Chapter Twenty-Three
Many SB people say that they started tying at a very early, pre-puberty age. This fact has led some sex specialists to postulate or even conclude that the interest and need for bondage is either closely related to very early experiences as an infant and/or to the environment that a very young child encounters. This chapter deals with adaptations of childhood bondage experiences.
Kathleen - Kid stuff
My memories of practicing SB go back to my very early youth while I was still in high school. I don’t recall what, if anything, I used to tie myself up, but the desire was there and I usually did it in bed at night. When I was no longer a teenager, I talked my parents and my guidance counselor into letting me take a shop course in high school and I learned to weld and fabricate metal. I decided to make myself some cuffs and shackles. I fabricated two pair of such out of aluminum flashing, folding the sharp edge back on itself. I don't remember exactly how they could be locked and they had no hinges, but could be easily bent to fit wrists and ankles. Crude as they were, I connected them with window chain, a light chain used to hold the counter weights in old style house windows. I also created, as a final project, a simple brank, modeled after one I found in a book about the French revolution. My shop teacher had, I think, a good idea of what I was up to, but let me make it and exhibit it as an example of a historical artifact. I won a prize for my welding work on that brank.
From there, I graduated to leather cuffs, carefully cut out with an Exacto blade and joined with rope attached to the sewn in rings. All of this was done to permit me to engage secretly in auto-erotic bondage. If my parents ever discovered my cache of bondage stuff, they never let on, so I got to pursue this fetish over many years, either in my own bedroom or in the basement when no one else was at home. One thing that deeply concerned me was the feeling that what I was doing was somehow wrong or sick and this, I think, has kept many of us SB people in the closet for ages. As we matured, we had to make due with tiny bits and pieces of information, some of it completely wrong and twisted, about such things as masturbation, sex and everything related to it. As I got older, I became more sophisticated in my practice. I also found men and a few girl friends who were more than willing to participate in bondage and the fantasies that went with it.
Along the way, I picked up magazines and books that on occasion, featured stories about people being tied up, but it wasn't until many years later that I saw my first real, authentic BDSM publication and I was astonished to see and read about people doing exactly what I had been doing in stealth for years. I cannot recall where or when I got my first set of real handcuffs, but I do recall one time when I locked them on the wrists of my boyfriend in downtown Phoenix, only to discover that I did not have a key. He wasn't upset, but I was. We briefly considered asking a cop to unlock him, but decided this might create a more embarrassing situation than we were already in. As long as he kept his coat draped over his wrists, no one knew or cared that he was cuffed. We had to take a bus back to my suburban home, get the key, free him and then drive all the way back to his house in the city. The lesson in this is that as you get excited and involved in this kind of play, you tend to become less than totally, logically rational, and that can lead to trouble.
My favorite position is hanging from chains or ropes...total suspension. This is not easy to do alone, but it can be done and is not especially dangerous as long as you respect your own limits in terms of health and safety. With a guy's help, I adapted and installed a slow speed, twelve-volt auto winch in my basement. The hardest modification was finding a reliable remote control that I can tape to my hand. After one of these quit one night, I bought another one of a different brand and now tape one of each to the back of each hand. Using pulleys and some creative talent, I can haul myself up off the floor either by my hands or through a combination of harness or cuffs on my limbs and body. I like a heavy-duty discipline helmet with an imbedded gag inside to compliment the outfit. Hanging by hands and feet, I get to struggle and howl as long as I can stand it, come in a prolonged, raging blast and then let myself down.
Am I still into this thing? Absolutely. I have a trove of equipment and still enjoy the excitement and following calm that such things bring. I would certainly counsel anyone who feels that they have the urge to engage in SB to pursue it, despite the fears of being discovered or embarrassed.
I have never had a near miss experience with SB. I have met some women who profess to enjoy being tied, but not alone. Mostly, it is fear that keeps them from doing it by themselves and fear as well that keeps them from allowing a man to tie them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The transgender elements of BDSM seem to often intertwine with SB.
Anna offers candid revelations
about her own transgender needs coupled with SB.
Anna - Being a man
For your records, if you care, this is the first time I ever wrote anything about my other side. I am not, as far as I can tell, a true lesbian. Maybe that is just denial, but while I enjoy the company of women, I have no interest in having an affair with them. Sex for me is best with a man who is interested in variety and is not stuck on just getting himself off and going to sleep. Unfortunately, this seems to be the male burden, so it is not accidental that I discovered SB along with a few ventures into B&D along the way.
I want to be direct and this conversation and the questionnaire will, I hope, explain why, when I get into private B&D, I see myself as a man. Why this is and how it came about I don’t know. But that need is helped along by the fact that if I dress properly and pay attention to gender clues, I can easily pass as a man. It helps that I am taller than most women, nearly five-eleven. I am slim to the point where whatever hips and ass God intended me to have were put on a shelf when I was still a preteen and never put back. "Tomboy" would be a common term people used to describe me and my habits. Yet, I get along well with both men and women and have been successful at my job as well as in fending off other women who think they see a lesbian or at least a bi-sexual in me. I have a collection of trans gear, such as binders and packers, that, when I feel like it, I can wear and improve my male looks.
