Crystal was very kinky. As a member of an informal group of like-minded, mostly lesbian young women, a little pain and heavy, extended bondage were her favorite activities.
But one dark night, naked, tied, completely helpless and left alone in a remote, abandoned building, she begins to wonder whether her “friend” is ever going to return to release her. As the hours pass, she becomes more and more certain that she will never be rescued.
Struggling does no good. All she can do is hope, and she spends hour after hour trying to relieve the boredom and quell the panic by recalling the previous “games” she has played in her extraordinarily kinky life in all their erotic detail…
A typical John Savage erotic novel, with an overdose of inescapable bondage!
Published Feb 2017 35,000 words
On that subject… I am a freak, a pervert first class. Not only am I a lesbian, I just love being tightly bound and totally helpless, in case you have not figured that out by now. I have been asked a number of times why I feel this way, and it is hard to answer that question. I simply find being helpless and tightly wrapped in rope is exciting. And, yes, there is a huge sexual aspect to the whole scene. But something more. I get sexually turned on by being tied, but I can also find a feeling of satisfaction when tied, even with no sexual activity going on. Hard to describe, but it just feels right. Now, you will have to admit that my feeling pleasure while bound and unable to move is a pretty weird thing. Some of the girls I have tried to explain this to agreed that it might be fun if someone is playing with your body while you are tied. A few of them even had fantasies about some handsome body-builder type male tying them up. (I’ll admit that I’ve had such fantasies too!) But just to be left in a hogtie for a few hours would bore them out of their minds.
I am not totally sub, actually. There are occasions when I tie up another woman. And enjoy it too. But it is more that I’m thinking of what she is feeling that is turning me on. I sort of follow the Golden Rule. Do unto others what you would have them do unto you. A good rule to run your life by. I love being tightly bound, so I am happy to give that same pleasure to other women. Assuming they also enjoy it, of course.
That is the way I am now, but at first I was just a beginner and learning the ropes – excuse the pun. My first step in that direction was to bug Sheri to tie me up again. She refused at first, undoubtedly put off by my liking something that she thought I should hate. She made it clear that she would be very upset were she to be treated that way. It was not proper, then, for me to want it. Simple logic, right?
Well, I made such a nuisance of myself that she gave in. About four weeks after that first incident, she threw down the glamour magazine she was reading and proclaimed, in a loud voice, “All right! But remember, you asked for it.”
It was one of those summer days when there was little else to do and there would be no one else in the house until dinnertime, which is why I picked that time to bug Sheri.
I happily handed her the coil of rope I had been holding behind my back. Instead of looking surprised, she frowned. Then sighed. As she was unwrapping the rope, I pulled off the tee-shirt I was wearing. No bra, of course! Then I turned around and put my hands behind me in invitation.
I never did get around to asking her where she learned how to tie, but she always did a good job of it. Only once did I ever get free, and for that I cheated a bit. I had hidden a knife under the pillow in my bedroom. When she left me alone, I managed to pull the knife out and, after almost slashing my own wrists, cut the ropes. Sheri did not say anything, but the next time she tied me, I noticed that she checked for hidden knives.
She tied my wrists crossed behind my back. The feeling of rope closing around my wrists brought back flashes of memory of the time Nancy and she had introduced me to B&D. I felt myself getting warm between the legs. It was a very nice feeling.
When I was bugging her, I told Sheri that I wanted to be tied up so I could try escaping. Might want to become a professional escape artist some day, was my story. I am sure she did not believe that for one minute. But she agreed to help me practice. Which was just what I wanted, of course.
She took my arm and led me out of her bedroom. “I have more rope in my bedroom,” I told her. “Oh?” she said. But she led me to the door of my bedroom. There, lying neatly in a row on the bed, were six coils of ropes. Two of them were the original ones that Sheri had found in the garage and used on me, the rest was rope that I bought at the hardware store. I had cut the one hundred foot length into four sections, each about twenty-five feet long. She grabbed the ropes and pulled me out of my bedroom and down the hall to the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to tie me in…?” I began. I had assumed that my nice, soft bed would be the practice area. But she had other ideas. “Professional escape artists don’t do their act on a bed,” she informed sternly. “You’re going to get tied up in the shed.”
For some reason, the idea of being tied in the metal shed in the backyard turned me on! But I did not tell her how much. As we walked out past the pool and to the shed where the gardening tools were kept, I was asking myself why being tied up out there was more exciting than in the comfort of my own bedroom. It was only much later, after I had more experience in these games, that I realized it was because I am a bit of a masochist. Well… Maybe more than a bit. Being tied in that shed and on the wooden floor it had would be more uncomfortable. Yet the prospect of that discomfort added to the excitement. It was almost as if I were going on a big adventure. I guess that was basically a good description of the game. An adventure! I like that term better.
