Isabel 5 | bondage story | rope, bound breasts and elbows

Isabel scrunched and squirmed, but it was no use. The heels of her thigh-high leather boots dug painfully into her ass as she knelt on the floor with a long belt wrapped around her doubled-over legs.

And her back ached from the stress of the arm binder that pinned her elbows together. But, all in all, she considered herself fortunate it wasn't worse.

Of course, that assessment would depend on one's opinion of holding one's master cock in one's mouth for more than an hour.

Ron absentmindedly twisted one of Isabel's nipples as he continued working at his desk. Like I need more stimulation, she thought to herself as she concentrated on keeping her lips tight around his soft member.

He had been very explicit about this. She was to remain motionless at his feet with his dick in her mouth. If she failed, he said he would hang her from the ceiling by her nipples, lock her legs in a spreader bar, and use her shaved pussy for target practice with a very nasty-looking whip.

Isabel was convinced he wasn't kidding, and not just because he had the cat-o-nine-tails resting next to his computer. He had made it clear he knew all sorts of correctional methods that could inflict great suffering on a woman.

Remember, you asked for it, she reminded herself. You agreed to spend the week with him as his willing slave.

And every day, she found herself slipping deeper and deeper into her new role.

After spending yesterday on her hands and knees dressed up like the Catwoman, Isabel had dared to complain to her captor.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful," she started after he unlaced the discipline helmet and removed it, "but I wouldn't mind, you know, some bondage. Ropes, chains, tied up tight and helpless, maybe even a good fucking on occasion."

Ron had simply laughed at her, then kissed her forehead.

"If it's bondage that you want, it is bondage you shall have," he told her in his best Clark Gable voice.

She spent last night on a bed in a fetal position with her legs tied together and her arms bound at her wrists and elbows in front of her. A short piece of rope knotted to a collar held her hands inches away from her chin.

"Not bad," she told him this morning. "Now what?"

She should have learned by now that posing this kind of question to Ron inevitably delivered a fateful answer.

He had led her naked body into the basement where a vast assortment of cuffs, straps, coils of rope and related impediments were laid out on a table. On the floor next to a heavy chair and a tall stool was a gymnast's workout pad. The large wooden suspension frame stood silently in the shadows.

An army of hangers was suspended from a clothesline with all sorts of black lingerie and leather, with matching footwear lined up underneath.

"Have a seat, Bettie," Ron said as he gestured toward the stool.

"Bettie? Who the hell is Bettie?"

"You mean you've never heard of Bettie Page? She's only the most popular bondage model in history. Her photos have inspired millions. She single-handedly put S&M into the mainstream of American sex. A true goddess."

Isabel gave Ron a quizzical glance.

"Well, you said you wanted classic bondage. So we're going to do it right."

Isabel smiled and sat down as instructed. What the fuck, she told herself. Besides, what choice do I really have?

"Put your hands behind your back," he instructed as he walked around her swinging a thick coil of rope.

Isabel felt her wrists being bound together. Then her forearms. Then her elbows. Then her biceps.

She moaned involuntarily as he knotted the ends, and was rewarded with a ball gag jammed deep in her mouth.

Ron went to work on her legs, sealing them together with more rope around her ankles, a few loops just above and below her knees, and several yards for her thighs.

Isabel's heart began to race when he picked up another coil of rope from the table, pulled a length between his hands, and circled her ribcage just below her chest.

By the time he was finished, her breasts were crushed between an elaborate series of twists and knots.

Ron went back to the table and returned with yet another coil of rope.

And two small mousetraps.

Isabel was thankful they weren't set to snap, but that didn't make them any less effective once Ron slipped her nipples between their wooden bases and spring-loaded metal bars.

He tied one end of the rope to her ankles and pulled them back under the stool. Next, he looped it over the knot between her wrists, then worked it under her bottom and up over what used to be her pubic hair. He pulled it up and over the rope between her breasts, then brought the other end down to the nylon around her knees and knotted it.

Isabel wriggled her feet, but she couldn't relieve any of the pressure caused by the suspension of her lower legs under the stool. The rope dug deeper and deeper into her crotch as she found out that bending forward simply made things worse.

"Be careful what you wish for," Ron told her as he picked up the wig and placed it on her head.

After a few adjustments, he stood back and whistled.

"The spitting image," he said admiringly as he pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling that turned on extra lights in the basement.

Then he picked up something that looked like a camera, only it was attached by a cable to the large computer on his desk against the wall.

"Smile."

Fifteen minutes later, Ron untied the discipline cord at the knot between Isabel's legs, removed the mousetraps (thankfully) and picked her still-bound body off the stool with the long piece of rope still trailing from her ankles.

She soon found herself lying on her stomach on the floor in a strenuous hogtie with the discipline cord binding her feet against her hands. It snaked up to her pinned elbows, then doubled back into the crack of her ass and up her torso to her distressed chest.

Isabel felt her thighs tense when she saw the black metal spreader bar with two thick cuffs bolted to its ends.

Once her ankles were separated by three feet of steel, Ron took the discipline cord dangling from her breasts, brought it up over her pussy, then pulled it up and over a beam in the ceiling and tied it to her elbows so Isabel was bent over at a 90-degree angle.

After he clamped her nipples with clothespins, the photo session continued.

"Time to play dress-up," he finally said as he selected a hanger of lacy black lingerie from the clothesline.

Isabel was starting to feel a little woozy, so she didn't fight Ron as he first untied her completely and helped her into the bra, panties, garter belt and stockings, not to mention the arch-breaking high heels. Once finished, he wrapped her wrists in leather cuffs, then tied them together with a long piece of rope. Up in the air went her arms.

"Hold up your right foot," he instructed.

