How to Write Stories That Sell | rope chair tied | free bondage stories

Roger Paxton had a crush on Ms. Fox, his creative writing instructor at the University. The name was ironic, since she was a plain woman with short dark hair and big glasses that made her look like a nearsighted owl, but her chunky thighs and big ass appealed to him. On the level of personality, her reality and depth and honesty made the pretty sorority girls who thronged the campus seem like Barbies. Despite her age (10 years older than him) and accomplishments as a writer (many short stories, plus a novel mentioned in The New York Times Book Review) he sensed in her a softness and submissiveness that he could take advantage of.

At his first conference in her office he complained that he couldn't write what he really wanted to because it was politically incorrect. She urged him to go ahead anyway. So he mustered his courage and wrote up one of his bondage fantasies and turned it in.

At their next conference, Ms. Fox had trouble looking him in the eye.

"On the technical level this is a good story," she said. "The characters are well developed, the language is unobtrusive and appropriate, the plot pulls the reader along. Very professional. But I see why you were reluctant to show me." She fiddled with a pen, bit her lip, gazed out the window.

"I'm relieved that you like it. I was afraid you might call the cops. But what can I do with a story like that?"

"I certainly wouldn't submit it to Voices." They shared a laugh at the thought of the snobs who ran the college literary magazine being asked to publish bondage porn.

The laughter broke the tension. "Tell you what," the older woman said, blinking modishly behind her big glasses. "Don't worry about markets. There's always a market somewhere. Write what you want to write and follow your vision. If other people don't like it, tough. You don't end up a Pynchon or Marquez by writing what people want to read."

"OK." Roger began to breathe again. She liked it!

She stared at him coolly. "This isn't the sort of story we can critique in class, but if you want to keep writing in this vein, I can advise you privately."

"Thanks," he smiled. "I really appreciate it." He floated out of her office, trying to suppress his stupid grin.

So Roger wrote more stories, some direct from his own id, some constructed to test her tolerance. A bondage burglar fantasy, a kinky love boat a la Anne Rice, a hitchhiker kidnapped by a trucker. Ms. Fox didn't flinch at anything. In fact, her editorial comments began to deal less with style and composition and voice and more with events in the story itself. "Put clothes pins on her nipples!" or "How about chains this time?" She used green ink to make notes on manuscripts because she thought red was too harsh. When he read her comments and saw lots of green at the sexy parts he got hard, so he began to read in the nude, one hand stroking his penis. He wondered if she were aroused too. He sniffed the edited manuscript, trying to detect the scent of her hand on the paper.

In class she was cool and professional when she critiqued his normal stories. But in private she was warm and friendly. Even… flirtatious? At their fifth story conference he made his move.

"Your suggestions have been very helpful. So helpful that I'd like to have your advice while I'm still working on a story," he said. "I wonder if you could come over tonight and advise me."

"Of course," she smiled shyly, and wrote down the directions to his apartment.

Roger lived on the top floor of a house on East Jackson Street, in the heart of the University student ghetto. He rented two small rooms in what used to be the attic, so the beams holding up the roof were exposed. From the way Ms. Fox looked at his Goodwill furniture and strings of Christmas lights, he sensed it was a tad student-funky for her more sophisticated taste. But she accepted a glass of white wine and gamely perched on the shabby futon. In class she favored jeans and vest, and looked androgynous, but tonight she was wearing a short green dress, a clingy one-piece number that accented her magnificent ass. High heels, jingly metal earrings... these were date clothes. Good. She looked ravishing, and that's what he intended to do.

To break the tension they gossiped about the class. One of the woe-myn had written another rant about Man the Oppressor. Roger congratulated Ms. Fox on how diplomatically she gave helpful suggestions without mentioning that it was utter crap. Ms. Fox inquired about the other tenants of his building, and he amused her with anecdotes about Linderkamp's parties, which were well known in the University community and several law-enforcement jurisdictions.

Finally, she asked him about the work in progress.

"It's another bondage scenario. It takes place in the attic of a house during an estate sale. A man meets a woman. They flirt, and he kidnaps her by tying her up and putting her in a big steamer trunk and buying the trunk."

"OK," the writing teacher mused, sipping her drink calmly. "Where are you stuck?"

"I want him to tie her up and gag her and put her in the trunk."

"Reality check. What does he tie her with?"

"Sashes and belts from the old clothes hanging in the attic. The problem is, from a realistic point of view, is it possible to gag someone so effectively that they can't be heard? And what happens if she starts banging around inside the trunk?"

"I see," Ms. Fox mused. "And you want my advice? For the sake of realism?"

"Actually, I wanted to do some experiments."

"Experiments?"

"You know, gag you, tie you up, see what sort of sounds you can make."

