Having It All (6 page)

“I was, except for the chained wrists, a perfectly bound and captive Gwendolyn match. I could see myself easily in the mirror and I got even wetter between my legs. I knew that having taken the final step of putting the arm band and wrist chain on, I had perhaps violated my own code about back-ups and safety, but I was having far too much fun at the moment to worry about getting free.”

“That’s not uncommon in auto-bondage,” Frank offered as Katy stopped to get her breath. “I think most of us get carried away with the moment and our guard is down and then we may make mistakes. At least you decided not to use the handcuffs!”

“Oh yeah,” said Katy quickly. “If I had put cuffs on, I would have been even more freaked out. And I really love handcuffs, as you can tell,” she said as she rattled the cuffs that held her hands behind the seat. “There’s something in hearing the cuffs ratchet closed and feeling it on your wrists that is like nothing else.”

She hesitated a moment, and then added: “Well, I suppose its relative. Having a tight rubber or leather hood pulled closed behind your head, or having that huge ball gag jammed into your mouth. All of those things have a psychological impact on the submissive, in self bondage or otherwise, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” said Ellen. “When I play dom it’s always evident that certain moves cause much stronger reactions with the victim than others. Some people will have an orgasm just seeing a gag or hood or chastity belt. Much depends on the relationship between the top and the bottom, as well as on the driving motivation for the session in the first place.”

“The driving motivation in this case was to simulate what I had seen in the Sweet Gwen books. That was all,” said Katy. “Perhaps I thought that eventually Secret Agent 69 would come by and free me. Gwen, I mean. As I struggled, the blouse began to come off my shoulders and this was even more erotic for me. I realized that I had been moving so much that I had literally popped the lower buttons on the blouse and was now more or less fully exposed from neck to waist with the collar of the blouse back over my shoulders and the sleeves sliding down to my arm bondage. That situation would come up again later, but at the moment, I really don’t know what I was thinking.

“I took more pictures, turning sideways as much as I could and hoping that the camera would catch the lovely arm bondage with my elbows nearly together and my shoulders pulled back, my hanging breasts fighting to get out of the bra cups and my obviously stressed look as I struggled to escape.”

“I’d love to see those photos,” Frank interjected, getting another whack on the shoulders from Ellen.

“I have them in an album at home,” said Katy. “Maybe we can do a book.”

“Go on, Katy. Sorry we interrupted,” said Ellen.

“So anyway,” said Katy, picking up the thread. “The hanging rope loop held my arms and hands up and out away from my body and I had to bend over even more to ease the strain on my shoulders. Looking up into the mirror, I was pleased to see that I saw a perfect reproduction of Gwen, at least in my head. I was totally enthralled. Anyone who might have been watching would have had a great shot of my breasts nearly popping out of the bra cups, my hair getting into my eyes and my ass sticking out behind me. I was soaked in sweat, my panties were glued to my ass and crotch and the tops of my stockings were wet with the combination of sweat and drool and seepage from my pussy. I was already wishing that I had violated the Willie image and put a nice tight, multi strand crotch rope in place, but it was too late for that.

“I was the captive in the old barn and I was very well restrained. I was there for anyone who found me to do with me as they wanted. I moaned into the gag. I struggled and wiggled my arms, switched weight from one bound foot to the other, tugging at the floor chain. I waved my hands at the empty air and twitched my aching shoulders. I used the last of the photos in the camera.

“This went on for quite awhile, but eventually I was getting tired. My feet ached from the ultra high heels and the position was killing my arms and shoulders, not to mention my chained wrists. It was now late afternoon and it was time to get loose. Only I couldn’t. No matter how I twisted my wrists, I could not loosen the chain loop. I twisted the chain one way and then the other. The loops on my wrists eased only a little bit, but did not come free. I then figured that I could improve my position a bit by getting the elbow bondage off. I tried this several times, but the sweat-soaked sleeves of the snugly fitted blouse, which was now around my upper arms and the buttons at the tops of the gloves wouldn’t let me wiggle the triple rope loop band down over the elbows. This meant that the arm band wasn’t coming off my arms and the suspension from the beam, held by my hands, would not allow enough slack. I was screwed.”

