The Sunshine Girl
  • Author - Morlock
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 330 of 2955
  • Story Codes - f-self, consensual, electricity, enema, extreme, machine, self-bondage, suspension, torture, toys
  • Post Date - 12/27/2010

Author's Note: A little story that I whomped up to pass the time while at the mercy of the airline industry. About a girl who loves self bondage and collects equipment to satisfy her needs.

I have a tip for you girls who like toys - forget the boyfriends who are investment bankers, lifeguards or the like. All you get from them is money or big dicks. Get yourself an engineer.

My name is Mary Lynn Decker, 32 years old, widowed and I love bondage - specifically, self bondage. Severe self bondage and with a little to a lot of pain thrown in. There is nothing spectacular about me - average height, brown hair, still a good figure since I watch out for the junk food. My hips are wide, my waist is narrow - not a teenage size, for sure, but still narrow enough to give me a decent hourglass look below my C cups. In other words, no man has yet kicked me out of his bed.

My husband, may dogs grub up his bones, was killed in a vehicle accident and the resulting insurance payout was sufficient to keep me from becoming a destitute widow. I have a small paid-for house, and do part time work. I don't have to, but I like to get out of the house during the week. And, work is much more pleasurable when you know that you don't have to do it. During the last six years, since my fortunate loss, I have made several male acquaintances - not boyfriends, just mature men who like a sexual romp on occasion.

One, a certain Thomas Graves, is a mechanical engineer. He isn't into B&D at all - tied up women hold no special interest for him. His fetish is pussy, no matter if it is tied, chained, loose or willing. His dong is totally indiscriminate. However, he has free access to my body at any time, and any place. If his nut pressures are reaching the critical level, all he has to do is call and make sure that I am alone, then come over and enjoy whatever he wants, as long as he wants. And I make sure that when he leaves, his balls are as empty as our state treasury.

For this, he supplies me with the most marvelous bondage toys - toys that cannot be found in any Internet sex shop, no matter how complete. Please note that I am NOT an engineer, so some of my explanations will probably be wrong as I try to describe my single car garage - now made into a self bondage studio.

I have always loved the feeling of restraint. Long ago, as a flat chested little girl, I would be "captured" by the boys in the neighborhood, as they played out their games of cops and robbers, or cowboys and Indians. Being tied to a tree with rope, or locked in a "cave" - a cardboard box - was absolutely thrilling, although I didn't know why. At that age, sex had nothing to do with it.

As I passed puberty, I would wrap myself in sheets like a mummy, buckle belts around my ankles, waist, and chest, and lay on my bed for hours. Since my pad in college was a single room rental flat, I had the nights to myself. I would lock a chain around my ankle that was too short to reach the light switch, then the other end to my bed. Since I used a combination lock, I couldn't free myself until the next morning when dawn arrived. Later, I would spread eagle myself on the bed, with only enough slack to be able to see and turn the dial on the lock the next morning. One night, a punishment session turned real when I developed a severe case of the flu or a virus by midnight. I don't even want to describe what came out of both ends of me, and what I laid in and smelled for the balance of he night.

After college, I made a disastrous marriage, fortunately without any children being produced, and was rescued by the intervention of fate or some kind god somewhere.

Friday night rolls around. I have an entire weekend for self bondage, scheduled to start the next morning. People into this particular flavor of kinkiness - I say people, because I assume that there are men who like it also - soon find out the problems of not having a partner. The first, of course, is being trapped by a too secure setup and either being discovered in an embarrassing situation, or actually dying of thirst as you slowly expire.

So there is the problem of making the bondage real, but the critical part is that you have to be able to get out of it eventually. I have seen all kinds of schemes using melting ice, or water dripping slowing out of a bucket, or even a computer with a timer program. All of them have the problem of being prone to failure, or just flat not working.

Once I knew Tom well enough, I asked him for advice on the subject. He was interested and over the course of months, tinkered up a series of devices for me. What I got out of it was a set of professional self bondage "machines" - what he got was the fun of tinkering on mechanical stuff, and of course, access to my freely available pussy.