"Oh." She gazed off into space. Holding the stem of her wineglass, she twirled it back and forth, back and forth, like an urban dowser looking for her next drink.

"Think of it as modeling. Artists have models, right? Why not writers? It all comes down to veracity. Like you're always saying--"

"As." She looked at him and smiled. "All right. Since you show such promise as a writer. You realize, of course, you'll have to be discreet about this. If other students knew, they would consider it favoritism."

"Mum's the word," Roger agreed.

Ms. Fox finished her drink and looked around the tiny apartment. "How shall we start?"

"Lets get you in a captive frame of mind. Why don't you sit in that chair?" he said, pointing to a simple wooden chair with a straight back. It was the one he wrote in.

She sat down daintily and crossed her wrists behind the chair before he could even ask. He tied them in an X with shiny 3/8" nylon rope, purchased just for this occasion, and tied the rope to a cross-slat. "Just a little bondage to set the mood," he pattered. Next he tied her ankles to the legs of the chair, resisting the temptation to peek up her short skirt, even though it would have been easy; the hem had slid up to mid-thigh. When she was secured, he stepped back. "How does that feel?"

Ms. Fox worked her shoulders and legs to test her bonds. "I could get loose pretty quickly."

"We can't have that," Roger said. Standing behind her so she couldn't see, he adjusted his hard-on before it burst through his jeans. Then he used more rope to tie her waist tightly against the back of the chair. Mmm, her soft stomach. Then he tied her knees to the chair legs. This spread her legs even farther apart, so that her short skirt rode up to the top of her hips and her white panties showed.

"That's better," she nodded. "Now I feel captured."

"Great. That's the spirit. Now to fix that pretty mouth so you can't scream." He took off her ear rings and glasses and put them on the desk. She looked strange without glasses, as if her eyes had shrunk and her head expanded. She blinked like a possum caught in headlights.

For the first gag, he took a long strip of sheet and tied a big knot in the center. He did this standing in front of her, building the knot slowly and ritualistically, like a waiter uncorking a bottle of expensive wine. When he held it forward, she opened her mouth obediently. He positioned the knot on her tongue and pulled the ends of the cloth tight behind her head. He felt like a cowboy putting a bit on a horse. He hoped she'd be a good ride.

"MMMmdm dmejppyp DDNmdemdmdum," she said.

"Hmm. I can't make out words, but I can sure hear you," Roger said.

He walked around her, studying his prisoner. A fully clothed woman cleave-gagged and tied to a chair reminded him of the cover of a detective magazine. This was a pleasing memory, recalling as it did the childhood origin of his fetish. She made a show of fighting her bonds, then went limp, squinting up at him with little brown eyes. Her passive expectancy excited him tremendously.

For his next gag he put a big whiffle ball in her mouth, and wrapped a 2" Ace bandage around her head to hold it in. It looked great-the entire lower half of her head was covered-but once again his captive could make grunting sounds in her throat. He removed the bandage and extracted the ball and held her wine glass to her mouth. She sipped, and licked her lips sensuously.

"A gag alone isn't enough," she decreed. "Your captive is going to be able to attract attention. Especially if she's thrashing around in the trunk. I think you're going to have to drug her."

"Then I have the problem of explaining why he happens to have a bottle of chloroform in his pocket."

"Yes. As Chekov said, the gun that goes off in the third act must be mentioned in the first. Let's think of alternatives. Could your protagonist tie her up in the attic and leave her there and sneak back when the estate sale is over and carry her out when everyone's gone?"

"That's a good idea. Let's try some positions."

Roger freed her from the chair and took her arms to help her stand. It was very natural to embrace, and even more natural to kiss. She kissed with a hunger that said it had been a while. Her arms went around his neck, and he grabbed her big warm bottom and pressed her pelvis against his throbbing cock, and they began to caress standing up, still kissing. Finally she broke away, gasping. "You will be discreet, won't you?" she begged.

"I worship you. The last thing in the world I'd do is betray you."

"Thanks."

He threw a rope over a beam. "Why don't you take off that dress," he suggested. "I don't want to get it messed up."

"Isn't that thoughtful." The tone was ironic, but she didn't waste any time stripping. Off it went, over her head. Roger was delighted to see she was wearing a white bra and brief white cotton panties. She took off her shoes and stockings and stood before him in her underwear, shyly crossing her arms, awaiting instructions.

He took off her bra. Her nipples were big and brown. Then he tied her hands together in front, and raised them over her head with the rope. He positioned her beneath the beam, and pulled on the rope until she was standing very straight, arms pointing to the ceiling. Then he surprised her by bringing the rope down her back and through her ass cheeks and between her legs. Ms. Fox gasped when he pulled it through her pussy and up in front and tied it around her waist. "What are you doing?" she gasped. Ignoring her, he adjusted the rope so it exactly bisected her sensitive slit, and took the opportunity to fondle her from asshole to pussy. When he was finished, she was suspended by a single piece of rope running from wrists to beam to ass to cunt to waist. She tried to lower her arms, and discovered that this pulled on her cunt and stimulated her.

