self-bondage gone wrong (M/M)

[donatello]

Hi all,

I was an erstwhile writer of stories at the old site, and came back to it when a friend requested to see some of what I had written. Sadly, the old site no longer exists, and the stories perished with it, it seems. But, on the flip side, this has merely gotten my creative juices flowing again, since if I can't rely on my old stories, I'll have to write new ones!

This story is entirely fictional, but is closely based on what my fantasies were during college (and still today, though my experiences since then have been many and varied, and I have changed/matured along with them). Enjoy! Oh, and even though it's long, I posted it all in one go, since I had a terrible track record on the old site of not finishing stories ~_~ If the site's new, I'll take advantage of that and turn a new page myself.

Self-bondage gone wrong

I have always been totally captivated by the idea of being tied up. And yes, the pun is intended. All I know is that, from as far back as I can remember, I have felt a thrill each time I’ve seen -- or imagined -- a situation involving someone tied up as someone else’s captive. My first memory was of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles episode where Donatello is tied up and stuffed in a closet by his clone. I remember revelling (maybe wallowing is the more accurate term here?) in the humiliation and embarrassment he must have felt -- well, I sure felt it -- when his fellow turtles found him still in there, helplessly bound and gagged.

While I can get a thrill from watching someone in that kind of situation, I always dreamed of it happening to me. Just the thought of it happening to me was enough to send a pulse of adrenaline through my veins. But I just didn’t know how to make that happen. I hadn’t told anyone about my fantasies, and I didn’t know of anyone who shared them. To make matters worse, I was pretty embarrassed of them -- too scared to admit that I was turned on by the idea of being helpless to the whims of someone else; that I craved being captured, tied up, and gagged.

So, to make a long story short, I was left with just two options for satisfying my cravings for bondage: restrict myself to fantasizing about it, or tie myself up. I often did the former; but it didn’t take me long to try the latter.

Fast forward to my college years. I’m living in a house with three other college students. Two of them I wasn’t very close with (Derek and Travis); the third, James, I liked a lot, and we were fairly close. We weren’t exactly in the same league, socially. He was really confident, and gorgeous. I consider myself more-or-less asexual, in that I don’t crave sex with men or women. But sometimes there are individuals with just the right body and face and I get smitten. James was one of these. His thin, trim, body; short black hair; his objectively beautiful face -- clearly a combination of both white and Asian heritage. Ok, I’ll stop drooling. The short of it is that I thought of him as clearly a cut above the shy, self-conscious wallflower that was me in Sophomore year of college.

I was also slender-ish, but not well muscled or anything (I didn’t work out), and I was cripplingly shy about my body. Honestly one of my worst fears was being naked around others who weren’t naked -- of having my body be the subject of others’ attention. I didn’t have definition on my abs, I felt my nipples were embarrassingly large, my butt was pretty big. I wanted to keep my body to myself. I kinda had a cute, non-threatening face, I suppose, but that was about it, if you could even call that an asset.

Curiously, my desire to be tied up and held captive was connected with a powerful desire to be stripped naked (or nearly naked). I’m sure my body consciousness was deeply linked to this fetish, making the fantasies all the more evocative and powerful for the sexual energy they created. I didn’t really want to be fucked, per se, but I did want to have my body observed, scrutinized, explored. I wanted my worst fears (what I described in the previous sentence) to be realized while captured -- to emphasize and drive home how helpless I truly was. Basically, if someone was doing the very things I most wanted not to happen to me, then there was no way I could stop them (or I would have done so) -- ergo, I was truly helpless and at my captor’s mercy.

Anyway, I’ll get on with the story. I was really horny, on account of not being sexually attracted to many people and therefore not having a significant other. I wanted to get tied up really badly, but lacked anyone to do the tying. So I resolved to do it myself. Now, this is complicated, because on the one hand I really want to be helpless. If I know I can easily escape, then the feeling just isn’t the same. On the other hand, if I tie myself up such that I cannot escape, then I’m screwed. I’ll have to call out for someone to untie me, and that thought made my blood chill. Unannounced, having to have someone come face to face with my secret fetish? Phew! Forget it!

