In Perpetuum bondage story | keys, bathroom, chain

He it was who introduced me to the world of bondage. Not that I regret it. Far from it. Indeed it adds a certain... er... is piquancy the right word? When I'm with him then I could wish for nothing else in the whole wide world. Yet, when he ties my hands, blindfolds me, chains me to the wall, shackles me to the floor or to his bed or even to my own bed - in short, when he takes away my control of myself and of my world - there is a certain added... there has to be a word somewhere that can describe what happens inside me.

From the very first encounter he swept me off my feet. That's an easily repeated cliche I know but it was so very true. I was an instant slave, putty in his hands. He was an impressive figure of a man in expensive but by no means flashy clothes; he drove an interesting car that was neither too big nor yet too small. He was easy to get along with and made me feel good about myself as well as about himself.

He had me finally nailed to the wall when I accepted his first invitation to dinner at his house. It was fabulous but in the same quiet style that characterised him. He gave me a wonderful dinner and afterward we spent a merry evening as he tried, with little success, to teach me the mysteries of backgammon. That I was a complete dunderhead in the game seemed not to worry him any more than it concerned me. We just had a great evening enjoying each other's company until he drove me home.

We had two more such evenings before he extended an invitation for a weekend At another place he had in the country. It was a truly memorable time and, if I knew disappointment at all, it lay simply in the fact that he eventually drove me home yet again. It was clear that neither of us was virgin but he was not the man to rush his fences and I had a cultivated habit of not pushing men.

Two more dinner dates and then came a second weekend invitation. But this was a public holiday weekend; in fact it stretched from Good Friday to the following Tuesday and it would be far from the truth if I were to say that I did not prepare in hope.

He picked me up early on Friday morning and by that evening the weekend was well and truly on its way. Not too heavily reinforced with wine over dinner I responded happily to a late-night invitation to sleep with him and I awoke next morning feeling like the proverbial million dollars. Saturday night we gravitated to the bedroom much earlier and things flowed very satisfactorily until, during a short break for refreshment, he suggested that I might like to try something different?

"Different? In what way exactly?"

"Well, will you start by trusting me?"

"You've never given me reason not to."

"I'm going two use two props," he said and leaned over to a drawer in the bedside cabinet. "This is a blindfold - I want to do this in the dark."

"Are you wearing one too?"

"We might spend all night looking for each other."

I laughed as he fitted it over my eyes and tied it gently behind my head. I lay there taking in the fact that now I had no idea of what he was up to; I had to lie and listen and wonder.

"The second prop," he went on, "Ah, but first put your hands... up there." He took my wrists and gently extended them up above my head. I nearly giggled because, lying there in darkness, very naked and with my arms above my head, I felt very wanton. He did it swiftly and with great gentleness so that my wrists were shackled to the bed-head before I had any realisation of his purpose.

For a few seconds I tugged on the handcuffs and then, finding that I was secured irrevocably to the bed, I stiffened and prepared to object - as loudly as possible. "Hush. Hush." With two fingers on my lips, he whispered to me in a tone that conveyed anything but menace. As I had said - I did in fact trust him but it was the surprise. And that surprise was a major part of his purpose. With an absolutely feathery touch he stroked me - and he knew where to stroke - and whispered to me and soothed me. Slowly I fell under his spell until I cared not at all whatever he might choose to do to me. He was a magician - perhaps he had learned to know me better than I shall ever know myself?

And there, buried in darkness, "weighed down" with shackles and aroused to the very heavens I wallowed as that man made wonderful love to me. Never had I experienced anything like it and, without the first-time novelty, I probably never can experience it again. Occasionally, as I sought to bring my own hands into action, I tugged at the cuffs and the abrupt reminder that I no longer owned any hands gave me such a kick as is impossible to describe. How long I remained in his care, I know not; the only thing I remember about that first night was awakening the next morning to wonderful sunshine, bird-song trilling in through wide-open windows, a mighty feeling of languorous lethargy; I asked only that I be permitted to lie there and enjoy the wonderful morning.

