Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult

by Jurgen von Stuka

  I also put on a metal collar and tie a short rope to its D ring in the back. Now, that takes care of five of the stakes. If you have been following my story, you can imagine that the four corners of the pattern will hold my hands and feet, the single stake at the top of the star will take the rope from my collar and the opposite one, the stake at the bottom of the star,...well, that one is to hold a thin cord attached to the ring in my pussy.

  I often use a metal pony bit, which allows me to make sounds, but also functions as a nice oral restraint. If I am in the mood, I attach the reins of that bit to the top post as well so that if I move my head, the bit digs into my mouth.

  So, getting into the position takes some careful attention to detail. I sit on the grass, extend my legs and put the end loop of each ankle rope around the appropriate post. This is good exercise because my legs are now held wide apart. The thin cord from my pussy rings goes down to the stake between my feet and is looped there with enough slack so that I can recline without tugging my cunt lips off. Sometimes this requires a bit of adjustment. Then I lie on my back, attach the bit reins and collar rope to the top stake, also assuring that it is without slack. Finally, I slip on the wrist loop over the stake near my left hand and then, knowing what this means, extend my free right arm until I can just barely slip the loop over the final stake.

  Staked out in the woods, bitted, collared and pussy bound, I can enjoy the scenery and watch the birds in the sky, all the while thrashing about and tugging on the appropriate ropes as long as I want. The fantasy in my head is not very complicated. I am not concerned with the who or why I have been bound out here, but one old and useful vision is that I have been taken prisoner by savages and they have staked me out here until I am willing to tell them some terrible secret. In the extended plot, they may come back now and then and taunt or play with me. Sometimes they come and put something evil up my cunt, often a carved wooden phallus. With my rings already staked down, they bind the phallus into my pussy and leave it there. My writhing about will bring additional reaction and they may stay and watch while I struggle.

  Getting free from this staked out position requires only that I can reach over and slip one wrist rope off the stake. The options include putting enough pressure on the stakes to pull one of them out of the ground. On one occasion, I found that I had slanted the stakes just enough so that it was very hard to pull the loops back over the top. I sweated and swore until, with a massive stretch that I thought would dislocate my shoulder, I got one loop off the stake.

  Why am I here at this event, writing and talking for the first time about my fetishes, my preoccupation with bondage? I came to learn, share a bit, (as I'm doing now), and find some solace in knowing that others do what I do and that it is not an aberration, that it's not weird and that SB has a place in society along with other exotic/erotic practices that some people may find disturbing.

  Dangerous? Of course it is. So is walking to the grocery store. Where I live, the latter is far more dangerous than SB. I don't know anyone nor have I ever read about anyone doing SB and killing themselves, but I have friends and I know of even more people in the city who have died just walking down the street, minding their own business. So no, I don't consider SB dangerous, as long as you follow the rules, plan and know exactly what your options are.

  My profession? Oddly enough, I am in the risk management side of the insurance business with a large corporation. I know about risk and I know that tying myself up for a few hours when I have time and privacy is relaxing, sexually exciting and a continuing challenge to my creativity.

  By the last phrase, I meant that there is little to be gained, in my opinion, by doing the same thing every night. Couples who have sex the same way, in the same position night after night soon get bored with each other and the thrill goes out of the act. Tying oneself the same way has the same rewards. Doing something even just a fraction different each time keeps the thrills coming and the excitement building. My orgasms without bondage are negligible. With SB, I can count on getting a tremendous, multi-orgasm ride that lasts and lasts, no matter what I am using for the bondage or what else I employ in the way of stimulus.

