I’ve been waking up several times per night from sexual nightmares the last few nights, many of them based on my adventures the week before last, but more extreme, pushing things a lot further, to real injury, maiming and even death. It scares me in more than one way, both the obvious scare from the nightmares, but also why I’m having them, making me wonder about my own sanity, and also the very rapid buildup, despite it’s only been a week since I had a really good going over. I’ve had this kind of episodes before, but then it’s usually been taken several weeks or months of “withdrawal” to reach the intensity I experience now. Either way, the sleep deprivation is beginning to affect me too much, even besides the thoughts and fantasies almost always distracting me and affecting my performance at work. Tying myself up still feels like a poor option compared to the real thing I experienced during my conference trip, but losing my mind is probably an even worse option.
“Master Dice” is out of the picture for now, but I created an idea for my tying up on some very sanitized versions of my dreams lately. Besides, I felt it would be a shame not to put some of my new additions to use, especially the gifts from Christian and Pia.
I mainly relied on the single-glove with the auto-lock, so no ice timer was required for this session. I must admit I didn’t quite trust the complex gadget, but I still had my safety backup in case it would fail. One problem was the way I wanted to tie myself didn’t easily permit me to activate the lock, but after a test, I found the closing of the glove was so slow that I had time to fit my hands into its pouch after I had activated the closing, so that problem was easily solved.
I started with my breasts, stealing Pia’s idea on how to use zipties, vinyl tape and thumbtacks, but with a few modifications. Not having the help of Christian’s hands to “prime” my breasts, I used a simple ziptie around the base of each breast, pulled painfully tight with the help of pliers, making the breasts soon bulge, darken and throb from the restricted circulation. The marks from their previous tying, whipping, caning and thumbtacks had faded some over the past week, but was now much revived, making both the memories and my arousal stronger.
I prepared 8 strips of vinyl tape, each with 12 thumbtacks spread along it, almost emptying a full box of thumbtacks. I then wrapped the first strip around one breast, just a cm or so outside the priming ziptie, making the strip as tight as possible and the thumbtacks poke into the swollen flesh, more stimulating than really painful, and then added another ziptie on top of the strip, pulling it as tight as I could, making the breast bulge more and the sensations from the thumbtacks turn into an intensely itching but still arousing pain. I did the same to my other breast and then kept adding the strips until each breast was “sausage” tied with about a cm of taut but slightly wrinkled, glistening skin separating the parallel bands of vinyl, deformed by the tight zipties digging into them and forcing the thumbtacks deep into my flesh.
My pussy was next, starting with suctioning my clit into prominence and then tightening a noose on a long blind cord around it, trying to pull the folds back so I just captured the swollen clit head, the string mainly around its neck, soon turning the little nub into a very sensitive, glistening, purple pearl, both arousing and a bit painful. I used the inflatable anal plug to stuff my vagina, desiring something which could stretch it real hard, and then secured it with more vinyl tape, studded with more thumbtacks, from behind my anal orifice, across the sensitive perineum, and then straddling my inner labia and clit, running on either side between them and the outer labia, up to my pubes.
I prepared the rest of what I had planned, the new hood with the inflatable gag and the extra blinder strapped and locked on, the new single-glove with the auto-zipping gadget, a metal chain with a padlock, a sturdy metal anal hook with a chain padlocked to it and another padlock at the free end of the chain, a 60 cm spreader bar with straps and lockable buckles in each end, a couple of leather straps with lockable buckles, five 500 g weights, a TENS controller with cables, a pair of clover clamps and a pair of cruel alligator clamps, all with long cords attached, connected the TENS cables to the alligator clamps, and arranged the cords, plus the one from my clit, through a ring hanging down from the ceiling hook.
First, I strapped and locked the spreader bar to my thighs just above the knees, kneeled and strapped each calf to each thigh in a tight frogtie, using the leather straps and locking their buckles with little padlocks. I put the clover clamps between my thighs with their cords down through the eyes at the ends of the spreader bar and back to the clamps. I then leaned back until I was on my back on the floor, or rather on my shins and shoulders, putting a bit of strain on the front of my thighs and my belly.
I strapped the open single-glove to my chest and shoulders, and locked the ring at its bottom to the spreader between my knees with a short chain and padlock, leaving my arms free from it for the moment. I opened its controller on my phone, set the timer to 2 hours and left the start screen open, the phone just next to me and just requiring a tap to start zipping the glove and then the timer. The anal hook was next, receiving lubrication from my tongue before I fitted it into my anal, forcing it deep and arranging its chain up under my back and under a shoulder, keeping the hook in place.
