Erotic Bondage Story

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Erotic Bondage Story

By January Nelson
Updated September 30, 2019

If you are into whips and chains, then you are going to get turned on by these bondage stories from Reddit. Vanilla sex doesn’t do it for everyone. Some people need a little more excitement than that. They need a little more danger. If you get turned on by the thought of getting tied up, gagged, choked, and strapped to the bed, then you are going to love these bondage stories.

By January Nelson
Updated September 30, 2019

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“Claire was tied face down to the bed, a big red ball gag in her mouth and coarse ropes binding her wrists and ankles to the bedposts, keeping her in place. She was panting heavily, nervous, her small breasts heaving. She’d found this place online in one of the dark chatrooms where nobody used their real names.
She’d gone down three alleyways and entered a seedy place, where there were thick doors and sounds of pleasure coming through. Girls screaming in ecstasy, flesh slapping against flesh, men groaning. She’d signed a few forms and given her consent, then put on a pair of long black stockings, black high heels, a black collar, and had allowed herself to be tied down to this disgusting, small bed.
She was wondered how long it would be, and when the door opened, she felt her heart beat even faster. She couldn’t see the men enter the room but she could hear them. She felt their hands caress her body and begin to pull down her thin black panties to expose her tight pink pussy.
She felt their fingers probe her and her hands pulled down instinctively. The ropes were too strong and she couldn’t move as she was being played with, no matter how fast, or how deep they went. She felt the bed shake as a man climbed on, and she began to breathe heavily as he placed his hands down next to her head and something, something poked against her pussy.
Without warning he thrust in and she gasped in pleasure around her gag. The thick cock was so deep inside her that she thought that she’d scream! She tried to control her moans as the man used her like a sex doll, pounding her and grabbing onto her hair for leverage. She felt him speed up, felt him reach his climax, and she groaned as he came inside her.
He was panting heavily, and so was Claire, but for her it wasn’t even nearly over. The man climbed off the bed and another one climbed on next, thrusting his cock deep inside her.
For hours she felt herself get fucked by different men, used like a tissue to catch their cum. She came over and over again, screaming into her ball gag, loving the feeling of the cocks plowing her. By the end of the day when the man came in to untie her she could barely move her legs. She was dripping out of her cunt, semen staining the streets.
The ropes had left red marks around her wrists and ankles. Still, she knew that she’d be back tomorrow. As she left the room she saw other women leaving the rooms nearby, smiles plastered across their faces. They were walking bow-legged and their high heels were wobbling on the floor.
Claire was one of them now.” — Peskykin
“A girl—no, now woman, unequivocally, though she’s still a girl to me, with some of those endearing habits left over from childhood that most of us, the unlucky ones, lose when we (supposedly) mature: in her case, biting her lip and casting her beautiful dark eyes to the ceiling as she considered a posed question—a woman kneels before me, her hands bound, her pert breasts thrust forward, the position revealing the contours of her ribs.
“Sir,” she whispers. “Do whatever you want to me.” I reach out and run my hand through her hair, black as pitch, dropping down to one breast as I pinch her nipple and begin to undo my belt.
How did we get here? Let me back up.
I’m a PhD candidate in comparative literature a top university, one which was in the news last year for student protests, and which continues to be in the news on occasion. During the tumult of the protests, many of my colleagues noted class attendance dwindling—not that they particularly minded, since most of us are farther left than even our most sincere little radicals.
My class, for seniors writing theses, remained well attended, however. My secret was the same secret that led to record setting enrollments in previous years: sex. Any seniors who wanted to write theses on sexuality in literature? Sign up for the “Literature and Sexuality Senior Colloquium.” Genius.
If you’ve never read The Story of O—well, I recommend it. For academics, it’s easy to teach because students love to talk about it. And for Priya, my best student, it seemed to spark an interest she didn’t realize she had.
“I was thinking of changing my thesis topic,” she told me one afternoon after class, over coffee, while we discussed her initial proposal, which focused on oral histories of sex workers. “Something…”
And then she paused, bit her lip. She’s a petite girl, Indian-American, majoring in English and Biology, the latter to keep the possibility of med school alive.
“About BDSM. I really liked The Story of O. And I was thinking…” Here, she laid out a fairly clever thesis topic, reading female empowerment into narratives of sexual submission. I OK’d the project and she was off.
It happened so gradually, I barely noticed it. I was attracted to her, naturally, but I was attracted to many of my female students and so the noise blocked it out—like most red-blooded male academics, I’d gotten used to being around attractive, smart, driven young people revealing their vulnerabilities. I began meeting with Priya bi-weekly, and then weekly, chatting about her paper, about her other classes, about her on-campus activism. At one point, I noticed my hand on hers. She was talking excitedly about a protest. I delicately removed my hand and she glanced down at it, and then at me—I couldn’t read the look on her face.
