Ascension | free bondage story

Sometimes I just love myself. I guess that isn’t politically correct, but what the heck. Every now and then, I’m a genius. This was such a time...

Kate was a daring girl. She always challenged me, not least when it came to bondage feats. Of course, there were times when she cursed herself, regretting her bold words, but on the whole, she was very content with our relationship and our games.

Well, this particular evening, we were out in the wilderness, living in a tent, exploring ways to tie a girl to trees. As the afternoon dimmed, I thought it was time to launch my newest invention. I had Kate stand in front of me. Starting off with a few standard precautions, I tied her wrists palms together behind her back. I also secured her elbows, her ankles and knees. The blindfold went on, as did a large ballgag with a leather seal covering her mouth.

Next, I tied some strands of rope around her torso, just below and above her breasts. She was a little surprised that I didn’t include her upper arms as I usually do, but I thought she might understand why later. I then tied a long piece of rope around the two previous windings, forcing them to meet in front, thus hugging her breasts and making them pout out.

I then took a short pause in the tying to caress and kiss her helpless body. When her moans told me she was very eager for more, I produced two soft latex dildos. They both had built-in vibrators powered by batteries in maneuver boxes attached to the end of a cord. When I inserted the largest one in her moist love cave, all I got from her was a deep sigh from anticipation. But when I started to intrude her rear with the smaller one, she started to buck. I had never before used that part of her, and she had never asked me to, so it was new to us both. Keeping my left arm in a firm grip around her hips, I slowly proceeded. Her resistance was only half hearted and I was able to achieve my goal without too much struggle.

Next, I took the other end of the rope that I had tied between her tits, lead it through her legs from behind, looped it around her waist and tied it in front. Then I secured the power boxes from her vibrators to her ankles with tape.

It was time for my invention. I got a box from the trunk of my car. Placing it on the ground next to Kate, I could tell she was curious. I opened it and picked up its contents. First I carefully placed a large silk cloth on the ground, undoing its folds until a large elliptic sack lay in front of Kate’s naked feet.

I had been debating whether she would be blindfolded or not, but I came to the conclusion that the effect of her listening and wondering would be the greatest. I could see her desperately wanting to know what was going on as I allowed the balloon to slowly lift off from the ground. I then fastened the rope from her tits leading through her legs to a safety hook hanging from the ring that held the balloon’s mouth opened. Next, I cinched a very long nylon rope to her ankles and secured it to a pole I had earlier driven deep into the ground.

Directing the torch into the balloon, I kept heating the air until the rope started to lift her breasts upward and pull on her crotch. Finally, I could see her toes desperately reaching downwards in vain. She was lifted from the ground until the rope from her ankles was stretched and she was kept down by nothing but her anchor line. I then removed her blindfold and sat down in front of her exposed body while she looked around and got the full comprehension of her predicament.

I couldn’t help laughing when I saw the miserable look in her eyes. This was even worse than she had bargained for. The strain in the ropes around her tits and through her crotch was very intense, and the prospect of being sent towards the sky surpassed even her wildest dreams. I watched her fight her bonds, humming through her gag and pleading me to be merciful with her big dark eyes. Patiently I waited until I could see that humble look in her eyes and body that told me she had given up hope. Being such a fighter and wildcat, it always turned me on to see her admit defeat.

As I got up, I took a little silk banner from the box. It had clamps attached to two of the corners and small weights attached to the other corners. I attached the clamps to her nipples, smiling at her as she closed her eyes and moaned. At least that was a sensation she was used to. Unfolding the banner, I read its message to her:

“Sir Adrian Hunter, have fun! Return babe to tent at road end up north. John Writer.”

I then turned the heat up and held the torch to the opening of the balloon, heating it up until I was confident Kate would reach new heights. Putting the torch out, I untied the anchor line from the pole. Slowly I let Kate rise toward the sky, holding her still until her ankles were in front of my face. Kissing her lovely feet, I turned the two vibrators to maximum. Then I continued to feed more rope, watching her twisting body rise higher and higher.

When almost all of the rope in my hand was gone, I knew she was about 40 feet up. Slowly, I started to walk down a small trail leading to the cabin where I knew Sir Adrian was celebrating his holiday.

The night was still and not much could be heard…a soft summer wind was playing carefully among the leaves, and a distant owl was howling. Otherwise, all was quiet, with the exception of an occasional desperate moan from Kate up above, but generally the gag kept her noise low. When I reached the cabin at the shore of a large lake, I proceeded as quietly as I could. As I passed a dimly-lit window, I guessed Sir Adrian was there, nursing a drink or two. I went to the front of the house and firmly tied the anchor line to the railing surrounding a comfortable veranda.