Early, Saturday morning I get up before dawn, eat something, then give myself an enema so as to be totally empty - I am not into scatology. When I enter my garage, what I see is not the usual cement floor under walls filled with shelves of junk, but a vinyl floored, paneled, windowless room. First, I flip a switch on the wall to activate the equipment. I boot up a computer, then click on an icon to get a program running.

I pour some previously prepared liquid into the proper receptacles. This will be explained a little later.

The first item to be installed is a high quality butterfly vibrator that is made to exactly fit my spread pussy, with a stub that fits around and encloses my clit. This one will almost make me climb out of my skin on the more intense settings. It is controlled by a computer program that selects a day's session profile randomly. I have no idea if it will be just a mild stimulation all day, or a rollercoaster ride over and over. There is a finite chance that it may not start at all. Of course, this whole setup, program and little black box that the vibrator is plugged into were made by Tom.

Second is an enema bladder. I lube it, insert it slowly, then pump it up and make sure that the tube leading to it is ok.

In the middle of the floor is a thick mat on which I lay down, back to the mat, naked and with my legs spread. Two chains leading to eyebolts in the floor allow me to enclose my ankles in bracelets and in a way that my legs are widely spread. No locks are used, just some snap hooks.

Directly over my ankles, two more chains descend from the ceiling and terminate in wrist bracelets - again with snap hooks and no locks. There are no keys to lose or drop out of reach. At the moment, the chains are long enough for the bracelets to be laying on the mat.

Today I would be not be using any of the head masks, just a large ball gag. My bondage dungeon is private, but not totally soundproof. Especially when I am screaming bloody murder in pain. I have trained myself over the years to retain a mouth splitting ball for hours. At the end of the day, my jaws will be sore, but not cramping as they used to do before I got used to it. Once the gag is in, I snap the locks on my wrists bracelets and lay down. There are no clocks in the room - on purpose - so I can only guess at the passage of time. Laying there, I drop back off to sleep.

I open my eyes, wakened by the movement of my arms. They have been very slightly pulled off the mat and as I watch, are slowly being pulled toward the ceiling. I immediately pick up my water bottle and drink all I can hold - it's all I will get for hours. I pull a large five gallon bucket over and place it in the center of a line between my chained ankles. Being a woman, there is no way I can go all day without having to pee.

In a few minutes my hands have been elevated and spread enough that I can no longer reach the snap hooks on a wrist with the other hand. For better or worse, I am going to be restrained for the day. Soon they have pulled me to a sitting position, and, as the chains retract faster, pull my arms over my head and start to lift my butt off the floor. I stand up and wait for the inevitable. My arms continue to rise over and out from my head until just to the point where my heels will start to leave the floor. Then the movement stops. I am well spread, naked and wide open, vertically in a big X. From this self bondage, there is no getting loose, and I don't bother to try. Conan himself couldn't break these chains and bracelets, much less a 32 year old woman. I will be here until past sundown.

Now the non-engineer in me will attempt to explain what happened.

On the western slope of the roof of my house are two large solar panels, those big black thingies that turn sunlight into electricity. Connected to them, and in the back yard, is a small air pump run with a DC motor. I don't know what that means, except that it will run slow in the mornings and evenings when the sun is low, speeding up to noon then gradually slowing down in the afternoon. The pump feeds a small air tank. A special tank, as I will explain in a moment.

The air from the tank goes into a very long air cylinder. This is a device that will extend its long rod when air is fed into it, and will retract the rod via a spring when the air pressure goes down. Are you with me so far?

Here is what happens. When the sun rises at dawn, it hits the solar panels and eventually begins to turn the pump. As air is slowly fed into the tank and then the cylinder, the rod in the begins to extend and pulls on the two chains that are connected to the rod, through some pulleys and then to my wrist bracelets. This happens very slowly at first because there are two very small holes in the air tank that continuously let air escape. Only when the output of the pump begins to override the loss of air through the holes, does the chain begin to move.