It ended with startling suddenness as I received notification of a toilet-visit being imminent. The act of a luxurious stretch and then coming to a sitting position – or rather an attempt along those lines - revealed that I was handcuffed and that, from those manacles, a long chain ran to an anchor point on the wall. I was being held a prisoner! Last night had not been a dream! Yes, I could reach the loo-cum bathroom but...

I looked around but could not see any sign of my clothes nor nightwear of any sort. Not even a morning coat or anything that might render me decent. Hang on a moment - why was I suddenly anxious about decency? Perhaps I should have felt fear but, instead, I felt a steadily rising tide of excitement. Not just my clothes had been taken away - I was left with nothing that had been mine. In fact, or so it seemed to me, I no longer owned even myself! I used the bathroom and then found that, although I could get into the shower, there was a problem in that I lacked a towel. Very damp the only thing I could do was to get back into that big bed and - wait.

Finally he came and he brought with him a big smile and a large tray with breakfast for two. I held out my hands, scarce thinking of what I was about, and again I received that tingle in my groin as he shook his head: "No. You're my prisoner until you reach home again. I have made you my sex slave. Behold - you are taken!"

"Reach home again? Then I can expect to be released?"

I was being saucy but he rose to the challenge: "I haven't decided yet. If you can fulfill my requirements as a slave then... of course I will keep you." It was said in such a matter-of-fact way that my breath left home.

"But... keep me? Where? How?" Somewhat aimlessly I shook my cuffed hands which raised a little ripple along that chain to the wall. And then, looking up in consternation, I saw the smile breaking on his lips.

"Would you like that? Be kept here against your will? Hidden away whenever anybody calls? Heavy chains to ensure that you cannot escape?" Oh, yes. He knew the effect those words were having on me. Then he took my face between his hands, kissed me fully on my lips: "Perhaps we should discuss these matters AFTER breakfast?"

***

And that was how this life of mine began. Have I done something to deserve such luck? Two years into our marriage and he has kept the magic alive. He uses a whole armoury of devices on me - plus those extraordinary hands! He can make me do anything - anything at all - once he sets his mind to it. And I am very willing because the rewards are so tremendous. I may spend whole nights – and often many whole days - in his bondage and always I know that, apart from that delicious feeling of being helpless, of having no choice but to wait and see, he will eventually come. He does not come to release me however only to change something, to cuff or bind my hands in a different position or perhaps with some new idea of how to render me one-legged or sometimes no-legged! A real warmth flows ever through me because, always held in captivity, I am relieved of all responsibility.

Degrading?

No. Perhaps I am a natural subordinate but, nevertheless, in his absence I could easily - and willingly - take over the reins as I did once in those days before he "captured" me. But the restraints give me a feeling of being cared for, of being cherished; you see, without his presence those very restraints would rapidly leave me in serious trouble?

One of the highlights of my ongoing excitement came two days after he announced that he had to leave for a conference on " the day after tomorrow" and would be away for three days. I made all sorts of plans to keep myself busy although he forbade any form of self-bondage as being too unsafe. On the morning of his departure I was up early to see him on his way. As I came out of the shower I was seized, thrown face down on the bed, cuffed behind and locked into what proved to be transport chains. The hobble chain however was very short and so was the hamper so that, with legs that I was unable to straighten, I could only travel in safety on my rear end.

As swiftly as my attacker had struck so did he disappear. I wriggled my way to the top of the stairs and, with care, started slowly down. The identity of the assailant was not in doubt but his purpose was a different matter. He greeted me as though we were meeting for a cup of coffee and there were no unusual happenings! "I'll be away in a few minutes," he said. "Expect me - perhaps day after tomorrow - but not later than early afternoon the next."

"I'd kiss you goodbye if I were able to get up."

"Oh, that's not something to worry about. I can easily get down there."

"You're not considering leaving me like this, I hope."

