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Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult

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Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult by Jurgen von Stuka


If you have ever wondered about self-bondage, who does it, how they do it and why, this book provides graphic and detailed stories about women who practice it.

In thirty-four chapters, Jurgen von Stuka, who brought you SUMMER SCHOOL, AFTER SCHOOL, DESPERATE, BONDAGE BROKERS and other twisted tales from the BDSM scene, explores the secret, private world of women who find erotic release in tying, gagging, strapping and chaining themselves. You will enter their private worlds of luxury or everyday living to learn from first hand narratives, how they bind, chain and lock themselves in strenuous, sexually gratifying positions and why they do it.

This is not partner sex. These practitioners of auto-bondage share their experiences with no one. More than one woman tells how she at first fantasized about being spanked and whipped while hanging in chains, only to eventually design an arrangement that allowed her to carry out her desires by herself!

The thrill of self-bondage, von Stuka reveals, comes from the complex combination of strict restraint, exotic apparel, (or lack of it), and the combined fear of discovery mixed with the back of the mind anxiety of not being able to get free…ever.

This elite group of women invited von Stuka to their annual gathering in a remote European location. You won't see it reviewed in the local newspaper or even in Scene publications. He interviewed and recorded their stories, then compiled the best into this unique book.

The 34 chapters reveal what no one is going to tell you at some cocktail party. The techniques, materials, secret hiding places for paraphernalia and the safe rooms where these women lock themselves in for sometimes days at a time while they indulge in their erotic pastime, are all revealed here.

Everything, every nuance, from what knots to use so you can eventually get free to elaborate safety practices, is discussed frankly and with complete anonymity.

Includes graphic descriptions of bondage, sexual fantasy, anal and vaginal penetration, mechanical sex devices, gags, hoods, and self abuse.

