Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Symbolic eroticism is perhaps much deeper than I have made it out to be here. The elements of BDSM and SB are so closely interwoven that when and if I get really tied up willingly, I experience some confusion. The combination of the psychological and the physical can be too much. I might have the multiple flashes going off in my head while I am trying to deal with the stimulation of the real physical aspects of being tied, or gagged or simply held down. Response to fetishes, I am told, can be extremely profound, but I must add that I am not inclined to fuck anything that comes along. On the contrary, the erotic power of my fetishes seems to drive me more inward and this is where SB comes into play. Sharing the bondage or SM experience is okay. I like it, but I don't need it. I do it to accommodate my husband and on occasion, when we go to BDSM events, I allow myself to be tied and exhibited and that's probably my exhibitionism coming out. But show me a photo of myself in that situation and I will immediately need to find a cool, dark and quiet place until the rush passes. Perhaps I exaggerate, but that's what it's all about.

  Chapter Nineteen

  This young woman tells about her journey into SB and

  how it affected some intimate experiences

  both with others and with herself.

  Her first SB encounter is especially vivid.

  Carol B. - Belts and other adornments

  Okay. This isn't going to be the usual crap about just having fun and being safe while tying yourself up. I leave that to the others here at the survey. As soon as I started to fill out this questionnaire, I was getting buzzed from my pussy. Thinking that this interview and meeting would not take long and being in the mood for some excitement beyond what I assume all meetings will be, inordinately dull, I put on one of my several chastity belts and accessorized it with two of the larger plugs that fit well within it. I had no idea that this meeting and the accompanying interviews were going to take all day. So the buzz was coming up from below, from deep inside me and it was getting stronger and stronger as I sat on this hard wooden chair and tried to type my answers to the questions about my participation, (wrong term for sure), in self-bondage. The vibrating mode of both butt and pussy buzzers was so intense that I started sweating and getting very red in the face. I was wearing a much too short skirt that was snug around the hips and I was suddenly certain that everyone in the room was looking at me and seeing the outlines of the stainless steel chastity belt directly under the skirt. I had no reason to wear panties to this meeting, but now I was truly sorry that I had ignored that basic warning that my Mom bombarded me with when I first went off to high school in skirts that were, in her opinion, too short for any respectable girl to wear at all. The warnings of my Mom were enhanced by the school principal who called me into her office and told me to go home and not come back to school until I wore longer skirts and dresses and panties as well. Lesson learned? Apparently not.

  So here I sit with my skirt pulled down as low as possible and my belly rumbling with the effects of dual buzzing dicks up ass and cunt, trying to write something accurate about something that is part of my life but about which I know next to nothing.

  I have no idea why I like self-bondage. It came to me one day when I was horney and thinking about some guy I had yet to meet and hoping, stupidly, that he'd kidnap me and take me away in his Mustang and fuck the daylights out of me on the tiny leather seats in back. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. I was at home in my room on the third floor where no one ever came because it was, as my Mom said, a pigpen. Which was fine with me, as I didn't want any guests, except maybe the guy with the Mustang. So I was fantasizing about this and lying on the bed and thought, "Oh, how about if I just act out the kidnapping thing?"

  So I got some old stockings out of the dresser drawer, a couple of scarves and some duct tape and set about it, all the while thinking of the Mustang and the warm leather back seats and this guy tying me up with my hands behind my back and my panties in my mouth to keep me quiet while he tore off my other clothes and put his hard, warm dick into me. I tied my ankles, still wearing the white athletic socks from gym class, to the sides of the bed near the footboard. This spread my legs well apart and, I realized, kept me from rubbing my legs together for friction. My skirt and panties were gone and my sweater was up around my neck, so I pulled it off and unfastened my bra as well. The panties in my mouth didn’t taste all that great, but the duct tape, when I tried to remove it, hurt a lot, so a left it alone and tried to figure out how this guy might tie my hands so that it wouldn't hurt too much, but would keep me from fending him off. I rolled slightly to one side, put a loop of the knotted stocking around both wrists and twisted my hands until the loop was tight. Then I lay back on my bound arms and just struggled as I imagined I would when he tried to stick his thing into me. I yelled into the panty gag and tugged at my hands and feet.

  Meanwhile, I was getting very wet between my legs and I could feel the warmth seeping up my stomach and making me breathe hard and fast. I arched my back and squirmed my hands down between my butt cheeks and suddenly realized that my fingers were playing with my asshole and I was building a climax like nothing I had had before. It suddenly came and I was thumping the bed so hard I was sure that people on the first floor would hear it and come running. The duct tape and gag made breathing difficult and my head was thumping the bed while my hips ground away.