As the sun gets higher, the output of the solar arrays is also higher and the pump runs faster. It only takes about an hour for the mechanism to draw me fully up into my position. One safety built into the system is that fact that the cylinder rod runs out of travel at exactly the point that I am fully spread, so there doesn't have to be any safety devices to keep me from being pulled in half - devices that could fail. The power of the cylinder far exceeds my ability to resist - I can pull with all my might and it makes absolutely no difference in the movement of the chains.

In the evening, as the sun sets, eventually the pump slows to the point that it isn't keeping up with the leakage of air from the two small holes in the tank. Gradually, the cylinder rod spring begins to pull the rod back as the pressure in the tank falls and my chains descend, eventually all the way to the floor where I can pick up one of the keys and unlock myself, usually sore and well cramped by now. And depending on the settings of the computer, orgasm'ed out.

The system is designed to be fail-safe, to use Tom's description. The air is always leaking out of the tank, so if the pump, or the solar array fails - or if a wire or hose comes off, the leaking air will let me escape eventually. Once I even got loose because of a major storm that totally blocked the sun for hours. He even made two air leak holes, instead of one, on the slight possibility of one becoming plugged.

There are other toys in my room, controlled by the computer, but without any particular safety considerations, since a failure of it may cause the action it is controlling to fail to start or stop, but will not permanently trap me in bondage.

One is a valve that will open only a maximum of once per session, and maybe not at all. It seems to trigger about every third session on the average. This valve sends air to a much smaller cylinder that is connected to the chain just where it is attached to the big cylinder rod. This one causes the chain to shorten a few inches. It is as if you pulled two chain links together, that are about twelve inches apart, then slipped a lock through though them - that has the effect of shorting the chain the about a foot. In this case, since my body is at full stretch, the effect is to lift me completely off the floor about six inches. The computer randomly decides the duration, from about five minutes to an hour. And believe me, the time is pure torture and I dread it. But the fear of it happening is so delicious that I always enable the feature.

Another device that is obvious when you enter the garage dungeon, is a whipper. This isn't very big, and looks simple, but Tom worked on it for almost a month. An air cylinder moves an arm, at the end of which is a wide leather strap. Differing amounts of air pressure determine just how fast it swings. The leather is too wide to cut my skin, but depending on how hard it is wielded, it can be brutal. The whip arm is moved up and down randomly so as to hit a different place on my back or butt the next time. Once again, the computer decides if this day long session is going to be mild or brutal, on anything in between. Everything is random - the number of strokes per day, the speed of the stroke, when they happen. I can be standing there for hours, in my usual stand up dreaming state, and suddenly be lashed by one, three, six strokes in the next five minutes.

Still another, and my newest device, is a computer controlled enema. If I decide to enable this particular feature, before the day starts, I will insert an enema nozzle in my ass, and then inflate the bladder to where it can't be ejected by my muscles. Sometime during the day, the computer will begin to inject me with about three quarts of liquid, leave it in for an hour or so, then open a valve and let it flow out. Since I have already cleaned myself out that morning, I never get cramps or feel the imminent need to shit it out. Big deal, you say - enemas are common and not usually painful.

But... This little toy has a whole lot more than just an ass squirting water hose. On the top of the box containing the pump (I'm guessing. I have no idea how it works) are three caps over three small tanks. Into these tanks can be poured three quarts of any liquid. One of the tanks will be selected at random by, you guessed it, the computer. The selected tank will have the liquid that is then squirted up my asshole. Usually, I fill the tanks with water, black coffee, and diluted wine. When I suddenly feel the enema starting, I have no idea which liquid I will get. If nothing happens during the hour, then it was the water. I'm hoping that it is the wine, because I know that in a few minutes I will feel the effects as the alcohol is absorbed though the walls of my colon - which happens much faster than just drinking it. Pretty soon, I feel like I am floating on a cloud - an effect that will last for several hours, slowly tapering off before the end of the day and with no hangover. I learned to dilute the wine four to one after my first session, when I woke up the following morning laying on the floor in my own puke. I don't drink, so it doesn't take much alcohol to do me in, and with almost two bottles of wine in my colon, I could have killed myself. Fortunately, I apparently blew a large part of it out before it was absorbed.