I continued with the new hood, fitting it over my head, zipping it tight and locking the zipper and the neck strap at the nape of my neck with a small padlock. I had to work blind now, but knew everything needed was in reach and approximately where. I pumped up the gag plug until my mouth felt really stuffed and was forced open about as much from the plug as from the large ring behind my front teeth. With the valve locked, there was no way to deflate it, only to inflate it even more. I fumbled some, found the anal hook chain and locked it to the ring at the top of the hood, after shortening it enough to force me to arch my back even more than the reclined kneeling already did, leaving me supported by my shins, shoulders and the back of my head.
I found and added the clover clamps to my outer labia, pulled on their cords until the stretch down towards my knees was rather painful, but still arousing, before I tied them off. The cord from my clit was next, pulled until it stretched my clit good, and then I tied a 500 g weight to the cord, keeping it and my clit stretched. There is a bit of magic in this kind of tie, meaning my clit only had to bear about half of the weight as long as it was static or lowering the weight, but had to bear twice the weight if it tried to elevate the weight, so the load on my clit was actually more arousing than painful. While at it, I also grabbed the pump bulb to the plug in my vagina and pumped it up, feeling it grow and stretch me harder and harder, first arousingly, but I kept going until my inner walls were aching quite bad from the hard stretching.
The nipples were the last on my list, and despite them being quite hard from my arousal, the very taut skin on my aching breasts prevented them from budding, but I had learned a brutal cure for that, flicking them hard with my fingernails until they stood erect. I tied the weights to the cords from the alligator clamps, pulled them down so the weights went up, knowing this would be so painful I needed to work fast not to chicken out, quickly fit one sharply jagged clamp to each hard nipple, felt them tear agonizingly at my flesh while I started and upped the TENS controller some 25 notches, found and tapped my phone, wedging my hands into the bottom of the single-glove while its zipper started closing, pulled up by the remote-controlled gadget at the top of the glove.
By the time the pain from my tortured nipples really got to me, it was too late. My hands were already securely trapped and my arms were being forced together as the zipper kept closing and the single-glove kept tightening. Still, I strained and struggled in earnest to try and stop the agonizing tear from the sharp teeth of the alligator clamps and the repeated and much too intense electrical surges through my nipples and breasts, feeling tears of pain rolling from my eyes, but to absolutely no avail. However, my mindless struggle made me buck some, creating some slack in the ties both on the nipple clamps and on my clit, which the weights on them greedily ate. Remember the magic I mentioned? It meant that if I wanted to take back the slack I had given away, I would need to load my clit and nipples with about 1 kg of weight each to be able to relieve my now even more strained arching some. It felt like I was about to tear the nipples and clit off, before I had to give up, pain and agony from the self-inflicted torture overwhelming me and almost making me panic.
I tried to remain still and regain control of my breath, the hood nose plugs cutting my attempts to gasp and pant short, making me feel like suffocating, but the electrical surges made me squirm, and with each movement it felt like the weights won another few mm or so, forcing me to arch more and more. I cursed myself but tried to convince myself I just needed to stand this for a couple of hours before I would be free again. If the release mechanism on the single-glove worked as it should. If not… Suddenly it struck me, I had not texted my friend, so she wasn’t waiting for my clear message, to come and check on me if I didn’t send it.
Again, I almost choked from my growing panic making me try and breathe a lot faster than the nose plugs permitted. The single-glove gadget had worked flawlessly so far, but I was convinced that if it ever was to fail, it would be this one time when I really depended on it. I tried to calm down and breath slowly, trying to focus on my options. Struggling out didn’t seem possible. I had made a much to good job of creating my own helplessness for that. If I would somehow get free from the nipple clamps and clit noose, without tearing my nipples and clit off in the process, it could be possible for me to somehow crawl to the front door and somehow bang that enough to catch the attention of some passing by neighbor. It felt like too damn many somehows in that plan. If I just remained as was, it was possible that someone would miss me at work Monday enough to make a fuzz, and perhaps they could convince the police to try and check up on me after 24 hours, meaning 3 days before an at best very humiliating and embarrassing rescue. I supposed I could survive that, even if just barely, having read somewhere that 3 days was about the maximum you could survive without water.
I didn’t feel a lot calmer after trying to go through my options, but tried to go back to convincing myself that the auto-zipping gadget on the glove would work this time too. As time passed, my body slowly started to adapt to the continuing torture of my nipples at least, not feeling the biting clamps or the searing electricity as much as in the beginning. Instead, my major concern started becoming my clit, being stretched harder and more painfully as my muscles wore down from the strained and awkward position. My nipples were stretched harder too, but there is a lot of somewhat soft breast tissue that could yield to the stretching, a luxury that wasn’t true for the little nub rather firmly attached in my folds. Besides the actual pain, my mind becoming more and more convinced that it would eventually be ripped straight off my body, added quite a bit to my growing agony.
