MY OWN BOSS

       Solo-Bondage In My Cellar Of Exquisite Torments

                           By 'Nob'

I'd been vaguely discontented as a coed, despite the fact
that my good looks were enough to make me popular.  I'd had
my share of affairs and one-night stands with football
stars and even some young professors, but I felt somehow that
I was missing something terribly important in my relationship
with men.  It wasn't until my parents were killed in a plane
crash when I was twenty that I discovered what I really
wanted.

As an only child with no living relatives, it was up to me to
settle my parents' estate.  I left college, made arrangements
for the funeral, and then settled down to the dreary job of
straightening out their effects.  Dad had been wealthy and
well insured so money was never a problem, but I was alone
for much of the time and my sense that something was missing
in my personal life became painfully stronger.

One morning, a week after the funeral, I was moving some
boxes into the basement of our isolated hilltop estate when i
found a hidden door.  Curious, for I had not known of it
before, I opened it and followed it down to an elaborate sub-
basement--which was how i discovered that my parents had been
secret bondage devotees.

Not only did I find a vast collection of, bondage materials
carefully stored there -- chains, cuffs, straps, ropes,
bizarre costumes, helmets, gags, and so on -- but also a
tremendous library of books, magazines, cartoon strips, and
movies, all devoted to bondage.  It is a good thing I was
alone that day, for my initial shock might have led me to
give the secret away.  But I was concerned first for my
parents' reputation, and then with why they had obviously
been so committed to bondage.

There was no question that this had been their "hobby."  A
few large photos of my mother, attired in exquisite bondage
outfits, hung on the walls, and their were others of my
father dressed in leather torturer's garb.  Out of curiosity
about what they had found so satisfying in this unusual
activity, I chose some things at random from a bookshelf and
read through them carefully.  At first I was repelled by the
stories and articles, even though the pictures fascinated me.
But before long I discovered that I was becoming aroused and
excited by the materials.  The idea of being held helpless in
such exotic ways appealed to me and I found myself
identifying with all the "damsels in distress" pictured in
the magazines.  I read more and more, marveling at the
ingenuity that had gone into some of the girls' bondage and
imagining some of the pleasure they must have experienced.


                   GRATIFYING EXPERIMENTS

I think I spent most of the day and a good part of the
evening reading through that library. By the time hunger
overcame my fascination I had the feeling that I was on the
verge of a great discovery.  I tore myself away from the
collection long enough to eat a quick sandwich and then
hurried back down to my new-found interest.  As I remember, I
finally fell asleep on a sofa there, one more issue of Hogtie
still tight in my hands.

The next morning I was still feeling this particular thrill.
After breakfast, I was determined to try out some bondage for
myself.  Luckily, my mother could have been my twin (except
that I am a bit more buxom), so it was not difficult for me
to don a leather corset, thigh-boots, and long gloved that I
found in a cabinet.  The feel and smell of the leather so
snug against my skin excited me, and the next step was to try
some chains.  Even a simple ankle-chain added to my
excitement.

Then I found a bodystrap and fastened it between my legs as I
had seen it done in the magazines.  It felt marvelous!  After
I had added a pair of manacles to my wrists in front of me,
the bodystrap felt so good that I began to tighten it--and
had the most fantastic orgasm I had ever experienced!

From that moment on, I was thoroughly committed to bondage.
I understood completely why my parents had invested so much
time and money in it.  It was perfectly clear to me that sex
without forced restraint would be flat and meaningless.  It
was not hard to figure out that I needed a strong dose of
enforced submissiveness to make sex "right" for me, and that
bondage was the obvious answer.

It was a shame, I thought, that my parents had not seen fit
to introduce me to bondage years ago.  But I suppose they had
thought themselves wicked in fascination with the subject and
had wanted to spare me their guilt feelings.  Bondage,
however, was just what I had been missing all along, and from
that day on my life had a new and intensely gratifying
direction.

After I once accepted the idea that bondage was the answer to
my problems, I spent the next several months exploring its
possibilities.  I returned to college just long enough to
take my final exams, and then hurried back to the fabulous
collection of bondage materials that I had accidentally
inherited from my parents.  After making sure that my
financial affairs were in good order, I let it be known that
I would be in mourning and wanted to be left entirely alone.