If the coffee is selected, the day is much less pleasant than with the wine. With all that caffeine, equivalent to a couple of pots of coffee, I will be standing there with my muscles jumping, restlessly trying to shuffle my feet and wave my arms - without success, of course. And it stretches my time sense way out - hours and hours will go by as I jump and twitch. Then, I feel my bowels pushing the liquid out as the valve opens, and realize that my hours and hours of standing there, was only about sixty minutes. The day becomes about a week long.

Today, I have everything enabled. At this point, an hour into the daylong session, I don't know if it will just be a long boring day, or if I will be deposited on the floor as a limp rag, barely able to unlock myself and crawl back into the house. In the back of my mind, I am hoping that I don't hear the sudden hiss of the little cylinder that pulls me off the floor. Hanging by my wrists for up to an hour, is pure torture. Why the hell did I enable that today? I should know better.

At the point in the wrist chains where my hands are, a pair of plastic rods, each an inch thick, are built into the links. This are hand holds that allow me to take the pressure off my wrists at the edge of the bracelets as they try to hold my arms up. If I am pulled off the floor, these keep the bracelets from cutting into my hands where they join the wrists. The problem is, that if the program keeps me off the floor for more than about ten minutes, my hands give out and then I still just hang by the bracelets.

Another hour goes by with nothing happening. Only about ten more to go. Then suddenly, I feel the butterfly turn on, but very low. It is a very pleasant feeling without being stimulation high enough to make me crave an orgasm. If this is all that is going to happen, it will be a pleasant day.

More time passes. In a totally windowless room, it is impossible to tell how long. And my time sense will vary. Sometimes I will be surprised by the chains beginning to descend, thinking that I had hours to go. Other times I will wonder if something failed after all, and thinking that the sun must have set hours ago.

The butterfly turns off. Shit, I was enjoying that, and it was helping the hours go by. More time passes.

I was thinking about what to treat myself to when I got loose. As aways, I would be starving, having missed lunch and any daily snacks. Maybe I would invite Tom, or Mike over fo...

It took my nervous system a few milliseconds to react, then I realized that I had heard a loud WHACK. Then my body reacted by trying to jump in the chains as I screamed around the gag. My god, that was a HARD stroke from the whipper. A strip of my back was on fire and my limbs thrashed in their bonds. Please let that be the only one! It wasn't. Two minutes later I got another, and another. By now I was whimpering behind my gag, almost hanging by my wrists. Then time passed, and I didn't get another stroke. God, maybe it was over. If that was what the computer had in store for me all day, this was going to be a preview of hell. Those had been about the strongest lashes I had ever received.

Of course, the fear and the pleasure was, that there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. If it wanted to beat me until I was just a hanging piece of meat, then that is what would happen. I was stretched in chains that were rated for about two tons each, and I wasn't escaping.

Time passed. By now, it must be about noon. My arms were getting tired and I was getting museum legs, but there were probably seven hours to go. Suddenly, I jumped as... Ah, I could feel liquid entering my rectum. Please let it be the wine. A few minutes later, I was unworried about the ass full of liquid. The whipper let loose with another lash. Then another. A total of six more. I hung by my arms screaming around the gag and begging for it to stop - a futile conversation through a gag to an inanimate object. Why so hard? The program was supposed to vary the intensity. Then I remembered that it decided at the start how severe the day's punishment was going to be. Apparently I had unluckily been chosen for the target of a severe daily session by a handful of transistors.

In a little while, I felt my muscles twitch. Oh god! The liquid was the coffee. Not only was the day apparently going to be extra painful, it was going to be about a thousand hours long. As the time passed, the familiar hypertenseness sensation settled in. I kept biting my gag, and flexing my fingers. I tried to move my feet, but of course that was impossible. My nipples were hot and needed to be rubbed, but they might have well have been in the next county, for all the good that desire was to me. The butterfly came on again, which only added to my irritability.

