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I had never considered being with an older woman, let alone being chained and at her mercy, but at the tender age of nineteen, I got myself, inadvertantly to be sure, into just such a situation:
I have been fascinated by bondage from a very young age. It probably began seeing characters in movies and on TV being tied up. The idea of someone squirming and not being able to get away was somehow very exciting to me.
When playing make believe with friends, I would occasionally be successful at getting one of us captured and tied up. Though parents strictly opposed such games (out of concern for our safety, I thought), I and a friend or two would once in a while engage in the forbidden activity.
But of course these times were rare, and at about age 12 I began tying myself up. Alone at home or perhaps in the woods in good weather, I'd wrap my wrists in ropes and maybe stuff my arms under a belt wrapped around my chest. Sometimes I'd tie my feet first. Nothing elaborate, mind you: firstly, I didn't really know a person could effectively tie himself up; secondly I had to be able to free myself in a moment should someone come home. I would lay on my bedroom floor and roll around, pretending to be unable to escape.
Later, I became fascinated at the thought of a girl being tied up and actively looked for movies and TV shows that might have such delightful plots. We didn't have computers or the internet back then, so there was no systemized method of encountering them.
I didn't hear the word "bondage" until I was seventeen. An older friend had lots of girlie magazines that I occasionally viewed, and the publisher of one of these had these little books of letters from the readers. One had a whole section about "bondage". Until then I had to be content sneaking peaks at detective magazine covers at a local bookstore. I even bought a few.
I thought I was the only person in the world who was turned on by such things. And when I found a story about a man who handcuffed himself and froze the keys in ice, I knew I had to try it.
I obtained a pair of handcuffs and 2 keys. I was really embarrassed when I bought them from a uniform store that had police items: one would have thought I was buying girls' undergarments. I was about eighteen at the time. I had moved into another city to take a job as a clerk and work my way through college part-time, and had a little apartment all to myself.
It didn't take long for me to earn the extra few dollars needed to stock my own little "fun box" with lengths of rope, strips of cloth, my ever-present handcuffs, some light smooth (and strong) chain, and a few padlocks. I eventually even got some padlocks that would all work with the same key. They were small, brass, and well made.
After a few months, the box was replaced with a briefcase. I had practiced with the handcuffs over and over, first in front, then in back. I had even frozen a key in ice and learned to calculate how long it would take to thaw.
Then, as now, I preferred simple and very effective bondage ... the "victim" should be helpless but not elaborately wound up. Hands behind the back was the most constant element. As I've said, I was only 18.
When I was nineteen, as I recall, not yet 20, I encountered a man who had a place outside of town. I would get extra money by cutting his lawn, and looking after the place when he was on one of his frequent vacations. It wasn't anything special, but he had a fairly large toolshed at the far end of his back yard. As he was frequently out of town on some business or other, I became very familiar with the place. One afternoon, before classes, I checked out the shed and found it completely empty. It was well built with a wooden floor, a window, and a door, but apparently he kept everything in his garage. I started to get delicious ideas.
I had never chained myself outside my locked apartment, but this would be the ultimate fantasy: captured and put in a small shack. I finished my work and went to my college class, barely able to focus on the lecture. At home, later, I planned late into the night.
My "client" would still be out of town for over a week ... and I had the next weekend off! Over the next couple of days I took cleaning supplies and scoured the floor and wiped down the inside walls of the place, making it nice and clean. I thought about putting down a rug, and decided against it. I sprayed the eves with wasp spray. But by Friday the place was perfect and my plan was nearly finalized. I had stayed up late several nights to get caught up in my school work and when I got off work Friday, my hands were shaking in excitement as I drove my old car to my apartment to collect my things.
I have had a fairly elaborate method (several, actually) to determine my fate at being rendered helpless by my own hand. Sometimes it's as simple as a flip of a coin to choose between two scenes; sometimes it would be a spin of a wheel (from an old board game) or rolling the dice with each number representing a fate. This time I had written some 15 or 16 descriptions on index cards. All would fit the setting of the shed, or shack as I called it. I grabbed my briefcase, containing the index cards, my bag with a change of clothes, and headed out to the house.