  It finally passed and I was trying to get the mixture of sweat and tears out of my eyes while I wrestled with the stocking around my wrists. Somehow I had twisted it too far one way and it wasn't getting any looser. Finally, I stopped and thought about how I was going to get loose. My hands seemed permanently tied behind me and my ankles were still firmly connected to the sides of the bed. Now what? My hands were now numb from the tightness of the nylon stockings and as I rolled about on the bed, I also tried to get the duct tape off my mouth. Nothing worked. The tape was well stuck all around my mouth and the panties kept me from using my tongue to wet and loosen the tape. Thinking then about the stockings, I realized that they could only twist two ways: one way to loosen and one way to tighten, so I rolled onto my side and slowly tried one way and then the other, finally finding that one way to in fact loosen the bindings a bit. I twisted more in that direction and slowly the stocking loop came loose and my numb hands slipped out. I lay there massaging my wrists, which had red marks around them, wondering what I had done. There was that moment of clarity where I said to myself, "Don't do that ever again." But somewhere else was a similar voice that said; "That was really something." Guess which voice won.

  I have been self-tying ever since. On occasion, a boyfriend will oblige me and tie me up, but it is not the same and in general, I find being bound by someone else a waste of their time and mine. I do a much better job myself.

  Which brings me back to home base with the drilling still going on in my guts and me still trying to write this trashy tale on the laptop computer? The chastity belt, (now there's a contradiction), is pretty much a daily item for me. I love it and the others I have. I have saved a lot of money up and ordered some of these from custom shops that only make made to order bondage gear and these are usually the best. I have cuffs and collars that fit me precisely, as long as I don't gain weight and they all work well with some cuffs doubling easily for trendy jewelry. Wearing the bracelet cuffs and collar to clubs invariably gets attention and usually an interesting evening or weekend for us both.

  I am not promiscuous, but I do hook up with guys and women who I seem to have something in common with. I do no drugs at all, ever, and make sure that my companions operate the same way. On more than one occasion, I have found company for the weekend who also likes bondage and we have a great time, even if I do most of the tying. My favorite routine is to tie her (or him), up first, really secure to the point where they start to wonder if I am ever going to release them. I gag and blindfold them unless they object, then tie myself up as well, usually in a position where we can share each other while bound. This often constitutes th
e centerpiece for the entire time we spend together and when we agree to a repeat performance, it's with the plan that I will do the tying and they will be mine, no matter who is on top!

  This may not be the lifestyle discussed by others in this survey. I realize that. Clubbing and doing one-night stands turns many people off and I understand that. I have a high school diploma and several years of tech school and college. When I get bored, I go back to school and learn more. Along the way, I have learned that The Scene has every imaginable variation within it and that while there is something for everyone, everything is not for everyone. At some extremes, I turn around and get out. I do not allow anything to get so far gone that I cannot get out. This attitude annoys many people who, of course, swear they meant and intended no harm, but that is what it is. I'm gone before the chains come out unless I know exactly where we are, who is involved and what is happening.

  I can easily stand still and watch and have a glass or two of wine while a girl's ass is flogged raw and it doesn’t faze me, as long as I know she is enjoying it and wanted it. That's part of The Scene. But for me, the solitary pleasure of my own chains, gags, tit clamps, butt plugs and dildoes is safer and, frankly, more interesting because only I know what is going on in my head. Until my smart phone can read what's in my head and in the heads of those around me, I think I'll stick with this routine.

  I have met men and women who are two or three times my age and who, like me, are here telling their SB stories. They say it's as good now as it was back then when they were fooling around in the back seats of Ford pick-up trucks or Volkswagens, or getting tied up in the hay in their daddy's barn, so there must be something to this SB stuff.

  Chapter Twenty

  “No different from wanting hot pepper sauce on your food,”

  says this mother of three who has her own private "keep."

  Glenda - Creative resources

  I am currently single, married once and am now thirty-two years old. My ex husband took my three kids because he had the financial resources and I had none at the time. I see my kids as often as I can, but I live alone and I practice self-bondage in some form almost daily. For nearly ten years, I have been a fan of SB. In that time, I have experimented with a variety of things and enjoyed creating my own bondage equipment. In fact, I think part of the pleasure that I feel comes from knowing that what I am using is of my own design and creation. I know a few people in The Scene and they almost all buy their gear from a variety of sources, much of it on line. I have yet to do that.

  When I tell folks that I create my own bondage devices, they tend to look doubtful, as if saying, "How can you make hand cuffs and shackles?" Of course, I don't do that. But anyone can use rope and anyone can make wrist cuffs out of strips of aluminum and copper and brass. Anyone can take lock hasps and connect cuffs with links or short pieces of chain. Back before copper prices went sky high, I used to find copper strips around new houses under construction. Believe it or not, back then they just threw the scrap away and I picked it up and used it to make small sets of wrist cuffs, attaching rings to the outside of the cuff and then, using repair or master links to join the cuffs. I made many collars for myself out of leather scrap and found it rewarding to be able to construct collars that actually fit and felt good on my skin. Leather, being much easier to work than metal, was often my choice. When I wasn't making belts to sell at the flea market, I made collars and cuffs for myself and a few friends who had figured out what I was doing. We had a sort of Bondage Bond among us in this town and we helped each other out when there was some skill or talent one might share or trade with others.

