The Pole bondage story | crotch rope, chains, gag

She stood with her back against the pole. It was a considerable log, perhaps nine or ten inches in diameter, and so firmly planted in the ground that it could have grown there. She had been standing there for perhaps twenty minutes and her ankles were beginning to complain at the necessity to take her weight. But she continued to stand there simply because she was unable to move.

He'd said he had something new to show her and, she had to admit, this was certainly included in that category. He'd started by tying her hands together in front. Palm to palm he had wrapped the doubled cord twice around and then, separating the ends had taken two cinching turns in between to make the binding a snug fit around her wrists. It wasn't tight but not even her slim wrists could slip out – he had, after all, put in plenty of practice on them.

He'd tied the knot between her arms where neither fingers not teeth could reach and she was most of the way into helplessness. But something else was new. The two loose ends were not the same length and usually his work was so neat and exact. One of the ends was but a few inches long while the other hung down several feet. A crotch-rope was not a novelty but he had never tied one this way?

Turning back to the table he'd selected another short length of rope and tied it between her ankles to make a twelve-inch hobble. Perhaps he was remembering the last session when she had landed a forceful kick on his rump that had sent him diving under the bed?

Next he selected a length of hemp and began to tie a most strange knot at its centre. It was a mess - not a bit like his usual work. "This will be rather dry to your mouth," he explained, "so we'll wet it first."

"That won't gag a canary," offered Julie.

"We live and learn," was all his reply - and learning she most certainly had acquired. The dunking in a glass of water plus the saliva in her mouth had caused the hemp to swell. That knot might have been a mess to look upon but, given a little time, it was now doing a magnificent job - from his point of view, at least. She wondered how much more it would grow?

Next had come the ear-defenders; she was rendered deaf! New, certainly. Then came the hood. Not the lace-up leather one but just a simple black bag which denied her vision. Then, seizing the end of the long tail from her wrist binding, her had led her out to this place. Apart from the fact that they had left the house and walked for some distance through the grounds and descended steps - she had not the slightest idea where they might be.

Because of the hood and the ear-defenders her ears had not detected a change of acoustic but she knew that they were once again indoors because of the cool air now washing over her bare shoulders.. Julie had made many visits to his magnificent home but it was so huge that there were many corners, nooks and crannies yet unexplored by her. She had discovered, quite by accident, the sliding panel in the corner of her room which gave on to a narrow staircase that led down through the massive outside wall. But, exploring with the aid of her pocket torch, she had finished up at a blank wall. Maybe it was a sliding or lifting door but, even with her architect's eye, she had failed to see any sign of a join. The discovery she had hugged to herself hoping that she might yet discover more things about this ancient building - perhaps something that was as yet unknown to Harold. This place in which he had tied her was certainly one of those on which she had yet to stumble.

He had brought her to a standstill and allowed her hands to drop. At first she'd thought he was starting shenanigans but he had been passing the lead back through her legs. For a few moments he had left her standing there and she felt some ague activity via the rope. Then had come the steady pull. There had been no alternative but to step backwards in response until she had finished up with her back against this pole.

She knew now that the rope had been threaded through a hole in the pole and tensioned so that her hands, pressed against her crotch, were holding her trapped. He had then taken it up the back of the pole through some other anchor points and around her neck. Then she had heard him hammering and realised that the end of her tether was nailed to the pole. Without doubt he did not intend her to escape. To discover that she had been mounted on a pole like a butterfly specimen was not, at first, pleasing but the fact that she couldn't release herself - she was truly captive - held not by knots or locks but by driven nails - slowly began to arouse her.

Left alone, she began nevertheless to scheme a release. It was then that her true predicament began to show. The rope from her hands passing through her crotch and then through the post was causing her to stretch up partly on to her toes. Unlike a normal crotch-rope this one was taking her weight - and that quickly became painful. The obvious way out, to step over the rope - and she was flexible enough to achieve the feat - was denied by the hobble. It was crude and hardly a matter of bondage but, with her hands pinned into her crotch and her neck looped to the pole, an attempt to slide off the rope and perhaps fall on to her side was equally denied her. Just like the butterfly of her first thoughts - she was well and truly pinioned. Forced to stand upright, partly on her toes, back hard against the pole. It was such a simple arrangement but so effective. And what had he planned next?

