what will hold me up in the closet, so it has to be heavy and correct with the tension spread out over as much of the upper body as possible. Tied off in front, between my boobs, I then run the doubled length down and through the waist ropes and tie a knot there, then lead the rest of the remaining rope around behind me and tie it off again at the waist. At this point, I should have double lengths of about five feet of rope remaining. These go up and through the rope behind my neck at the top of my spine and are then tied off.
I then use two sturdy lengths to suspend myself from the clothes rod in the closet. Usually these suspending ropes are tied to the chest loops, front and back. Because the entire chest harness is closely linked to the waist and crotch ropes, my entire weight, (130 pounds, if you must know), is now suspended from the closet rod. My toes just touch the floor, but don't provide much support. Remember that I still have Wendy on the line and we are discussing each other's session. Most often, she is working on her own SB project at the same time.
I tell her the gag is now going in and that I'll be hearing her, but only making indecipherable noises from now on. She agrees and I put the gag in, fasten the multiple leather bands that envelope my face and head and then retighten each until the gag plug is deep in my mouth and I am breathing through my nose and a single hole in the center of the gag plug. Having the breather gag is critical for me. I worry about my nose being obstructed while tied and the hole in the gag helps eliminate this anxiety. Checking the location of each item on the wall hooks, I put on the blindfold, reach over and shut off the light and finish off the process by placing my arms in a triple loop of rope that goes over my forearms and holds my elbows together. I then take the last double loop of rope and slip my wrists through to loop. This system is not perfect. The wrist loop is loose enough so that if I need immediate release, I can pull my hands out quickly. But the elbow ropes provide a lot of tension and this creates the feeling of total captivity.
Wendy may then tell me she's about to gag herself as well, I grunt a response, feeling the crotch ropes digging in as my body sinks a bit lower and the suspension ropes tighten up. Jointly, we are off on our night long excursion into SB, an event punctuated by occasional grunts, groans and heavy breathing from both end of the phone.
If this is phone sex, it's a version the phone companies haven't advertised yet!
Wendy
I agree with June. I want what she considers "rougher stuff" most of the time, whether I'm in my passive role or going for a more intense session. So, while she's hung up in the closet for the next few hours, getting off on the suspension, the confinement and the darkness, I am likely to be chained in my cellar, equally helpless and silent, but still having the phone link with her.
It would be unlikely for any of us in the BDSM scene to comment that June and my arrangement is "strange" or "weird". Weird and strange have little place in The Scene. More appropriate, since SB events are usually well outside the experience of the average person's day-to-day existence, it might better be said that we celebrate Halloween with more intensity and greater frequency than just one night a year.
I use every type of bondage media; ropes, cord, wire, clothing, leather cuffs and straps, chain and metal cuffs and collars. I suppose that my supply is larger than June's, but it really makes no difference. My cellar is like her closet. There are "normal" sections and then there's what I call the "Whine Cellar", a term I borrowed from the famous BDSM writer, J. G. Leathers. In part of my cellar, I created what my fantasies see as a dungeon, prison cell, disciplinary compartment and a thousand other venues that lend themselves to bondage and erotic experience. No one, (except me), is forced to go there. I am dragged there, led with leashes, my wrists tied or cuffed behind my back, a massive penis gag strapped into my mouth and my sex quickly penetrated with a large dildoe attached to a long chain leash which is pulled up through my crotch, wrapped around my waist and refastened in front. A second leash, fastened to the front of the crotch/waist chain, is being pulled by no one at the other end, but is fastened to a ring on the wall. When I tug on it, I imagine that it pulls me relentlessly into the darker areas of the cellar and my mind. Of course, I fight it, but the pull on the crotch chain is irresistible and as I go down the darkened corridor, I hear the voices in my head of other men and women and half men and half women crying out for help, seeking freedom from this awful place. If I have the time, I may fasten myself to one of my favorite devices, the bondage board. This is nothing more than an eight foot-long, twelve inch wide sturdy board with dozens of eye bolts set in various locations. I connect my limbs and collar to the eye bolts and remain there while the scenario of torture and interrogation is carried out in my mind. I can fasten my arms overhead or on the sides using snap connectors or rope. The board has many uses and I have even managed to suspend myself upside down with the board set at an angle against the wall. The steeper the angle of the incline, the harder it is to get myself tied or chained into position, but it’s usually worth it. Building such a board is cheap and easy and it can be stored quite innocently.
