The Pub Discussion Board

I play Second life in the game i met a girl named Shelle Gothly who gave me this story i'm TRYING to talk her in to publishing a longer version, preferably online  (this is apparently abridged) the kicker is its mostly based on her real life

I do have her permission to post this

please read and review


Shell

Eric feel free to move this if I'm in the wrong place for this

Who knows what drives a woman, girl, man or boy to desire bondage? On the surface it seems unnatural, but perhaps it is a "return to womb" sort of feel. This is far beyond my limited thoughts.

I always wanted bondage. As a very young girl, 6 or 7 years old, a neighbor girl and I would play tie up games, spacemen tied us both up with our legs spread wide, unable to hide our shame. The Indians were going to burn us at the stake, I don't know where those images came from, I don't believe it was sexual at that time. I do remember my father, an Irish mean drunk, having "detective" magazines laying around, and the covers were of nearly nude ladies in all kinds of predicaments, usually bound helplessly in some way, in great peril from the raging fire or the giant snake. I guess they weren’t all detective, but often action and adventure also.

I was mesmerized by the covers, but I never had the courage to look inside, or read them. The neighbor girl moved away, but there were always kids about with cowboys and Indians and "army" games, and I was always the willing captive. There must be a great deal of people out there who like bondage, but it's not a question you put to someone while drinking sodas.

In early High School years, I would sometimes tie myself up, using rope and chain with padlocks. A length of chain could be fastened around each wrist and the wrists locked together. My first orgasms just needed the padlock to click shut, knowing that the keys were out in the yard, and I would have to wait for the house and neighborhood to quiet late at night before I'd tiptoe, nude and scared, out to get them.

I grew bolder, and my need increased almost exponentially. The more daring I got, the more I wanted to try.  A sophomore prom date found me in higher heels for the first time, God, I LOVED it being slightly unstable, my long dress hugging my legs tightly, allowing only short hobbled steps. If only that poor boy knew that his date was in almost constant orgasm, he would have shit himself! And he was SUCH a gentleman.... Up to that point I had never kissed a boy, but that night I did, not well (he was scared to death...) but with some little passion.... I have loved high heels since, and wear them almost exclusively.

My Junior year I dated a boy (they're not REALLY men yet....) steadily, lost my virginity ( I think I may have already lost "it" to horses, bicycles, and the occasional object that I'd ram into myself trying to experiment. (I should maybe explain that I did not screw the horses…..)

I did get this boy to tie my hands behind my back one night, and he felt me up and kissed my breasts, this in a pickup truck parked out in a cow pasture, very romantic... But for me, it was heaven, it just felt right... I don't know why, but when I lost "control" when my hands were fully bound, and with mighty tugs I couldn't get them loose, I was there.... He and I continued to date, and it usually included bondage. At drive in theaters, cruising the “drag”, even once at a restaurant, where he gently fed me in our dark corner booth.

There was no turning back.  As an aside, I ran into that boy, now a father of four with a cute and happy looking wife, at a class reunion, took him aside and asked if he still liked his girls bound, and he said he really did, but was afraid to broach the subject with his wife for fear of rejection or worse....

In college I also met a couple of men who liked the idea of bondage, but they were pretty tentative in their approach. I’d get my hands bound loosely to the headboard or maybe to the headrest in a car and teased and fucked, and it was good. I ALWAYS came with bondage, and sex was OK without it, and often included a good orgasm. I did find the occasional guy, maybe a farm boy or an ex sailor  or something that really knew how to handle the ropes, and I was always delighted when they'd start, because I KNEW, from the start that it would be good, there was no hesitance, no long pause of thought, they'd just grab my arms and tie, tight. with no escape, as they would just about finish I would start to moan, and my pussy would leak huge amounts of fluid. They could do anything they wanted to me, I already had satisfaction.

Early on I really enjoyed the so called forced sex (it was more than consensual...) and the "rape" play, being touched, pinched, bitten and finger fucked was wonderful, and I still love it, but my NEED has grown and it seems it continued to grow, or is it descend...

For most of my high school and college years I also played with self-bondage. I just couldn't get enough through my dates and friends. I developed some interesting scenes for myself over the years. I first used chain, two short pieces that just wrapped around each wrist held by a padlock, then a third padlock to connect the chains. This was TOTALLY inescapable without the keys, but very hard on the wrists for extended sessions.