She was beginning to worry about the swelling knot in her mouth when abruptly the hood was pulled away. At first she was thrilled at the Gothic proportions of the torch-lit chamber. A whole series of brick arches and vaulted galleries seemed to stretch away in never-ending confusion and it seemed clear that they were underground - that long flight of steps down which she had stumbled?

But then she felt a creeping horror. She was tied to one of five similar poles that were set in a circle. From somewhere in her mental archives came the thought that five of them formed a pentagon and was not that associated with witchcraft? All five poles held women captives and each was immobilised in bondage that exactly matched her own. Two poles away, almost at the opposite side of the circle, stood a girl with gorgeous red hair who could only be the maid Annie. The one next to herself, which she could see only with some difficulty, might have been Harold's sister Eloise; dimly that name echoed as being in common use in stories About witches. She couldn't be sure of her identification but the idea alone was enough to scramble her wits.

Gagged, helplessly bound in a world rendered silent by the ear-defenders she could only stand and wait for whatever was planned for her future. She had come to like Harold immensely and he had always been considerate toward her in their bondage games. She had dreamed of marriage and of becoming mistress of this magnificent estate; she'd had good reasons for believing that Harold was interested in her. Very interested, in fact.

Now? This was too elaborate to be a hoax, surely. This was not just another bondage game. He had inveigled her into this situation. She had trusted him and he had led her like the proverbial sheep to the slaughter. The sense of betrayal was bitter indeed and perhaps the more so that now she was powerless to do anything about it.

Suddenly most of the torches around the walls were inverted and extinguished and she became aware that only the circle within the posts was now illuminated. From where that light was emanating she could not determine but her attention became focussed on two cloaked and cowled figures that were slowly advancing into the light. From the manner in which they walked, their body language, she reckoned that one was male and the other female. Clearly they were both tall - Harold and Eloise? But then who was the girl tied next to herself?

She twisted her head around to look again but, to her amazement, the post was now unoccupied. She looked the other way; the redheaded Annie was still there but the other two poles also seemed to be unoccupied. She hadn't been aware of any activity such as would have been necessary to free them, or to remove them, but then her hearing was blocked off and the novelty of the situation could well have distracted her?

The man approached her and in his hands he held an elaborately carved and decorated mask which he ceremoniously lowered over her head and secured it there with a chinstrap. Once again she found herself blinded. Something was pushed between her body and the pole and deft hands began to buckle a belt about her waist. There came a thud against the pole and the cord holding her hands slackened. Her relative freedom was short-lived however because the cord was straightway seized, pulled up and tucked under the belt before being secured tightly at the back of the mask.

This classic crotch-rope was infinitely preferable to the uncomfortable arrangement from which she had just been relieved but now her head was pulled back unless she stretched her arms downward. She could see little purpose in the tie unless it was just to keep her hands under control.

An arm linked with each of hers, one on each side, and she was urged forward. She had little choice but to co-operate because any resistance resulted in pressure between her legs and a downward pull on the back of her head. When they stopped she was pressed down on to her knees and then rolled on to her back. Hands seized her on every limb and she was stretched spread-eagle; the crotch rope that had terminated on the back of the mask had apparently been severed and her hands were cut free. Soon she was secured with four leather cuffs attached to - she was sure - ropes. If this was a witches' lair and she had been taken by a coven then - was she now stretched on an altar? She had not seen anything of that sort within the circle of poles and they had certainly advanced into that circle. Perhaps she was stretched on the ground? There was no way of telling. She could only lie there and wait.

That there was activity around her was certain but, denied both sight and hearing, she could not interpret it. Fear had a great hold on her mind but she was not one to panic; rather was she trying to understand the situation and, after all, it was at least a great opportunity to pursue her interest and researches into the history of witchcraft. She composed a silent prayer that she might survive the experience and so complete the work.

She went into what she was later to describe as 'free-fall' and came out of it suddenly to realise that all signs of activity had ceased. She listened intently but only silence penetrated her ear-defenders. Had she been left alone? What little she had learned of their practices and rituals did not include any of this present business.

Well, there was one sure way to find out. She erupted suddenly in a furious struggle against her restraints. She desisted and listened again. None came near her. Once again she began to roll and heave and then ... she was sure that something had given. She arched her back and concentrated her efforts into the right arm where she felt sure the play had occurred and ... her right hand came free!

If there was someone left to guard her she had not a hope but she rolled to her left and worked desperately to unbuckle the cuff on that wrist. Then sitting up she felt under her chin, unbuckled the chinstrap and, with a grunt of triumph, shed the mask. She tore the ear-defenders from her head and hurled them from her but left the gag while she freed her feet.