  Favorite devices? Huumm. That's a hard one…no pun here. Certainly if I have only one toy that I could take on a trip with me, it'll be the battery-powered dildo that looks and feels like a real dick. I have experimented enough to know what works and what doesn't. Basic vibrators are, to me, a drag, unless they are incorporated with something else. A butterfly vibrator on my clit, a good-sized plug up my ass and an in and out dildo in my cunt will kill me with pleasure. Sadly, I suppose, it doesn't require anyone else to be present. If they were, they would probably come as well just watching and listening to me. Also, Ben-Wa have their uses, especially if I have to do a lot of walking around and want a reminder of what will hopefully happen later that day when I get home or into my hotel room.

  Speaking of hotel rooms, I have to relate a very short tale about being in an upscale New York City hotel a few years back. After a long day of endless, stupid corporate meetings, I begged off from socializing with the gang and went back to my hotel room, showered and tied myself, spread eagle to the four corners of the king sized, canopy bed. I used lots of rope that I brought in my checked luggage, a handy inflatable gag with a leather strap, a leather discipline hood that fit over the gag and worked well with the hood. I added my old favorite dildo, the one with the cute extension that tickles my clit while plumbing the depths of my frontal aperture. Ordinary clothes pins bit aggressively at my nipples and for good measure, four more nibbled at my lower lips. I was cruising along on my second orgasm when I heard a noise and someone entered the room. I almost crapped the bed. I was wearing nothing but a tiny push-up bra, an equally tiny thong that helped hold the dildoe in place and all that rope, plus hood. I stopped struggling and waited, listening. I heard a muffled cry, then a nearly whispered, "Are you alright, Miss?" with a strictly Hispanic accent.

  I hummed and nodded my hooded head as much as I could, then waited. I heard a final word: "Sorry." The door opened and closed quietly and that was that. Nothing more concerning that event ever took place. I suspect the maid was just in to make up the bed and I accidentally left the door unlocked, so it was my fault, but you can be assured that I won't do that again.

  I suspect that others have had similar experiences and no harm was done, except that the maid was probably embarrassed, even though I am told that they encounter much more frightening things in their daily work. So, it was all part of learning, I guess.

  Does this sound too casual? Do I sound like I take this all for granted and am just some stupid, odd-ball, thrill-seeking, blue-eyed, blond broad looking to get tied up with something stuck up her cunt? I hope not.

  I keep looking for the right partner, male or female. There is no question that women seem to better understand what is going on here and I have met enough girls and women at this event to justify that argument. I can easily identify with the men who are straight but like TV self-bondage, even if I do not understand the psychology behind it. I know several of these men, some gay and some straight and they are all very sensitive, open and, like me, looking for some answers.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Andrea, like so many others here,

  developed her own device for SB using minimal tools and

  readily available materials.

  The “T” Strap Thong

  You asked if I have a favorite device or position and I want to tell you about something that I think I actually invented, although there may be other people in SB and SM who have come up with the same concept.

  What I set out to do was come up with something that would allow me to suspend myself and have one or two dildoes work on me while I hung from an overhead by my waist, not by my hands or feet. That may sound weird, so let me explain.

  It always seemed to me that if I hung only by my waist with arms and legs pulled downward, I could use this downward force of gravity to drive dildoe
s deeply and forcefully into me. The question was how to do this by myself. The solution was, in the end, pretty simple, but the reality was that if you hang by your waist the force is mostly to your midsection, not to your crotch.

  Using good quality, tanned, leather hides, I cut and then sewed a simple thong that fit me like a glove. It has a wide leather belt that will support my weight on its own and the front triangle is small, but extends between my legs and supports two rubber dildoes mounted on the center strip. The end of the thong buckles to the back of the belt and completes the thing.

  Just wearing this is enough to get me off at times, but once I connected the hanging rope to the back of the belt and hoisted myself up from the floor, the fat little devils already embedded in my crotch took on a totally different kind of aggressive nature. The problem initially was that my weight was held by the waist belt and not enough force was being applied to the part through my legs. I thought about this for a while and then came up with a way to handle this. I put some D rings on the thong, one in the middle front, below my navel and another in the back slightly above where the butt plug was based. Then I ran some sturdy stirrup straps through these rings and brought them up and fastened them to the chain over my head. By varying the amount of weight these straps carried, I increased or decreased the tension on the crotch portion of the thong.