Time passed. Shit, you damned bitch! Let me get this caffeine out of my asshole! By now I was trying to dance like a puppet as my muscles twitched and spasmed. The goddamned computer must be locked up, or the valve has stuck! Finally, sixty minutes worth of hours later, I felt the pressure in my bowels recede as I ejected the black liquid. The butterfly also had me on edge. It wasn't high enough to bring me off, by far, but still made me crave for more stimulation. And still in the back of my mind, I was waiting for that hiss just before my feet were pulled off the floor.

Thank god I didn't use my nipple vibrators. I had two of them that the computer could control, but they were so intense as to be godawful painful. The only time I had used them, I wanted to die in the chains. The pleasure turned into pure distilled pain for hours. So bad, in fact, that I couldn't even wear a bra for several days afterwards. I actually had to tape two bottle caps over my nipples so that they wouldn't rub the front of my blouse for a couple of days. I am a dedicated masochist, but never again that.

The caffeine acts as a diuretic on me, and about every fifteen minutes for the next two hours I have to empty my bladder. Fortunately, when my legs spread, my inner pussy lips spread also, so I am one of those women who can pee a stream, rather than a splattered mess. Of course, compared to a man, my pee'ing accuracy is horrible, but still, I could certainly hit the mouth of a five gallon bucket only a foot or so under my peehole.

The butterfly turned off again. Good. I didn't want it right now. My nervous system was in overload from the caffeine and didn't need more input. More time passed. Sleep was out of the question - I was wide awake and likely to stay that way all day now. I spent the time thinking about all the new stuff we had talked about. Vacuum nipple milkers were one thing he came up with, but I didn't see either the stimulation or punishment value of those.

A motorized dildo was another idea he had. Once again I had to destroy a man-belief that a woman could be turned into a begging slave by a plastic pecker being shoved in and out of her pussy. I assured him that such things were for the stimulation of men, and that all the woman would get out of it was a raw vagina - unless she was turned on by her man being turned on. Some women might be able to find their G-Spot, but as far as I was concerned, it was a myth.

His idea of heat lamps was... Uhhhh... The butterfly came on - this time fairly intense. This episode I couldn't ignore. The stimulation on top of the caffein had me dancing like a puppet. It was wonderful. I tilted my head back in pleasure as the stimulation began to build. Caffein and clitoris added together were making me rattle the chains like a bad Halloween movie. If only I could just reach my twat with my fingers, and my nipples I could reach the wonderf... Goddamn, shit and fuck! The damn thing went off. I stood there, frustrated and twitching. This was worse punishment than the bondage. I wanted to cum, now, badly! Please start up again!

The hours went by, the butterfly would go off and on but never intense or long enough to send me over the edge. The whipper striped me two more sets. One with three and the next with four. Today I had received more and harder lashes than I had ever experienced before. But at least my feet had stayed on the floor - so far. I hoped they stayed that way. The whipper had me pretty well ragged out. I thought I only had a couple of hours to go, but that damned caffeine injection had totally screwed up my time sense. By now my legs were aching big time. It was interesting that, while I could train my jaws to hold a ball longer and bigger, my legs would never get used to just standing, even after all these years.

My frustration level was about at max. As soon as I got loose, I wouldn't even get off the mat first. My clit was aching for my fingers in the wor...

Suddenly, my body spasmed in the chains like I was being electrocuted - which I was. The other toybox that Tom had built had a modified cattle prod feeding the upper and lower chains. It had been denatured greatly - his term - so that the maximum output was far under what it had been made to deliver. Nonetheless, even the lower voltage was unpleasant, to say the least. My body jerked and pulled, my tits bouncing and orbiting with the action of my marionette dance. It didn't affect my vocal chords - I could still scream inside of the gag, and by the time the current stopped a minute later, I was hoarse from trying. Now I just hung by my wrists, with sweat dripping off me and my soaking wet hair plastered to my head. That was torture squared and usually it took several minutes for my muscle spasms to stop.