After some thinking (and exploring on the internet) I came up with an ingenious solution. I bought an ice tray -- the kind you fill up with water and then stick in the freezer -- and filled it up. Then I took a thin length of rope and stuck one end into water, then put the whole assembly into the freezer. I bought a pair of real handcuffs (the kind without a safety release) and a bunch of rope (not super thin like the other length) for tying myself up.

But before I could execute my plan, I needed the house to myself. It was agonizing, but after what seemed like forever the perfect opportunity presented itself: my roommates were all going to be out of town for Spring break. I told them I needed the time to study for upcoming midterms, and didn’t make plans for that week (other than self-bondage, of course!). That Saturday came (the one before Spring break), and all my roommates but one had left the house. James was the last to go. He was headed camping with some college friends.

“You sure you aren’t going to be bored and lonely, cooped up here all week by yourself?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” I assured him, making it seem like no big deal. Secretly, I was jealous that everyone else had plans and friends to hang out with. I guess I was just too introverted to develop and maintain social networks like that. But I had my kinky plans, and that kept me occupied, so I wasn’t really lying.

“Alright,” he replied, in a way that said ‘I don’t really believe you, but whatever.’ Have a good week, man. I’ll see you later.”

I watched him, excitement growing with each minute, climb into his jeep and pull out of the driveway. As soon as he was gone I went to the freezer. Inside, hidden at the back behind a wall of old frozen vegetables, was my tray of ice cubes. Inside one of them was the tail end of the thin rope (more like thick string, really); the rest of the rope (about two feet worth) lay coiled up next to it. I took out the tray and popped out that particular cube, putting the rest back in the freezer.

I went to my room and got the rest of my supplies: rope and handcuffs, black thong and ball-gag. I placed the key to the handcuffs on the coffee table in the living room. Next, I grabbed a chair, moved it into position, stood on it, and passed the free end of the thin rope attached to the ice cube through a metal hook in the ceiling, then tied it off to the chain links between the cuffs on my handcuffs. I presume the hook had previously held a chandelier or other ceiling light of some kind, but now served no purpose. If the house wasn’t a rental, it would likely have been removed already. Thankfully, it was still there, and I was about to put it to good use. The heavy weight of the handcuffs meant that as I dropped them they fell downward and the ice cube was pulled up to the “eye” of the metal hook. The ice cube was much too large to pass through, so the handcuffs dangled there -- at just the right height to that, standing underneath them, I could just reach them with my hands if I raised them above my head. I wouldn’t be able to reach the key on the coffee table until the ice melted. Until then, I would be totally helpless.

Everything was ready. It was now or never. My stomach turned, realizing what I was about to do. The thought of the total loss of control gave me butterflies -- and the beginnings of an erection. I took a deep breath. Exhaled. “You’ve got this. You’ve been planning it for months. No sense turning back now. Everybody’s gone. No one will see you.” Through the windows to my right I could see the front yard and the street. I got another thrill that actually someone could see me if they walked by and paused to look carefully enough, or approached the house close enough.

For a second I quailed. Then a sudden burst of kinky horny-ness hit me and I plunged forward.

First, I stripped naked. My shirt came off, then my pants. My socks were next. I felt the air on my skin; I was so vulnerable and naked, out in the common area of our house. I had never been naked in this part of the house before. My erection grew a little harder. Then I hooked my thumbs in the sides of my briefs and pulled them down, too. I picked up the pile of my clothes and set them on the sofa in a pile. Next to the pile was a black, skimpy, spandex thong. I picked it up, marveling at how little cloth there was to this item of “clothing.” I stepped into the two gaping holes on either side of the ass-strap and pulled them up. I adjusted and maneuvered my junk into the pouch (not easy, considering how turned on I was), then pulled the straps up to my hips. I let out a soft sigh as the strap slid into place between my cheeks.

