A Passion for Bondage 1: Vicky's Story

Chapter 1: Keeping on Your Toes

On a cool autumn afternoon, I was waiting for my friend to drop by. The view out the window showed gray overcast and a bit of a breeze teasing the trees. Sort of a depressing sight, but it was all I had to look at. For that matter, looking was all I could do.

You see, I was standing (sort of) in one of the seven bedrooms of my somewhat lavish house. I say sort of because at that moment, only my toes are touching the carpet, so it would be a stretch to say that I was “standing.”

And why you ask, was I standing on my tiptoes instead of comfortably sitting down? Well the answer is because my wrists were bound together with rope and tied up to a ring at the end of a cable. That wire cable had been pulled up until my hands were high above my head and my arms were pulled straight up. Since most of my weight was taken by the rope around my wrists, you can imagine that I was incapable of doing much. Oh, and my ankles were tied together with more rope, so I couldn’t really even kick my feet. Not that I wanted to, such movement made the rope around my wrists hurt a little bit more.

So, there I was, standing in the middle of a strangely furnished bedroom, my hands tied above me and my toes barely able to reach the floor. To complete the scene, I was wearing only a pair of very brief “thong” panties and nothing else. In a dark blue color. And a slightly worried expression on my face. Since I was alone in the big house and totally unable to free myself from these restraints, you can understand that I was a bit nervous.

Being tied up like that and feeling true helplessness is exciting to me. And, since I’m being honest, my condition was totally created by my own hand. I tied the ropes on my ankles and wrists. I pushed the button that activated the hoist and pulled the cable that my wrists were tied to. I held a small remote control thingie, and so long as I held down the red button, the hoist would wind the cable onto its drum and pull my hands higher and higher. So high, in fact, that I was being lifted off the floor. As more of my weight was being taken by the ropes, they tightened down around my wrists. Still, I kept my finger on the button until me feet were leaving the floor. When only my toes could touch the carpet, I released the button. At that point, I was standing quite unable to do much of anything. In fact, the only thing I could do would be to press the blue button. Then the hoist would reverse itself and the cable would lower. By doing that, I could get my hands down to where I could work at the knots and untie my wrists. That was the moment of decision. I could free myself. But, if I didn’t press that blue button, I would remain helpless and a bit uncomfortable also.

I threw the remote as hard as my fingers could and watched it fall to the carpet six feet away.

At that point, I was trapped. With my weight pulling the rope tightly, there was no way in hell that I could get my hands loose. Even if I hung by my hands and moved my feet around, there was nothing I could reach that might help me. Just to be sure, I tried stretching my toes out towards the remote just to see if I could press the blue button. The closest my toes came to the little plastic box was a good two feet short.

Yes, I was trapped. A prisoner of my own doing. Helpless. A sweet, not so innocent, damsel in distress.

And I loved it!

Before I tossed away my only lifeline, I was already feeling a warmth between my legs. You know, down in that place where such wonderful feelings can be created, and where men eagerly pursue admission. When my fate was sealed, I found myself wishing I could reach down and touch myself. The heat in my loins increased as my body made known that it wanted more stimulation. I could feel that I was getting moist down there. In a word: horny.

Of course, being unable to touch myself in any way was frustrating. And frustration can be unpleasant. Which increased my helpless feeling. Which increased the frustration. At times, this vicious loop could build up until you want to scream. Such a wonderful form of torture, and one that I eagerly sought as often as I could, even though it was unpleasant to be extremely frustrated. Sort of a love/hate relationship.

You might ask how did I expect to escape from this helplessness? Good question. I have a friend named John, and he was scheduled to come over to my house and free me from my own captivity. John is very dependable and I am extremely glad for that. I tied myself at three o’clock and expected him to arrive at five. Actually, I told him that I would restrain myself at four o’clock, which would give me a full hour to suffer the pangs of frustration, plus the discomfort of the restraints. I often cheat like that. And I am pretty sure John knows that I do. But he said he would be by at five. Probably figured that two hours wouldn’t be too much more strain that one hour. If it were otherwise, he would have objected. John watches out for my safety.

I had been standing on my toes for about an hour and a half when I heard the phone ring. My cell phone was sitting on the dresser, turned on. The ringtone startled me and left me feeling a bit of dread. No one knows about that phone number except John. And his calling me at a time when he would assume that I was helpless promised no good. The answering app began and I listened.

“Vicky, this is John. I’m stuck in traffic on the 805 freeway. An accident up ahead. I’m sorry but I will be late in arriving at your place. Hope this doesn’t inconvenience you any.”