I searched around a bit and found that several companies sold leather cuffs, with a hasp on them that could be locked on, not as secure as chain, but far more comfortable AND unless you cut it off with a knife, it was still secure…. I looked at some of the ads for these and figured I could make my own. I AM a farm girl and it IS just leather! I still have the first cuffs I made, and they are still strong enough for extended suspension bondage!

The nice thing about wide leather cuffs is the comfort. I know, it’s supposed to hurt, but long term bondage requires some comfort, or nerves get pinched, blood supply to extremities decreases and those can lead to permanent damage. The wide leather cuffs really help in this respect and allow many hours, sure cramped and stiff, nut no permanent damage. Really good rope work is the same, very firm but little pressure on sensitive parts.

I think outlining my self bondage adventures here may make this document way too long, so maybe another document?

During my first year of college, both my parents died. They had adopted me as a baby, and for some reason we had never bonded. Both suffered extreme alcohol addiction, both were fairly mean and snappish, but I do thank them for raising me, and being their sole heir, for leaving me a fairly large cattle ranch, a house in town and a condo in Phoenix.

I set about to sell off almost everything, kept the house in town for several years and with the help of friends I invested most of the proceeds and could feasibly live out my life in retirement. But I am an ambitious girl and wanted to try many things, so I left the investments alone and have worked many interesting places.

I worked my way through school on a dance pole in Seattle, scared to death the first night, looking at a wide assortment of drunks and perverts before I mounted the stage. But half way through the first song I felt in complete control (not my usual choice…). I had the crowd eating out of my hand. By the third song, wearing only 6” platforms and a skimpy black thong, giving little cheek kisses for tips, with the occasional ear lobe nibble for larger donations, I really felt good.

I am not a large breasted girl, I had considered “buying” a larger set, but I just accepted what I had, and used my looks, brains and personality to win the hearts and wallets of the guys at the rail. And I did it well, I became a weekend headliner (this in a dingy club in West Seattle, not a huge achievement…).  I made enough to pay all my school and living expenses and have some fun money also. I made some very strict rules for myself, No “boyfriends”, I didn’t want to support some druggie like most of the girls did. NO drugs and to this day I have never smoked pot or taken any other drug…, I HAVE been drugged on two occasions, learning all the time. I would see some of these poor girls, three kids, earning five or six hundred a night, and every cent goes up her nose. No phone, no car, moving from one man to another so she has a place to leave her kids while she tries to work, it really is horrible and it is the rule, not the exception..

I also limited myself to three drinks a night, I do like to drink, and can really let go when I want, but at work I had to stay in control.

After I graduated I moved to Los Angeles to seek mainly pleasure. I had read and heard about the open sexuality and acceptance of BDSM there and away I went. I had also considered San Francisco, but after visiting both, went South.

WOW!!! My first visit was to a little place, advertised in all the local adult papers, the Chateau, A really nice three story building about two blocks off Hollywood Blvd. The Master/Owner was a really open and friendly guy and the girls were all really sweet. I asked about working there and was told that all newcomers had to work six months as a sub, I started the next day…

Went out and bought several outfits at the cool shops. Pleasure Palace was my favorite, bought four different gags (I’ve always loved gags…) and lots of leather and lace clothes.

I was at the Chateau a little over three years, and I really loved it, I’m not a lover of corporal and impact play, but learned to endure as many Masters wanted that, some very much. I LOVED the variations on bondage I was able to explore each day, and when there were no clients (rather a rare occurrence…) the Mistresses would practice on me. Often hanging me in the lobby/entry or on a cross or post out there, not really in public view to the street, but fully exposed to anyone that walked in the door. It was truly heaven….

I had had a bi experience in college, a really good one (actually lots of them, just one girl…) and really liked it. Jody played with me often, I didn't feel I was bi, but God could that girl tease, she knew EVERY button to push, and how many times to push it. She was the first person to make me beg her to stop, and she never hurt me, using only her very talented tongue and lips and her soft delicate hands she would send me to places that I had never dreamt of.

At the Chateau, bi was a daily occurrence, clients wanted to see and control it, sometimes two subs bound together and “forced” to perform. I say Forced often here, but I MUST explain that EVERYTHING done is consensual, we were allowed to set strict limits, in writing, and those limits were available to clients and clients had to sign and acknowledge the limits. My limits were often stretched, and on occasion crossed (still with some trembling nod of consent…) but the consent sheet was always there.