Once a week I would do the shopping and other errands, but
the rest of the time I devoted exclusively to reading through
my parents' bondage library and trying out as much of their
equipment on myself as I could manage.  The only way to work
through my fascination, I knew, was to indulge myself in it
totally until I could put it in a broader perspective.  So I
didn't hold back at all, and often spent three or four days
at a stretch in the hidden sub-basement.

                    INTRICATE DISCOVERIES

Although I am somewhat more generously endowed than my mother
was, all of her bondage costumes fit me very nicely.  I made
a practice of wearing nothing but leather during these
sessions.  High heels, a skintight bikini outfit, and gloves
were my usual outfit, but sometimes I wore boots and a full
corset for a change.  All the while, of course, I was
learning more and more about the intricacies of bondage
through my reading, and spent an increasing amount of time
trying out different forms of restraint on myself.

I was severely frustrated at first because it was impossible
for me to put myself into any really restrictive forms of
bondage that interested me.  Nearly all bondage requires a
master as well as a slave -- and I was alone, not knowing how
to find trustworthy assistance for my solitary fun.  But
slowly I discovered that it was possible to do much more than
I had originally thought: necessity is the mother of
invention!  With the help of a few gadgets that I
manufactured for myself, and others that I subsequently
bought, I was able to get closer to experiencing "real"
bondage.

Foe instance, there was a forearm-sheath that would bind my
arms together behind me from wrists to elbows.  It closed
with a heavy zipper, and I soon fixed a special hook on the
wall that would help me.  After getting my wrists in the
sheath, I would back up against the wall and catch the
zipper-tag on the hook.  Then I would slowly squat down,
working my elbows closer and closer together inside the
sheath while the zipper was pulled up until the job was
finished.  At first this placed a terrific strain on my arms
and shoulders, but I had seen so many pictures of other girls
wearing similar articles that I knew it must be a matter of
training.  So I struggled with this form of arm-bondage until
my muscles loosened up. and thereafter I found it a
reasonably comfortable and very stylish mode of restraint.

My hands and arms, of course, were the most difficult to
manage.  By leaving them until last, I could fix up almost
any form of leg-bondage, get my various costumes and straps
properly tightened, and even put on gags and helmets.  But
getting manacles locked on my wrists was always a problem,
and freeing them later was an even greater challenge.

                     TRAPPED AND HELPLESS

I remember one dreadful experience when I had to spend a full
twenty-four hours in heavy bondage because I couldn't find
the key to my wrist-chains.  I had pulled on a pair of high-
heeled boots, laced a corslet tightly about my waist, and
even put a leather pear into my mouth with straps buckled
about my head.  Then I locked a short hobble between my
ankles and criss-crossed my wrists behind me in heavy
manacles.

After an hour or so of imaginary--and delightful! --
degradation, I decided to free myself, only to discover that
the key to my wrist-cuffs was missing!  For once, I got a
good idea of what a real slave might think about bondage.  I
searched the whole place, slowly and clumsily, before I
started to get panicky.  Then I must have spent several hours
in a frenzy of mindless fear.  The prospect of starving to
death became terribly real.  I hopped around wildly.  I
cursed myself and my parents even though the pear-gag limited
me to hoarse grunts.  I wept a lot.  Finally I fell asleep
face-down on the sofa, awakening only when the pressure in my
bladder and a ravenous thirst overcame my weariness.

But I could neither relieve myself nor get a drink--the
bodystrap attached to my corselet and the gag saw to that.
It took all the willpower I could muster to calm myself and
start a systematic search for the key again, but I did it.
Before I found the damned thing late in the afternoon, behind
a sofa cushion, I was in a perfect agony of arousal and
hunger.  The more I needed to relieve myself, the more the
bodystrap irritated me; the hungrier and thirstier I got, the
more thoroughly dominated I felt.