In the sensory deprivation from the hood, my sense of time was all gone, and I had no idea if I hade been tied up for minutes or hours, if I still had almost two hours to go or if the release had failed so I had at best 3 days to go. It felt like the best I could hope for was to loose conscious when the clit noose mutilated me and then never wake up again. My muscles had more or less given up by now, so the pain made me feel like I was hanging, my entire weight supported by the cruel clamps on my nipples and the devilish noose on my clit, slowly ripping them off my body. My mind started accepting my fate, that this was the end of the line for me, and it felt oddly comforting that it would soon all be over.
I was abruptly awoken from my semi-conscious state by a new sensation from my agonized clit. At first I didn’t know if it was some kind of hallucination, or maybe some phantom sensation from it being severed, but as my mind cleared and the sensation continued, I became more and more decided on it being neither, but someone was gently rubbing my clit. My mind raced, both from panic that there was an unknown intruder present, and from hope that there was someone present who could save me. I tried to somehow communicate my distress and that I needed assistance, but between the very efficient over-inflated plug in my mouth, and my equally efficient ties, that was impossible, so I could just remain, at least being able to relieve the strain on my nipples and clit some as my muscles seemed to have recovered somewhat during my semi-conscious period.
It shouldn’t be possible, but the insistent, gentle rubbing of my clit by some perfect stranger started building my arousal, even in the agonized and almost panicking state I was in. More or less shocked, I felt my body passing the point of no return, and one surprisingly clear thought flashed through my mind: “Hold still!” The intensity of the orgasm almost made me lose conscious, but despite my entire body was tensing and shivering so hard it hurt, I somehow managed to remain almost motionless, my shivers just producing almost vibrating small yanks on my tethered clit and nipples, adding to the orgasm, refusing to let my body slip down from its peak, but the orgasm just rolling on in wave after wave through my body.
As my body tensed, I realized through the hazes of orgasm that the strain on my shoulders and arms eased. Managing to focus, I could actually feel the zipper on the single-glove open when I stretched my shoulders as hard as I could. I didn’t even notice the rubbing on my clit had stopped as I kept stretching and straining, until the zipper was fully open and I could pull my hands free from the glove pouch. I lay dumbfounded for maybe a minute before my brain could even come up with what I should do next. Carefully, I grabbed the cord from my clit and pulled it down to relieve the strain, with my other hand managing to loosen the noose enough to get it off my hurting and very sensitive clit, leaving it almost on fire.
I knew the next thing would be far worse but also absolutely necessary. I reached up and grabbed the cruel alligator clamps on my nipples, relieving the strain on them by pulling them down before squeezing them wide open and pull them off my tortured nipples. I screamed into the gag and convulsed from the unbearable pain, and the feeling my nipples were still stuck in the serrated jaws, stretching even harder, not coming loose, until the clamps eventually tore loose and my nipples snapped back. I almost lost consciousness again as the nose plugs cut short my desperate attempts to gasp, pant and catch my breath for continued screams, almost choking me.
I lay just sobbing and trying to breathe slowly for what must have been several minutes before I could go on. It felt like it took forever finding keys, keyholes, unlocking locks, unbuckling, unzipping, unhooding, unstrapping, finding cutters, cutting zipties, pulling off tape and thumbtacks, until I finally lay flat on my back, totally naked, arms and legs spread, just breathing in a heap of paraphernalia. I was hurting all over, nipples, clit, vagina, anal, breasts, muscles, tendons and places I didn’t even know my body possessed, but the pains were a lot more bearable and almost a kind of relief compared to the agony I had suffered in my helplessness during the last couple of hours.
I slowly got to my feet and stumbled to the bathroom, with the need to relieve myself, which had been suppressed by the pain, becoming very, very urgent. Peeing burned and hurt real bad, the clamps, over-inflated plug and thumbtacks in my pussy having done their work nicely, if yet overshadowed by the pain from my nipples and clit. Not before I was standing washing my hands afterwards, I noticed my mirror image, which was horrific, with my face indented by the hood, lots of more indents from the other ties, blood on my breasts, having trickled both from my badly abused nipples and from some of the deep indents from the thumbtacks at the base of the breasts.