I looked down at my body, totally naked now but for a pair of thin, black straps around my hips and a tight, black pouch, bulging with my erection.

“If anyone walked in on me right now…” I shuddered at the thought. Literally shuddered. I put my hands on my ass to confirm that it was, indeed, totally bare.

Second, I tied my ankles with the rope. When I was done I stood up and grabbed the ball-gag from the sofa. It was red and large, with black leather straps. I brought the ball to my mouth and opened wide. As the silicone hit my tongue a sensation came over me. It was if I felt submission and helplessness wash over my whole self -- body and mind. Then I pushed the ball with a finger and it popped in, between my teeth.

I really can’t describe the sensation as the ball slides in and fills the entire space in my mouth, my mouth closing over it, accommodating it. Instinctively, I tried to say something, as if wanting to test that the power of speech had indeed been taken away from me. Predictably, only grunts and moans came out. Another rush of adrenaline hit me, and my erection strained at the tight-fitting pouch of my thong.

I took a couple deep breaths through my nose and hopped over to be directly under the handcuffs dangling from the ceiling. As I hopped over, my junk jiggled. It was still humiliating, even with no one there to watch. A drop of cold water fell from the ice cube, hitting my skin. The sudden dot of cold enhanced my feeling of vulnerability. By my own tests, the ice cube had about 1.5 hours to go before melting sufficiently to allow the handcuffs to drop to the ground.


Third, and finally, once in position there was only one thing left to do: I put my hands above my head and clicked the handcuffs in place around my wrists. I paused for one deadly second with my second and only remaining free hand in position, but unlocked.

“If I click this in place, I’m helpless -- totally helpless -- for the next hour and a half,” I said to myself. I looked down at my thong-clad body, my bound feet. I felt the gag filling my mouth, holding it open. I clicked the second cuff in place.

I relaxed my arms. They didn’t move much. I felt the tension in the handcuffs on my wrists, but they didn’t fall to my sides -- they held high above my head. I felt stretched out. With my hands stretched out above my head, my body felt incredibly vulnerable, exposed, bare. I looked down at my body again, the conspicuous bulge of spandex the only thing interrupting a panorama of bare skin. My belly button looked particularly vulnerable with my skin pulled taut over my stomach. I again imagined someone walking in on me like this, seeing all there was to see -- and having all day to drink it in. Ok, I imagine James walking in on me, seeing me tied up like this. My erection flared. I grunted and moaned through my gag a few times. It was the only sound in the house, and seemed totally exotic and erotic -- made, not behind the closed door of my room, quietly, but in the living room, and loudly.

I tried to pull down my arms to cover my naked, exposed body, but couldn’t. Another feeling of helplessness hit me like a wave. I imagined I had been tied up by someone else -- someone who loved watching me, helpless -- and that I was now forced to beg this person for freedom and mercy. I made a few begging sounds through my gag (you have to really put a lot of emotion in it to try and communicate different things through a gag). I was surprised at how pitiful I sounded, and at the thrill surging in my veins.

I looked up at the ice cube, firmly blocking the thin rope’s path through the hook. Again, I let my arms go limp, hanging there. I stretched to try and reach the ice cube, but it was high out of reach. I struggled and wriggled, imagining how helpless and pathetic and vulnerable I must have looked -- gagged and naked, hands high over my head, legs together, ankles bound, naked skin pulled taut, bulging thong.

After twenty minutes or so, the excitement began to wear off slightly, and the next phase set in: boredom and frustration. I didn’t really want to have to stand here, alone, for the next hour plus. But I didn’t have a choice. And that frustrated me. I struggled periodically, but it did me no good: my long, vertically-exposed body was still right where it was at the beginning of this adventure. Tits, belly button and bulging crotch -- there was nothing I could do to stop someone from staring at them, touching them, playing with them. I let out a sighing moan of frustration and humiliated, erotic energy.