My favorite “position” was to be hung inverted, from a lift or the cross or post, didn’t matter, then tied in a hanging 69 with another girl, and lightly flogged or cropped, causing redness and a few welts, but no broken skin. Making the two of us scream into each others wetness as we licked and nibbled away, in a contest to make the other cum first.

The first two years at the Chateau were wide open, clients were allowed and encouraged to cum and slaves were required to make sure that happened. The health board moved on us and our rules changed drastically as more was learned about HIV and other dangers. I was and still am very lucky, I have never contracted an infection of any kind, nearly a miracle considering my history.

After LA I moved to Ft Lauderdale, just North of Miami. The “scene” was really big there, lots of open clubs and after hours bars with a BDSM only theme
Access was to members only, but fairly easy to become a member. There were some “players” and some extreme sadists, to be avoided unless you really didn’t want your nipples or wanted to have a shiny bald head.

I had a kind of limit on piercing and play piercing, not from a pain aspect, I did get my nipples pierced and later worked up to some heavy gauge rings, but was worried about infection. Dungeons are dark, often musty and maybe dirty, who can tell in such darkness, but the floors and rugs in almost every one I’ve been in seem sticky to knees and bare feet, which explains my desire to wear shoes, tall torturous heels and platforms, ballet shoes, but barefoot.. icky..

I now live in Phoenix, and while there is a fairly active bondage community here, and I have attended a few functions, I am not nearly as active as I used to be. I am now married to a very nice, but very vanilla man, who treats me with respect and understands my need to explore, as I understand his. I won’t say it’s an “open” marriage, just unspoken consent, and no fighting if one of us is absent without notice for a few days.

I really stepped back from such active play, not because of bad experiences, or any fear, but because I had pushed myself deeper and deeper into the danger, I craved and needed horrible danger to find release.

I put myself in a self bondage situation in Miami a couple years back. I was staying at a downtown area waterfront Hotel, and the first floor rooms had outside entrances, so I could walk out my door to the parking lot, well lit, but with areas of concealment. I wore a pair of 6” platform, spike heel pumps with a locking ankle strap, torture shoes… fishnet stockings and a garter belt.

On my neck I placed a collar I had purchased at Petsmart which had a battery and flashing white lights, to keep pet safe in traffic, they really didn’t seem all that bright in my room….  I also wore a spider gag, horribly uncomfortable as the ring part really digs into the gum line behind the teeth, but it holds my mouth in a wide round hole, inviting things to be inserted. I had applied my “fuck my mouth’ red lipstick which only further highlighted the chrome and black leather of the gag. Long dangles of sparkling rhinestone earrings glistened beside my face, and a simple clothespin on each nipple. Across the top of each breast was the word FREE on the left and SUCK on the right.  I reached behind my back and locked my two leather cuffs together with a single lock, the key to that lock lay on the desk in my room, right there, in plain sight, I could reach over and unlock myself at any time, but I waited.

I thought it was a bit after Midnight, and I listened quietly by the door to the sounds of the parking lot, the streets beyond, the night. I walked to the mirror and looked at the girl there, shoulder length dark hair, small barrettes keeping it slightly behind her ears, too much makeup on her wide eyes and face, the spider gag stretching her jaw and lips into a round red circle, and the collar, a flash every four seconds in every direction from the four lights around it, seeming very bright now. Her wrists are pulled tightly behind her bask, and a silver chain, padlocked around her slender waist, holding her locked hands behind her back. Her breasts, rising and falling with her nervous breathing, carry the clamps, starting to settle now from the initial burn of placement. Drool is starting its inevitable run down her chin and onto her breasts, and the juices flowing freely from her hungry, but unreachable mound, dampening the tops of her stockings in their flow downward.
Taking a last look, at the girl in the mirror, the key to my helplessness and the room keycard, I tensed every muscle and walked over to the entry door, listened for a short time, opened the door and cautiously looked about, and I stepped into the parking lot and slammed the door. I was stuck, and the first huge wave of orgasm nearly drove me to my knees, I was literally shaking so hard I wasn’t sure I could move, but I had to, I was far too exposed and vulnerable here. And I had ONLY one option, go get the keys.

Earlier in my feverish planning I had got an extra keycard from the hotel desk, and I had driven not quite two miles away, to a pretty dingy part of town, dark streets and darker bars, warehouses and industrial, and hidden one of the keycards in an alley, near a trash dumpster. The route from the hotel to here would cross one 6 lane major road, bright and busy, and wend though business, lodging, industrial and park areas. I didn’t choose or study my route, because surprise and fear were my intention.