Looking up, I threw a kiss to Kate whom I barely could see in the dark. Knowing that she would eventually descend as the balloon got cold, I left her to her fate and went back to our tent.

I hate being alone on holidays, especially the real ones that don’t move around to the nearest Monday or the fourth Thursday or however those silly Christians figure out the date of their spring fertility festival. I never understood why Easter makes them feel so guilty. Such a lovely, natural celebration of the reproduction process, all those cute little bunnies fucking and splendidly-pagan glorifications of the mother egg, mucked up with fables of gruesome executions. Granted, I have my moments when it comes to depictions of suffering, but never in my worst nightmares could I have dreamed up the concept of crucifixion, much less force children to worship statues of their purported Prince of Peace in such agony. And to think they call me perverted…

So when a friend offered me the use of his mountain cabin for the long Fourth of July weekend, I figured it was the perfect way to escape everything that reminded me of what will never be. It sounded like the set of a fairy tale directed by Spielberg…on the banks of a shimmering lake surrounded by a forest so dense, insects had trouble squeezing between the pines. Miles from the city’s incessant intensities, it promised to be beatific to a fault. Upon arrival, I was surprised to find that his portrait of his bucolic hermitage had been uncharacteristically modest. The place was, as they say in my neighborhood, totally whack.

After a long day broiling in the sun, followed by a feast doing likewise to lesser creatures in the Weber, I found myself debating whether to build a fire before settling down to make a serious dent in a bottle of Ketel One…anything for an excuse to light something besides cherry bombs in honor of my involuntary Independence Day. I found plenty of logs in a hopper by the stone hearth, but proper kindling seemed to be in short supply, so I went outside to root around for sticks and bark and related dryrot before dusk completed its metamorphosis into dark.

I almost didn’t notice the rope tied to the railing surrounding the deck. But there was no mistaking the faint, yet very familiar, sound high above my head.

At first, I figured I was hallucinating. Too much sun playing tricks on a fragile psyche. Then I looked up at the sky and saw something rather large obscuring the panorama of early stars, not to mention what suspiciously resembled a character in one of my stories doing an unlikely imitation of an angel.

A gentle tug informed me that the rope was real, but “no fucking way,” followed by a serious reconsideration of my atheism, was my inelegant response to what I found attached to its other end.

Thanks to fast-advancing delirium, not to mention darkness, it was quite a struggle to untangle her from the balloon once she touched down on the deck. I wrestled with the knots, and wondered distractedly what Akasha would do in a situation like this…probably pull a stiletto out of the top of her thigh-high boots or something similarly capable. I felt bad when the balloon floated away, but only for a moment as I apprised what was obviously a sign from Mount Olympus that the rest of my life was going to be excruciatingly dull after tonight.

I squinted at the banner that hung from her nipples. “Sir” Adrian Hunter? What’s this “sir” shit? The only master/slave relationship I’ve ever been party to involved stadium-size amplifiers chained together to provide entertainment for teenagers. Then it dawned on me that someone knew I was here. But who? How? And most importantly, why was he, or she, or whatever gender-impartial pronoun is fashionable this week on the soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm newsgroup, presenting me with a damsel in considerable distress hovering over my holiday retreat wearing a blatant hint to escalate hostilities?

Rational thought not being my strong suit at that exact moment, if ever, I scooped her into my arms and carried her inside.

Once I saw her in the light, I realized the only thing that made sense in the message flapping in front of her torso was the “babe” part. Good grief, even with the gag, I could tell she was gorgeous, and that word failed miserably when it came to describing her charms below her neck. I walked around her slowly as she stood trembling in the middle of the living room, gaping at her curves like someone who just woke up from a lobotomy.

Finally, I noticed the telltale wires leading from her crotch to the boxes taped to her ankles.

“Where are your manners?” I admonished myself as I knelt down, switched them off, and began untying the ropes around her legs, then everything else except her wrists. She seemed to get a little woozy after I unclamped her nipples, which gave me a welcome opportunity to touch her radiant skin, but I got the distinct impression she didn’t really want me to slip out the vibrators.

I hesitated before unbuckling the gag. What if she screamed bloody murder? Like the squirrel family up the road was going to call 911? Given that this situation was the furthest possible thing from safe and sane, I decided we might as well at least make it consensual.

“Hi, are you okay, how did you get here, weren’t you cold up there, do you want something to drink?” I babbled, making my usual bewitching first impression. She simply nodded yes, so I scurried off to fetch a glass of water.

After her thirst was sated, I stared at her face in silence until I composed myself into a semblance of my laughable reputation as a steel-eyed, ruthless and diabolical dom.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth every time.”

She took a deep breath and nodded her assent.