Minutes passed. Forty minutes since I clicked the handcuffs around my wrists.

A flash of light caught my attention -- a reflection off of a passing car. My heart skipped a quick beat. “Just a passing car,” I told myself. “There’s no way they looked in the windows and noticed me.”

Then I saw it. The black car pulling into the driveway. James’ black jeep.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t think -- or feel anything but numb horror -- for what felt like an age. See the driver-side door swing open broke me free of it, and a rush of emotions came crashing down on me.

“Oh my gosh, he’s going to come in here and see me like this!”

“I have to get free! Quick! Quick!”

“I can’t -- I’m trapped!”

I wriggle and struggle like mad, wildly, but to no avail. My body is still exposed and bare, my arms still pulled taut above my head, and James is going to see me any second! The panic, the horror, course through me. It is a totally debilitating sensation. I am completely helpless, the horror of my greatest fear about to be realized. Why did he come back?! In sheer horror, I let out a whimper. Which sounds like a moan. The gag! Oh God, the gag. My heart slams into the pit of my stomach again, and my stomach churns. I won’t be able to talk to him or explain anything, or do anything at all! He’ll come in and just stare at me and my body in shock, and if I try to say anything -- to break the silence, to explain -- it will just make it hundreds of times worse!

I pull again in final desperation at the ice cube holding me captive. The cuffs cut painfully into my wrists. The ice cube -- small and hard -- doesn’t budge. I’m fucked.

I hear the door to the garage open, then close. I hear footsteps coming quickly down the hallway that leads to the open kitchen/living room. There’s not even enough time to panic now, to think. He’s there now, entering the kitchen, heading towards the door across the room -- towards his bedroom.

Now he sees me. A half-second later he jolts to a stop, eyes wide, surprised. His eyes, I notice, go first to my bare chest, my nipples; then scan quickly down to my thong-clad hips, pausing for a full moment on my junk, my bare legs. Then he scans quickly back up my body to my face, taking in the huge, bright red rubber ball filling my mouth, protruding from my lips. To my humiliated, embarrassed-beyond-words eyes. Then his gaze drifts up to my hands, held high above my body by handcuffs. Which are tied to a hook in the ceiling… via an ice cube. All this happens in probably a second or two, max.

His gaze drops back to my face, makes eye contact; then, unable to resist the pull, looks at the ball gag, ponders its meaning (had I been silenced by a burglar??), then he manages to pull his attention back to my eyes. He’s clearly still worried and shocked and unsure. There’s a lot of furious processing going on behind those eyes, it’s clear. I do nothing. I say nothing. Several more seconds pass, at glacial speed. I don’t know what to do. I can’t cover my body; I can’t run away; I can’t explain; I can’t talk. I just stand there naked, gagged, bound, my roommate a few feet away from me, drinking it all in.

A couple more seconds pass, and then: “Sean? Are you ok?” There is genuine concern and worry in his voice, as he considers what this might mean, what might have happened to me. At this, I have to respond. I can’t have him think that I’ve been kidnapped, that I’ve been harmed, that I’m in danger. The real concern I see in his eyes, hear in his voice, forces me to reassure him: I’m only being a horny dolt. It’s nothing to get seriously concerned about.

“I’m fine, James. I did this to myself.”

Only it comes out as a series of pathetic grunts and moans. The tone is clearly not that of a panicked hostage, though. Just a humiliated roommate. James gets the message and exhales lightly. His shoulders droop a little, his posture relaxes. Freed from worry, his eyes (he can’t help it) drop down to my body again, this time taking their sweet time and enjoying the sight. His gaze lingers on my taut tummy; my belly button; my big nipples; my black thong; my long, bare legs, held together by the ropes binding my ankles. I begin to wither inside.

