Angus' Story

 
Angus' Story:
Bondage Stories
2009-03-11
Greetings all. Although I've been a lurker for 6+ years, I've been unable to
post because my only access has been through machines at work. Finally I've
weaseled an outside account and can add my meager experience to the community.

I only wish Clay was still around.

I'd like to thank everyone here for the many hours of enjoyment and education
that you've provided. When I first discovered asb I was surprised and pleased to
find a whole Usenet group devoted to what I had thought were my strange private
kinks (I was pretty young at the time, and naive).

So thanks everyone, and I hope that I will be able to contribute something
useful or at least entertaining.

What follows is a story I've been working on. I've never written anything for
public consumption before, so I'm anxious for any feedback on its quality or
suggestions for improvement. (Don't quit your day job!) If I'm not quickly
vilified for wasting bandwidth with dreck I'll post the rest of it.

And now, on with the show...

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, Master."

"Kneel... spread your knees further apart... keep your back straight... bow your
head slightly... very good. Very nice. Now lock your hands behind your back.
Very good."

"Thank you Master." A slight catch in her voice, she was nervous. Inside my
abdomen it seemed that something warm had rolled around itself.

"Now I'm going to blindfold you."

"Yes, Master."

I wrapped the white silk around her head it contrasted beautifully with her
curls of jet black hair. As I wound the smooth, cool fabric around her head I
worried that she would be able to see through it. That would show weakness,
inexperience.

"Can you see, Amy?"

"No, Master."

I flicked my hand towards her face -- no reaction. The liquid white silk was
magnificent against her hair and shadowed skin her lips were slightly open, and
she trembled very slightly as her chest rose and fell. The silence grew, and so
did her trembling, until she started to open her mouth to speak.

"Don't forget the rules, Amy."

"I'm sorry Master."

And the trembling had stopped she seemed to raise her head a little, perhaps
ashamed of her weakness.

"Are you ready to be bound, slave?"

She started. The tip of her tongue slipped out to caress her lower lip, and she
moved her head to one side slightly. I knew she was embarrassed to hear these
words spoken, but they held a shameful, exciting mystery for her. In her
interest in submission she had reminded me of a cat on the street, hovering
near, wanting to be stroked but ready to dart away at a quick move. And yet, she
returned again and again to the subject, asking why I was interested and why
anyone -- meaning me, in her insular way -- would allow themself to be degraded
so. Searching for the words that would allow her rational mind to justify
indulgence of her passion. I still don't know what it was that tipped the
balance one Saturday over a late breakfast she had mentioned casually that she
would like to stay over one night and "try some of those things, you know, the
ones we talked about." And then a blush as I nodded.

She raised herself slightly and took a slow breath, then answered.

"Yes, Master."

"Ask me."

"What?", forgetting herself for a moment. Silence seeped between us again.

"What, Master?"

I remained silent.

"Master, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

I let the silence grow, as her trembling began again.

I spoke softly: "Ask me."

She drew in her breath a little and raised herself once more.

"Master, please tie me up."

Silence.

"I'm sorry Master, I'm nervous, I forgot. Master, please bind me."

"Bind you how?"

Again, embarrassed silence, and then quietly:

"Bind my hands, Master, behind my back."

"Lie on the floor, Amy." She let herself relax from her proud kneeling position
and then bent at the waist, raising her bottom into the air as her chest sank to
the floor.

We had agreed that despite the possibility of friction burns we would use rope
it was her choice -- I think the texture excited her -- but I too was pleased
with her taste. I folded her arms behind her back so that the forearms were
parallel, wrists touching elbows. Three ropes, each wound four or six times, one
for the center and one around each wrist, holding it tight to the elbow. Tight
enough for her to feel, but not digging in. Again, I stood back a little,
lighting myself a cigarette, and looked at her. The light, pleated skirt hung
halfway down the back of her thighs, riding just highly enough to entice. Her
arms were golden against the black blouse, wound with the creamy white rope,
flexing gently as she tried her bonds. I was the one who should have been
trembling.

"Sit up, Amy. You look uncomfortable."

"Yes, Master." "Actually that was quite comfortable."

I slowly walked around her until I was facing her again.

"Oh really? Well I'll remember that. It ...
 



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