She came on to all fours ready to spring at or to dodge any who might seek to impede her escape but she was alone. She had indeed been secured to the floor at the centre of the circle of poles. The place was now softly illuminated with small electric spotlights and, as she worked to remove the gag, her architect's soul revelled in the beauty of the place.

Half way around her first circuit of inspection she came upon the archway and, through it, a narrow flight of stairs very reminiscent of the flight she had explored from her bedroom's secret panel. She began to climb, her bare feet soundless on the cool stone of the steps, and was struck by the similarity of this passageway to that she had discovered earlier. The place must be honeycombed with these? The stairs terminated in a short level passage and then she began to climb once more and ended face to face with a panel almost the exact replica of that opening from her bedroom.

She pulled gently on the release lever and, as the panel slid back, stared unbelievingly at her own possessions. Swiftly she stepped across to her wardrobe in search of clothes and froze: "It didn't take you very long. Well done, indeed."

Unmistakably it was Harold's voice. The room was flooded with light and, as she turned, she was confronted by a row of seven cowled figures. For the first time she let loose a small scream but her voice dried up in her throat. Then the cowls were thrown back to reveal the grinning faces of Harold, his sister Eloise, the unmistakable red hair of Annie, two other men who were strangers to her, the little maid who waited at table and was called Helen and another woman also unknown to her but whose tall stature easily identified her as another sister in the family.

Said one of the unknown men: "You sure don't scare easily. You ought to be in hysterics by now."

Harold advanced holding out her dressing-gown for her to slip into: "We'll explain it all ... later ... you see ... we had to be sure that you could take it. I was sure you could ... but they all have the right to their own opinions."

"I would have thought," began the unknown sister, "that with your interest in witches and your knowledge of their reputed habits, you would have been panic-stricken to be anywhere near ... ".

***

Julie raised her glass and the ruby-red wine seemed to glow in the light of the candles: "I forgive you all," she said softly, "but I have to say, no matter your compliments, that I WAS scared. In fact, you scared the living shit out of me."

"It's not a matter of whether or no you were scared," chimed in Harold; "we needed to know how you would handle it."

"I suppose some people freeze, like a rabbit, and just wait for the axe to fall. My reaction is to seek a way out. No credit to me - it's just the way I am."

"Well," said Eloise, "it is a pleasure to welcome you into the circle. Just the type we need if the house is to survive."

"Survive? How can I...?"

"Eloise is superstitious," said her brother. "There is a family tradition - legend is probably a better word - that the house will crumble away should the Coven fail to remain here. Do you believe in witches, magic, witchcraft?"

"No. But you came damn near convincing me that witches exist and practice their craft. You maintain the Coven, you say, but do you really believe in those things?"

"Not me."

"Nor me."

Eloise was strangely silent. "I have never had reason to believe ... but somehow ... I can't altogether dismiss ... ": she trailed off into silence.

"Perhaps," said Annie, speaking for the first time: "Perhaps you are just the person that this family needs. Somebody steady and intelligent. You have knowledge of these things. You are interested in them. And this place is a veritable museum of witch-information gathered over a couple of centuries." She stopped and looked at Harold.

"That's all right, carry on. You have perhaps more right than any of us to expound. No personal axe to grind, so to speak."

Annie nodded, her fiery locks waving magnificently about her face. "Witchcraft was practiced from this house for a couple of hundred years at least. The family ruled even beyond the estate and probably did so with blood as well as fear. It's pretty certain they were black witches. God knows how old those poles are that we used tonight but it is certain they could tell some evil tales could they talk. Where the legend came from is not known but we keep up the charade of practising witchcraft to ensure that the old place won't crumble."

"That would indeed be a great shame. It's a glorious structure. When I discovered that passage by accident I hoped that my knowledge of architecture might help me to find a deal more."

"Not an accident," said Harold. "We set the panel deliberately for you to find it. We shut-off the passage so you wouldn't find too much. But you are due a great time when you start on our library. As to what lies under us ... you have no idea ... yet."

"A pity that she managed to escape though," mused the other sister: "I was rather looking forward to the burning."

"The WHAT?"

"For the second part of your initiation ceremony we were planning to burn you at the stake - real witch stuff, that."

Stupefied, she could only look from one to the other. They seemed to be serious about it but ... surely...?