I arrived shortly before dark. I put my ice-cubes, containing the keys with long strings hanging from them, in his freezer. I emptied his dehumidifier and checked his thermostat, and then turned on his TV to watch late movies. (Not one person got tied up in any of them!) I fell asleep on his couch and woke up at about five thirty on Saturday morning. All I had for breakfast was a glass of root beer from his fridge. I took a nice long shower (which he said I could do after cutting his grass...as long as I cleaned the bathroom afterwards) and shaved what little facial stubble I had. I put on aftershave and anti-perspirant. I groomed my thick brown hair as if I were going on a date (my hair came down just over my ears at that time).
I suppose I should describe myself at the time: I was about 5'10" tall, slim, very lean. I'd never been much of an athlete, but I had what has been described as a "swimmer's body", just a little muscle, not at all like the body-builder type that was so popular at the time. And I had almost no body hair ... a completely smooth chest and belly and only a little dark hair on my legs. Even so, I have never been able to get my hands in front of me by lying down and pulling them over my butt. I have since learned that my arms were short compared to my torso length, which prevents that. It's not a matter of skill, it's a matter of anatomy.
I reluctantly dressed myself and cleaned up the bathroom. Then I got my ice cubes, my briefcase, and my little bag of clothes and headed out back. It was chilly, and I smiled, remembering a girl in some movie or other being captured and tied up and complaining about how cold she was. The sky was overcast and it looked like it might rain.
I sat on the floor of the shack. I was almost shaking. I also had a hard on. I pulled off my shirt and stroked my bare chest, and then opened my briefcase. The frozen keys were in a corner... one for the padlocks, one for the handcuffs. I took my cards out and put them in two piles. I made one more quick check for wasps (as it was early spring) and was satisfied. I looked at the little stacks of cards.
The first pile, plain white index cards, contained the descriptions of several ways I would be chained. The second pile, the index cards that were outlined in red (with a felt-tip marker) contained five ways I could be dressed for my activity. I shuffled each stack over and over, trying to make my fate as random and out of control as it would be if someone else was in control of this "captive".
I selected one card from each little stack and put the rest in my briefcase. I looked at them. I looked at the ice cubes ... each would take about 3 or 4 hours to melt. Not a long time, perhaps, but the excitement would be quite nice.
I touched the red-outlined card. I had chained and cuffed myself naked several times, but I had thought that, the first time "out in the open" I should not be completely naked. I had decided, a couple of nights ago, to let the cards decide, and included "completely naked" as the description on one of them. I half wished it would be the card, half hoped it wouldn't be. It was a one-in-five chance. Twenty percent.
I turned over the card. It had a single word: LOINCLOTH. I had made what I called my "Tarzan" loincloth, cut from a brown T-shirt. I got it out and undressed, putting my clothes in the bag. Barefoot, I wrapped a strip of cloth around my waist and tied it, then took the longer wider cloth and put it between my legs, tucking it under and over the waistcloth in front and in back, so that it made two short "flaps". I remembered, as a boy, laughing about the "flap" on Tarzan's loincloth, but if you lift the flap in back, the cloth covers (barely) the wearer's butt; if in front, of course, the genitals are held in by the makeshift garment. It was like a slave rag. I tugged a bit in front and back, the waist-strip just a little below my waist. It was almost bare on the sides, and, standing, one who saw me would see the thin brown cloth, ragged at the bottom, just covering my butt in the back and just covering my cock and balls in the front. I looked down at myself as I had done several times (though this time with no mirror), satisfied with my appearance. All I needed now was some nice big muscles.
I felt deliciously helpless dressed like that and removed the cloth to masturbate. I was only 19, and would doubtless recover very shortly.