The last part was spoken with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Like he didn’t know just how much it would inconvenience me. After telling me he might be a half hour maybe more, late, he hung up.

I sighed. Since there was nothing I could do about it, I resigned myself to another hour of maddening frustration and hurting wrists. I am fortunate, considering all the stupid predicaments I get myself into, that I have very good circulation. And am very flexible. It takes something pretty extreme to make my hands or feet go numb. An extra half hour or so shouldn’t be any real problem. I’ll just be a little more horny when he does get here. Or so I told myself.

I occupied my time with dreaming up new “predicaments” that I could try. John is pretty good at coming up with real winners, but I like to let my imagination run wild. With his help, many seemingly impossible situations can be accomplished. His having suggested the hoist and cable arrangement in this bedroom created a whole abundance of possibilities. This standing on my toes was just one, and a simple one at that.

The room was getting darker as the day dwindled away. I could see raindrops hitting the window and hoped the rain would not delay John longer.

Don’t get me wrong. It was an inconvenience that I had to stay in that uncomfortable position longer than expected. But I wasn’t unhappy. It simply meant that I could enjoy the helplessness longer. The fact that he was delayed emphasized the frightening possibility that I might be stuck in one of these predicaments. When you’re helpless, the idea that your friend might not be able to come to your rescue can be frightening. If something were to happen to John, like a heart attack or car crash or being abducted by aliens, the results could be disastrous for me.

Yet I continue to place myself willingly into such situations. And enjoy them. The negative possibilities only add to the fear and excitement. Makes the game more real, you know. If you think about it, if there was any way that I could free myself, the helplessness wouldn’t be real, would it? And it is the wonderful, intense helpless feeling that turns me on. I crave the feeling, no matter how frightening it is.

Guess you could say I’m crazy. Well, so be it! But I like it.

Hell, some people go skydiving for thrills. Some people ski down dangerous mountains, tempting broken limbs and avalanches. Those can be dangerous situations. Hell, everyday things can be dangerous. I just read that a man was killed when one of those “vap pens” exploded in his mouth. As I stood there in the darkening room, I remembered reading the article. It seems in the last year, a number of those vap pens exploded, injuring people and killing two. They placed the blame on the lithium-ion batteries in those things. Well, I don’t smoke and never will, but it just goes to show that life is dangerous. I’m probably safer tied up in my bedroom than I would be driving on the freeway or smoking a fake cigarette.

But it’s still scary. Deliciously scary.

I longed to reach down and finger my little pussy. It would have felt so good! But, of course, that was impossible.

John did arrive, forty minutes late. He didn’t apologize. The first thing he did was to check my hands. Cool but not blood-starved. Then he asked me if I was having any problems. I informed him, in strong terms, that my only problem was being horny as hell, and would he please do something about it?

Going to a dresser, the pulled out “Killer.” That’s a big, powerful, plug-in vibrator, and my best friend. Well, sort of. He plugged it in and approached me. Flipping the switch, he tested it. It put out its usual loud hum and I sighed. “Get that damned thing over here!” I pleaded.

John, grinning, held the rounded head up near my face and turned it on. I could see the head making tiny motions and knew how wonderful that would feel – if only he would apply it in the right place.

I think I was moaning. I know I was thrusting my hips at him in a most demanding manner.

He knew just how I felt. He knew my feeling in such matters almost better than I did myself. He knew just how frustrated I was. If he were to feel me up, he would find me dripping, hot and ready.

Gently, he touched the vibrator to my left nipple, which was already rigid. It sent tingles racing into me. I know I moaned, and loudly. Then he touched the other nipple and I was begging him with my eyes.

He did not lower the powerful electric device. He did not place it where it would send shock waves of ecstasy shooting through me. Damned bastard! He was going to tease me and get me so hot and bothered that I would be screaming. I knew it and he knew it and the vibrator knew it. It was a game of denial and very effective at building up the frustration to unendurable heights. We had played this game many times before. I loved it just as much as I hated it.

I wasn’t interested in keeping track of the time, but I think it was fifteen or twenty minutes before he relented and granted me what I was begging for.

It probably took only a minute before I was exploding into fireworks and the familiar flash of heat overwhelmed me. He later told me that he loved watching me try to curl up into a ball as I hung there. I’m sure it was an interesting show. But I was somewhere else at the time. It’s funny how strong an orgasm can be. It can take a woman off to someplace else. A land of flashing lights and waves of fire washing over you.

I read someplace that parts of a woman’s mind go berserk during an orgasm. I believe it!