It was Harold who cracked first. Roaring with laughter he spluttered: "So ... we CAN frighten ... you it seems. In fact we have enough stuff here to mount our own magic show. Might come in useful if the estate should ever need money. But I insist that we do not explain. If you want to know how ... then you will have to stand at that stake and be burned."

"Forgive me," she said in a small uncertain voice: "But isn't that a somewhat ... er ... drastic way to find out? I'm trying to gather information but I draw the line at dying for it."

"Don't worry. The library is equipped with a stock of flame-proofed paper so your work needn't go unrecorded."

***

Julie still had goose pimples when the following evening they prepared her for her burning. She was dressed in a one-piece flameproof bathing suit and heavy leather shoes. "Looks a bit incongruous," lamented Annie, standing back to inspect her: "but I'm not too good at treating blisters. Better safe than sorry, as they say."

"You are truly a great comforter," retorted the sacrifice.

Annie produced a pair of handcuffs with which she secured Julie's hands in front and then a pair of leg irons. Next she explained that witches were always kept blindfolded to prevent them paralysing onlookers with rays from their eyes - the infamous evil eye - and she tied a blindfold tightly over Julie's eyes. "Also," continued Annie, "they had to be gagged else they might utter curses, valedictions of the unpleasant kind or mutter spells." With that she popped a ball-gag into Julie's mouth and strapped it at the back of her head. It wasn't a large ball and the straps were not pulled tight but it effectively prevented her from any casting of spells.

Annie grasped the chain between Julie's hands and led her away. She sensed rather than knew that they ended up in that same underground chamber although the route they used was much shorter than the one Harold had followed and much safer than the narrow staircase that connected with Julie's room. "One step, up," she commanded and Julie found herself standing on a small platform with her back once again against a solid pole.

Still holding the handcuff chain Annie mounted on something and pulled Julie's hands above her head; when she let go Julie's hands remained up there. The girl removed whatever it was she had climbed on and then, from behind the pole, pulled a short chain around Julie's waist and a solid click announced that the victim was once again closely associated with her pole. A second chain followed around the prisoner's neck and then another around her ankles. "Must be certain I don't escape," she thought.

As though she had read the victim's mind Annie explained: "It's necessary to use chain restraints in these cases else the fire would release you."

A few moments of silence followed and then she heard a small engine fire-up. It sounded like a piece of garden machinery and this was shortly confirmed when, with a jolt, the platform, the pole and Julie all began to move. "Every mod-con. Take up thy burning pole and ride!" But once again Julie was beginning to wax a little anxious; this was all too real to be accepted without a qualm. She really was - once again - completely helpless. She could have no say whatever in what they might decide to do to her. There had been no talk of safewords and, gagged and tightly chained to this pole with her hands way up above her head, she had few options anyway in the way of signalling.

And it was strange indeed to be transported like a sample of goods; she felt that she knew exactly what luggage experienced at London Airport! Standing erect, unable to move away from her pole, unable to object or call for alteration, not in any way aware of her destination; she seemed to have stepped out of civilised human life and was just being jolted around as might a piece of garden furniture. Perhaps, were she for real a so-called witch condemned to a fiery death, that might be the real truth - she no longer counted?

When the equipage came to a halt they were undoubtedly out in the open air. The tractor was uncoupled and driven away and Julie was left to wait. Then the blindfold was removed to be replaced instantly by a heavy black lace veil: "Ray screen. They certainly believe in doing things by the book."

A cowled figure carrying a scroll appeared in front of her and read out her crimes, her conviction and the sentence that she be burned alive at the stake. Then came the diminutive figure of Helen to thrust a burning torch into the brushwood piled at a short distance around her platform. Until that moment Julie had not noticed the fuel for her execution because, surely, it should have been piled up around her? Not that she wished to raise any objections but it was curious. The flames took hold and then she became aware of a hollow roaring noise. The fire immediately began to take its task seriously and leaped higher and higher at a frightening rate. BUT ... it was keeping its distance.

But for the gag Julie would have burst into laughter. The roaring noise was a blast of air and was the obvious cause of the fire's enthusiasm. It was coming however from a series of vents set all around her platform and it was forming an air curtain between her and incineration. Very little heat was in fact reaching her despite the ferocity of the fire that no doubt, as seen from afar, was engulfing her.

There wasn't too much fuel and the fire soon exhausted itself and the roaring noise ceased. Harold, his cowl thrown back, came to stand in front of her: "Well?"