I quickly clacked my way to one side of the lot, and edged among some bushes. GOD DAMN!!! The collar was flashing like an airplanes strobe in the darkness, I would NEVER be able to hide, how could I have been so stupid? And yet another incredible wave of orgasm overtook me, and I did drop to my knees, and tried desperately to stifle my moans.

I knew it was sometime after Midnight, possibly 1:00 AM, but I had purposely not checked the time since much earlier. I came to my senses a bit and tried to think through what I must do to avoid detection and possible arrest or abuse, and to gain freedom as quickly as possible, fearing that if I took too long, I would end up in the early morning rush and never get back to my room with at least the cover of darkness.

I moved out of the lot and up to the first street, traffic was minimal, it was a weeknight, and even though Miami is a 24 hour city, this time of night is a bit more quiet. Still, it was four lanes, stoplights about two blocks away in each direction, 45 MPH speed limits, so traffic would come fast, and may appear out of nowhere. I waited to calm down, decided not to run unless I had to, but to just sort of saunter, or mince as one tends to in extreme heels, and get across the street and into a well lit but sheltered new car lot. So there I went, hips swinging, heels clacking (spike heels are really noisy on concrete…) and lights flashing like some kind of emergency vehicle, across the street to the median, over the median then nearly all the way when a car appeared from my right, it was over a block away, but moving rapidly, so I increased my pace, not into a run, for I feared falling, and made it into the lot and behind some cars without being spotted, or maybe seen but not recognized as the vulnerable prize that I was.

That was scary, a baptism as it were, but scary and exciting. I crouched behind some cars and caught my breath, the drool now a hopeless stream, soaking even the wooden clothespins, making them heavier, and bouncier with each step. I had a VERY long way to go, so I started off again, moving in a crouch behind the cars in the lot, and finally to a dimmer side street. I clicked along on one sidewalk that had a slight water runoff ditch beside it, for several blocks, then turned toward the direction of my goal, kind of going one direction then another, always zigzagging closer to my key, following sidewalks and streets with nearby cover, but nearly always exposed, my lights flashing like a camera flash going off continuously, momentarily lighting up even the darkest area.

I had a couple close calls with cars, but none slowed or turned around to investigate. The busy four lane streets were scary, but with a good view I could scoot across and find cover. One car, on a four lane made a left turn, and pulled up so we were face to face and I just stood there in fear seeing only his too bright lights as he came to a stop, nearly touching me with his bumper. I was scared, I didn’t want to be hurt or maybe worse arrested, but I stepped to the side, slowly walked to the curb, and he moved on.

The final barrier to the keycard was the six lane road, Highway 1, it has stoplights, and a 45 MPH limit, but most drive faster, and it is busy. I had a good spot, and I’ll admit that I had scouted this one in advance. There was construction on this side, and a “Park and Ride” bus stop, not used at this time of night across the Highway. I crouched down on the corner, hidden by construction cones and equipment and waited, it seemed like forever, may have been an hour, I really don’t know, until there was a lull in the traffic and I  made a dash, running this time, as fast as I could manage, the lights SO bright. The road SO wide. I could see headlights in both directions, but still far off and I ran…

I made it into the bus area, and fell to my knees in some bushes, my flashing collar didn’t seem quite so bright now, and the flashes only occasionally skipped one beat, I hoped that the battery might run down, I hadn’t read the directions, past the turn it on point.

From here it was a fairly clear shot to my key, but it was darker, and a bit unsavory. There were a couple adult book stores here and two bars, one a biker place ant the other a strip club. I found that my key was in the alley behind the strip club, not noticed earlier that morning when I had hidden the key. There were maybe ten guys standing around the front of the place so I had to walk a few blocks up another street to get around back unnoticed. In the alley, the back door was open and a guy in an apron was leaning against a wall, talking in a cell phone and smoking. I waited a short way down the alley for him to leave, hiding behind another dumpster, a dank smelly spot, but well hidden. I figured it must not be 3:00 AM closing time in Miami for regular bars, so I waited.

My legs started to cramp from squatting on my heels, so I decided to make a dash for my keycard. I stood and walked around the dumpster and out into the alley, then I moved toward the dumpster and just as I started around it, the back door popped open and I scurried back to my original place, but in my haste, as I rounded the corner behind my “safe” dumpster, my foot slipped and I fell face first into the slime and stink on the ground, feeling the clamps drag on my nipples and the bits of gravel, broken glass and who knows what else scrape and bruise my body.