Finally, again in the scanty rag, I turned over the other card and was mildly disappointed. I would be standing up and would not be able to masturbate again until I was freed, if I followed the instructions.
I took from the briefcase only the things I'd need and tucked my briefcase and bag in the corner. I took the ice cube containing the padlock key and hung it from one of the rafters. When the ice melted, the string attached to the key would still hold the key as it fell to the floor, so that I could pull the key up to my hands from the standing position. The handcuff key, in a slightly larger hunk of ice, would fall to the floor nearer to the door where, later, I could retrieve it - it was also on a long string but I cut that off, using only the string frozen in the ice to hang it from a rafter.
I took a short chain and sat on the floor. I locked the chain around one ankle, clicking a padlock on it. I repeated the procedure for the other ankle with the other end of the chain, so that I had about ten inches between my ankles. I could shuffle but not run or kick. I took the longer chain and wrapped it around my neck (something I don't often do) and locked it on with a padlock. Then I threw the chain over one of the rafters, two 2 x 4 's overhead near the far wall. On the far wall there was a wooden frame for the wall. I tucked the chain behind it and, the handcuffs in one hand, locked it with the fourth padlock.
I was standing. I could not bend over. I could not take more than one step in any direction. The lock at the end of my chain was about at waist level. I had decided not to use a blindfold and excitedly locked my hands behind my back, rendering me helpless.
Now, to think up a fantasy that would go with this. I considered being captured and stripped and chained, awaiting torture or maybe being sold. Here is a 19 year male, hands locked behind his back, standing with his neck chained overhead, his ankles chained, with only a small flap of cloth in front and back covering his cock and balls and most of his butt. He can't bend over. He can't get away. He's helpless.
My plan: when the ice holding the padlock key melts, I will reach behind me, with my cuffed hands, pull it up on the string, and unlock the chain from the wall. Dragging the chain behind me from my neck, I will wait for the handcuff key to fall (if it hasn't already) and get on the floor, getting it and unlocking my handcuffs. Then I can unlock my ankles and get dressed and leave ... after being captive for a few hours. Well, that was the plan.
I was horny, too ... being almost naked like this, chained & helpless, wondering how a girl would look in a similar situation. But of course I had to remain standing, and my hands were securely behind my back. The loincloth at times was rather full-looking in the front.
I was facing away from the door (I could turn around) looking at the padlock on the wall frame when I heard the door open. I'd not heard anyone approach. A feminine voice said "John, are you in here?" I turned around and heard a surprised yelp as a young woman hurriedly stepped back out of the door and almost shut it ... but she came back in a second or two later. She stared at me, and around the shack, and again at me.
She was about thirty (I found out later she was thirty-four) and had brownish hair about shoulder length. She was decidedly not beautiful to the mind of a 19-year-old fantasy romantic, but reasonably attractive. She was wearing short jean pants that displayed her thighs well, and a T-shirt, fairly tight, of a lighter blue color. The neck of the T-shirt was slightly scooped, almost--but not quite--revealing cleavage. She was wearing a bra under the T-shirt. She was also wearing some brown and white athletic shoes. We both looked each other up and down (for obviously different reasons) without a word.
"Turn around" she said, tentatively, appearing as if she might just run out the door. I was trying to think of something to say ... the possibility of being caught like this never occurred to me. "Come on, turn around" she said, still just a bit nervous. I complied, turning my back to her for a few seconds so she could see the handcuffs on my wrists, then turned back again.
"Look, uh, listen, uh..." I began to stammer. My face was probably blood red. But she stepped closer.
"You did this yourself, didn't you?" she asked. I didn't answer, but she was looking at the hanging ice cubes, which had mostly melted. Two puddles of water on the floor gave indication as to how long I'd been there. It was probably about an hour and a half. She smiled and stepped very close, looking at my restraints as if inspecting them.