Isabel soon regretted her obedience after Ron grabbed her ankle and tied the other end of the rope around it. She wobbled uncertainly as she stood with one foot suspended high above the floor and the other teetering on the spike heel.

From then on, Isabel had trouble remembering exactly what was being done to her. She recalled being tied to the chair wearing a black PVC teddy with two holes cut out for her breasts, plus matching gloves and leggings. At one point, she was suspended from the ceiling by her wrists with her legs pulled back and off the ground in the spreader bar. And she definitely couldn't forget lying on her back with her legs high in the air and a piece of rope stretching from her ankles to nipple clamps.

And all the while Ron had continued to take pictures with his strange camera attached to his computer.

Finally, he had positioned her in front of his cock, removed the gag, and told her to get to work while he did likewise. He had already come twice in her mouth, which left Isabel feeling both angry and relieved. How dare he leave her unfulfilled after a day of torture? On the other hand, there might be something to say for one less session with the ropes, especially given the raw condition of her pussy.

Ron hummed a tuneless song as he continued to fuss with the keyboard and the mouse. What in the hell was he doing? Isabel was exhausted, but her curiosity kept her alert.

When he stood up, Isabel felt a bolt of panic flash through her ravaged frame. Oh, Christ! His dick!

Relief flooded her senses when he bent over, smiled, and unbuckled the strap around her legs.

"Ready to see?" he asked.

Isabel just nodded silently.

"Well, I'm sure you're familiar with the Internet," he began to explain as he manipulated the mouse and started launching programs.

"Lots and lots of people have designed what they call 'home pages' on the World Wide Web. And now, so have I."

She heard the familiar squeal and fingernails-on-the-chalkboard rasp of a modem. Ron typed for a second, then pointed to the monitor.

After a few seconds, a photograph of Isabel in the black wig appeared on the screen.

"Welcome to the Bettie Page," read the text underneath it.

At first, Isabel was horrified. What if someone recognized her? Then she realized that the wig was a most effective disguise.

Besides, given the rather graphic image of her trussed body, nobody was going to be looking closely at her face anyway.

Ron picked up what looked like a comic book from the desk and showed her the cover. "The Bettie Pages," it announced. Isabel had to admit that her picture on the computer did bear more than a passing resemblance to the cheesecake model in the magazine.

"Not bad, eh? Check out the way I set up the table of contents."

Ron scrolled down to reveal a series of small images, all showing Isabel as Bettie in various states of bondage.

"See, if you click on one like this..."

The little pictures disappeared, and a new image began loading.

"You can check out the rest of the photos in this series."

Images of Isabel/Bettie bound to the stool filled the screen.

Isabel smiled, and then started to laugh. This guy was simply too much.

"I'm glad you like it. I certainly enjoyed creating it."

Ron gave Isabel a tiny kiss on the cheek, then shut down the connection.

"Instead of making some grand announcement, I'm just going to let it run and see if we get any hits," he told her. "Even so, by the end of the night, I'll bet there will be messages about it in every newsgroup on the net. You'll be the bondage queen of the Information Highway."

"My mother will be so proud," Isabel said with more than a little sarcasm in her voice.

"Well, I'm exhausted, but I did make you a promise, and I intend to keep it. Follow me."

Isabel took a deep breath. Was this finally it? Was Ron finally going to make a dishonest woman out of her?

He led her to the mat, and told her to turn around. When she was facing away from him, he unzipped the binder and freed her arms.

Her mind began to race. Right here, right now, right here, right now, right...

"On your knees, please."

"Please?"

"All right, on your knees, slave."

"That's better," Isabel said as she got down on the mat, her head still facing away from him.

"Hold up your arms."

A spreader bar like the one he had used earlier on her legs, only shorter, soon separated her hands.

"Open wide."

He stuffed a wad of cloth between her teeth, then sealed her mouth shut with a wide piece of duct tape. Before Isabel could react, he slipped a rubber training harness over the top of her head. Once he had it adjusted, it covered the lower half of her face from under her chin to just below her nose.

Uh, oh. Isabel suddenly realized he had something more on his mind than getting laid.

Isabel's boots suddenly felt very clammy against her perspiration-soaked skin. For the first time all week, she found herself starting to panic.

"Keep those arms up," he said as he did something to the spreader bar which sounded like it involved some kind of chain.

She felt a tug, and then her back straightened as Ron pulled the bar up toward the ceiling.

At least I'm still kneeling, she thought until Ron used thick leather belts to double over her legs and lock each of her ankles to the back of its respective thigh.

This is not good at all, Isabel told herself as Ron pushed her legs apart, then walked away. The weight of her body rested entirely on her knees, and it didn't take her long to realize that bringing them back together was quite impossible.

She heard what sounded like a cabinet opening.

"I have a very special present for you," he said. "Something that should alleviate your frustrations once and for all."

Isabel still couldn't see what Ron was doing, but she certainly felt the head of the rubber dildo pierce her tender folds.

Isabel heard the sound of a small motor, then gasped as the dildo plunged deep into her vagina.

Much to her surprise, it pulled down, then thrust upward again. And again. And again.

The machine was a simple one: a small wheel attached to an electric motor that rotated it, plus a short arm bolted to the rim that held the dildo on a pivoting joint. As the wheel turned, the rubber cock went up and down like a piston, while the pivot kept its path straight.

But Isabel didn't know this. All she felt was a giant rod ramming her pussy relentlessly. Even at its lowest point in the cycle, the damned thing was still buried a good three inches inside her. And at the top...

She tried to beg him to turn it off, but no sound escaped her thrice-gagged mouth.

"Think what they'll say when I apply for the patent," Ron said as he headed up the stairs.