Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult

by Jurgen von Stuka

  I was partly undressed, bouncing around the apartment in bra and jeans when suddenly I heard the garage door opening and realized that since only she and I had keys to the door, the owner was home. The flurry of activity in that apartment was record-breaking. Still with chains on my feet, I grabbed my camera and tripod and tossed them into my bedroom, then went back for the recorder and other paraphernalia still on the floor and took it all to my room. I closed the door and began freeing myself while listening to the opening and closing of car doors below in the garage, the closing of the overhead door and the thump, thump, thump of her stumbling up the inside stairs. Then there was a long pause while I was still getting my clothes off, ditching the jeans, panty hose, girdle and bra. I forgot about the make-up, but as she was used to seeing me that way, it would have made no difference. As the front door opened, I was into the bed, pulling on a T-shirt and putting a magazine on my lap, apparently dozing off. I heard her stumbling around the apartment, going to her room and shutting the door while I moved my recently shed ankle chains, cuffs and clothing around under the bed covers. Fortunately, she was pretty drunk, (as she often was), and apparently just fell into bed, leaving her room lights on. I quietly stashed my things and went to sleep as well. In the morning, she was still very hung over and never said a word about my lights being on when she got home. I had dodged the bullet.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A former nun and still preferring a singular sex life,

  Margarita shares insights as to how SB can function as a

  substitute for sexual partners.

  Margarita - Chastity

  I agreed to complete the questionnaire mostly to help with the study, but that doesn’t mean I don't have misgivings about it. First of all, I was, for five years, a nun and before that my sex life was zero. I went through high school and then took two years off to travel, earning my money as I toured the USA and Europe. Needless to say, as a reasonably attractive young female, the opportunities for sexual encounters were many and on more than one occasion, too close for comfort. I was then and am still very attracted to men, but find other women a safer partnership, but I still don't sleep or have sex with anyone else….ever.

  Still, my sex needs remain pretty much the same as anyone else's, I think. I have always found it easy to bring myself to orgasm and as a novice in the nunnery; I carried over what I learned before all of that. Wearing bulky clothes and a habit simply increased the potential for self-bondage. I was caught twice and both times I told the Mother Superior the truth, or as much of the truth as I thought she needed to know and would accept. One of the older nuns saw me one day when I was wearing a rope harness under my habit. I bound my breasts and sex with a thin cord and made it very tight. As we were working in the solarium, this sister came over and, in good fellowship, lightly put her arm around me. She immediately felt the rope and took me at once to the Mother Superior's office where I had to undress and show them what I had done to myself. Neither of these senior sisters seemed too distressed over their discovery and I was asked what this meant. I told them that I was punishing myself for evil, unclean thoughts and that I felt that God would see this and forgive me. They seemed to like that and I was told to redress myself, go to the chapel and pray that I might be forgiven. Before I left, the Mother Superior told me that while such self-abuse was not all that bad, such things should be left up to God and, in some cases, her. I agreed and left.

  The next time I was caught, it was because we were helping cut hay in one of our fields and it was unmercifully hot. Because the fields were church property and forbidden to anyone else, we were told we could disrobe to minimal garments, something that was highly unusual and many sisters reluctantly followed the lead sister's direction and stripped to their chemise. When I failed to do so and acted a bit guilty to boot, the others forcibly stripped me and found me with a cord around my chest, the ends tied tightly around the base of each breast. To further the embarrassment, they then removed my last covering and found the corded harness around my loins. I was mortified when they discovered the hand-carved phallus I wore inside me. This time, Mother was not very forgiving and they took me to the stables, totally stripped and chained me to the posts in the aisle and whipped my back and breasts with a long, thin buggy whip. They left me there overnight and the next day I was told that I must leave the order. I asked for forgiveness and was told that I must earn it. If I wanted to return in a year, I could. Needless to say, I left forever and never regretted it.