"Cute, very cute" she said, touching my loincloth and lifting it in front. She dropped it without comment ... I was as I recall still just a bit hard, my erection having gone with my surprise. It occurred at that moment to me that I was at the mercy of a stranger. It was exciting, but also quite scary. She touched my stomach ... no six pack but it was flat, my waist slender.
"You can't get away, can you?" she asked. "Not yet," I said. She was inches away from me now. "Maybe not at all," she replied, and, putting her arms around my waist, sort of hugged me, looking over my shoulder.
"Uh, look, it's not what it looks like," I began, but she countered, "Oh, it's exactly what it looks like ... a nice cute boy all tied up for me ... chained up for me. How old are you anyway?"
I thought for a second ... which would be safer? To tell her the truth, or to lie. To quote myself older, or younger, than my age? But I found myself replying "I'll be twenty in two months."
"Kinda young ... but you're sooooo cute!" she said, running her hands lightly over some of the exposed parts of my body. She reached up and pulled the ice cube ... with the key to the neck chain and ankle chains ... and walked back a few steps.
"Look ... just unlock me, OK?" I asked her. I was really embarrassed now, and a bit afraid, knowing that without that key I could not possibly leave that shack or even sit down. She stomped on the ice a couple of times and broke it, freeing the key and wiping it on the bottom of her T-shirt to dry it. She put it in her pocket and began going through my things. She looked in my pants pocket, finding my wallet and making some comment about my telling the truth about my age. She looked at my cards and my ropes and chains, telling me not to speak or she'd take it all and leave me there.
After she put my things back in my bag & briefcase, she stood and came closer again. "You're just a spring chicken," she said, teasing me about my age, "but you're a cute boy. Nice and young. Mmmmmm nice soft skin, too. Nice boy all chained up for me to do whatever I want. Mmmmmmm." With that she put her arms around me, pressing her breasts to my bare chest (she was about 2 inches shorter than I was) and kissed me on the mouth.
She'd step back and run her hands over my skin again, while I asked, then begged, her to release me. By now the handcuff key had fallen and she had retrieved it. She kissed my bare skin a few times on my chest and abdomen and finally took the key and unlocked the padlock at my neck.
I was really no less helpless: unable to take steps more than a few inches at a time and with my hands behind me. Perhaps I could hunker down on the floor but of course getting up would be difficult.
"Come on, let's go," she said. "What? Where" I replied. "To John's house. You'd better hope he doesn't come home soon." I was relieved to remind myself that he would be gone for several more days.
I was looking all around me as she led me, chained, shuffling, barefoot, down the back yard toward the house. No neighbors were in sight but we were in view of the windows of one house. I hoped they were late sleepers. When we got to the back porch, she found the door locked. "Where's the key?" she asked. When I told her it was in my pants pocket, she said "You just stay right here" and began to walk back to the shack.
When I asked her to please bring my things, she came back and yanked off the loincloth, leaving me naked. "Hey, no, come on, not that!" I said, but she pulled the waist-strip (the cloth around my waist that held up the loincloth) and untied it, and tossed both items onto a hanging flowerpot. "Don't run away," she teased. I hunkered down behind a chair on the porch and watched her walk to the shed and back. She was holding the house key.
"What about my clothes?" I asked. "You won't need them," she replied. "At least get the handcuff key," I pleaded, but she just giggled and unlocked the back door. I gratefully entered the kitchen.
"Now, what do I do with a naked sweet boy? Hmmmm?" she teased. She began running her hands over me again, mostly on my chest and waist. "All helpless with your hands behind you, aren't you?" I nodded.
She began telling me how much she liked having me like that, describing to me the helplessness I knew only too well. She said I had "pretty muscles ... for a boy" and the next thing I knew she had one hand wrapped around my balls. "All mine," she said, and led me down the hall, not to the larger bedroom, but to the smaller spare bedroom. Apparently, John, the owner of the house, was her uncle.
The spare bedroom was a bit cluttered, as spare bedrooms often are. She moved a few things from the bed and the next thing I knew I was on my back on the bed, she straddling my waist, and I tried to get the handcuffs to one side so I wouldn't lay on them.