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For as long as I can recall, I have been a closet self-binder, a fan and disciple of auto-bondage. My first husband discovered this after we were married when he accidentally found me tied up in our bathroom one afternoon when he was supposed to be traveling. Initially, he thought I'd been attacked, bound and gagged by a burglar, but when he realized that I tied myself and that I was in no danger, he was angry and, according to him, embarrassed that a wife of his should be indulging in what he called aberrant behavior. That was the end of the marriage. Nevertheless, I continued to privately bind and chain myself as often as I could and enjoyed the erotic release it brought me. When I remarried, I told my new fiancé of my predilection for being bound and he said he understood and could certainly live with this as long as it didn't interfere with our personal lives. What he meant was that he didn't like the idea of my endangering myself with rope and chain in private, but he'd find some way to cope with it.
So, that night, when I looked at the metal cart in the lab, it suddenly hit me: This was a device designed to hold a bound human captive. As strange as that idea seemed, the more I looked at the assortment of metal and leather equipment that came with the cart, the more plausible the answer became. I immediately went to the cart, my intention being to test my theory. I knelt on the cart, placing my back against the upright. My shins were flat against the somewhat rounded surface and amazingly, my knees seemed to fit quite well into the rounded depressions on the end opposite the upright post. That was when I discovered the function of the multiple indentations and holes in the cart's surface. The additional metal forms that had thus far baffled us were obviously designed to hold a kneeling human form snugly, bound and secured to the cart's surface with chain, leather and metal clamps. The smooth, rounded metal forms seemed to be ideally suited to enclose the thighs, lower legs, waist, hips, chest and arms.
The self-bondage fanatic in me took over. Knowing that I was safely locked inside the lab, I stripped off my lab coat, jeans, sweater, bra and panties and knelt again on the cart. The cool metal surface seemed to beckon me, the hard iron post pressed against my spine, slightly separating my buttocks and ending directly below the base of my skull. I bent over, picked up what seemed to be the best-suited metal form, and placed it over my legs, just above the knee. Then I fastened the hanging chains to the clamps on the side of the cart and took up the slack until the form pressed enticingly against my legs, forcing them into the slight depressions of the cart's surface. I then realized that there was another form that seemed intended to go under my thighs. I released the first form and fitted the second by kneeling upright, slipping the second form under my legs, slightly behind the knee and clamping it so that it pressed my upper legs closely together. This then was one upper leg binder and it was very efficient. The second similar form appeared to be suited for the same purpose, but higher up on my legs.
Then came the big erotic surprise. I knew from our close examination that one of the metal forms looked very much like a large and erotically designed dildoe. It was a solid metal casting, smooth and polished, perhaps as a crude human figure with what looked like a head. At first, we catalogued it as some sort of icon, but now I knew otherwise. It was longer than I thought such a device should be and initially, I attributed my sexual thoughts about it simply to my kinky nature. Now, looking at it in a different context, I realized that if I was right about the cart being a sort of mobile bondage transporter, it was not implausible that the captive kneeling on this thing could be impaled as well. If it was a male, certainly this long, evil-looking phallus would go up the ass. If the captive was female, which was my basic hypothesis, this thing would serve as a constant reminder of the woman's submission as she was immobilized on the rolling cart and enduring the presence of this vaginal probe as well. Because I was already kneeling on the cart and not in the mood to delay my testing, I put the probe down on the cart behind me and discovered that the small clips in its base fit exactly into four of the indentations on the cart's upper surface. The thing just snapped in and stayed there.
I started to attach the second thigh binder and hesitated only a moment. Could I possibly accommodate this monster metal dick when I sat back down and finally fastened my lower limbs to the cart? Without any lubrication, it was doubtful, but as if to confirm my suspicions, as I eased myself slowly downward, I was not really surprised to find that I was already very wet and the further down I went, the more easily the thing inserted itself. In a few seconds, I was back in my original crouched position with my back pressed against the vertical post and my knees and thighs firmly locked down to the cart. I found that additional chains supported a second thigh binder, redundantly pressing my legs even tighter against the cart. The leg forms tightly griped my legs and the probe was doing its century's old thing deep inside me. I could barely rise even an inch.
Following the logic that said the next item to be attached was the wide waist belt, I placed the slightly curved metal form across my stomach and reached around behind the post, securing the adjustable latch that conveniently fit into a circular depression in the post. From the lower front edge of this attractive and decorative waist belt, a single chain extended a few inches downward, ending with a small, serrated, solid metal extension, slightly longer and thicker than my index finger. Testing once again, I pushed the finger down between my tightly bound upper thighs and felt it slip all too conveniently into another one of the many holes in the cart. Incidentally, it also pushed my lower lips apart and pressed firmly against my clit. Although I could not see it, the finger locked itself into the hole, further securing my waist to the cart. It felt remarkably good. I was enjoying myself, but a sudden flash of reality came to me and I reached down, pushed the finger downward and was greatly relieved to discover that it released as easily as it locked, so my worrying about being helplessly confined to this cart quickly went away and I pressed on with my testing.
It took about a half hour for me to complete, as well as I could, my binding to the cart and its sturdy upright post. I locked the metal collar with its harsh chin support into place, put the combination bit and mouth-filling metal plug in my mouth and secured the thin chains to the back of the post, using the same ingenious adjustable clamps to tighten the gag until the edges of my mouth and cheeks were pulled back in a rictus-like grin. The metal blindfold device, which was more like a pair of swimmer's goggles, shut out all sight and light and fastened the same way, helping to hold my head secure to the top of the post.
