Stories of Tie Up Games

This is my first story posted here or anywhere. Part 1 is posted below, part 2 is coming soon. Any advice or criticism is welcome.




Barbara McKenzie looked in the full-length mirror and liked what she saw. She was 44 years old and had carried two children, both of whom were now in college, but she still had a body to be proud of. Long, graceful legs rose from a pair of zebra print heels till they reached a black-and-white plaid skirt about two inches above her knee. The skirt might be too long to truly be called a mini, but it was shorter than anything that most women her age would dare to wear. A white ribbed-knit sweater hugged her upper body, tight enough to show off her ample breasts-all natural, unlike most of the women in her social circle. A blonde bob framed her face, with ruddy cheeks and unforgettable blue eyes.

She lifted a canvas bag from beneath the king-size bed and heard a satisfying clinking sound as the chains, cuffs, and padlocks jangled around. Barbara and her husband played bondage games and she got chained up frequently when they were together, but he was currently on a business trip to England and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. Barbara was alone at their house, a luxurious farm estate in the hills of Virginia. It was now around noon. Some friends would be arriving at 5:00 PM, so that gave her a full afternoon to enjoy some thorough self-bondage.

She glanced up at the corner of her bedroom. A small device, which she had purchased from a website in Denmark, hung from the ceiling on a hook above her dresser. It consisted of two cylinders, each with a ring at one end, that fit together. When filled with water and placed in the freezer, they froze together. Once taken out and hung on the hook, it took four hours for the ice to melt. A ring with a set of keys hung from the lower end. When the four-hour time limit was up, they would fall and give her back her freedom.

Barbara began with a set of steel shackles. The cuffs on each end were thick and heavy, just like she liked it, while a nine-inch length of chain connected them, enough to permit baby steps but nothing more. She placed one around her left leg just above the ankle. It fit snugly, not cutting off circulation but not permitting any sliding up or down her leg either. Small circlets on either end overlapped, and a master padlock soon went through them, locking the cuff in place. She repeated with the right cuff and another padlock.

With her legs now locked together, Barbara shuffled over to the bag and lifted it up to the bed. Out came a chain, nearly ten feet in length and made of large and heavy iron links. She couldn’t say why, but Barbara had always preferred excessive amounts of chain, the heavier the better. Bondage gear was usually made of thin, lightweight chains. This one came from the hardware store.

She sat on the bed and began wrapping the chain around her waist. It went one, twice, three times, four times. She brought the ends to the front. One end had about two feet of excess, while the other had just a few links to spare. She crossed the short end over the long one, then reached into the bag and brought out another pair of shackles, a smaller version of the ones now on her feet. Carefully she placed one on her left wrist and once secured it with yet another master padlock, then repeated on the right wrist. Only three links of chain connected her left wrist to her right. She couldn’t reach move hands far apart, though as of now she could still reach around above her head, in front, or to the sides.

She would soon fix that, however. In the bag she found another padlock, the largest and heaviest yet. Holding the open ring of the padlock in her left hand, she twisted her right hand awkwardly to grasp both ends of the chain that circled her waist. Carefully she threaded the ring onto the last link from the short end of the chain, then a link from the long end. Then, the most difficult part, she passed the ring through one link from each of the loops of chain around her waist. Lastly she put the middle link from her handcuffs on the chain and snapped the padlock shut. A familiar thrill went through her at the thought that her hands were now cuffed and attached to her waist, and would stay that way for hours whether she liked it or not.

There was one last step to make the experience complete, though. Barbara swung her legs up onto the bed and folded them in front of her. The remaining two feet of chain still dangled from her waist, and now she grabbed with her left hand and slowly pulled it in until she had the final link in her hand. She brought her feet nearer until she could hold that link together with the middle of her leg shackles. Rolling to one side, she used her other hand to pull a final padlock out of the canvas bag. The padlock went through the two links, connecting her leg shackles to the chain descending from her waist. In this position, she could not stand up. If she kept her legs folded, then she could move her ankles as far as the nine-inch chain between them would allow, but if she tried to stand, the vertical chain from the waist would pull the ankle chain up, limiting her to waddling in tiny steps with her knees sharply bent.

Just the way she liked it.

Barbara swung her legs up onto the bed, kicked the empty bag off, and lay back to enjoy her afternoon of bondage. The weight and the strictness of the chains turned her on more than anything. She liked being tied with ropes or duct tape too, but the chains and padlocks had a finality to them, a certainty that there was no release until the keys dropped. Any time she moved even slightly, the clinking of metal on metal sent a reminder of how truly helpless she was.