Then his gaze rises to my handcuffed hands, follows the rope to the hook and the ice cube.

“You did this to yourself?” He raises his eyebrows and gives me an incredulous look, which turns to surprise (he didn’t see me as the kinky type, I guess), then settles into a mischievous smile -- the kind you get when you discover someone’s embarrassing secret. I don’t dare make any more humiliating gagged noises, so I just stand there without responding. My naked, bound body is all the answer either of us needs. He exhales air in a burst through his nose, a sound that says, “Holy shit, man.”

It’s about now -- maybe 20 seconds after he first laid eyes on me -- that James notices things other than me in the room. His eyes fall on my clothes, lying in a pile on the sofa. He looks at the coffee table next to me and sees the key to my cuffs. He looks back to the ice cube. It takes him just four or five more seconds and he’s got it all figured out.

He gives me a smirk and nods his head slowly. “Impressive. Damn. Very impressive.” He’s looking my body over, again -- up and down; up and down. My face is bright red with humiliation. My erection is raging, my junk straining against the tight, thin fabric holding it in place. I don’t know what to do or say. I can’t do anything; or say anything. To break the humiliated silence, I try to talk through the gag; I try to explain how I would never have done this if I had known he was coming back to the house. I’m really sorry. But, of course, only gagged sounds come from my mouth, albeit in a conversational tone this time.

“What was that? I didn’t catch what you said,” James offers. He even puts his hand behind his ear in a mock effort to hear me.

He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he walks past me, turning his head to get a look at me from behind.

“Oh God, my bare ass,” I think. The thought of him seeing my behind strikes me with fresh horror and, I am ashamed to admit, an involuntary whimper slips out, and I start to struggle a bit against my bonds -- again, involuntarily. But all this manages to do is shake my bare, thong-framed ass from side to side, while James watches. From behind me, I hear him laugh -- a soft, higher-pitched laugh that says “Oh my God that’s cute! And holy shit he must be dying of shame right now.” Or at least, that’s what I imagine him thinking.

I turn my head and try to see what he is doing, but my arms block me. So all I can do is stare forward and try to be still (so as not to humiliate myself even more) and wait for him to finish examining my naked body.

“Yo, Sean,” I hear him say behind me. “This is really something. You did this to yourself? This is really…” I hear a low whistle, the kind that says, “Whoa!”

He approaches me from behind, standing right at my side, next to my body, so that I can feel his jeans against my ass and the sleeve of his t-shirt against my side. I dare to turn my head to the side enough to look at his face. This takes all the courage I can muster. Our eyes make contact for a couple long seconds -- mine desperate, his loving this more and more every moment. Now he’s looking down at the bulging pouch of my thong. I’m humiliated beyond humiliated. He knows I’m super horny and turned on by this. He pauses there for a few more seconds, drinking in my predicament silently. His eyes linger on my large, brown nipples.

That’s when I feel his warm hand cup my right ass-cheek. A shot of submission courses through my veins and my stomach churns. I suddenly know that this very well might go in a very, very different direction than I had anticipated. I had thought there would be this awkward moment, prolonged until he could untie me and I could begin explaining and, mercifully, put on some clothes. My relationship with him would always be awkward because of this, I would never live it down. But the moment at least would end and I could run away and hide.

But now, as he caresses my bare ass, making no move to untie me whatsoever, or even remove the gag from my mouth so I can explain, I suddenly contemplate things going entirely differently. My heart pounds. Part of me can’t hardly believe it; part of me is scared. The rest of me doesn’t know what’s going on.

His eyes meet mine again. He registers the uncertainty, the fear, in my eyes -- in addition to the humiliation, the embarrassment. He smiles wickedly.