But when I am at home alone, I pull on a pair of tight men's jockey shorts, stuff a very realistic, silicon packer penis and testicles combination into the pouch and tie myself up. I have one packer that allows it to be cemented to my hairless belly skin, but it is uncomfortable to wear for long periods.
There is no explanation I can give for this. It makes me feel very sexy, very erotic. Tied, I am also very helpless. Gagged and with a butt plug up my ass, I am a gelatinous mass of crushed maleness.
Unhappy with the imitation arrangement I have already mentioned, a year ago I had rings put into my labia, another larger ring in the space between my pussy and my ass hole, and two more on my lower belly. Guess what they are for. With these now firmly anchored rings in place, I am able to attach a near perfect packer pecker and balls to my skin and keep it there with a combination of surgical adhesive and invisible nylon thread. I have worked this out so it’s very comfortable, has the heft and weight of a full male package and is absolutely madness-inducing when I am tied with it on. I can attach chains, cuffs straps or rope to this frontal appliance and share what it must feel like to have a real package bound and abused. I have only demonstrated this arrangement once and it was with a woman friend who thinks she wants to get the whole trans thing done. We were playing one night, had too much to drink and so I tied her very strictly to the bed, then blindfolded and gagged her and left her to simmer awhile while I went and got into my guy outfit. I got back into bed with her and told her it was me, but in a different body. Once she felt the warm silicon cock on her skin, she went crazy. I asked her if she wanted to have sex with this arrangement and she begged for it, so I shoved the fat prick into her and we went at it until we both came. I was using a harness band as well because I didn’t want to rip out the still new rings in my abdomen, but it went well enou
gh for us both to want more. We never did it again. I am not sure why, but I think that sobered up she felt that she had gone over the line and was now a confirmed lesbian and that didn’t sit well in her head. So, that was that.
Do I want to become a male? No. Not something I want or need. This is a sex thing in terms of getting off. I don't think it's any different than men who go to tittie bars or watch skin flicks. I get off being tied up and looking, feeling like a man.
Unless I am dating a man and we are having sex, I usually let the hair grow under my arms and on my legs. On the few occasions when I must appear in feminine clothing, I do so and shave as needed so as not to shock anyone with my hairy legs and armpits. There is no hair on my chest, unfortunately, but this is probably just as well as it would turn most men off.
My favorite position is tied to a barrel or desk with heavy rope with a harness around my waist and hips, double-ended package with a pair of soft silicon balls in a Teflon bag dangling between my legs and a giant hard-on dick sticking out…and in. The harness around my hips must be very tight and the faux male sex, the silicon packer, can be attached in several ways. By using a double ended dildo cock, I can emulate what I think it would feel like if I had a real cock and balls and they were tied or chained.
The quad dick fuck
A common situation for me is finding myself chained to the bed at home or in some hotel room, metal spring clamps with weights on both nipples, a double dong in my cunt and sticking out in front, a thick penis up my ass and a leather gag harness on my head holding the fourth dick in my mouth. I use heavy metal cuffs and chains to fasten myself to the bed's frame, either lying on the mattress or chained like a kept slave to one corner of the bed. The cuffs have a spring release, not a lock, making escape much easier and safer.
Kneeling or bent back with a long pole probe up my butt, I cannot move forward because of the chains holding my ankles, wrists and neck back and I cannot move backwards because of the shaft up my ass. There is another heavily weighted chain wrapped around my package and, if the harness arrangement is right, I can feel its pull on the rings in my belly, between my legs and on my lower lips and the reverse end of the dong up my cunt. The effects of this are staggering. It is more than a double fuck and probably beyond most conceptions of a multiple fuck.
The quad-fuck concept came to me a while back when I realized I was using four different cocks, three of them in my body and one sticking out, begging to be whipped or sucked or implanted in another female cunt. After an hour or so like this, I have had enough climaxes to simply collapse, semi-conscious, onto the floor or couch and sleep for eight hours or more. It is very unorthodox, probably unique sex, but it works for me. I hurt no one. I risk nothing but my own safety at times, so I do not spend time worrying about it.
At work, I try very hard to tone down my maleness inclinations, such as they might be. I wear normal, conservative, women's clothing and have enough breast tissue to use a push-up bra with reasonable success if I feel it is essential to display a bit of cleavage. Properly attired, I have no problems with anyone thinking I am anything other that what I appear to be. But now and then some clown will use the D word when and where I can hear it and, if appropriate, I will walk away. If I can't, I will ask him exactly what he meant by the sexist remark. I tell him that if I hear it used again in the office I will have his ass in a sling and plenty of cash after I win the sexual harassment suit against him and the company. I remind him that if he has any problems with that, to contact my lawyer or my favorite TV wrestler, Jonah, who also happens to be a very close and intimate friend.