When we got there, Sheri tossed the rope onto the floor and moved all the shovels and rakes and other tools to one side, leaving half the shed empty. She pulled me into the shed and stood there, looking at me for a few seconds. I tried not to smile. Did not want her to think I was enjoying this too much. I even felt a tiny thrill when she was looking at my bare breasts. She must have noticed that because she immediately told me, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not lesbian.”
I almost said, “Oh? What about Nancy?” but held back. It might not set right with her. And I did not want to piss her off. She might just untie me! Besides, I had no objection to this game being sex free. Not that I did not want to be stimulated in that manner again. Oh, I did! But it seemed to me that telling her might not be the best idea. Better to just let her tie me up and forget about sex. This time.
What happened next did surprise me. “Take your shorts off,” she told me. Well, it was actually more of an order than a request. The only clothes I was wearing was a pair of shorts that were a year old and a little tight on me. I looked down at the button and zipper. “How?” I asked. I showed her by trying to reach around to the front with my bound hands. What surprised me was that I was actually able to reach one hand far enough around my waist so that I could just reach the button with my fingertips. But not quite far enough to undo the button. After a few seconds of watching me struggle, Sheri sighed and reached over to unhook the button. “Now finish the job,” she said in an exasperated voice.
It was not easy, but I managed to work the shorts down off my hips. Once they were around my thighs, it was easier to wiggle and let them drop to the floor. That left me with only a pair of blue panties. Nowadays I wear fancy, lace panties or thongs, usually black to match my long, dark hair, if I wear any at all, but back then I wore plain old panties.
I blushed when I saw her looking at them. Would she order me to take those off too? It was an exciting thought. I began reaching for the waistband but she slapped my hand.
“Leave them on. Escape artists don’t perform totally naked, you know.”
I tried not to sigh.
Then came The Moment I had been waiting for. Having my hands tied behind me was nice. And I was pretty sure that she had tied them well enough so that I could not get free. But what else was she going to do to me? She had to bind my legs somehow. Just would not be a proper job if she did not do that.
Apparently she felt the same. “Sit down,” she ordered. I sat. Actually, I more fell to my ass than gracefully sat down, but I had not learned how to do that with bound hands yet. “Put your legs together.” I did. She tied my ankles together. Then she looked at my knees. I had not seen a lot of photos of women tied up, and I was not sure what would be best myself. But Sheri came up with a solution that surprised me. She lifted my legs and bent them at the knee so that my feet were flat on the floor, then took another piece of rope and looped it around my legs just above the knees. What she did next was the surprise. She ran the rope up and over my head. It settled down on my shoulders and behind my neck. Passing the rope around my legs again, she began pulling on it. I found myself having to lean forward, my head pulled by the rope towards my knees. She passed the rope around my neck again and then pulled some more. Forcing my head down by my knees made me pull my feet in closer to my bottom. When she finally tied of the ropes, my breasts were just touching my thighs and my chin was within an inch of my knees.
It was not a comfortable position. My body was bent in half. The rope put pressure on my neck, but only the back of it. There was no danger of strangling. I could feel the strain that put on the muscles in my back and knew that I was not going to be comfortable if this lasted very long. Turning my head to the side, I looked up at Sheri. She was grinning. I knew she was happy at having come up with a way to tie me that was both secure and uncomfortable.
She picked up my shorts from the floor and turned for the door. “Get out of that,” she said. “If you can.” Then she closed the sliding metal doors of the shed.
It was suddenly dark in there. After a minute or so, I could make out the tools around me by tiny slivers of sunlight seeping through cracks. My first thought was that I should have asked her how long I would have to practice. But I had not, and wondered if that was deliberate. Not knowing made the game more exciting.
I took in a deep breath and felt a wonderful feeling of happiness. Well, I think that might be the best word for it. I was turned on, no question about that. After weeks of thinking about this happening to me, it finally was. I was glad for that. Now I could capture that feeling of helplessness that had been so exciting and yet frustrating before. I tried working at the rope around my wrists but could not find any knots with my fingers. I strained this way and that, but my hands would not twist around in the ropes. I just could not reach the knots.
So I tried to get that rope off my neck. That position was not too bad at first but I had a feeling that after a while I would be miserable. The body is not made to stay folded up like that for long periods of time. If I could not get that rope off my neck and straighten out, I was in for a rough time. All depended on Sheri. How much would she consider enough punishment for bugging her? An hour? Two? The rest of the afternoon? That thought scared me. Not a lot, but enough to wonder if I had gotten myself into something I might regret.
I tried bending my head down and to the side, but the rope around my neck was too tight for that. Then I realized that she had anticipated such a move. When she was finished wrapping the rope around my knees and neck, she had used the last bit of it around those windings as a cinch. That had pulled those ropes in and tightened them up. It also prevented me from slipping my head out of the loops. Even without that cinch rope, I was not sure if I could have gotten my head out. With that, there was no question.
