The Street
by Everybody_Else

Author's Note: This is from my own life. This is in fact my very first self bondage session. I apologize in advance if there are any spelling errors. Consider them part of the entertainment. "Wow. This silly Dane can't even spell in English".

English is my fourth language and I'm influenced by English and American through television and radio. Concentrate on the story - know that it from a real life experience and try to overlook the occasional errors.

I was younger then. Much younger.

But I was even then hooked on bondage. I remember the exact moment when I became interested in SB. I was sitting in a small adult theatre in Copenhagen and was watching a succession of BDSM films. Back then it was 8mm (non digital) and usually the theatre owner strung them together on one large reel so he didn't have to change reels more than every twenty minutes. As a woman it was fairly unusual to sit in an adult theatre with a load of groaning men huddled under each their raincoat. Some had the balls to do whatever they did without the raincoat, but we all knew what was going on. Nobody cared.

The film started rather innocently with a candle and a string passing close to the candle. And then the nice young lady started tying herself up by means of rope and belts. I was hooked. I destinctly remember joining in on the groaning. My God it was exiting. There was absolutely no reason why I should not enjoy bondage even if my husband didn't like it. Come to think of it. He didn't much like anything but his own "roll over – spread your legs – thrust – ah – ah -ah – finished". "Was it good for you too?" Hell no – but I lied. As one does.

So I visited the adult theatre instead of visiting my sister. She didn't have a phone and this was way before mobile phones existed anywhere else but in Star Trek. I knew he wouldn't check up on it. He didn't like my sister and she didn't like him. No risk there then.

(I was only about 8 years old when I started having thoughts about sex or at least enjoyed running naked around in the forest. Later I became obsessed with being a naughty girl, doing things I knew I shouldn't.)

The nice young lady in the film was squirming around on the bed and eventually she ... NAH! I'm not gonna spoil it for you. You can actually find it on the internet. Search for "Self Bondage 7". I'm sure you will love it.

That film kept haunting me and eventually I had to try it out. The candle bit I would leave out. That didn't seem like a good idea. It might fall over and start a fire. So I would have to work out something else. I had bought myself a pair of handcuffs in the adult theatre and they seemed to be genuine. There were small tabs you could slide over, so that the cuffs didn't close too tight if you layed on them.

I had plenty of rope – I would just use the line I had in the court for drying clothes on. Get a new one for that and cut the other one in pieces of appropriate length. Why I didn't use the new rope for my game I don't know. It seems silly now when I think back. If I had a reason for it, I have forgotten it.

Never mind.

My husband worked odd hours and finally came the day when he would be away the whole day and I'd get time to have fun. I dutyfully kissed him goodbye and waved from the door as he drove away.

I rushed back and in the bedroom I hastily put out all that I would need. It was certain that I would not use a candle for getting the keys to the handcuffs, but I had already thought of a really good substitute.

I wouldn't use a gag like the nice lady in the film. She seemed to enjoy it, but when I tried to stuff my mouth with a pair of knickers, I instantly had a gag reflex and almost lost my breakfast. What I did want to use was a kerchief to tie around my head and over my eyes so I couldn't see. I was becoming very exited and my fingers had the shakes. I could hardly tie the ropes and I kept getting it wrong.

I tied a piece of rope to each bedpost. They would be my self imposed prison. I wanted to be held in place on my back and in such a way that anyone looking in the window could see me. To be honest – nobody would be able to see me, but in my mind they could. The blindfold was my way of denying me sight, so that I could imagine people looking through the window.

Our house was in a small street and there was a pavement going right past our bedroom window. We lived on the ground floor of an old style building with plenty of flats and four buildings surrounding the court which we used for meeting each other, coffee, drying clothes and for the kids to play in. Ground floor was the cheapest and you didn't get any cheaper than ground floor facing the street. Across the street there was a bodega or should we rather call it a seedy place where drunks met to get more drunk.

The windows we had were facing the street and for normal use, we had some build in shutters that folded back inside the window frame. When we went to bed those shutters served to shut out the light from the street and secure our privacy. In the window openings we also had net curtains close to the glass and heavier curtains with patterns to make it look cosier from the inside. The net curtains were enough to hinder anyone looking in through our windows in daytime, so I decided to leave the nice curtains and the shutters open. It would then be easier to pretend people looking in.

Phew – just the thought of it made me tremble with anticipation.

I wasn't comfortable with being all naked for this so I was wearing my bra and knickers, but even that felt really naughty. First I laid out on the bed – spread eagled – and decided where to tie the loop for the handcuffs so that once I had tied the legs and one wrist I could click the handcuffs into this last loop.

I tied my legs to the bottom bedposts (facing the window) and since it was a double bed I was pretty spread out. Then came the blindfold. Nope – can't see a thing. Except a sliver of light if I looked down hard enough.

With some difficulty I tied the left wrist and had now put myself in a position where my legs were spread and my left arm pointed towards the third bedpost. The handcuffs were easy to get onto my right wrist and it was only a matter of seconds before I had the tip of the open cuff fitted into the last loop. Before I clicked it shut I felt for my escape mechanism. Yes it was all there. Ready to go.

CLICKETY CLICK.

That was it. I was now tied helplessly to our bed and anyone outside could see me (almost). I was absolutely thrilled. I had done it and now I'd come and come and come.

What really happened was that after a lot of squirming and trying to make something happen, I realized that being tied isn't enough. There has to be some sort of manipulation of my secret place before I could come. And while waiting to experience an unmanipulated orgasm I became bored. Even the make belief crowd gathered outside the bedroom window couldn't do it.

BUGGER!

Time to use my escape mechanism.

I had tied a long piece of string to the handcuff key and left it in the other room as far as I could get from the bed.