“You’re sure enjoy this,” he says in a slow, quiet, syrupy tone -- a tone totally different from his earlier pronouncements. His voice is sexy, the expression on his face even sexier. We hold eye contact for a couple of seconds, then his gaze drops to focus on my left nipple, and his left hand (the other still fondling my ass) rises to meet it. He extends his thumb and index finger, slowly bringing them to the tip of my tit, then gently, barely touching, pinching it.

Electricity shoots through my body, beginning with the exquisite jolt at my tip of my nipple and shooting in and down, as well as up to my brain. I can’t help it this time -- a helpless, high-pitched moan comes out of me.

But James doesn’t stop. He squeezes my tit a little harder between his fingers, then begins to tweak it -- twisting clockwise a little, then counter-clockwise, like rapidly and gently tuning a radio dial. The effect on me is electric. Pleasure and pure, shocking sensation jolt through my body. I reflexively begin to squirm and dance and try to pull away, moaning all the while.

I am suddenly aware of what I’m doing -- of what’s going on. I’m bound and naked, thoroughly gagged, my body being pleasured, toyed with, used. And I’m putting on the perfect show -- moaning unintelligibly, struggling helplessly. I really thought I was emotion-saturated at this point, but another wave of deep humiliation, coupled with intense pleasure, rolls over me. I feel his other hand squeeze my butt, hard. This causes me to thrust my chest out and my hips forward, away from his grasping hand. But this merely thrusts my nipples forward for his tweaking pleasure, which he indulges.

The sensation slices through me from my nipple tip again, and I realize there’s no escaping from him. I let out another gagged noise -- this time a sighing, frustrated moan of helpless pleasure. His other hand continues to squeeze and grope my ass. As he does, I feel the strap between my cheeks move against my asshole -- another vulnerable pleasure, from a totally different part of my body.

It’s almost more than I can handle. I’m naked; I’m helpless; I’m being pleasured by my roommate, my crush; there’s nothing I can do. I can’t help it -- a continual stream of moans slip through the big rubber ball in my mouth. After about a minute or two of this sweet torture I am brought to my knees (figuratively, of course). I look over at him, begging with my eyes for him to stop, to spare me further humiliation, to end the uncontrolled, helpless pleasure. My eyes have to beg, because I don’t know if he knows if my gagged moans mean “I’m in ecstasy” or “stop, I beg of you!” Honestly, it’s both, but even I don’t know with what ratio.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, with fake surprise. “Judging by the size of your cock, I’d say you’re enjoying this.” He continues to tweak my tits and grope my ass, while I continue to moan. He gives my tit one final tweak and lets go; his right hand gives my ass a final squeeze as well and drops away. I’m breathing heavily, my body squirming and writhing, more-or-less on its own. “You’re a little sensitive, aren’t you?” His delighted sarcasm is insufferable. He gives my left nipple an appreciative stare, then makes eye contact with me again. I look down, too ashamed to hold his gaze unless driven to.

“Look, you obviously like this.” He lightly caresses my junk. I shudder. “You did this to yourself, after all.” I continue looking down, trying to contain my roller coaster emotions. I’m breathing heavily. “So I’m thinking it would be a waste, seeing as we’re alone here for the next, oh, few days.” Here he pauses, while my pulse picks up even more, and my mind almost explodes.

He says nothing further, just moves around to face me directly. He brings both hands up to my chest, and with two pairs of fingers, gently pinches both of my supple tits and begins to play.

[Druidofthewilds]

please gender tag the story.

[Xtc]

Welcome back.

[RopedBud]

Definitely liking the direction of this story! Looking forward to seeing what happens next

[Deleted User 300]

great start... wanna see where this ends... especially enjoyed the thong description!

[Shadesflirty]

More please. That was lovely!!

[Mrtrident178]

Very very fun read. Please continue!

[ravish]

Really fun read and a lot of great detail. Seems like an awesome take on a familiar concept, can't wait for more.

[dwild]

Wow. Really good. Looking forward to the next chapter.

[MaxRoper]

Excellent! I'm a big fan of sb tales and this is a good one. More, please.