WIth that thought, she turned on her side and snuggled on a pillow, with her knees pulled up and almost touching her chest. She spent the hours of the afternoon dozing off and waking, slipping between dreams and waking fantasies. In some sequences she was a princess abducted by pirates, a wealthy tourist kidnapped in the Middle East and carried off to a sultan’s harem, then a Victorian lady snatched by bandits.

All too soon, she heard the loud clatter of the cylinder with the keys falling from the ceiling onto the top of her dresser. Barbara grumbled. She would have been more than happy staying like this for the rest of the day and all night, but friends were coming over in an hour, so she had no choice but to unchain herself and get prepared. With a sigh and still feeling sleepy, she swung her feet off the bed, planted her zebra print heels on the carpet and, bent over, began slowly shuffling towards the dresser in the corner.

She was only two feet away when, in her half-awake state, she failed to notice a magazine lying on the floor. She accidentally stepped on it and the spike of her right heel skidded on the glossy paper. Before she knew it, she was falling forward. Chained up as she was, there was no way to break her fall. Her shoulder struck the top of the dresser and sent it rocking, while her body bounced off and landed on the floor.

Luckily the thick carpet protected her and there wasn’t much further pain when she hit the ground. Cursing herself and her carelessness, Barbara awkwardly pushed herself upward and reached for the keys on the top of the dresser. The only problem was that they weren’t there. Staring dumbfounded for a minute, she then realized what must have happened. When her shoulder struck the dresser, she must have knocked the cylinder off behind it, and the keys with it.

Cursing again, she slowly lowered her body to the ground. With her face just an inch above the carpet, she could peer under the furniture and see the ring of keys lying against the floorboard. She tried to reach underneath and get them, but it soon became clear that would be impossible. The underside of the dresser was perhaps two inches above the floor, and while her hands were small enough to reach underneath, they were padlocked to the chains around her waist.

Thinking for a minute, Barbara realized that she would need to move the dresser. By pushing with her feet, she moved her body over the corner of the piece of furniture. If she could swing it about one foot away from the wall, she would be able to crawl behind and get the keys.

She grasped the corner leg of the dresser with both hands and pulled it away from the wall. It didn’t move an inch. Gritting her teeth and willing herself to use all her strength, she pulled harder. Still nothing. She struggled and strained, but with her hands in the positions they were in and no possibility of leverage, it was hopeless. For a moment she looked at the drawers and thought about whether she could dump everything out, making the dresser less heavy, but gave up on that plan. It was a massive piece of furniture built with thick planks of solid oak. Even in the best circumstances, she probably couldn’t move it alone. These were not the best of circumstances.

A sense of panic was rising within her. Time was ticking away, her friends would soon be arriving, and if she didn’t get these chains off soon, she would face the humiliation of being seen with all her bondage gear and having her private fantasies known. It was unthinkable, but she didn’t see any other option. She couldn’t stay this way until her husband came back and no one else would be visiting soon who could set her free.

With exasperation she yanked her wrists upward, setting up another series of clinks and clanks as the padlocks and links of chain rattled against each other. Of course her hands couldn’t move more than an inch or two. Her desire to be completely helpless had come back to bite her. The big chain was wound around her waist four times and locked tightly in place. She knew from past experience that she couldn’t slide the chain down over her hips, and since it was padlocked to her leg shackles, she couldn’t move it up her body either. She was totally and truly stuck.

A very good start. Not much characterisation yet but a good description of a fellow 44 year old mother of two ( and I’m jealous of her legs ) very descriptive bondage two, and now the horror of being stuck.

I’m really looking forward to part two. Presumably she is found by her friends, but will they be horrified, or try to join in

Great start to a first story! I hope you continue with what this leads to,

Hello,

Indeed, for a first, it's really great. I'd like to start writing my first story too, but for the moment I'm not too inspired. I even tried to use AI and chatbots, see here the tool, to generate text and get some ideas, it's an option that can be interesting to exploit, but it takes away a bit the joy and pleasure of writing. But hey, I'm always looking for ideas and hope to find inspiration.

I like it. I actually did something a bit similar to this once and couldn't get out for a while.

Here is part 2. I apologize for taking so long to get this up.