I am certainly aware that SB is a combination of fantasy and reality. The ropes and chains are real enough. The cuffs around my ankles and wrists are very real and hurt like the devil when they are locked tight and used to hold me to the wall or overhead chains. The chains on the clammy concrete walls of the chamber are very real and the gag in my mouth and the thing in my cunt are very real. What is going through my head at that point is a very vivid fantasy mixed with the physical restraint and sexual confinement. I am no longer Wendy. My body is that of a younger woman who is most certainly unwilling to participate in the acts that are ongoing and upcoming.
The contrarian objector to SB may at this point say that I am "wrong" because I am acting out a non-consensual event. Nevertheless, such events take place daily by the hundreds or even thousands on TV and in films and novels. The scene has been repeated so often that everyone with half a brain knows how it goes and we, as a society, must love it, because few mysteries, police dramas or soaps fail to include a bondage scene in their scripts. So this is our script. It works for us. We enjoy it. We do no harm.
Chapter Eighteen
Launa has a totally different approach to SB.
Launa - Symbolic ties
Before I agreed to participate in this survey, I asked if I could read some of the transcripts from other interviews and narratives. I was allowed to do this, but there was no indication of who the respondents were since total privacy was critical to the success of the project.
Once I read several chapters, I felt confident enough to talk with the interviewers, write my own narrative and share as much as I could about my own SB experiences.
To begin with, I only use rope as a symbol or restraint. That is, I do not per se, tie myself up. My particular fascination is with the subtlety of being restrained without the actual bondage. You are laughing, I can tell. You think this sounds crazy. But consider that most masturbatory actions by humans are the result of imagination, not physical contact. Yes, I know, there are exceptions. The frontage of metro freaks is the example we all meet too often, but from the BDSM perspective, there is no contact with another person during self-bondage unless the bindee sets the stage for a partner event by first tying him or herself up and than waiting for the partner to arrive to fulfill the event.
All of the above is defensive, but it is, I think, important that we understand that what is really going on in SB is simply within the range of what one's mind creates. Being actually bound while fantasizing that one is a captive and under someone else's control is just a matter of degree.
For me, the rope or the chain may not be engaged in holding me prisoner, but it is a real element in my experience. I can sit in a room and watch TV with a handcuff locked on only one wrist and happily bring my self to orgasm. Take away the handcuff and everything reverts to normal. I cannot explain it, but I identify erotically with bondage devices. I don't have to be bound to participate.
Ordinary objects may also stimulate the SB response. A long scarf is a perfect example of what is, for me, a highly stimulating object because I see it, in my head, as a way to tie, gag, or blindfold myself or someone else. Rope can actually give me a climax. Handcuffs or shackles are very erotic. But so is an innocent loop of flex or wire lying on a bench or table. I instantly see this wire wrapped around my wrist or ankle or looped around my breast and that is all it takes.
Is this a harmless fetish? I don't know. There are times when I am sure that my husband thinks that I am nuts when I attack him without warning, having touched something that sets me off. The loop of a shopping bag, wrapped around my wrist can be a fast round of foreplay for me. Hubby is usually cooperative and willing, but I am sure there are times when he wonders what he did or said that got me so wound up. When I am alone, I can trigger an erotic episode by putting a slim scarf around my neck and another around my wrists. That's more than enough for me to get off and enjoy it immensely.
Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult Page 13