  In the end, I found that the best arrangement was with my body more or less upright, rather than bent over. What I created was essentially a tiny saddle to ride. It wasn't what I initially had in mind, but it works.

  I have attached a strong set of multiple blocks, (pulleys), to the ceiling of my playroom, putting the bolts all the way through the rafters. The more double or triple blocks there are, the easier it is to hoist myself by pulling on one rope and locking it in a cam on the lower block set.

  I bought all of this equipment at a marine supply store and it works flawlessly. The rig was actually a common item for sailing yachts, intended to hold down the boat's boom and keep it from swinging around.

  The rest is simple. I can hood or gag myself before I hook up the hoist and add cuffs and or shackles to my legs and hands as well. Happy sailing!

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  "I was working in the lab,

  late one night, when….."

  Charlotte

  It took us awhile to figure out the exact function of the small, wheeled cart. As experienced archeologists, my ex-husband and I both were mystified about the purpose and design of the flat, four-wheeled metal cart with the vertical handle or post at one end. It looked like a modern hydraulic automobile jack; the kind that goes under the vehicle and is then raised by pumping the long handle that extends from one end. The wheels were cast iron and mounted on solid axles. They turned easily, but squeaked from lack of lubrication for the many years of inactivity. The upper surface was smooth, but with two rounded indentations at one end and many small holes and attachment points. One suggestion we entertained was that it was intended to haul small loads of fireplace logs and that the logs fit into the length-wise depressions. The clips and holes would work to tie down the log load.

  The cart, (for lack of a better name), came to us in a wooden crate of other artifacts from somewhere in the Iberian Peninsula. We were never quite certain about its exact origin because the entire shipment of antiquities was combined after inspection and released by a government museum in Spain. It then sat in a warehouse for several years because there was no one on our museum staff qualified or able to handle it.

  Further complicating the mystery, a smaller crate of odd-looking metal and leather devices accompanied the cart. When we finally had time to study these in our lab on the fourth floor of The Institute, none of us had a clue as to what the assortment of metal clamps and curved forms was for. We rejected the hypothesis that they were ancient cooking or household cleaning implements and proceeded on the assumption, based on scant evidence, that they were perhaps medical or veterinary devices of some sort.

  Our dating process indicated that the entire cache of metal and leather items dated back to perhaps the time of the Egyptian pharaohs, but that seemed unlikely because of the highly advanced detail and workmanship.

  Then one night, while working late on another project, I happened to glance at the shiny metal cart with its flag post-like arm and I got an idea.

  For as long as I can recall, I have been a closet self-binder, a fan and disciple of auto-bondage. My first husband discovered this after we were married when he accidentally found me tied up in our bathroom one afternoon when he was supposed to be traveling. Initially, he thought I'd been attacked, bound and gagged by a burglar, but when he realized that I tied myself and that I was in no danger, he was angry and, according to him, embarrassed that a wife of his should be indulging in what he called aberrant behavior. That was the end of the marriage. Nevertheless, I continued to privately bind and chain myself as often as I could and enjoyed the erotic release it brought me. When I remarried, I told my new fiancé of my predilection for being bound and he said he understood and could certainly live with this as long as it didn't interfere with our personal lives. What he meant was that he didn't like the idea of my endangering myself with rope and chain in private, but he'd find some way to cope with it.