Chapter Three

Katy’s Mistakes

“I knew it,” Ellen burst out from the back seat, “too many marginal conditions.”

“Right,” said Katy. “Visions of the worst possible fate ran through my head. I would eventually collapse from the strain and my arms would be pulled from my shoulders in a modern version of the Spanish Inquisition torture of Strappado. I would die hanging there, wrists and arms bound to the beam and feet chained to the floor ring. Even if I didn’t fall, I would never get anyone to come because of the gag. The ladder was pulled up and no one would even think of searching in the barn until it was too late.

“How stupid, I thought,” said Katy to her now rapt audience.

Both Frank and Ellen were silent, perhaps putting themselves in the same situation and trying to decide what they might have done.

“I went for the knife, which I had forgotten in the midst of my fear. Reaching the sharp blade in its sheath on the garter belt at the base of my spine was very difficult. I had to bend over so far that my eyes were staring at my knees; a nice exercise in the gym, but no fun when you are hanging by your wrists and your legs are tied. I flailed my hands, my fingers trying to reach my back, and then bending even more as my hands touched my spine, seeking the hilt of the knife. It didn’t work. The rope from the beam was just too short and there was no way to reach the knife. I was scared and tired and hurting everywhere. The multiple orgasms had tired me out and I was starting to hate everything about what I had done. ‘Stupid, stupid stupid,’ I yelled to myself into the gag.

“Finally, some level of sense crept back into my fuzzy brain and I reached for the bowline knot on the loop holding my chained hands to the beam rope. I had learned to tie knots as a kid and I knew that one of the great benefits of using a bowline to make a loop, or a bight, as it was called, was that, if tied correctly, a loop made with it would not tighten up. The second value of the bowline was that even if pulled tight, the knot could almost always be undone by bending the knot first. This was my last chance, I knew. If this failed, I’d be there until Christmas. Still bent over and raising my arms to put as much slack in the beam rope as possible, I fumbled with gloved fingers for the knot. I found it and it was tight from all the strain. The extra leather in the fingers of the gloves didn’t help, but slowly, I bent the knot this way and that until I could feel that it was opening a bit, then carefully I pulled the short end through the knot and felt the loop open. My chained hands fell to my waist and the strain on my upper arms relaxed. I was free! Well, sort of.

“My next move was to pull the beam rope down and then grab the end and pull the arm band slowly off my elbows. This was hard to do because the sleeves of the blouse were soaked with sweat and the glove tops and buttons inhibited the twisted rope band from sliding down. Again, I went for the knife and this time found it. I used it to slowly saw through the rope loop and released my arms from the twisted band of rope. The chain still held my wrists and no amount of twisting seemed to work, so I concentrated on other things. It was nearly dark now in the loft and it looked and felt like a storm was coming. But now, at least I could stand up straight. I quickly reached down from behind and carefully cut the ropes around my thighs, then the knee ropes and leg ropes and then finally, the ankle ropes. This left me with the chain bound wrists, the chained feet and the gag. It was simply impossible to reach up and unfasten the knots that held the gag in place, so I figured that I would work on freeing my hands first.

“But the real mystery, the question that nagged me all through this struggle, was what had happened to the chain loop to keep it so tight? I had used these chain loops many times before and they had always worked fine. In the dim light of the barn loft, I could not see what was wrong, even by bringing my chained hands around my hip where I could see them, but not the damning link. Futilely, I tried to jimmy the link with the knife, achieving nothing except dulling the blade on the steel links.