The end was securely tied to the handcuffs and it was only a matter of pulling the key towards me and I would be free. Since I had limited movement in my hands it would take some time before the key would land in my hand. Very exciting isn't it? The ultimate release mechanism. Not really, but it was all I could think of back then.

So I started reeling in the key as if being on a fishing trip with a hand held line.

I reckon I was about half way when the door to the flat was opened and my husbands voice sounded like a fog horn...

"Darling" (God I hate it when someone calls me Darling. It's bad enough in English but in Danish it has a hidden meaning – something like "I'm better than you and you're just a doll").

"The car broke down and I decided to come home instead of walking all the way to work."

I heard him approach the bedroom. This was really bad. I tried reeling in a lot faster, but I also realized that no matter what, I would never make it in time.

But of course this was perhaps a good thing. He would see that I liked bondage and I wouldn't have to stutter through an akward conversation to make it known to him.

Now he would rip my underwear and ravish me and we would live happily ever after.

I heard him come into the bedroom. He didn't speak. He didn't rip off my underwear. He didn't do anything.

After a while I heard him opening and closing cupboards and closets. The drawers in the bedstand was opened and closed after a while. All the sounds were unfamiliar and difficult to interpret. I heard weird noices and eventually I heard the front door open and close.

I tried to call out. No reply. I tried pleading with him for response. Nothing. I didn't hear anything for a long time.

I reeled in the string and at the end of the string there was nothing. No key.

I was stuck until he saw fit to come home again.

Hours passed. Quite a few hours and my need to pee became intolerable. And in the end I had to give in and pee in the bed. I felt the warm fluid spreading under my bum and I felt really bad. A grown woman peeing herself. More time passed and I got cold and the fluid under me soaked into the bed but the sheets were still cold and damp. And smelly.

I tried again and again to reach the knots so I could free myself. No luck there. He was teasing me. He was sitting in a chair watching me soil myself and eventually he'd ravish me. This was not just bondage where your partner simulated a tie and had his way with you as the ropes slid off or loosened by themselves to reveal that it was a silly game.

These ropes were tied for real. The handcuffs weren't going to fall off on their own.

While I waited for him to make his move I got really exited. I tried to gain some pleasure out of my knickers as I tried to wriggle my bum to get them to ride up between my buttock and in this way gently rub my secret place. I got exited but it wasn't enough to give me an orgasm. But I could smell myself. Like a bitch in heat mixed with a public toilet.

I was sure it must be getting dark outside, but trying to look out under my blindfold I could still see light. It seemed to be the wrong colour for daylight and then it hit me.

HE HAD TURNED ON THE LIGHT.

This seriously changed the game. I hadn't heard him close the curtains and I certainly didn't hear him close the shutters.

OH MY GOD!

This meant that the room would be lit and outside would be dark. And that meant that anyone outside in the dark could see what goes on in the lit room.

SOMEONE CAN SEE ME NOW!

I thrashed around in the bed as well as I could, but to no avail. The ropes didn't snap. The key didn't miraculously turn up in my hand. And my husband didn't do anything to help me.

I was now lying in a bed – spread eagled – and anyone passing our bedroom window could see me. They would surely be able to see the big wet patch under my bum and they would know what it was.

But perhaps they couldn't really see everything? Perhaps I was wrong?

But then again – I'd often passed other peoples windows and looked into their livingrooms and I knew that it was possible to see everything.

Somehow the thought of this made my insides feel good. It was like butterflies and also felt very much like when I gently stroked my private parts in the dark hours when my husband slept after he had had his way with me.

I was feeling good and I tried my best to ride my knickers and they made the feeling so much better. It was when I heard noises outside my window and the distinct sound of someone hitting the window (with a hand or forehead?) that I felt the orgasm sneak up on me like an express train hurtling through my tunnel.

It was powerful. I'm sure I screamed. And then I passed out.

When I came back to my senses I heard people laughing outside. I heard drunken voices and I knew instantly that I was the target of their scorn. Someone was trying to open the front door, but luckily my husband had locked the door when he left.

I came several more times and in between I had to pee again. I felt aroused and disgusted at the same time. I felt extremely humiliated and I was sure that I would have to move to another town after this.

As it happened that was exactly what happened.

It wasn't until late next day that my husband returned.

He had packed some essentials the day before because he wanted to leave me, but he decided that since I was the pervert, I'd be the one to leave.

He unlocked the handcuffs and told me that we were finished. He was leaving me, or rather – I had to leave our home and never come back. He told me that he'd be back the following day and that he expected me to be gone.

Packing my stuff and leaving wasn't that difficult. After all I realized that we wouldn't be able to patch this one. It was the wait outside for the taxi that was the worst. People looked at me in a funny way and I had the feeling that everyone in town knew and probably had been outside our bedroom window during the night.

In a funny sort of way this inconsiderate husband of mine actually set me free to pursue a better path in life. I got an education, a job and another (great) husband.

And this time I made sure that he knew about my lust for bondage and as it turned out, he actually encouraged me to try self bondage again.

He never was good at tying me up, but I became good at tying myself. He had so many other qualities that I actually could have given up ... No I couldn't, but I'm happy that I didn't have to keep it a secret.

As time progressed my self bondage seemed to always have an element of humiliation and nearly always some sort of risk of getting caught.

The feeling of humiliation came back when I came back some years later to bury my mum. Maybe it wasn't just them but also the ropes I wore under my coat. Who knows. But it was perfect.

Maybe later I'll tell you about my first self bondage session in an adult theatre. Yes the very same I used to frequent. And that was before the divorce.

The End

I welcome your comments. Email me at everybody_else{AT}hotmail.com