Kept In The Dark

A contented sigh escaped my lips as I sank down into the steamy lavender-scented bubbles. Peace. Silence. Solitude. Just me and the water and the afternoon sun streaming through the window. And my fingers.

Dropping down to part-time from my busy job as Events Coordinator for a major fundraising firm was one of the best things I ever did. My job was fulfilling but stressful, and lately it had been wearing me out. Now that our son James was away at college, I wanted some time to focus on me and get back to some of my hobbies. My sewing machine was probably seized up and atrophied from lack of use and my garden was starting to look like one large and scary weed. My husband was supportive of my decision – his position as senior partner afforded us many luxuries without need for my income – but he didn’t know about my new hobby, which was the real reason I wanted to be home every afternoon.

As I played with myself in the hot, frothy water, I let my thoughts wander in anticipation of the coming events of the afternoon. Thinking about it made me wet in ways the water couldn’t, and after spending some time getting myself more and more excited, I came to my senses and realized I had better slow down and wait.

I slowly shaved my legs to ensure they were silk smooth before I turned to my bikini area, which looked like a Brazilian bombshell by the time I was done. When I was satisfied with the job, I got out and dried off, lingering a little longer than necessary on my nether regions. I was still excited from my earlier adventure in the bath and had to remind myself once again to hold off. Getting excited was good. Getting off early generally made things more difficult later on.

I grabbed my favorite Egyptian Cotton robe. The smooth feel of it against my flushed skin made me feel sexy, as did the fact that it barely covered my round, plump tushie, which was kept shapely by a consistent jogging schedule, despite the fact that I had been flung unceremoniously into my forties a few years prior.

As I gathered the things I would need for my afternoon adventure, I thought back to the events that brought me here. My husband Gary is a sweetheart. He loves me dearly and would do anything for me. But my sexual appetite has always been heartier than his, and while I always managed to stay somewhat satisfied in our love life, lately that had been proving more difficult, made worse by the fact that these days he was having a hard time just getting it up.

Our differences started to become more apparent after I stumbled on a movie while surfing the TV late one night. It was just a bit of light bondage, but it was enough to make me instantly wet.

After that, I was hooked. I searched for stories, photos and videos online. I couldn’t get enough of them, but soon they were no longer sufficient. I needed to experience it for myself. I don’t know why I had never thought about it before – after all, I was pushing 40 – but now that I knew it existed, I simply had to be a part of it. I craved being tied up and helpless and made to do whatever I was told.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get Gary on board. He gave it the old college try for my sake, but his heart wasn’t in it and I soon got frustrated with his lacklustre attempts at loose knots and half-hearted commands, no matter how good his intentions were.

Which brings me to where I am now, which is trying to fulfill my submissive desires through self-bondage. It took me a while to iron out the kinks, but it’s much better than the frustration I felt at Gary’s hands. And now that I was only working in the mornings, I had several hours each afternoon to devote to my new craft. There was no denying that I was missing out on a big part of what appealed to me in the first place, which was being dominated and humiliated, but my fantasies filled the gaps enough that I still found it quite satisfying.

I hauled my ever-growing collection of BDSM gear to the bed and took stock. I’d been perfecting my tying techniques over the last few months and decided to get several lengths of rope out for today’s session.

I started by grabbing my favorite butt plug. I looked at it and changed my mind, opting for a larger one that had been shipped to me recently, but that I had yet to use because it was bigger than it appeared on the computer screen when I ordered its, and its large size scared me. I had it now and I might as well make use of it. I lubed it up and took my time slowly inserting it into my tightly puckered ass, drawing it out, then back in to allow my body to get used to the stretching I was putting it through. My breath caught in my throat as the full impact of its size was realized. I almost changed my mind but I decided to stick with it. I finally worked the entire thing into my anus, the girth of it filling me completely. Hmmm. Not sure if I’m going to like this one. Oh well, it’s in now, I reasoned as I shifted around uncomfortably. Time to make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.

I grabbed a length of rope and tied it snugly around my waist, circling around my back and doubling back to my midsection. I tied a knot in front before feeding both ends of the rope between my legs, then over the rope behind my back and through my legs once again. I pulled the rope tightly so that not only was my butt plug pressed firmly into my ass, but the ropes were digging nicely into my labia. I took a little walk around the room, savoring the feeling I got from the rope rubbing against my moist pussy with each step I took. These seductive sensations didn’t stop me from squirming against the disagreeable reminder of the rather large butt plug now firmly wedged between my cheeks, however.

Next I took a long length of rope and fed it strategically around my torso, creating a complicated web that encased my breasts nicely while causing them to swell out around the tightly knit ropes.

I looked in the mirror. So far so good, but the work was far from over. With the constant reminder of my over-filled backside, I grabbed a small vibrator and turned it on low before inserting it in my increasingly wet sex. It slid in easily and I enjoyed the vibrations as I tucked it under my crotch rope, satisfied it wasn’t going anywhere.

I brought my remaining supplies over to the bed as I would soon be unable to travel far: my gag, my leather wrist and ankle cuffs, the frozen time-lock and my blindfold. I then took my time cinching each ankle to its respective thigh, tightly immobilizing my legs in a permanent bend. It was time for the finishing touches. I opened my mouth wide to accommodate a hard penis gag, which I then strapped tightly around the back of my head. I cuffed my ankles together, checking to make sure they were fastened securely. I put on my wrist cuffs and made sure I would easily be able to strap them behind my back without the use of my vision.

Darkness encompassed me as I secured the blindfold into place. This always made things a bit tricky, but I loved the sensory deprivation that having no vision created, so it was worth a bit of bumping around to complete the rest of my bondage.

I put my hands behind my back, fumbled around with my ankle cuffs and the locking mechanism, and soon had myself stuck in a severe hogtie. Lastly, I rolled onto my side to alleviate some of the pressure I would invariably feel from being tied for roughly two hours.

I shuddered slightly as I let the feeling of helplessness wash over me. In the past, I had always strategically placed a pair of scissors just within reach, but it never felt authentic enough, knowing I could escape at any time. My recent purchase of a self-bondage time lock, however, was just the thing I needed to feel truly bound and helpless. I simply had to fill it with water and pop it in the freezer, and the time it took the water to melt and unlock meant that I had approximately two hours of vulnerability where I couldn’t help myself even if the house was burning down around me. Not very comforting when I put it that way, but it was worth the risk.

I let my thoughts take me away. Today I was a foreign exchange student, kidnapped as soon as my plane landed overseas. Turns out my host found the business of sex slavery far more exciting than mere room and board.

I was bound and helpless, while being given the conditions of my stay: I would be his personal slave and I would cater to his every whim if I ever wanted to go back to America and see my family again. If I agreed to this, I would get to go home after my allotted one year stay. If I caused him grief, he would sell me into slavery to a wealthy man who didn’t care about my comfort or well-being, where I would be forced to please him and his many business associates in whatever way caught their twisted fancy.

I was thankful my vibrator was on low as I wanted to hold out for as long as possible. This was becoming increasingly difficult to do, particularly when my fantasy continued to carry me to a magical and mystical world of complete and utter helplessness at the hands of a depraved sex maniac.