“By now, it was late afternoon and the daylight was almost gone. I bent down and then tipped over on my side, grappling for the combination dial on the lock on the chains around my ankles. It sounds easier than it was and it took me some time and more sweat to get the right combo and unlock my feet. I struggled to get up and decided to take off the heels. This made things a lot easier. I went over to the boarded up loft door in the front of the loft and, using the knife, pried a few of the boards off enough to let some more light in and looked out. Amazed to see that my parents car was now back in the driveway up at the house, I thought about trying to get their attention. Aside from the obvious problem of having to explain why their twenty year old daughter was chained up in the barn loft in some odd costume, there was the more specific issue that with the gag I was not going to get anybody’s attention. The gag had to come off. My solution to that problem was to snag the wrapped length of the fabric that was around my head on a hook that was used for a lifting pulley, sticking out from the door frame. With some hard and slow work I got the tight face wrapping loose and it finally fell around my neck, forming a loose, but still complete noose. The knot was not coming undone without my fingers working it. I immediately started pushing the soggy fabric out of my mouth and that took longer than I thought it would, another hard lesson to remember, for sure. As I went to step away from the door frame, I discovered that the gag wrapping, while loose and around my neck, was now stuck on the hook in the frame. I was held there by the neck. Great. ‘Now what?’ I thought.”

“Hey, Katy,” said Frank. “You’ve got to tell us. How the hell did you finally get out of this? I can’t stand the suspense.”

“Well, hold on to your drawers, Frank,” said Katy, laughing. “We’re almost there.”

“The solution to my problem came unexpectedly in the form of Roger Bream, a neighbor boy who I had known all my life. I heard a whistle outside and looked through the hole in the door and there he was. He comes walking up the driveway with his dog and I couldn’t believe it. This was my salvation. It was even better because Roger and I had played bondage games as kids; him tying me up in this same barn and I tying him now and then as well, as we played cops and robbers and cowboys and Indians. It had been fun and I think we both held those times in memory. He once tied my hands over my head to a rafter in the barn and gagged me with his scarf, roped my feet together and then left me there for a couple of hours. I think he took a nap in the hayloft, but I didn’t mind.

“So, anyway, I stuck my head as close to the small opening in the barn door and called him: ‘Hey, Roger.’”

“Completely surprised, he spun around and his dog barked a shocked bark. Neither of them knew where my voice had come from.

“Up here Roger, in the loft. Can you come over and talk?”

“Katy,” he called back, still searching the barn for the source of my voice. “Where are you?”

“Up here in the loft. And boy, am I glad to see you. I’ve got a serious problem.”

“Oh, I see you,” he finally said, looking at the barn door but probably not seeing me in the dim light behind it.

“Open the door downstairs and come in,” I said.

“Coming. Come on, Buddy,” he called to his Black Lab. I heard the door being rattled below.

“The door’s locked, Katy. I need a key.”

“Oh shit. Kick it in, Roger. It’s just stuck.”

“Okay.” He kicked and the door flew open, slamming back against the inside wall. He was now on the main floor, downstairs.

“Roger?”

“Katy. What’s wrong?”

“I’m tied up in the loft and I pulled the ladder up after me and can’t get to it. Can you find a way to get up here?”

“Dark down here.”

“Turn on the lights.”

“Okay. Easy for you to say. Gotta find the damned switch.”

Suddenly the lights came on and I felt much better.

“There’s another ladder over here. It should reach the loft. I’m coming up.”

“Hurry, Roger, I’m really freaked out.” He came quickly up the creaking wooden ladder and was there, suddenly, standing backlit by the light coming up from the entry hole in the floor of the loft. His look was one of amused fascination as he saw the mirror and the camera. He bent over and picked up a couple of the photos and whistled. Below, his Lab barked.

“Katy, what have you done? You look lovely, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, save the compliments and see if you can get me unstuck from this hook on the wall and then we need to work on my hands.

He grabbed the wrapping material that was stuck to the hook and pulled it off, then put his hands on my shoulders and turned me around so that he could see my chained wrists.