Well, if I could not get that part free, maybe I could work the rope off my ankles. That should be worth a few points. I tried wiggling my feet but found that did not do much. The rope around my ankles was cinched down and way too tight to work loose.
Defeated in all attempts to free myself, I turned to wondering how much movement I was allowed. Using my feet to push sideways, I turned around on my bottom until I was facing not the door but the tools lined up on the side wall. Hope sprang up in my breast. Some of those tools had cutting edges! The shovels for sure. To a lesser extent the hoes. There was probably a pair of trimming shears if I could find them. I began pulled with my heels in an effort to slide forward, towards the tools. With considerable effort, I had closed the gap by a foot or so when an extra hard jerk of my feet unset my balance. Without hands to catch myself, I fell onto my side.
Again using my feet to push my body around, I twisted until my back was facing the tools. In the dim light, I saw a shovel that I might be able to reach. I had to turn around to approach it hands first, but if I could, then I might be able to rub the ropes against the edge of the shovel. I began trying to edge backwards.
I will never know if I would have made it or not. Or if I would have been able to cut my ropes off. I had managed maybe another foot when I was suddenly blinded by sunlight.
The door was wide open and Sheri was standing there.
So much for my attempt to cut my way to freedom.
“I remembered that there were tools in here,” she told me, sarcastically. “And figured that you wouldn’t want to be tempted to use them to escape. Real escape artists don’t have handy tools nearby. They have to escape by their own efforts.”
I muttered a couple nasty words under my breath, then smiled at her and said, “Of course! Wouldn’t want to cheat now, would we? Glad you thought of that.” I could be sarcastic too!
As she was taking out any tools with edges, I was both unhappy and glad. If I could have used the shovel to free myself, there would have been the feeling of triumph at having defeated a challenge. But then I would miss out on the exciting feeling of helplessness that those wonderful ropes were giving me.
After clearing out anything that I might have been able to use, she said, “Well, enjoy yourself. I’m going to take a nap. See you later.” She turned to the door but paused to say, “I see that you fell over,” she said. “Too bad. I could sit you upright again, but that would be cheating. You have to escape totally on your own.”
She smiled sweetly and closed the door, leaving me alone and in the dark again. I did note, however, that before she left, she checked the rope holding my head to my knees. I was glad for that. It showed that she was concerned for my safety. Of course, maybe she was just checking to make sure it had not loosened any.
Well, at least that gave me an estimate on how long I was to be left tied. Someplace between an hour and five. Five hours from that point, by my reckoning, would bring up to approaching dinnertime. I did not think that Sheri would make me miss dinner. But a nap could be a short one. Figured I had at least one hour.
I tried, honest I did. I spend a long time trying to reach any knot I could with my fingers. I wiggled and twisted my body until my wrists and ankles (and back of my neck) were sore from the ropes. Nothing. I stayed tied. And stayed on my side since I found that there was no way I could get back into a sitting position.
And, yes, it did become very uncomfortable. I have since had to endure far worse conditions, but then I was a beginner and that afternoon spent in the shed seemed like an eternity. Looking back, it really was nothing much. A little discomfort. But I gladly traded that discomfort for the exciting feeling of helplessness. As time passed and the tiny rays of sunlight shifted slowly, I felt wonderfully and horribly helpless. I was getting what I had wanted to experience, and far more than I had when tied to the pool ladder. Of course, that time I had the pleasure of an orgasm to brighten my day. In the shed I did not have Nancy’s fingers and lips to guide me to paradise. And I was horny. Oh, was I horny! I could not think of anything but how wonderful it had felt to be helpless while that girl worked her magic on my body.
And frustrated. There was no Nancy to touch me. And I could not reach around to touch that part of me, either. And how I wanted to be touched! I would have given anything if someone, anyone, would come in and just rub my clit a little bit. I would be eternally grateful if they did more.
I do not know if you know how horrible that kind of frustration can be. Or if you can imagine it. I know I could not, before it actually happened to me.
I was so hot between the legs that I could scream. I did not, but I moaned a lot. If anyone had come in, I would have begged and pleaded for a little touch in the right place.
See, I told you I am a pervert!
Well, I spent a bit more than two hours in that hot, dusty shed, alone and aching and helpless. When Sheri finally came to untie me, I was hot, sweaty and covered with grime from all the dirt on that floor. I should have been grateful to her for not leaving me longer. I should have hated what happened to me and swore never to let it happen again. That is what a sane girl would have felt.
But… I loved it! That afternoon was one of the most enjoyable, intense experiences of my life so far. Sheri suggested I get a shower before anyone else saw me, to get the dust off me and let the rope marks fade away. As I enjoyed the hot water running over my body, I was thinking that I should do something nice for Sheri. Get her a present or something to show my gratitude. Also, my sneaky mind told me, to reinforce in her mind the idea that doing this was a good thing.
I also began devising plans to entice and provoke Sheri into doing this again. Maybe I really would become an escape artist! Sounded like a glamorous profession to me!