I told her the cuffs would tighten and she giggled, as if not caring, but when I told her how to double-lock them (something I hadn't done ... not needing to since I would be standing), she produced the handcuff key from a pocket and rolled me onto my stomach.
She pressed the pins in the frame of each cuff, so they would not tighten (but would be now a bit harder to unlock, since you have to turn the key in two directions) and begins patting my butt. "Oh, what a smooth little bottom ... a baby's butt!" she teased. When she turned me over again and looked at my circumcised cock, only of average size and nothing about which to be proud, she said something like "we've got to fix this" and began stroking it, occasionally wrapping her fingers around my balls to remind me -- and herself -- just how helpless I was.
It doesn't take much to get a nineteen-year-old hard, and I was no exception. She teased me for well over an hour before she sat up and pulled her shirt over her head. "I'm going to have my way with you," she announced, giggled again, and began kissing my bare chest. The bra was a white one, but low-cut in the front, so that when she bent over I got a very good eyeful of cleavage. I guess she was about a C-cup. She squirmed out of her short jeans; her panty was maroon and was very low on the hips, bikini type. In fact, when she got off the bed and stood up, and turned around, I could see that the panty barely covered her nice round firm butt, a little hint of butt crack showing at the top. She got a key and came back, teasing me with it.
By now I was begging her to free my hands .. I wanted to put my arms around her and feel her bare waist in my hands. "Oh no," she said, "your hands stay behind you where I like them."
By now it was fairly certain that she wasn't going to hurt me and that she probably was not going to leave me chained and naked ... after she had her fun with me. I was so aroused I thought my pecker would explode. Her bra came off next, revealing soft white globes and smallish nipples which were delightful when she rubbed them on my chest and later my face, not allowing me to get my lips around one of them. I was frustrated and helpless.
Moments later, her panty came off and she was laying atop me, calling me "such a pretty young boy" and describing how wonderful having a naked boy chained up helpless was to her. Not once did she call me a "man" or even a "guy" or "fellow" and not once did she use the word "kinky".
Tucking her legs around mine, she lowered herself onto me. She was very wet, and I entered her easily. She humped me, putting her hands on my body and sometimes leaning forward to drag her breasts over me, making a lot of noisy vocalizations which indicated to me (rather obviously, in retrospect) that she was incredibly happy with the situation. I had an orgasm and, owing to my youth, did not soften as she continued to "have her way" with me. She spasmed and thrashed, and I almost slipped out a few times, but she kept me in her, and when she had her orgasm, I had my second.
After she wiped things up a bit, she lay on the bed with her arms around her captive boy. She made me a deal: She would lock up my clothes and car keys and I would have to let her tie me and chain me any way she wanted until sunset ... about 8:00 p.m. at that time. She said she wanted to try some things. After sunset, she would untie me, unchain me, give me my clothes, and allow me to leave. Naturally, I agreed, and spent the next 8 hours as her naked prisoner (she wouldn't allow me to wear even the loincloth-rag or a towel), stopping only for a few drinks of water and a bathroom break or two.
She wasn't experienced at bondage. I actually gave her some ideas, some of which she liked (hands and arms tied behind me) and some of which she didn't (hogties - she said it was too hard to get to my pretty young body). Once I got loose and she used handcuffs from then on. And, no, not once would she let me tie her up.
She also had sex with me two or three times, she always on top, my hands always tied or chained or taped behind me, and always having a rather vocal orgasm. Finally, she brought my things into the living room, locked my hands behind my back, chained my ankles together (only about an inch or two apart) and put the keys across the room on a wooden chair. She said it would give her time to get away before I unlocked myself. She kissed me, refused to tell me her name or phone number, and left. She was out the driveway and long gone before I got my hands and feet free.
I dressed, a huge empty feeling in my chest where my heart is, or perhaps should have been.
I never saw her again.
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