Think, Barbara, she told herself. She rattled her manacles again, to no effect except for more clinking and clanking. The big padlock at her waist was the cause of all her problems. If she could get that off, then she could reach under the dresser. How could she do that? Think. She recalled that when they had bought that padlock, there had been two keys. One of them was on the ring under the dresser. Where was the other one? She thought about it and suddenly recalled the answer. Their property had a prefabricated metal shed, which her husband used for his hobby of restoring classic cars. The second key to the padlock would be hanging on the wall inside.

Unfortunately the house was on top of a hill, and the shed was at the bottom, at least a quarter mile away. Getting there would mean getting out the front door, circling around the house, and going down a long dirt-and-gravel road to reach the shed. It would be slow and unpleasant going given the circumstances, but there was no alternative.

Barbara pushed herself to her feet, rising to the crouched stance which was all that her chains allowed. She shuffled over to the bed and sat down for a moment, considering the question of her shoes. The path from the house to the shed was rocky, and walking in just her stockings and no shoes would be painful, but on the other hand the high heels would put her at risk of slipping and falling. Reluctantly she kicked them off, then waddled towards the bedroom door.

The door would be her first obstacle. It was closed and the handle was at waist level - normally. Given that her knees were bent and she couldn’t stand up straight, she could no longer reach it. Don’t panic, Barbara, she told herself again. There had to be a way to solve this problem. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on a small storage tub next to her closet. It would be just tall enough for what she needed.

She shuffled over to the tub and tried to push it with her feet, but that proved nearly impossible given how little movement her leg shackles allowed. Instead she knelt on the carpet, bent until her shoulder was touching the tub, and steadily pushed it over to the door. Once it was in place, she rose up and climbed awkwardly on top of the tub. With the extra foot of height, she could now grasp and twist the door handle and swing the door outward.

Once out the door she shuffled down the second floor hallway to the top of the staircase. Walking down the stairs in her current state would be impossible. She sat down, then swung her feet forward and down to the top stair. There was no possibility of reaching two stairs at a time, so instead she swung her butt awkwardly to the left and onto the top stair. This left her balanced on one narrow stair with her legs bent in front of her. It was awkward and uncomfortable, though at least the stairs were carpeted. Reminding herself not to waste time, she swung her feet down to the next step, then her body followed. With her chains clanking at every step, she steadily moved steadily down the stairs until she reached the front hallway.

Getting out the front door posed the same problem as the bedroom door. Luckily there was a footstool in the living room which she could easily drag and place in front of the door. She glanced at the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway and noticed with dismay that it was already 4:15. If she didn’t move quickly, she wouldn’t get the key in time. Climbing clumsily onto the footstool, she grasped the front door knob and swung the door open.

Outside the weather was bright and sunny. A small mercy, she reflected, as rain would have made everything twice as hard, dirty, and dangerous. Bending her knees once more, she began shuffling across the grass of the front yard towards the side of the house. She was less than half way there when the noise of an engine drew her attention towards the road. It was a delivery truck.

Panic rose in Barbara’s mind as she knew the truck was coming to her house, and the driver would surely find her standing on her own front lawn, cuffed, shackled, chained, and padlocked. She looked around and saw immediately that there was only one place to hide: behind a large bush that grew at the corner of the house. Throwing caution to the wind, she began taking huge leaps, bounding as far at one time as her chains would allow. She threw herself to the ground behind the bush just seconds before the truck pulled into the driveway.

Barbara peered out through a screen of leaves and branches as the delivery man got out of the truck, walked up to the door, and rang the doorbell. Her heart was pounding at the thought that he might see her, but he remained on the doorstep with a bored expression, waiting several minutes and then ringing again. Finally he left the cardboard box that he carried on the front step, returned to his truck, and drove away.

Barbara arose and began waddling down the gravel road that led to the shed. She was still in a squatting position and each step led to her hose-clad feed coming down on top of gravel. She was regretting removing her shoes now, but there was no choice but to move onward. Step by tiny step, she covered the distance down the road until she reached the shed.

Now there was another problem. The door of the shed was locked, twice in fact. The lower lock was a bar lock that she might be able to slide out of the way if she could reach it, but the upper lock was made of solid steel and required a key, which she had forgotten to pick up in the house. Fighting down another wave of panic, Barbara forced herself to think. There had to be a solution here. Then she recalled that at the far corner of the shed, there was a panel that had come loose which they had not yet bothered to fix. She circled around the shed. At this point her feet were covered with grass, dirt, and sand, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

She found the loose panel, which left a gap just wide enough for her to squeeze through. She dropped to the ground and lay on her side, pushing her legs through first, then wiggling her body to move through the narrow opening. She emerged into a space that was nearly dark, with the only light coming from a small window at the far end. The panel that had given her entrance was under a workbench, forcing her to crawl still further before she could rise and get her bearings. Where was the key?