  I got many interesting magazines and books from these friends and learned a great deal about BDSM before it was considered trendy. I also learned that the practice was not, as I had feared, a form of insanity and that millions of people practice SB for their own enjoyment or piece of mind much like people play solitaire or build model ships. Without those people and their input, I probably would not be as happy as I have been and I certainly would have continued to worry about what I was doing to myself in my spare moments, locked away in my room or in the attic. Of course, there is always the fear that when you live alone you will get hurt or trapped, but nothing I have ever used seemed hazardous. I don't like any sort of breathing obstruction in my mouth, but I recognize the additional thrill of something in my mouth and a simple few loops of rope pulled between my teeth and tied behind my head seem to do the trick for me.

  Straps and belts, along with collars and hand-made cuffs provide the restraint I enjoy. I have made some interesting combination appliances with leather, locks and chain which are very satisfying. I read some of the original Gor books, fascinated by the interplay between science fiction, bondage and alternate societies. I confess to having copied the Serik[v] chains concept, but with leather cuffs and collar instead of metal. I can place myself in Serik any time and wander around the house or sit and do my work in comfort, but also in restraint. This works for me. It is neither hurtful nor dangerous, so in that respect I probably differ from some here who are participating in the survey. Realizing that pain plays a part in much SB, I understand why many people want to feel discomfort when bound. I can accept that and see nothing wrong with it. To me, it is no different than some people wanting hot pepper sauce on their food, which burns their mouth and makes their eyes water, but they like the jolt from the hotness and that is fine as long as they don't force it on others.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Body piercing plays a role in BDSM.

  In combination with a Gothic lifestyle, it is easily united with SB activity.

  Hillary - Rings and things

  At the age of eighteen, I had several piercings done. I now have a total of seven and they each have a stainless steel ring. In a few instances, when the piercings refused to heal, I had to have the rings removed and the wounds treated before I could put the rings back in, but I have not lived a day without them since the first hollow needle was run through my flesh.

  I am into the Gothic lifestyle and find that the rings add a certain authenticity to my beliefs and practices. A verification of my fetishes, I suppose. When I tell people about the rings, if they ask, I try to point out that this is a personal choice that harms no one and that if they are offended by what I have done; I cannot and will not apologize because they are judging me needlessly.

  As I write this narrative and as I answered in the interviews and discussions, it is impossible for me to understand what anyone has against my wearing steel rings on my body. If you are a man or a woman who has their ears pierced and wear rings or other devices in your ears, you have every right to do so. I feel that the same rights apply to me and allow me to put rings anywhere I want. I have permanent rings in my nipples. These are set well back from the tips and deeply imbedded in the surrounding tissue. If and when I wear a bra they are partially concealed. Otherwise, they are easily visible. These and other rings play a prominent role in my auto-bondage activities. I'll talk more about this later.

  There is a ring imbedded in my tongue. Contrary to what people say or think, it does not hinder my speech and unless you see the ring I doubt you would know it was there. The three remaining rings are in my personal space, between my legs. They are a constant reminder to me that I am my own persona and yet a captive, a slave of my own knowledge and psychology. These three also play a critical role in my SB.

  Although I have often lived with other women and occasionally with men, I prefer the single life style. This allows me to dress in as much or as little clothing as I want and to do, within the confines of my home, whatever I want. This means nudity when I want nudity and brevity when I desire it. It also means chains or wire to restrict what I do or say. An interesting day at home, after work, may consist of wiring up a sort of webbing among my rings, chaining my hands and feet, attaching a wide steel collar with three inch spikes to my throat and placing weights on some or all rings. I often use a specially designed and hand-made headpiec
e that incorporates a gag and utilizes the ear and tongue rings. Obviously, with this on, I am not in a position to entertain visitors and I neither answer the door nor phone while in this contrivance. It is uncomfortable, but effective and, in tandem with the wire web around my body, brings on the strongest sexual stimulation. I have worked out a series of exercises involving wired cunt lips, clitoris, nipple and tongue that make it almost impossible to find any comfortable position or movement. At the far edge of this envelope of pain and discomfort, I can connect my tongue to the web, seal my mouth, ears and eyes and kneel so as to ease the strain on the key rings. Any movement, no matter how small, impacts the connected rings and associated flesh and I respond to this in a wide range of erotic ways.

  In on-line discussions with other practitioners of this style of SB, I have heard of accidents where, for example, a ring is ripped from the body part, whichever one, take your pick. The individual who experienced this related later that the worst part of it was having to have the body part sewn back on! Imagine walking into an ER with your left nipple on ice in a cooler, a bloody bandage on your chest or between your legs and asking for someone to sew the parts back together. Certainly, the Goth attire, makeup and hairstyle would be both a help and a hindrance in this kind of situation. My own experience has taught me that the shock of Goth can often get me more and quicker attention just because the people I am dealing with want to get done with me and get me out of their space soon. It also follows that if you were just some normal chick who walks in with a torn off nipple or ripped off labia, you might not get any more attention than the drunk throwing up in the lobby. But, as a Goth, there seems to be a higher level of attention-getting and this, I suppose is good.

  How does one tear off a lower lip or nipple? The same way some suburban wife chops off two fingers in her Cuisinart food processor, bypassing the infinite safety features that make such a device nearly unusable, I guess.