My hair was a total mess, as could be expected after a few hours in the hood, but I didn’t care much. I stood before the mirror and gently dabbed my nipples and other breast injuries with alsol solution, gritting my teeth from the renewed pain, but knowing it was a torture I had to endure as well. Inspecting my hurting pussy revealed no real injury, even if my clit was still swollen and discolored, my outer labia indented by the clamps, and the insides inflamed from stretching and thumbtacks. I was often amazed by how much pain and punishment the sensitive and seemingly fragile parts could take without any real damage, but then again, something designed to expel a number of watermelon-sized things over many years has to be rather tough I guess.
After cleaning up the mess I left in the other room, I unwillingly had to deal with what I really feared the most. I had already figured out who my mystery clit teaser was and suspected I was about to get a bashing that might make me wish I was back in hood, ties and torture. A quick check on my phone pretty much confirmed it all, with 9 texts and 7 missed calls from my “backup”, the one I forgot to text, her last text summarizing things nicely “Call me asap or ill be back and kill u”
I took a deep breath and called her back. She answered so fast I first thought the line had somehow been open all the time. To call her upset would be the understatement of the year. It took ten minutes or so before I could even squeeze in an “I’m sorry” into her verbal deluge. To give a brief summary, she had worried about me after our exchange Thursday and decided I needed to talk, deciding Saturday, when I usually didn’t do much but the occasional tying myself up, was a great day so I had plenty of time to open my heart to her. When I didn’t answer neither her texts nor calls, she began to really worry, painting the picture of me being so depressed I had done something really stupid. Finally, she had decided to check up on me. When she entered my apartment, using the spare key I left her, she had at first believed I was dead, finding me motionless, covered with blood and apparently not breathing. OK, she does have a tendency to exaggerate, but under the circumstances I really can’t blame her.
Desperate and panicking, she searched for a way to see if there was any life left in me at all, and the best she could come up with was to tease my clit, since that always worked with her when her boyfriend had problems waking her up. (Too much information!) Once my response had revealed I wasn’t really dead, she had kind of kept going as her version of “Stay with me! Don’t go into the lights!” She had been confused by the very much DIY impression of my situation, save for the missing timer and the single-glove which I impossibly could have strapped myself into (She thought, HAH!), and suddenly got the notion I was the victim of some sadistic psychopath serial killer that might be back any minute, and in panic called her boyfriend, who had speeded over with a huge bolt cutter, not knowing if he would use it to bash someone’s head in or to cut me loose. Anyway, he had been waiting in his car outside until my “backup” noticed I had started to wiggle out of the single-glove, not understanding how, but decided it was probably best she didn’t add any more interference, but left me to my own devices. So in the car, with her boyfriend and the huge bolt cutter, was when she sent me that final text.
I probably can’t do justice to her very theatrical way of giving her view on the events, and despite I felt really bad, I almost constantly needed to bite my tongue (just about the only part of my anatomy that didn’t hurt until then) not to giggle or laugh out loud. When she had vented most of it and needed to catch her breath, I sincerely apologized for having messed up the way I did, even if I really couldn’t know her deciding for me to spend Saturday talking to her about my sorrows and depression (though I didn’t phrase it quite that way). I was actually genuinely touched by her concerns, and if that beta-testing gadget on the single-glove hadn’t worked as intended, she could very literally have been my lifesaver. Plus I had to admit that incredibly well-timed orgasm she “accidentally” gave me probably helped me get over the previous horror, torture and agony a lot better than I would have otherwise.
When she had calmed down, we spent quite a long time on the phone. I don’t know how many times she told me “You should be locked up!” (Which I had a really hard time not to laugh at, considering that was the exact reason for the incident to start with.) and to “Get a fucking boyfriend! Or girlfriend. Or dog or whatever works for you, instead of trying to kill yourself!” (OK, the latter parts she only told me once actually, but it was so hilarious it kind of stuck.) I also told her about the single-glove and the other additions to my wardrobe I had gotten during the conference week, and she was really curious both about them and the extracurricular activities during the week, but I felt a bit too embarrassed to go into detail about that. It might sound strange, but it’s somewhat easier for me to spill the beans on an anonymous Internet site than to a friend who has my name, telephone number and spare key, even if she probably is, or tries to be, at least as kinky as I am.
I hesitated some about if to publish this, but in the end I decided to do it, even if I cut down quite a bit on some of the original writing, for various reasons. The one good thing coming out of it is that I have had a few nights with good sleep, without any nightmares I can remember at least. Even if tying myself up still doesn’t come even close to the real thing, I suppose I will still really need to do it from time to time, for the sake of my sanity if nothing else, at least until I go get a fucking boyfriend, girlfriend, dog or whatever.