Other Directed Self Bondage

I met a woman on line once who was similar in age and based on the site where we met, similar in interest. We talked about everything and shared a great deal of personal information. One of our main topics of conversation was our deviant pleasures. What, in the deep dark recesses of our souls scratched that lustful desire within us.

I shared that I was into self bondage (SB) while she was a sadist / masochist switch. We discussed these topics at great length exploring a multitude of possible experiences. Late one night as we exchanged e-mails the woman asked me a couple interesting questions. Do you only engage in and tie yourself up in scenarios that you think of on your own? No, I responded. Where do you or how do you generate ideas for your self bondage situations? I explained they come from anywhere. On TV shows that present an innocuous situation where I see an extended scene resulting in bondage. Maybe a bondage picture that excites me and I want to duplicate the position or situation. Ideas flow from anywhere, I said. Then she asked, would you ever allow someone to instruct you as to how to tie yourself.

I thought for a few minutes about the situation and then responded saying; yes, I think I would and I think it would be exciting. She then asked; if I ordered you to tie yourself and preform certain task would you do it for real or would you just say you did. I didn’t have to consider the response to that question, saying immediately, if I agreed to the situation I would have to do it for real to be true to myself and my passion.

At that point she changed the subject and we talked another hour or so before signing off. I didn’t think about it again as it was just another subject or experience like many others we discussed. That is until about ten days later when I received an e-mail giving me an opportunity to experience “an other” directed SB experience. I was to return her mail with a statement of refusal or acceptance by a certain time. It was scary exciting, just the kind of situation I love. I accepted.

A few days later another e-mail arrived with preparation instructions. Damn, I thought, this woman is serious and I hope I didn’t bite off more than I can chew. I sent a return e-mail stating all preparations were complete. Four days later, on a Friday evening, I received an e-mail ordering me to be at my computer at 10a.m. the next morning with equipment she had instructed me to have on hand and wearing only my birthday suit.

Saturday morning at 9:50a.m. I sat down at my computer with so much excited anticipation I was actually shaking. I sat as instructed, naked on a short stool with legs spread as wide as possible. I wanted to touch myself so badly, but had been ordered not to and I would not lie if she asked. At 10 o’clock a mail arrived asking if I had followed her orders and was ready? Yes, I said truthfully. Then another, longer mail arrived outlining the days attire. The last line read, I will expect a full report by four o’clock or you will punish yourself for being late. The punishment would be to whip areas that were by nature sensitive, but would be made even more sensitive and very tender from the day’s activities.

A fourteen inch dowel with an eye-bolt screwed into each end served as a spreader between my knees. Jut cord bound my big toes together. Having my toes tied together creates such a sensually erotic sensation I could hardly finish the knot. At the same time, the tie hampers mobility more than the ankles being tied. Even though I am alone, sitting with my legs spread so wide exposing my most intimate and private body part is embarrassing. I have been ordered to sit in this position and apply the instruments of torment to my naked body.

Clothes pins pinch my outer labia end to end while clover clamps grip the center of my inner labia. String tied to each clover clamp passes through an eyebolt on the spreader and is tied to a one pound weight. Having my pussy so openly displayed with its bondage accessories is even more degrading and stimulating. Clover clamps with one pound weights attached are affixed to my nipples. At this point I mail the woman who is controlling me for the day informing her of my progress. She returns my mail with an outline of my activities for the day and a final instruction. Damn, I think, this is a lot to remember and its going to be fucking difficult! I commit my activities to memory and make my final preparations. I apply a blindfold then wriggle my hands through the snug coil of rope and pull the zip tie, cinching it tight and imprisoning my hands.

I turn in my chair to send one last mail to my internet captor. It reads, cpmplrlt boums syartong acyoviries. OR, in non bound blindfolded language, completely bound, starting activities. Upon rising I realize that I will have to hop all day because with tied toes my feet will not shuffle. So, I set out to preform my first task; change my bedding.

I hop down the hall while the weights viciously yank my nipples and labia. I don’t even get to my bedroom before grasping the reality of this is going to be a long painful day. As I hopped into my room, already tired and using much time, I pretty much resigne myself to receiving the end of day self inflicted punishment. It was easy to locate the new sheets as I am well organized. It was, however far more difficult to remove the sheets that were on the bed. Fortunately, it was summer, so I was only using the top and bottom sheets. Hopping, bending and pulling kept the weights in constant motion which kept my bits in constant agony.

Now the task reversed itself. It was now less terrible getting the sheets off the bed as getting the new ones on was total misery. Having my wrist bound so tightly together made it like I was working with one hand. First, finding the fitted corners and getting them to a proper corner was a painful struggle. When that bottom sheet was finally on the bed I was exhausted and aching terribly in all the wrong places. The worst part being; this was the START of my day. The top sheet was easy by comparison and I was soon ready to move on.