  So, that night, when I looked at the metal cart in the lab, it suddenly hit me: This was a device designed to hold a bound human captive. As strange as that idea seemed, the more I looked at the assortment of metal and leather equipment that came with the cart, the more plausible the answer became. I immediately went to the cart, my intention being to test my theory. I knelt on the cart, placing my back against the upright. My shins were flat against the somewhat rounded surface and amazingly, my knees seemed to fit quite well into the rounded depressions on the end opposite the upright post. That was when I discovered the function of the multiple indentations and holes in the cart's surface. The additional metal forms that had thus far baffled us were obviously designed to hold a kneeling human form snugly, bound and secured to the cart's surface with chain, leather and metal clamps. The smooth, rounded metal forms seemed to be ideally suited to enclose the thighs, lower legs, waist, hips, chest and arms.

  The self-bondage fanatic in me took over. Knowing that I was safely locked inside the lab, I stripped off my lab coat, jeans, sweater, bra and panties and knelt again on the cart. The cool metal surface seemed to beckon me, the hard iron post pressed against my spine, slightly separating my buttocks and ending directly below the base of my skull. I bent over, picked up what seemed to be the best-suited metal form, and placed it over my legs, just above the knee. Then I fastened the hanging chains to the clamps on the side of the cart and took up the slack until the form pressed enticingly against my legs, forcing them into the slight depressions of the cart's surface. I then realized that there was another form that seemed intended to go under my thighs. I released the first form and fitted the second by kneeling upright, slipping the second form under my legs, slightly behind the knee and clamping it so that it pressed my upper legs closely together. This then was one upper leg binder and it was very efficient. The second similar form appeared to be suited for the same purpose, but higher up on my legs.

  Then came the big erotic surprise. I knew from our close examination that one of the metal forms looked very much like a large and erotically designed dildoe. It was a solid metal casting, smooth and polished, perhaps as a crude human figure with what looked like a head. At first, we catalogued it as some sort of icon, but now I knew otherwise. It was longer than I thought such a device should be and initially, I attributed my sexual thoughts about it simply to my kinky nature. Now, looking at it in a different context, I realized that if I was right about the cart being a sort of mobile bondage transporter, it was not implausible that the captive kneeling on this thing could be impaled as well. If it was a male, certainly this long, evil-looking phallus would go up the ass. If the captive was female, which was my basic hypothesis, this thing would serve as a constan
t reminder of the woman's submission as she was immobilized on the rolling cart and enduring the presence of this vaginal probe as well. Because I was already kneeling on the cart and not in the mood to delay my testing, I put the probe down on the cart behind me and discovered that the small clips in its base fit exactly into four of the indentations on the cart's upper surface. The thing just snapped in and stayed there.

  I started to attach the second thigh binder and hesitated only a moment. Could I possibly accommodate this monster metal dick when I sat back down and finally fastened my lower limbs to the cart? Without any lubrication, it was doubtful, but as if to confirm my suspicions, as I eased myself slowly downward, I was not really surprised to find that I was already very wet and the further down I went, the more easily the thing inserted itself. In a few seconds, I was back in my original crouched position with my back pressed against the vertical post and my knees and thighs firmly locked down to the cart. I found that additional chains supported a second thigh binder, redundantly pressing my legs even tighter against the cart. The leg forms tightly gripped my legs and the probe was doing its century's old thing deep inside me. I could barely rise even an inch.

  Following the logic that said the next item to be attached was the wide waist belt, I placed the slightly curved metal form across my stomach and reached around behind the post, securing the adjustable latch that conveniently fit into a circular depression in the post. From the lower front edge of this attractive and decorative waist belt, a single chain extended a few inches downward, ending with a small, serrated, solid metal extension, slightly longer and thicker than my index finger. Testing once again, I pushed the finger down between my tightly bound upper thighs and felt it slip all too conveniently into another one of the many holes in the cart. Incidentally, it also pushed my lower lips apart and pressed firmly against my clit. Although I could not see it, the finger locked itself into the hole, further securing my waist to the cart. It felt remarkably good. I was enjoying myself, but a sudden flash of reality came to me and I reached down, pushed the finger downward and was greatly relieved to discover that it released as easily as it locked, so my worrying about being helplessly confined to this cart quickly went away and I pressed on with my testing.