As soon as I found the key, I hopped frantically into the
bathroom.  Once my hands were free and the bodystrap removed,
I had a gorgeous, non-stop orgasm at the same time as I
emptied my bladder!  That left me so weak that I was barely
able to get back upstairs for some food--but you can bet that
I did it!  Later that evening, I decided the experience had
been a good one in two ways.  First, I had had a genuine
experience of helplessness and learned that it was even more
exciting than the sense of artificial helplessness that I got
when I knew I could free myself at any time.  Second, I had
learned that a better method of "auto-bondage" was definitely
needed.

I finally hit on the idea of locks fitted with timers so they
would open automatically after a set period of time had
passed.  Such things are not for sale in every hardware
store, naturally, so it took me some time to order them
custom-made through the mail.  Fortunately, some of the B&D
magazines advertised confidential services of this sort, and
it was only a month or so (and a lot of money) before I
received what I needed so much.

                     ABSOLUTE CREATIVITY

What I finally got was a complete set of suede-lined iron
cuffs for my wrists and ankles, together with a slave-collar
and a snug iron belt.  Each had a lock that could be set to
open at any time from five minutes to six hours.  Once the
timer was set and the lock closed, there was no way to
release them any sooner because locking it made it impossible
to change the timing.  Each article, of course, was provided
with several sturdy D-rings so chains or straps could be
attached to each as needed.

Well, you can imagine what a good time I had then!  Now I
could design fairly intricate forms of bondage for myself,
get into them, and be assured that I would be freed after the
selected number of minutes or hours had gone by.
Experimenting with the more advanced types of bondage that my
time-locks made possible occupied most of the remainder of
the summer.

For example, I would double my legs and lace them tightly
into a pair of thigh-sheaths, put my belt on over a wasp-
waist corselet and fasten a bodystrap to it, fix a head-brace
to my collar so I couldn't move my head at all, and then
struggle to get my arms locked wrist-to-elbow behind me.
With all the locks set for three hours, I would be in for a
lengthy period of delicious helplessness.

I would pretend I had a devilishly sadistic master who had
put me into this bondage and then ordered me to carry out a
number of meaningless tasks within a certain time.  These I
would have posted on the wall ahead of time:

     1. Waddle around the room 20 times.
     2. Dust all the furniture.
     3. Turn 10 somersaults.
     4. Polish the mirror above the sofa.
     5. stand on your knees for 30 minutes.
     6. Lap up all the water in your dog-dish.
     7. Spill the bucket of marbles and then put all 50 back
     again.
     8. Straddle your crotch-bar and wait to be released.

In forcing myself to do all these things I, of course, had to
develop a fair amount of agility and physical stamina.
Waddling around the room in thigh-sheaths, for instance,
required me to balance on the balls of my feet with my knees
tucked up against my breasts.  I took more falls than I care
to remember while I was learning to waddle properly.  Turning
somersaults was even more difficult, but eventually I learned
to throw myself backwards with enough force to make me end up
on my knees again.

To dust the furniture, I would have to take the duster handle
between my teeth and maneuver it over every surface I could
reach.  To polish the mirror, I had to hold a towel in my
mouth, climb laboriously up onto the sofa, and stretch as
high as I could on my knees while moving the towel back and
forth on the mirror with my head.

As "punishment" for being so slow, I would then have to rest
my motionless head on the sofa and stand on my knees for the
required half hour.  That was a good time for erotic
fantasies, but it was also hard on my leather-bound legs.
Having filled the dog-dish with water earlier in the day, now
I would have to kneel and bend down to drink it, lapping it
with my tongue like a dog or cat.  The act was particularly
degrading, I thought, and thus particularly satisfying.

The marble-collecting job was a real nuisance.  Having tipped
over the container, sending 50 marbles helter-skelter over
the floor, I would have to crawl from one to the next,
picking up each in my mouth until it was full and then
waddling back to deposit my cargo in the bucket again.  With
50 marbles in all, this required about ten trips and left me
panting.

But finally my reward came: having to climb astride my padded
crotch-bar.  It was slanted up from the floor so I could
get it between my thighs easily, and the higher it went the
more I had to shove with my knees to get aboard it.  The top
was level with the floor, high enough so I could barely touch
both knees to the floor at once, and it made a lovely place
to stimulate myself until the time-locks opened and freed me.


                           THE END
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