The final few items, two different sized, wide oval cuffs that I thought would fit around my elbows, (maybe), and wrists, I left for last. Before I tried them, I had to put on the chest harness, which I investigated carefully before doing the blindfold, but found easier than expected to secure. The sexual stimulation from the dildoe, plus the intimate nature of the many metal forms and bindings was driving me very quickly towards the inevitable initial orgasm and I was shaking and sweating as I fitted the upper chest braces that encompassed my breasts and upper arms.
It was already clear to me that the person this cart was designed for was perhaps somewhat smaller in stature than me. So, most of the accessories that I attached to my own body were a bit undersized. This held true for the chest portions that required that my breasts be placed through holes in the metal plate as it wrapped around my chest and upper arms. I had to pull my nipples and breasts through the small holes and when this was done, the small diameter of the holes constricted my breasts not unpleasantly, forcing the rest of the skin outward and making the breasts smooth and rigid. The nipples, of course, were as hard as little rocks! Reaching around behind my back, I fastened the clamps of the breast/chest harness with ease, it being no more difficult than clipping on a bra. Nevertheless, the effects were devastating. I was panting and sweating and still on orgasmic edge. I knew that if I merely twitched my hips, the thing inside me would bring me off instantly, so I remained as still as I could.
Finally, I slipped one arm into the larger, oval metal cuff, put it behind me and, using my long ago developed, adaptive ability to put my elbows close together, eased the cuff upwards until it held my arms together , parallel from elbow to wrist. Knowing all too well the potential consequences of this self-confining move, I experimented briefly with the elbow cuff and found that with the usual amount of manipulation, it would slide back down to my wrists. So again, secure in the knowledge of being able to get out of this, I slipped the elbow cuff back up to its place and then put on the wrist cuff as well. The designer of this outfit intended, of course, for some sort of locks to be placed in critical places, so it was without locks that I closed the cuff, heard it lightly snap into place and felt for the open hook on the back of the post that easily engaged the wrist cuff. Again, being overly cautious, I tested this arrangement and found that I could release both the post hook and the cuff with no trouble.
It was a self-bondager's dream come true. I was incredibly well secured, kneeling helplessly on a centuries-old metal cart in my own laboratory. Blind, gagged, bitted, collared, breast-bound, impaled and locked to the cart, I was in the throes of total erotic bliss. The waves of orgasm came surging up from my impaled pussy, drove relentlessly through my entire upper body and then, slowly disappeared as I shivered and shook. My only movable body parts, my fingers, fluttered madly and my rigidly confined tits jiggled and thrusted outward against their confinement. I was already rotating my hips madly, working the phallus deeper and against the sides of my cunt, then lifting my body the fraction of an inch that the restraints allowed, sliding around on the iron dick deep inside me.
When I was done, I was done. I was thrilled not only with the experience, but with the discovery that someone, sometime in the distant past, designed and built this thing as a way to keep his or her partner, slave or prisoner not only immovably bound, but also mobile. It was not hard to imagine some captive queen or princess, all of her nakedness fully on display, being pulled around some palace by another slave. The concept was so practical, so brilliant; I could not wait to tell my associates what I discovered.
However, for the moment, I was enjoying my own erotic pleasure. I dozed off, sleeping the sleep of the sexually satisfied on my cart. Before I knew it, I heard sounds in the building and knew that I had to free myself before anyone arrived at work. As I tried to remove the wrist cuff, I found that they would not come free from the post nor could I open the unlocked clasps which a few hours before had opened easily.
That was when I suddenly knew that I was no longer alone.
"Well done, Charlotte," I heard my ex-husband say. He was nearby and the sound of his voice, coupled with the realization that I was very much on display was a double embarrassment. I moaned into the gag, but little noise came out. I struggled and fought the now locked bindings, but to no avail.
"No need to struggle, dear."
It was Loraine's voice. I knew it well. She was the reason Don was now my ex and she was no longer an employee of the lab. "You're not in the lab any more, Honey," she said smoothly. "We went up there last night after a wild and slightly drunken stint of bar-hopping, let ourselves in and found you all nicely trussed up on your cart. So, we gave you a mild sedative, fucked on your desk, then wrapped you up and brought you to this place. I think we're going to have a pretty good time, the three of us."
I struggled against the metal forms, the chains and the cuffs. Nothing gave an inch. Nothing moved except the thing up inside me.
"Indeed," said Don, his cold hand stroking my shoulder gently. "Indeed. Your discovery will soon be our discovery and you, well, you'll be the model, the demonstrator, I guess. We'll get photos and videos of you on your cart and the revelations, shall we say, will be dramatic, I'm sure. However, right now, just to show you that we are fully in charge here, I think a bit of stimulation is in order. Lorraine, will you do the honors?" Don said.
The first blow of the cane was like the hot bite of a flame across my rigid, confined breasts. More of the same followed. I cried, wiggled, struggled and came while the cane did its work on every exposed part of my body. When they finished, I was a sweaty, weeping mess; a kneeling and bound mass of whipped female flesh, desperate to get free. But, they left me there and went to dinner. Clearly, I had reached the nirvana of self-bondage. I had bound and chained myself only to complete the fantasy with evil third parties taking advantage of me.
They eventually took me off the cart, moved me to a dank, cold basement room that was conveniently outfitted with chains fastened to the walls and floor. Periodically, they returned to feed, whip, spank or fuck me. I stayed chained in the cellar for a few days and then, after making clear threats that they would release their pictures and videos to the museum board, they let me go.

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