If this day were a song, moving on, meant singing the chorus. After each task was completed I was to go to the screen door at the back porch. It had been prepared per the woman’s instructions. They were, 1} tape over the latch  2}  attach five switches to the door, two breasts height and two stomach height & one pussy height  3}  tie rope to door handle and place yard stick on floor to indicate where to stand. The chorus consisted of me finding that door, then the rope, then the yardstick and then yank hard on the rope. The door would swing open fast slamming the five switches into my breasts, pussy and stomach. This was to be done six times between each task. When my whipping was complete I moved to the next task.

On paper this task was simple, make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and eat it. Of course, the paper and ink would not be bound and blindfolded. It would also not be asked to deal with other conditions. The peanut butter and jelly were on the low shelf in the back of the frig. Getting my hands back to them, one at a time, while enduring the pull of the weights on my nipples was tormenting. Having to make the sandwich behind my back emphasized my captivity and helplessness which led to more embarrassment. Then I had to eat it open face style getting both ingredients on my face. I had to wear that smeared sticky mess the rest of the day. I drank plenty of water after eating the sandwich and then returned to the back porch for my six lashes from the switches. The second six hurt more than the first six. My third task consisted of some yard maintenance.

I had to go outside to the far left corner of the yard, about thirty-five feet from the house and rake a small area. Since I engage in self bondage regularly I have a ramp leading from the porch and the yard is fenced. If at least 25% of the area had not been raked I had to punish myself. The continual hopping was really causing the pain to be constant and to steadily increase in intensity. I raked for what seemed like a long time before returning to the porch for my six lashes. I absolutely did not want the penalty punishment. After those lashes, which hurt far more than the others, I had to return to the outdoors and the right far corner of the yard. As I hopped (I was now shuffle hopping hoping to reduce the jerking of the weights-didn’t really help much) there was hope in my heart as this was the last task.

A box with a key was attached to the fence. It took several minutes, but eventually I found the container. I retrieved the key and then only had to hop to where the container was located that the key fit. That was located right next to where I was raking about sixty feet away. The problem would be negotiating through the trees that dominated that area of the yard. After running into several of those trees and crying for mercy for my hideously tortured nipples and labia I finally reached the other side and found the box that hung from the fence. Acquiring the knife, I quickly cut the zip tie and although I had to struggle, I was finally able to withdraw my swollen hands from the coil of rope that encircled them.

Leaving the blindfold on I reached first for the nipple clamps. For some reason I thought there would be a chance for less pain if I couldn’t see. A very, very wrong speculation. I screamed as both came off with the removal of the second one dropping me to my knees. It was from that position I removed the clamps and pins from my labia. That brought more screams and I knelt bawling for several minutes. It was then that I removed the blindfold. After removing the blindfold, the first thing I did was check the area I raked. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Not only had less than 25% been raked, I’d guess less than 10% had been touched by a rake. I knew what I had to do, but I was terrified and absolutely did not want to partake in the punishment. I seriously thought about not doing it, but I had never cheated or taken an easy way out and decided I would not start.

A switch specifically chosen for this task lay at the base of the fence. I scooted over to the fence, split rail, and put my feet on the top rail so my butt was off the ground and I had a fairly good look at my pussy. It took me several minutes to start as I thought how tender and sensitive my pussy was at that moment and the thought of what I was about to do to myself terrorized me. Over the next, I’d guess at least fifteen minutes, I switched my tortured pussy twelve times. Not love taps, but serious “you’re being punished” strikes. Did a lot of yelling and crying then also. With my punishment over I got up and prepared to go to the house. I definitely did not reapply the clamps, but I did return my hands to their accustomed habitat behind my back. I had placed an extra zip-tie in the key box in case of this decision.

Hopping to the house I was able to think how interesting that bondage position was. Without the enormous pain in my nipples and labia I could appreciate the tie and the different feelings it evoked. When I went through the kitchen I noticed it was seven minutes to four.

I hurriedly typed out a mail letting my unknown tormenter know that I had completed my tasks and was typing that note still bound in original position and would quickly send full report. At a few minutes past four I was informed that since the full report was not sent by the appointed time I still had to perform the punishment I had agreed to. I wanted to argue, but I did agree to play by her rules, so . . .

After a stern, I’d even say severe, whipping on my breasts and pussy using my own homemade cat-O-nine whip, I completed the report and sent it to the woman. It outlined my preparations, my thoughts and feelings throughout and my overall evaluation of the experience. I also sent her my thoughts evaluating her.

We may not have ever met, but we are the very best of friends with much respect for one another and add a great deal to each other’s lives.