“No, it’s okay,” she replied, a little too quickly.
Another time, I forget exactly when, I mentioned something that clued her in to the fact that I had personal BDSM experience—something about after-care, something that set her eyes shining.
“So, you’ve… Done, like, scenes and stuff?”
“Priya, we shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“But it’s what my thesis is about. You have to talk to me about it.”
“But not about my own, personal…” I paused. Digging myself into a hole. “Interests.”
She grinned. “Are you a dom or a sub or a switch? You’re a dom. I can tell.”
I shut that conversation down pretty fast too. She wrote her thesis, graduated summa, and I was proud of her.
It was a month or two before I saw her again: I was riding my bike to the library, when I like to camp out in the summer months to work, since my apartment has no air conditioning, when I saw her in smart business dress, leading a group of prospective students on a tour. We waved and later, I saw the same group again in the library. She flashed another smile my way and, an hour later, found me again. Sans prospies.
It turned out, she had a job at the admissions office. A full time job. Would I like to get lunch with her? I would.
Over lunch, our hands found each other again. She invited me over for dinner that evening and I took her up on the offer.
In the dark of her bedroom after our first night together, her curled up in the crook of my arm, her breath ragged after our fucking, she asked me to be her dom.
“I’ve just read so much about it, and it sounds like… What I’ve always wanted,” she whispered. “And I feel like what I’ve always wanted—it’s been someone like you.”
I was quiet for a while. Of course, I wanted it. Who wouldn’t? Priya was gorgeous. She was a joy to be around, sweet and considerate, with a sassy edge that came with intimacy. She was smart as a whip, able to see through my bullshit in class when none of the other students could, giving me a raised eyebrow: our secret signal.
“Why don’t we ease into it, try a few things, and see if you like it,” I finally answered, whispering huskily into her ear as my hand ran down her smooth belly.
“Sir, for now. Yellow for slow down, red for stop—does that work for you?”
“That works,” she said, eagerly. I ordered her out of bed, told her to turn on the lights. She obeyed immediately.
“Good girl. Squat down. Touch yourself.”
Again, she obeyed: lowering herself into the awkward position, she slid a hand down and began to rub her bare pussy, spreading her dark lips open to reveal her pinkness.
“Good. And don’t you dare think you’re going to cum any time soon.”
I watched her for a minute, our eyes locked as she touched herself, gasping and whimpering softly. I had already made her cum once and I was surprised at how fast she orgasmed.
She nodded, biting her lip, and ran a hand up to her breasts, stroking them softly.
She obeyed, digging her fingers into her flesh, whimpering. She was a natural, tugging at her brown nipples, shuddering in pain and pleasure.
“Yes, Sir. I’ve always liked it… rough.”
She didn’t answer for a second, moaning.
“Good,” I replied. I strode over to her, laying my hands on her for the first time since we had begun. I took her by the hair, pulling hard.
Gripping her hard by the hair, forcing her head back, almost causing her to lose her balance, I lowered my lips to her ear.
“You never fooled me, Priya. I always knew you wanted to be my slut.”
She let out a cry and began to shudder. I knew she was cumming. I slid my fingers around her throat, letting them rest there and putting only a small amount of pressure on her—just enough to let her know that I was in charge, but not so much that she wouldn’t be able to use her safe words. I held her face looking at mine as she came, her pretty features contorting in ecstasy.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whimpered pathetically as she finished.
She obeyed as I went to my jeans, and slid my belt out of the loops. I heard her breathing, ragged and hungry as I approached her leaking body, the scent of her pussy heavy in the air as I ran my belt over her thighs and up to her plump little ass.
“Is this a red or a yellow for you, do you think?” I asked.
“Good. Because tears aren’t a safe word.”
I struck her rear softly, hearing the moans of disappointment, before amping up my blows—not to the point that I would leave lasting welts, but enough that her butt visibly swelled under the rain of slaps. She cried out with each blow, adding in the number at the end. We stopped at sixteen—eight on each cheek. She was trembling very slightly as I took hold of her hips.
She groaned as I slid my cock into her for the second time that night. Whereas before, I had looked her in the eyes and kissed her slowly as we fucked, now I began to pound her, grabbing her by the hair from behind as I rode her. She squealed; I knew she had roommates and our first time, she had even asked me to be quiet so they wouldn’t hear us. Now, there was no way they couldn’t hear.
Finally, I pulled out of her. I pulled her by her hair back onto the floor, flinging her like a rag doll as I pressed my slick cock between her lips, forcing her to taste her own juices as she began to obediently suck me. With a groan, I came in her mouth and she swallowed it with a smile.
Afterwards, I held her close—after-care, there it was again—and she curled herself up against my chest, burying her face in my chest hair.
“I loved that,” she whispered. “It felt like scratching an itch I’ve had for a long time.”