  Over time, especially while traveling, I began to tie myself more rigorously and found that it enhanced my peace of mind and sexual responses. While hopping from job to job in France, I found and read a considerable amount of literature that covered BDSM and SB. I became fascinated by these stories and in some cases, clinical studies about the practice. I collected a reasonable amount of items that I could adapt to SB and still travel with or keep in my flat without worrying about someone associating them with bondage. These items included belts, scarves, sashes, large handkerchiefs, straps, dog collars, leashes and various other items that are normal for most people to have in their possession.

  Yes, I know, having dog collars is hard to justify if one doesn’t have a dog, but that is easily defended by saying the dog is staying elsewhere or the dog has died, and so forth. Rope, in several handy lengths, is easy to travel with because there is always the chance that one might have to bind up a backpack or suitcase that is too full or broken. Only once did some airport security person take out my coiled ropes and ask about them and my answer was simply that I expected to be camping at my destination. That worked and was the end of it.

  Probably the most scary and exciting SB experience for me was when I lived for a short time in Philadelphia and one night fastened myself very well to a folding bed. I think it was actually a futon, but it was made with slats and these were sturdy and very well fitted to the frame. As I often do, because it was winter and the flat wasn't very warm, I was dressed in tights, and a long sleeved leotard. Over my head was a double hood of lycra and latex.

  For my own pleasure, I added two internal devices. The first was a rabbit-style, battery-powered dildo that operated with a churning motion and drove me crazy just looking at it. The rabbit ears just happen to lie on either side of my clitoris. I had no trouble "plugging" it into my fully aroused vagina. It stayed there on its own, quietly waiting for me to press the three switches that would unleash the truly diabolical action for as long as the batteries lasted. Into my anus, I eased a daisy chain of connected steel balls. These were room temperature cold and my butt was not in the mood to accept them without a fight. The handy lube tube that I kept nearby came into action and I smeared the chilly goo over each ball and again tried to get them to enter the back door. There are five of these devil's tools and slowly shoving them into my tight ass was more trouble than I had ever had before. Perhaps this was a precursor of what was to come.

  Eventually, with my hands and fingers now coated with the slippery lube gel, I lay panting on my right side with ankles tied together and bound to three points on the bed: to the foot of the bed and to the sides as well. Additional rope tied my legs above and below the knees and connected to both sides of the bed as well. This meant no mobility from the waist down. I wrapped a long length of rope around my waist, winding it around several times and knotting it in front. Then, taking both long ends down between my legs, I passed the rope on the outside of my sex, against my thighs, then up the back and through the belt rope, then back again through my crotch, this time splitting my pussy, and finishing it in front at the belt. I made this crotch/waist rope very tight and once I was in my final position, I realized that this was really too much. I felt like the ropes were cutting into me and that my body would be eventually sliced into three segments: two legs and a torso. The intense pressure between my legs was distracting and I was not getting as excited as I was getting scared.

  Perhaps it was the discomfort in my pussy and ass that made me make the
mistakes with my final binding. I tied my waist belt to either side of the bed, making it tight and this plus the leg restraints, held me stationary on my side. Next, I slipped the shoulder straps of the leotard off and wound more cord around my chest, with bands above and below my breasts, knotted it, then cinched the chest cords on either side of my breasts, just in front of the armpits, then also in the center cleavage. This cinching forced my breasts into somewhat flattened, extended shapes, squeezing them into shiny, cone-like, nipple-tipped extensions But this breast compression was not enough to please me, so I used shorter lengths of cord to wrap around the base of each already stressed boob until they were tight and shiny, the nipples hard as rocks. I pulled the leotard top back up, enjoying the pressure from the tight spandex and the rough abrasion of my very excited nipples pointing rigidly outward. This felt very nice. I like having my tits squeezed this way and, in spite of the sex-splitting rope below, this got me hotter than I expected it would. Once again, I tied, now with some difficulty, ropes from the chest bindings to either side of the bed, making any movement even more impossible.