"I can't bear the thought of losing you, my dear. If I'm to be away for more than a few hours... I want to be sure you'll still be here when I get back. I've set out sufficient food and drink for you in an accessible place in the kitchen. Now... I've got everything I shall need...?" He patted his pockets: "Yes, well goodbye, my dear. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

He was gone. I felt... it was indescribable. I sat there for several minutes before I was able to take in the fact that he had left me helplessly confined in strict bondage. For two, perhaps three, days I was to be alone in the house, closely shackled and on the floor because I was unable to get up, unable to stand up. I might perhaps get to the telephone and summon help but that would mean explaining...? No. It had to be a joke. He'd never done anything this cruel and heartless before. But without doubt he had gone.

As I worked my way from room to room I found that he had drawn the curtains everywhere so that I would not be subject to the prying eyes of any chance visitors. But, the thought horrified me, had he thought of burglars, thieves? This was an isolated house with the appearance of wealth. He could return to find that someone had done more than just stolen his slave-girl. Stolen me?

Then the doorbell rang. I shuffled from the kitchen where I had been looking at my supply of victuals and was nearly there when it was rung for the second time. Evidently the postman was too impatient to wait - it occurred to me later that, even had I reached the door, I wasn't able to open it! - and a small packet tumbled through the letter box.

The house at one time had sheltered a dog who, presumably, had a taste for postal packets and a wire cage had been fitted behind the letter-box. And that is where the packet was lodged. My eyes could reach those parts where my hands could not and I easily identified his handwriting. Had he posted me the keys with which to free myself? It would be like one of his teases. And much good would it do me! It occupied much of the morning as I struggled to a crouching position, turned my back and reached for that cage. Time and again I tumbled but the thick carpet prevented any injury.

His name had been taken in vain many, many times before, at last, I held that packet in my fingers. Tearing it open while holding it - perforce - behind my back was not much easier than its retrieval but, finally and in a state of near-exhaustion, I had a small bunch of keys in my possession.

But... why so many keys? The rat... I had to find the only one amongst a dozen or more that would open my cuffs. I decided on some refreshment first and shuffled my way back to the kitchen. Halfway there I suffered a sudden fit of...? I rolled helplessly in my chains as a massive orgasm burst through me like a runaway juggernaut. Recovering I was unable to decide whether to curse him or to bless him but finished my journey and took a long drink.

Only then did I discover that, in my throes, I had dropped the keys! So began a slow backtrack but, in sight of my quarry, I fell prey once again to the rogue instincts of my poor bound body and wasted yet more time as I thrashed and jingled around on the floor. With those precious keys once more in hand I began the task of sorting to find THE key. For the first time in ages I could now see a chance to be completely out of bondage.

So easy when you can see the bunch in front of you BUT, put that bunch behind so that you must work blind and then add in the fact that holding your hands behind your back makes everything work backwards. Then you may perhaps understand why, perhaps an hour later, I was simply crying with frustration and still helplessly held in a soft hogtie.

Then gentle hands took hold and gently turned me over. "My. What a mess you've got yourself into. Now tell me, would you prefer that I bath you first, feed you first or remove some of these chains?"

I was so relieved to see him... and to feel him... and then came a surge of resentment so that I strove mightily to scratch-out his eyes. I wished nothing more than to tear that smile from his face. But chains can have real uses apart from erotic effects – my scratching claws were confined behind my back and he came through all those evil intentions unscathed.

In a nutshell he removed the link between cuffs and hobble and carried me upstairs to the bathroom where he bathed me and restored some of my good humour. It took a while and several lots of good food and a deal of cuddling and a never-ending session of petting and cajoling and many pretty speeches... before I condescended to allow him to see that there was really nothing to forgive. Writhing and struggling over the length and breadth of the floor I had indeed got into one hell of a mess but... he had given me a damn good time.

I'm not going to tell him but I'd bet a lot that he knows I'm looking forward to his next prank. Meanwhile, locked up and tethered, I have all this dishwashing to do!

That's right. I am permanently held captive. Since that night when he first handcuffed me to his bed - since that morning when he announced that he'd taken me to be his slave - I have never known a moment without being shackled in some way or another. I have been his slave without one moment's freedom. I have been denied any say in the way I pass my time. Maybe it's because I have never asked him to let me go? It might certainly be interesting to ask him. But... not today, eh? Perhaps... tomorrow?