She nodded her head at him furiously: "Well, if you're going to be like that about it, perhaps we'd better leave you here to cool off," and he turned away again.

"Urrrmmmff." Julie began to thrash around, although the tight chains left little room for it.

He turned back: "Oh. Do I take it you want to be released? Why didn't you use your safe-word? But then, of course, you can't can you? You're dead. Hold on a moment and I'll fetch the urn for your ashes."

Julie began to delineate his ancestry, to forecast the sticky end that was coming to him and rounded off with a string of bloodcurdling threats. He scratched his head: "Can't understand a damn word. You really must learn not to talk with your mouth full."

The moment was saved as Annie returned with her mini-tractor and, still helplessly chained against the pole, Julie was towed back to the chamber with its torch lights and ring of poles. Until that moment it had not occurred to her that this was a sixth pole, doubtless a modern introduction although ... it was possible that stage magic had always been more real than true magic?

Annie turned off her motor and climbed down to earth. Then, carrying a wooden chair, she climbed up beside Julie on to the platform. She released Julie's feet from the pole but left the hobble still in place. Next she removed the chain that was locked around her waist and then freed her neck. With the aid of her chair she removed the gag and then reached up to delete the connection between Julie's handcuffs and the pole and Julie was able to relax with a sigh of relief.

"You look as though you just kissed a chimney sweep," laughed Annie. "Yeah. Can't wait to get a shower but that was certainly some show. Whom do I congratulate."

"Oh, Harold is the chief of witches. He does all the clever stuff."

"Well, if you'll kindly get rid of this ironware for me, I'm for that shower first." She held out her manacled hands, the chain swinging in a loop between.

"Um ... no. Afraid I can't do that."

"What?"

"Harold has reserved that bit for himself. Wouldn't want to get me turned into a spider, would you? Who would make the beds?"

"Annie...?"

"Sorry love. With the best will in the world ... those irons are Harold's own ... his specials ... and he holds the only key - or keys."

"So what happens now?"

"Oh. Whatever takes your fancy. Have a shower if you like; it won't harm them. If it does then who's to blame?"

"Don't you people ever stop? Bondage games I'm certainly used to but I'm beginning to think ... ". She stopped; she was getting a new angle on this establishment. Master, mistress, servant and family they certainly were but somehow it seemed that this old house and its associations, its legends and family ties had united them in a closely knit family in which all shared more or less the same privileges. She had seen Annie defer to Harold only to have him instantly hand the telling back to the servant. If the house had once been the centre of a black-magic coven then surely it was now making amends by encouraging some very-white magic.

She turned toward the passage that would give directly on to her room: "Don't forget you're still in chains," warned Annie. "Can't have you starting your career as a witch by breaking something."

She turned back: "Annie. How the hell am I going to get dressed with these things on me? Surely I'm not expected to roam the house and come to dinner in my birthday suit?"

"Dinner will be strictly formal tonight and a special gown - a period gown - has been laid out for you. Don't worry. Those irons won't stop you getting dressed for what is to be YOUR night."

"But..."

"No buts. It's not for us to choose anyway. If you agree to join us in our silliness then tonight is mapped out - no variation will be allowed. Go get that shower and think about it. You'll find the family regard it all as hocus pocus and silliness but ... they are devoted to their heritage and take any ceremony seriously."

When later she emerged from her room clad in a most remarkable gown she ran straight into Harold. He took her hands and held her off while he examined her; twirled her around and then back to face him: "I like," he said. "Yes, I like very much. Did Annie explain that, for you, tonight is to be make-your-mind-up time? Will you join in our frolic? It's not a condition for access to our records but they all like you very much. I like you ... VERY much. Can you fancy yourself as a witch?"

"How can I answer such a question when I'm not a free woman?" She held up her hands to stretch the chain before him. "Why these?"

"Only one reason that you are cuffed," he said with a wry grin. "I happen to like seeing you in that condition. And seeing that my will reigns in this household ... cuffed you must remain."

"And if I object?"

"If you dare to take such an insolent stand then you shall be cuffed behind, our heaviest ball will be attached to your foot and you will sit at OUR dinner table wearing a large ball-gag. Does that answer your question?"

"All but one ... how long am I to remain locked up like this?"

"I've yet to decide. Is that all?"

With a happy grin she said, "Yes ... Master" and, taking his proffered arm, she jingled her way toward the dining room.