  My head was already sealed in a lycra/latex hood without any holes except those by my nose for breathing. In my mouth was a pear-shaped squeeze ball, thoughtfully provided by the electric company when I opened my power account. It was made from a semi-soft foam designed to look like a light bulb and it worked perfectly as a gag. The hood was tight to begin with, but an outside rubber strap forced the pear deeper into my mouth and it worked very well to stifle any but the slightest oral sounds. Just for effect, I added a rope harness that I had made earlier, to the outside of the hood. This harness, once in place, formed a web of 550 parachute cord around my head to make a neat and effective pressure enclosure. It also meant that I was not going to get out of the hood or remove the gag without considerable efforts, assuming that my hands were free.

  When that was done, I used more cord to attach the harness to the top of the bed frame, reaching up blindly and pulling the cord tight, which held my cord-enclosed head in one position.

  By now, I guessed that I had been engaged in this process for well over an hour and was getting more and more uncomfortable, lying on my side, unable to ease the bonds on my legs and body. I wanted to finish and then relax in the grip of this totally helpless restraint, so I put my arms behind me, having to force my right arm under my body. I reached down between my slightly spread ass cheeks and fumbled for the tiny button on the end of the butt plug, feeling its vibration begin at once and sending a chill up through my belly and making the twin penetration of my ass and cunt both exciting and, to some degree, relieving the pain from the cutting crotch ropes. Reaching the triple switches on the rabbit took all of my stretching and strength, but I was immediately rewarded by the combination grinding, thumping, buzzing action of the rabbit and his companion tree.

  It was instantly clear to me that this multi-layer mechanical action between my legs and in my belly was not going to work. It was simply too much, too strong. My body and my head were in conflict and I knew I had to shut at least some of it off. Now. Except that I couldn't reach the switch any longer. The combination of activity down there, held by the four strands of rope through my crotch, somehow conspired to put the rabbit switches out of reach and the multi-ball buzzer in the back door had retreated beyond where my stretching fingers could go. I was being buzzed and roto-routed into madness.

  Fighting the panic bells going off inside my head, I decided to finish what I started, rationalizing that things in the lower regions would settle down to a dull throbbing buzz and I could get off sooner or later once I was fully bound. In my hands, I now held two lengths of rope. These three-foot long lengths were already knotted into loops. I reached as far back as I could and slipped the one end of the first length around the far side rail of the bed frame, pulling the end through the loop, making the double slip knot snug and pulling the remaining end towards me. I doubled the second rope into a two-strand circle and twisted it once to make a rope handcuff. Then I placed it through the open loop from the bed frame and put my wrists into the handcuff-like loops. Pulling back on my arms, the loops closed around each wrist and I was, I suddenly realized, hopelessly, helplessly self-bound. Unless I could release the wrist loops, I was, as they say, screwed with my own dildos.

  I screamed into the gag, mostly out of frustration and partly out of fear. I was more or less blind, although some light came through some pin holes in the latex and lycra of the hood. But it was already dark in the room and I knew it was late. There was no one in the flat except me and no one lived downstairs. Gagged as I was, no one would hear me even when I screamed. No one was due to contact me for a few days and I knew there would be no help coming for a long time. My one sensible thought was not to pull on the wrist ropes, knowing that if they tightened further, my chances of getting free would further diminish. I considered how hard it might be to put enough force on the bed slats to break them, but considered this an act of last and final resort.

  Meanwhile, caught somewhere between a building climax and the need to free myself, I mentally struggled and was lost to the waves of sexual pleasure that came up from the buzzing of the dual devices in my belly and into my latex, lycra and rope encased head.

  I screamed again, this time from the pleasure, from the impact of the physical and mental release triggered, I thought later, by the threat of being held here by my own hand, unable to summon aid or relief except in the erotic sense. I had renounced my vows to the church and while lying there, roped into a semi-fetal position by many meters of rope and cord, I thought of how profound it was that I might die here, starved and dehydrated, all caused not by the fictitious burglar or rapist I might have fantasized about, but by my own knots.

