Thanks for your continued support and sorry for the wait.
It is not as common as rope bondage, but steel pipes like used for scaffolding can be used as well, creating a quite extreme tie-up. You can find quite a few examples online
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“You drive,” Gregory said, tossing his. I barely caught them. Gregory had had at least 7 drinks while I was sober.
“I only don’t have proper shoes,” I replied, kicking the heels off. They had killed my feet all night. Barefoot it was. I sat down on the soft leather, still feeling my sore bum and aching back while pulling the chair forward.
“Did you enjoy tonight?” he asked beside me. He clenched my hand.
I actually wanted to focus my full attention on driving the machine worth more than my student loans. “It was good. Great, I mean. Thanks. I wanted to get into that place for ages.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I also enjoyed it. What did you think of the game?”
Of course, he noted I had only mentioned the club. “It was a lot,” I replied. “I loved the steel beams entrapping me. That was a cool experience.” The steel rods, like those used for scaffolding, were tightened around our bodies, pinning the three of us down to the floor on our knees with a special rod below our pelvis pushing our asses up. The cold metal felt different than ropes or chains. It did not hug or move with my body, and resting against it put my weight on a single pressure point. If rope bondage was Gregory’s luxury BMW with leather chairs, the beams were like plowing through potholes on a wooden seat. My neck was sore. I had had to lift it or rest my trachea on the hard steel.
“And the game itself?”
Again, he noticed I danced around the question.
“I can’t say I would like a rematch.”
Gregory rested his left hand on my leg by lifting my skirt slightly as we left the car park. I had to focus. “But you did well despite losing. You showed a lot of strength.”
I smirked. I had bitten through the pain. The actual game had been a spelling bee where mistakes implied increasingly extreme punishments. Although I preferred numbers over language, it had been unambiguous that my opponents were also no bestselling authors. I had circumvented the ice cubes, blindfolds, and extra cuffs, but that was inconsequential. Although distressing, being imprisoned in front of strangers and having my top removed due to omitting the second s in connoisseur was an immeasurable turn-on. Seeing the man peek at my boobs and knowing they could grab them if they desired was a dark fantasy of mine. I could do nothing.
It had gone downhill fast. All five flogger strikes were more excruciating than I ever encountered experimenting myself. The tickling had surely resulted in bruises as I had been cemented in the metal contraption. Like an egg, too much space and hard edges cause more damage than a soft, tight enclosure when shaken. Misspelling iridescent would make a paddle color my bottoms even more. I lucked out of having a bucket of ice water emptied over my head, being zapped with electricity, and two rounds of nipple clamps. A riding crop directed at my breasts had been the straw that broke the camel’s bag. I tapped out first. I lost. The other two women had endured more punishments, but they affected them less.
“I’m just not as experienced. Sorry. Pain is not my cup of tea. I never understood it. Or well as anything more than a playful stimulant.”
“It’s completely fine. It was a long shot, and you gave it your all. That’s all that matters.”
“But you lost the 100 dollar bet.”
Gregory squeezed my leg harder. “I couldn’t care less about that money. I was prepared to lose it.”
The other two women had battled it out as I showered and freshened up from the ordeal. Afterward, Gregory picked me up. In a lounge area, he and some legal buddies had drinks and discussed a controversial court of appeals decision. Meanwhile, I had been ball-gagged with my hands tied behind my back. It had been completely fine. I was too tired to be social and had been happy playing the trophy girlfriend and leaning against his body. Before midnight, he wanted to leave, needing to work the following morning.
“I’m just bumped losing. I gave it all, but it was not enough.”
“I have not known you for long, but I doubt losing bothers you much. It’s something else.”
“Maybe,” I replied. Having a lawyer question my feelings was not on my bucket list for tonight.
Gregory squeezed my leg once more. “For me, bondage is about the journey, not the destination. It is about emotion: fear and hope, defeat and victory, and surprise and relief. It is absolutely fine that you are not as experienced or have limits that go as far as others. That you love bondage and are willing to explore is the most important.”
I exchanged a smile before focusing on the road again. It was hard to pick my words as carefully as I desired and drive simultaneously. “You could be correct. I believed I was kinky and adored bondage. Now I am discovering I have done basically nothing and am not as tough as I thought.”
“And that is amazing. Why would you be unhappy when a whole country left to travel exists? I know you like being tied up. I have the pleasure of guiding you over well-traveled trails and through any unexplored wilderness. I couldn’t ask for more. Most bondage stories concern first times for a reason.”
I nodded. Gregory went above and beyond to comfort me, seemingly wanting a closer relationship than just bondage and sex. I trusted he was not disappointed I had given up.
At his home, we instantly went to the bathroom, brushed our teeth, and prepared for bed. I expected light bondage at most as Gregory was tired and had to rise early. I was wrong. “Are you still feeling bad about your loss?”
“A little.”
“Would you like to showcase how tough you actually are?”
I giggled in the blue pajamas. I was exhausted but up for a challenge. I loved sleeping in bondage, and with nothing planned for tomorrow, I was ready to test my limits.
“I have a dare for you. Do you think you can stay up all night?”
“Probably?”
“I mean standing still for seven hours.”
I blushed. It did not sound fun.
From a closet, Gregory fetched thick gray socks and a heavy dressing gown with an intricate Japanese-like pattern. “Put these on. It will get colder tonight.”
From a drawer, Gregory got ropes – white, soft cotton – and a pair of black leather mittens. The mittens were like oven mitts, so at least I was not forced to ball my fists all night. He locked them around my wrists.
“Don’t be nervous. You can wake me up if it’s too much. But you need a challenge if you want to redeem yourself properly. You can also call it a night. Your choice. However, succeeding will be a terrific personal win.”
I followed my host to his bed. He tied my wrists behind my back. It was very loose, more connecting the mitts than bounding me. I could still put my hands on my hips. My upper arms got the same loose treatment, and he led that rope to a hook in the ceiling that a lamp camouflaged camouflaged. Similarly, he linked my ankles to the base of the bed about two feet apart. The bondage was anything but tight, but I could not get out: The thick socks prevented my toes from working on the knots.
“Have a good night,” Gregory said, rolling into bed and flicking off the lights. Now the green LEDs of his alarm clock, smoke alarm, and red light from the turned-off TV stopped total darkness. It would not be easy. Gregory soon entered a deep slumber, judging by his breathing. Ten minutes had passed. 410 to go. I was unsure whether I liked seeing how slowly time passed by.
I tried to squat down, but the ropes around my biceps tightened. I could not sit down. Carefully, I pushed my knees against the thick mattress, trying to kneel down. The ankle rope connected to the base of the bed prevented this. I could only stand up, but I could not rest against anything. The ropes were sloppy, but I could not escape. My jaws could not reach a knot, my hands were in mitts, and the long, helpfully warm woolen socks disarmed my toes.
It would be a long night, and I was not hopeful, but I wanted to it an honest try. Gregory was correct: Succeeding would be a personal achievement.