I didn’t dare move, and just lay as I fell, sore nipples pressed in the slime, the side of my gagged face laying on the stink. I could hear two guys laughing and talking as they moved in and out, dumping load after load of bottles and garbage into the next dumpster. My fear subsided a bit, and I became calm, just waited for quiet.
The loud music had stopped, and I heard a lot of cars pull away, and the loud talk of too much drink, I heard some girls talking and wondered if I should throw myself on their mercy to escape my ordeal. But I didn’t, I stayed where I had intentionally put myself, bound, gagged and extremely vulnerable, laying in the stink and slime of an alley dumpster.


Quiet fell, and I once again crept around, and had to sit on the ground to shuffle through the food and glass for my keycard, which I finally located, kicked a bit under the dumpster, I got up and looked down at myself, I couldn’t see my face of course, but my breasts were filthy, slime of all colors dripping off my clamped nipples, my stomach and thighs covered as well. I could feel and smell the mess on my face, and my hair was heavy and wet. And, I had a very long way to go….

The trip back I won’t recount. I wasn’t raped, or abducted, or arrested, but I was often observed, sometimes at close range, because I was way too tired to avoid any confrontation, and several cars honked horns or whistled as I tried to hurry along. A couple guys welled something out their windows as I trudged, not tall and proud as I had started, but stooped and weary, nearly broken.

My shoulders ached from their enforced position, my nipples throbbed with the bounce of each step, and I knew full well what I would experience as I removed the clamps and the blood and feeling flooded instantly back into them. My lower legs were killing me from walking in the heels, they really are a torture in their own right. (smile). And my poor jaw, never had a gag spread me this wide and with no give.
A ball gag becomes comfortable after a while, the jaw relaxes and one can move her jaw a bit, with the give of the rubber. But a steel gag, a round one, that focuses all it’s considerable pressure on two small areas behind the top and bottom front teeth, gets excruciating in less than an hour, and after that it is torture. Add to that the uncontrollable drooling, dry lips and your tongue flapping uselessly in your mouth, and it is a true torture device. I will never agree to wear one for an extended period again. I will wear a ball gag for 12 hours, but not the steel, please.

I got back to the room, let myself in and closed the door. The sun was a slight glow in the eastern sky, probably actually helping me, as, in that first grey light of dawn, it wasn’t so evident that I was bound and nude.
The collar gave only an occasional strangled flash of feeble light, having done its job as a slut beacon; it had died with the night. I looked in the mirror again, with the room lights bright overhead, at the tired, filthy slut in the mirror. My hair was matted on one side, my face had small things hanging on it that looked like bits of food, or , and it was a horrible thought and nearly made me sick, vomit….

My breasts, stomach and thighs were covered in the same partly dried slimy mess, my nipples drug downward by the cloths pins, where before they had stuck straight out, proud to be on my chest, now they looked a bit deflated, the pins pointing straight down.

I reached for the key on the desk, and with tired trembling fingers worked it into the padlock at my wrists, freeing them for the first time in at least eight hours.  I knew that I had to remove the nipple clamps, and I dreaded it… I started on my right breast and opened the clamp, a loud moan escaped my still gagged lips and my knees collapsed in pain, and I immediately started a huge orgasm, which threatened to make me pass out.
I quickly removed the other clamp so that I could get it all over with at once, then the gag, waist chain and shoes.  My jaw ached for nearly a full week after, and I had a sore behind my front teeth for several days. I took off the now dead collar, wondering if I could get longer lasting batteries, or maybe buying two or three more collars…. Took off the earrings and stood naked, unencumbered, then took a very long hot shower, washing the night from my soul.

I had a good stiff drink, put out the no disturb sign and slept.

That was the last of my really daring adventures, I have been and will be bound many times. But that morning, as I nursed my drink, I KNEW, that if I continued, it would kill me.
I had to stop the escalating need, each adventure topping the last in danger and excitement, or it would, very literally kill me.

I have withdrawn to a more sheltered life, still play at the local club some, nice people and equipment, and over two years now, perhaps the need, the deep unquenchable need has decreased some.

I have had many of these adventures, but to describe them fully takes much time and thought, and perhaps too many words. I am more than willing to share, given time to comply.