  The time went by very slowly as I actually dozed off, awakened by the pressing need to pee and the numbness in my legs and feet. I tugged at my well-bound ankles and found, surprisingly, that the rope gave a bit. I tugged more and the one knot, so well tied, I thought, was loose. In a moment, my ankles were free from the foot of the bed, but still tied to the sides.

  This small victory was no victory at all. The additional ropes from my legs, waist and other places still held me to the bed. My head was held stationary by the harness and hoods, so I wasn't getting free by using my teeth, that was certain. I was not getting up and not going, as I had momentarily planned, to the kitchen to get a knife.

  Even with the creeping numbness in my arms and legs, the erotic sensitivity in my breasts and crotch continued to overwhelm me. The twin motors in my ass and cunt pressed on with their relentless buzzing, but it slowly faded as the batteries wound down and the vibration dissolved into a slow, but annoying grind. The plug in my mouth was by now totally saturated and there was some freedom of movement in my mouth. I tried to exercise my cramped jaws.

  My fingers still fumbled with the corded loops around my wrists and I found a bit of slack on my right wrist where the handcuff loops had not dug into the skin. I got one fingernail under the rope loop and slowly, painfully, pulled it apart from my wrist. Then, thanks to my not having had a manicure in weeks, I slipped the same fingernails under the remaining cord loop and pulled that one free as well. Now, carefully, I eased my freed wrist out of the rope loop. This allowed me to free the other hand and I was on my way to getting out of this mess.

  I've already written too much, but I wanted to tell this story, especially since you asked. I suspect others have had similar experiences and I do wonder if the vicarious thrill/fear factor is what causes us to do SB. That frequent touching of the raw edge of fearful, erotic experience seems to drive all of us.

  Chapter Thirty

  Susan talks about the risks of SB,

  discusses various accessories and tells of one hotel room experience.

  Her outlook is mature and somewhat casual.

  Susan - Managing the risk

  This is going to be short, I think, because I am not very comfortable with telling about my private interests, no
matter who is doing the research. I saw enough here today to convince me that the survey is legitimate and the surveyors are honest in protecting my privacy, so here it is.

  To answer the first question I can only say that I am over 18 and younger than 23. I have been into SB as long as I can recall, tying myself with ribbons and handkerchiefs at first and not knowing why, except that I desired to emulate the characters I saw in films and on TV and in some comics. The drawings, film and artwork of Wonder Woman, Cat Woman, Mrs. Peel, the Bond girls and so many more just made me want to get in dangerous situations as they were. Only in doing this did it eventually become an erotic experience. To this day, I still don't fully begin to understand this. I get hot when I see someone tied up. I want to be tied as well and the easiest thing to do is just tie myself. I have tried it with a few men and usually find them either too extreme or simply doing it to please me and thus get sex in the bargain. Neither of these options appeals to me, so I have acquired the means and ability to bind myself really tight for long periods.

  My favorite position? I guess its either ball tied with my knees up under my chest and my head pressed down against them. In this pose, I am able to reach around and insert various phallic devices into my "hot spots" and enjoy the thrill of the bondage and the mechanical fucking of my pussy and ass. No man I have ever met is able to match that, so I continue. The second option is simple. If and when the opportunity presents itself, I like to tie myself outdoors, ideally on a nice, cool, grassy spot. I measure on the ground places for six stakes and place them into the ground solidly so that they cannot be pulled out except with great strength or with a tool. They are in the position of the points of a six-pointed star, evenly spaced. The top of each stake is smooth and I polish up each stake after it is in the ground to make sure that when I slip a rope loop over it I can also pull it off. Next, I place rope loops around my wrists and ankles, making them snug but also using a bowline knot so that they will not tighten further.