At home, of course, it's a different story. I wear no make-up, keep my hair short, ditch the jewelry and feel very comfortable in a man's minimal briefs, which are, these days, nothing more than a cheaper version of a woman's thong, only with a pouch. I own several body corsets, binders that crush my tits into flatness and will allow me to wear only a T-shirt if I want. Somewhere down the road, I would like to spend a few weeks or months as a man and see what it is like. These short ventures, bound, gagged and stuffed with multiple cocks, will have to do until then, but without SB, my life would be Hell. There just isn’t any substitute for it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
More than one guest told about a creative fantasy realized in rubber and bound suspension.
Here, Lynda talks about constructing a containment ball
and suspension frame to hold her and how it feels to be totally enclosed in rubber, helpless in the grip of multiple winches cranking in steel cable attached to her limbs and body.
Lynda & Latex
There are enough of us here dressed in rubber to probably start another cult dedicated solely to rubber self-bondage. From conversations I've had so far, and this is Day Two, we are all pleased to discover, perhaps for the first time, that there are so many like us who thrive on being bound in rubber, sealed inside a second skin, feeling, tasting and smelling the sweet odor of rubber. That we live with latex is distinguishing enough, but to discuss and display our singular preferences of doing ourselves in shiny latex is a remarkable breakthrough, I think.
So, yes, my favorite position is to be tied, quite strictly, while garbed from head to toe in rubber. If I can be stretched out on a bed or, better yet, a frame, I am quite pleased. The attire is special and the more of it the better.
I can easily recall the first time I wore latex and being astonished at how much sweat accumulated inside the suit in a short time. The first suit I had made expressly for me was cut somewhat differently than the usual full body suit because, as I reluctantly told the crafts woman who made it, "I need enough stretch and fabric in the suit so that I don't harm it when bound."
I remember that Donna, the woman making the suit, who was about my age, looked carefully at me, then smiled a secret smile and went on measuring the inside of my thigh. We became close friends, even though our homes were nearly two thousand miles apart and happily, over time, she helped me design several rubber apparel items that were not, at the time readily available on the market. Among other things, she made a heavy duty ball seal for me. This is a large rubber ball, made somewhat like a diver’s dry suit. It has a heavy duty, water tight zipper for entrance and exit, a series of air and water valves and an optional watertight collar. The function is simple, but making it for SB proved more challenging because I needed to get myself in and out of the ball alone, plus I had some special projects involving my staying sealed in the ball for a long period of time. This was, of course, my fantasy and the cost of such a toy was nearly prohibitive, but when it finally arrived, I was both anxious and a bit fearful of actually carrying out my plans. Although I originally planned to totally enclose myself in the ball, I had to settle for my entire body in and my head out, for obvious reasons of survival. Still, the thrill of being inside this rubber globe with only my hooded head sticking out remains one of my favorite games. Dressed in latex bra, dual dildo panties with garters, hose, knee high rubber boots with impossible heels, I slide through the tiny zippered opening. I then bind my feet and legs to rubber straps arrayed on the inside of the ball and well fastened to the internal frame. More straps go around my waist and torso. I do this all in the darkness of the interior. My hands must remain free at this point so I can get into the external hood. Then, when everything is as tight as I can make it, I force my head into the heavy latex hood and pop it through the top seal. Finally, I tie my hands as best I can behind me, using a set of stretchy rubber cuffs. These clamp snug around my gloved wrists and I am done. I stay as long as I can stand it as the temperature inside rises and I sweat pints of water, rolling about in the ball, bumping into walls and furniture, care to protect my hooded head.
The ball is an aberration. I know of no other like it and Donna, even though she has photos of it in her catalog, has never made another one like it. This is the first and perhaps only time I will talk about it.
Back to the frames. Pleading back problems and the need to have traction stretching in
my home, I had a contractor build me a steel pipe-based frame that could stand upright or lie flat on the floor. I don't know, or care, what he thought it was really for, but he did a good job. I modified it with hardware and other items so that I could place myself in this rack and stay there for many pleasant hours, enclosed in rubber. The rack has to be prepared first, so my plan is usually to lie down inside the frame and set up the attached cables so that once I am dressed and inside, I can easily hook up the cuffs and straps and have a jolly old time by myself, stretched and suspended a bit.
Right. That's the concept. I have been doing this for nearly five years. No one else knows. I don't want anyone else to know. And, since you asked, no, I have not had any close calls. Nothing in my SB program is really very dangerous. I do not get thrilled so much by the threat of not escaping as I do by the purely vicarious experience of dressing slowly in multiple layers of rubber and then being captured in the rack, there to wiggle and struggle as long as I like, experiencing the up and down physical and mental coach ride in rubberized restraint.
Details. First, a bit about my attire. I put on a rubber panty-girdle with double penis probes mounted inside the crotch. This item is so standard for me now that it just goes on easily and as long as I watch my weight, it fits fine, smoothing out my tummy and emphasizing the curves of my ass. I then put on a rubber bra that has open, or partly open, holes in the cups. The fully open version allows my entire breast to poke through and be unsupported and available for other ventures. The semi-open bra has smaller holes that allow the nipples to protrude. Both bras are exciting as my breasts are extremely sensitive and it is often hard to decide which to wear for the coming engagement.
The next trick is to get the very tight rubber hose on and attached to the suspenders mounted on the legs of the girdle. There are ten suspenders and hooking these up takes some time.
Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult Page 16