"This is diabolical," she moaned, leaning forward to kiss him. Their tongues tangled. He seized her breasts and kneaded the nipples between his fingers. The harder he squeezed, the deeper her tongue probed. He ran his fingers through her short dark hair and pressed her face to his.

"How does this fit into your story?" she gasped.

"We're in the attic of the house with the estate sale. I've tied you up while I figure out how to kidnap you."

"I could scream."

"We're in the part of the attic off to the side, over the garage. Plus there's an auction going on, people making a lot of noise, so no one can hear you yell."

"I like the idea of being carted off in a trunk. It makes me into an object. Your personal sex toy."

"That's the spirit."

They danced for a while, Ms. Fox swaying back and forth, suspended by her wrists, while Roger played with her breasts and nuzzled her shoulders and caressed her bare back and squeezed her ass and felt her cunt. She spread her legs to help him, and this made her sink lower, increasing the rope's bite. She closed her eyes, swept away in a private fantasy, as her student gently fondled her crotch. Boy, those panties were getting soaked! He decided it was time for a change, lest she come too soon.

Roger untied the rope around her waist and extracted it from between her legs. Time to lose those soggy panties, he decided. He tied the free end of the rope to another beam, to keep her suspended. Then he peeled off her panties and tossed them onto the futon. Her pussy was dark and bushy and inviting.

They kissed again. He left his left hand drift down to her ass, while his right hand made its way between her legs from the front. Kissing like a crazy woman, she contorted and thrust her pelvis forward so his fingers slid into her. Actually, it was most of his hand. Still kissing, he slowly slid his fingers in and out of her juicy tunnel, making her moan. He put his fingers in her and his thumb on her clit, and suddenly she was on the verge of coming. He stopped cold, and she whimpered plaintively.

He untied her wrists, freeing her from her dangle on the beam, and the older woman dropped to her knees. Roger was delighted to see red grooves from the rope on her wrists. She was marked. Branded. As she knelt her hands crept to her crotch, and he realized she was going to finish herself off unless he intervened. "No!" he snapped, and pulled her arms behind her back. He tied her forearms parallel to one other, just above her big bottom, so she could lie flat on her back if she wanted to. He used a lot of rope, and looped it around her chest several times, above and below her breasts, making them stand out.

When he finished she was lying on the floor, completely nude except for the rope restraining her arms. He stood over her, admiring that marvelous ass, which was now his to do with as he please.

He helped her up and led her into the adjoining room and showed her the trunk he'd bought at the garage sale, the trunk that inspired his fantasy. Big and black. Metal edges and rivets. Leather handles. The trunk's hard cubic solidity made her soft round flesh more feminine. He stood behind her and held her facing it, one arm around her waist, one hand twiddling a hard nipple, his hard penis nestled between her buttocks.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, nuzzling her ear.

"The estate sale. There was a lovely set of oak dining room chairs I wanted to bid on. But I saw a handsome man, and followed him up the stairs, and now look at me. On the next floor down, civilized people are engaging in civilized business transactions. Buying and selling. But up here in the attic I'm naked and helpless and being molested by a sex fiend."

Roger made her lie face down on a blanket so he could bind her legs. He took her left leg, pulled it against the back of her left thigh, and tied the ankle to the thigh. Then he did the right one the same way. Because of the way he'd bound her arms, she couldn't possibly reach the knots. He stepped back and stood above her, watching as she writhed helplessly, testing her bonds.

He gagged her with a strip of cloth. For all her struggling and contorting, he noticed she opened her mouth at just the right time to accept the knot. He looped the ends around her head and through her mouth several times and tied them tightly. "That'll keep you quiet!" he crowed.

"MMMmmmMMMmmmmMMMM!"

Roger picked her up carefully--she was a solid girl--and lowered her into the trunk. Her brown eyes looked up at him, shining with delight or lust or alcohol, or maybe all of them, as he closed the lid and noisily locked it.

"You're probably wondering what comes next," he addressed the trunk. "I'm going to get Linderkamp and his roommate, and we're going to carry this trunk to my car. I'm going to drive you to a secret location. It's a house out in the country, where a friend of mine lives. He's away for the weekend, and said I could use it. When we get there I'm going to take you out of the trunk and make love to you. The place is so remote, I can keep you tied up naked all weekend if I want."

He patted the trunk. "If you don't like this scenario, make some noise and I'll let you go. Otherwise, pretend you're chloroformed."

Not a peep.

Smiling, Roger rearranged his hard-on so it wouldn't be so obvious and went to enlist his friends for some heavy lifting.