Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult (18 page)

       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.

       This has its humorous aspects. I can be getting dressed in the morning and, in putting on my panties, suddenly catch my foot the wrong way and nearly topple over, tripped by my own underwear. When this happens, I may get a very strong erotic sensation that says I am being restrained. The outcome of this experience is a matter of how much time I have and how strong the impulse may be.

       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.

       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 the 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.