There! On the other side of the shed, a corkboard panel was nailed to the wall with hooks sticking out. Among the tools and work supplies hanging their were spare copies of all of their keys. Barbara shuffled around the old Studebaker that her husband was currently working on, searching the wall until she found the key to the big padlock. It was at least five feet up the wall, completely out of reach given her current position. Once again she should need something to stand on in order to reach high enough.

Luckily they kept a stepladder in the shed, leaning next to the door on the far side. Barbara shuffled over, grabbed the bar at the top of the ladder, and clunkily dragged it across the floor back to where she needed it. Getting the legs of the stepladder spread out and put into place proved difficult, as she could only move her hands about three inches apart. Eventually she needed to lay the stepladder on the ground, pin one side to the ground with her knees and lift the opposite side upward with her hands and lock it into place. Lastly she rose to her feet again and began climbing the ladder.

Her leg shackles were just barely long enough to allow her to reach from one step to the next. Her legs were feeling shaky by this point, and when she reached the top step with nothing to lean on, she felt herself swaying and had a moment of terror as she imagined herself falling off. But she had come this far and her goal was now in reach. Scanning the hooks on the corkboard panel until she again found the key that she needed, she leaned forward. At first she couldn’t quite reach the key, but by twisting her body with the right side closest to the wall and then pulling her wrists to rotate the waist chains and stretching as far as possible with the fingers of her right hand, she managed to grab the key and lift it off the hook.

She grabbed the big padlock at her waist with her left hand and pointed the end with the keyhole towards her right hand. She put the key in the lock and twisted and the padlock came open. She felt a sense of triumph as she pulled the links of chain out of the padlock, and the chain from her waist unwound and fell downward. It lasted only a moment, though, as she recalled her position. She was still chained at the wrists and ankles, and the keys she needed to get loose were still upstairs in her bedroom. She didn’t know what time it was or how long she had until her friends arrived. And ridiculously, the long chain was still padlocked to her ankle shackles.

There was no option but retracing her steps to the bedroom and getting the keys, though, so Barbara carefully stepped down the ladder and crossed the shed to where the open panel was. She squeezed through and then, after gathering the end of the long chain in her hands so that it wouldn’t drag along the ground, she headed back uphill towards the house. While she could now stand upright, her shackles still restricted her steps and it took several minutes to reach the front door. She was relieved to see that none of her friends’ cars had yet pulled into the driveway.

Hurrying through the front door, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, Barbara dove to the floor in front of her dresser. She reached underneath with her still-cuffed hands to grab the ring of keys. She was just pulling the last padlock off her ankle cuffs when she heard the doorbell ring.

She looked down at her ruined stockings and her skirt and sweater now covered with grass, leaves, sand, and dirt, and couldn’t help laughing at herself. “I’ll need a couple minutes to get ready!” she yelled.

Terrific story, that’s why I never use cuffs, chains and padlocks for self bondage

Great story. I love the image of being in skirt, tights and sweater, all laddered , torn covered in dirt and tied up.

JulieG wrote: 2 years ago Great story. I love the image of being in skirt, tights and sweater, all laddered , torn covered in dirt and tied up.

I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Dpsiic wrote: 2 years ago Terrific story, that’s why I never use cuffs, chains and padlocks for self bondage

Yes, I wouldn't do anything like that in real life either.

Dpsiic wrote: 2 years ago Terrific story, that’s why I never use cuffs, chains and padlocks for self bondage

I would disagree. Handcuffs are excellent for self bondage as you are properly tied up with no hope of wriggling free but can easily unlock yourself with the keys. Just never tie yourself in such a restrictive position and always make the keys obvious and in an open space. Anything which involves crawling outside or having to reach keys with toes is asking for rouble.

You're right [mention]JulieG[/mention] The first rule of self bondage must always, as with any bondage game, be safety first. Always have an escape route, be it keys or a knife/scissors within reach. If not you at best risk being discovered in bondage as almost happened in @Terry45's story or worse still, not have any chance of rescue for some time.

This is a broadchurch we all have our personal preferences. I'm not keen on handcuffs because a) I used to be a police officer and handcuffing anyone, even the rare times a female never did anything for me. b) they can brutal and cause nerve damage if not applied correctly and double locked and c) I doubt I am dexterous enough to free myself even with a key and my hands cuffed behind me.