Self-Bondage - A Story

Beatrice had often wondered what it would be like to be tied up. She had never had the nerve to ask her boyfriends, well none of them except one who looked at her as if she was a crazy woman and told her she wouldn't like it, not really, even if she thought she would.

She didn't have a boyfriend now. Once the initial rush was over, they were always annoying, impinging on her work, wanting attention, demanding...well, demanding her...and for what?

To leave her with a broken heart. She was better off without them..less emotional
investment, and she didn't need them for anything, really. Look, she was such a clever girl she could even practise self-bondage if she wanted.

She did some research on the net. She wondered how you could tie a knot strong enough to hold you, and yet easy enough to get out of. She wondered if she wanted it to hurt, if she wanted her wrists to go numb, or whether she just wanted to feel bound, tight.

She chose a weekend day. She hardly ever did anything on the weekends anyway, it wasn't as if she had hoards of friends knocking down the door to beg her to go out partying with them.

She tended to keep away from building friendships. It was distracting, putting the effort in.

So instead, she enjoyed planning the day and put together her own afternoon tool kit....a scarlet silk scarf, some new french underwear, her best bed linen, one of her favourite smutty books and The Police on continuous play. She didn't know why she included The Police in the set-up, just maybe that it reminded her of being a teenager, and today she felt like she wanted to remember how it felt to be that free and carefree.

She tied herself carefully to the iron bedframed bed. It was an antique, rescued from a hotel bankruptcy sale. Of course, tied this close to the frame she could see the years of scratches in the brass, deep marks where furniture had knocked against it. She could even smell some small vestige of old brass cleaner. It must be from the hotel days; she couldn't remember the last time she even ran a duster over the frame.

She took a while to get the knot quite right. She had to use her teeth a fair bit too, and she was trying to be careful as she didn't want to split her favourite silk scarf.

She came almost as soon as she had finished tie-ing herself, an endorphin rush that
spasmed violently through her body. The aftershocks made her wish she brought some chocolate, or a jam donought, just to keep her going. She imagined having someone with her who would put the donought to her lips so that she could lick the sugar off with her tongue, bite into it and then watch as her partner would take the sweet sugary jam and wipe it over her breasts, before licking it off. She climaxed again at the thought, but was secretly glad there was no sticky jam to get on her expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.

With a bit of manouevring she managed to open her book, the Story of O. She came again reading the book, her head pressed into the pages as she rubbed herself into the bed beneath. But it was hard to read and turn the pages and she began to wonder what it would be like to have someone next to her, reading to her in a soothing but seductive tone.

Enough, she thought and wondered what next. She looked around. Being tied up was starting to wear off now. She wanted a pee and she was getting a bit fed up with Sting's voice. She could see the Black Eyed Peas just there...how easy would it be untie herself and change the CD? But no, she told herself, the point of going this was to feel what it would be like to be tied up for any period of time.

She leant forward, her head against the cool brass. Now she could smell her scarf and the faint remant of perfume that she had worn on her trip to Paris. The thought made her smile and brought back other smells from her travelling...incense in Bali, coffee in Rome, the temples of Nepal, cow shit in India. For a brief moment her head felt heavy with them, crowded even, but all too quickly they drifted away again, back into distant memories she hardly ever visited.

The familiar song Roxanne began to play and she blinked back a tear. It was the song she used to listen to when she was revising for her exams, the song she used to play to annoy her boyfriend, who liked Pink Floyd and the Rocky theme tune. She sighed. If she had a boyfriend now she really wouldn't mind if he wanted to listen to Pink Floyd.

She lay back, motionless and started at the ceiling, Perhaps it would have been nice if there was someone here to get jam on the sheets. To share this with. What was a bit of extra washing after all?

The scarf was beging to chafe slightly. She raised her head to look at it. It was a long time since she'd bought herself something like that. It was a long time since she had been to Paris, or anywhere else that wasn't something to do with work.

She looked out of the window where she could see the sun heading southwards. The window was open slightly, and the faint breeze brought in smells of barbecuing meat and the shouts of children.

She heard a strange sound and couldn't place it. It took a while before she realised she was moaning.

Perhaps, she thought, perhaps it was time to stop practising self-bondage.