I hated the electricity and I always said that I was going to switch off the device, but every time I stepped over to the box, my masochistic side took over and the idea of being held immobile and praying that the electricity would stay off was just too erotic to avoid. Of course, whenever the chains began to lift my arms in the morning, I always cursed myself for not switching it off. I did have Tom program it to trigger no more than twice per session, so usually it either didn't come on at all, or only once. At least, it had never hit me twice in one day - so far.

I looked up at the chains as they ran through the pulleys and pulled on each arm - like that was going to do anything. But I was becoming exhausted and desperate to get loose, so like a drowning woman, my actions weren't entirely rational by now. If my time wasn't up soon, my legs... "AUGGG."

The butterfly came on this time and wasn't fooling. Waves of stimulation washed away my pains and exhaustion. At this point, I would have signed a pact with the Devil to stay in these chains for eternity if the device would just keep going. It did and as I approached a shattering orgasm, the whipper laid another lash across my back - hard - but this time it was pure distilled bliss. Then another, and another. It pushed me over the edge and I collapsed in the metal bonds, limp and exhausted. Now my legs were jelly, for sure.

The problem was, that the butterfly didn't stop, just continuing to massage my now super sensitive clit. Now the pleasure was gone, replaced by pain radiating from my little twat button. I grit my teeth and grabbed the hand bars and pulled hard enough to pull my feet off the floor, trying anything to lessen the sensation of the vibrator, or get my mind off of it. Finally, after an unknown time of pain, the vibrator stopped, leaving me barely conscious. The only rational thought that I could focus on now was that, once I got out of this session that I had put myself into, I would take the equipment apart so that it could never tempt me again.

Surely the end of the day was close. This couldn't keep going on. Fortunately there was a long interval of nothing, which let me get a little of my strength back and flex my fingers to get some feeling back in my hands. My wrists felt like they had almost been cut off at the point where the upper edge cut into my lower hands when I was just hanging by them. This was stupid. I was carrying this self bondage way too far - beyond the point of pleasure. Far beyond. I needed to find myself a man who liked B&D and let him put me in these situations. That way, I wouldn't...

I began thrashing and screaming again as the electric toybox triggered again. Waves of pain coursed through me as my body commenced the electric dance. God, the computer had rolled the dice for the perfect storm of torture today! I remember screaming and begging for it to stop, over and over, but I guess the computer wasn't listening. Or maybe it was just a total sadist. Somewhere in the middle of my electrocution, I passed out.

... I realized that I was still spread in my self bondage position, but my legs wouldn't lift me. It didn't matter because I could no longer had any feeling above my wrists. Unfortunately, I still had plenty of feeling below them. My whole body was a sea of aches, clear down to my feet. But the pain was something remote, not to be worried about as I just hung there in a daze.

Eventually, I realized that my universe was changing, somehow. I began to wonder what was wrong, since the feeling in my legs was different. I distractedly noticed that my knees were touching the mat, so something was happening. I just couldn't figure out what. Eventually, the chains lowered me to the floor, and fortunately, my body didn't lay out flat, but fell to the side without turning over the pee bucket. Then my back touched the bare vinyl floor. The shock of the cold floor woke me to a lucid condition, and I realized that the day's bondage and torture was over. I promised myself, never again - this had been the most horrible and painful day in my life. With shaking hands I got myself unhooked and staggered into the house.

I ran a tub full of scalding hot water, climbed in and just lay there as my body pruned after a while. As I thought about the day, my hand moved to my pussy and began its finger dance. Eventually, I almost flooded the bathroom as my body stretched and thrashed in a massive orgasm that went on and on. Then I just lay there till the water began to get too cold. Finally I got up and slowly and painfully began to fix myself some food for my empty stomach.

I had already thought of some things that I wanted Tom to add before the next time.

The End
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