So, that summer, we continued to see one another. We continued our play sessions, nearly every single day, and at the end of the summer, she had accepted a job across the country working at a start up. We broke up then, so to speak—it was her first real job out of college, in a new city, and I had no illusions about the new people and experiences she might want to meet and have. But we still keep in touch—she seems to have a boyfriend now, and from the way she looks at him—in photographs, on late nights when I’m facebook stalking her—I know what they’re doing…” — [deleted]
 I was planning on going to a rope social. For those into BDSM, this is a meetup for people getting into bondage, and the host was going to be teaching techniques. I’m new to BDSM, and was looking forward to learning the ropes.
It wasn’t long before people were playing a little more than planned. Vibrators were being handed out, people were getting tied in knots, chained in cuffs, suspended a rig, taped up and teased, and much more! At the request of others, I got tied up, blindfolded, and teased with a vibrator. Outside my clothing, unfortunately.
Then one girl volunteered to be wrapped up with plastic wrap, like another girl already had, and I asked to help strip her. She was shy, and not much of an exhibitionist, so it took some convincing. But a couple minutes later, I had her clothes, and she was standing nude in front of a dozen people.
(I wish I had pictures from this part of the party.)
She was then wrapped with plastic wrap, and people took turns touching her with ice cubes, paddling her backside, or just generally teasing her. I was even a little concerned, because I discovered that she had only had one leg, so we were tying up and abusing a poor little handicapped girl.
Yet when someone bet she couldn’t get free, she proved them wrong by ripping the plastic wrap off in less than a minute, which shocked me. (And not much would have shocked me at this point!) She asked for her clothes back, but I refused to hand over her panties. So instead she put on her shirt, and an apron she found in the kitchen.
The thing about an apron is it doesn’t cover the back very well. Or at all. So as we watched the other partygoers move on to the next victim, I slipped next to her, and caressed her back and ass. For ease of access, I then got on my knees beside her, and we both quietly watched the festivities. Meanwhile I worked my way between her legs, playing with her labia, and feeling her wetness which was now almost dripping. Soon I slipped a couple fingers inside of her, while playing with her clit. Wetness ran down my hand. As we watched in silence, nobody could see precisely what I was doing behind her apron, but most people had an idea…
To keep this short, let’s just say the social took a few hours. Eventually I gave her her panties back, and (to my dismay) she got dressed. People were getting tied up, spanked, whipped, and every vibrator had its batteries fully depleted. I even got paddled for a bit, which was a first, and I learned it does nothing for me. But you can bet all of the girls enjoyed getting paddled and spanked! It was a BDSM social, after all.
When things wound down, many people stayed the night. The girl who I’d played with earlier agreed to share the last available bed, which was actually a fold-out couch in the middle of the living room. We climbed into it, I stripped down to my underwear, and she took off her leg and pants. Then as people sleepily walked past to get water or whatever from the attached kitchen, we spooned under the covers. (Quick side note: I love spooning. So much body contact!) She still wearing her panties, but my hand slipped underneath them soon enough. Touching her and playing with her. When it seemed people were finished getting their midnight snacks, I reached down and pulled off her underwear.
Rock hard, I pushed into her dripping pussy, and we quietly fucked. I held her tight as I thrust inside of her, silently hoping nobody would see what we were doing under the covers in the dimness. It didn’t take too long before she climaxed. I’d been holding off, and followed shortly after, pulsating in her pussy and filling her with my cum.
She slipped her underwear back on just in time for the front door to open. A friend of hers, who was too late for the social, walked in. She jumped out of bed, and hopped on her one leg over to him, too excited to put on her prosthetic. Others came to see who came in. Meanwhile, I just hoped nobody would ask why I wasn’t taking the covers off, or what we’d just been doing.
After everyone went to bed and things died down again, she fell asleep in my arms, quite happy that the room was cool enough to rely on each other to stay warm.
Some time later, in the pitch black of night, I woke up hard as stone. You know the feeling; you’re suddenly awake, erect, and horny as hell. She was still asleep in my arms, unmoving. Should I take advantage of this situation? Take advantage of a submissive, sleeping, helpless, and even handicapped girl? Yes, I think I will. I slid my hand back under her panties, and sure enough, she was still moist between her pussy lips. I rubbed her softly, and after a bit she responded with soft moans and gentle rocking. Unsure if she was fully awake, but knowing she was responding favorably, I pulled the covers off of us. I climbed on top of her, uncaring if someone walked in at this point. Pointing my erection at her dripping pussy, I lowered myself onto her. She moaned, and reached up to hold me. For the second time that night, we became one. Greedy, it wasn’t too long before I came in her again. I helped her get her panties back on, and we fell asleep together again.
The next morning, as people filed into the room, we didn’t let on what happened. Though people suspected, considering the sleeping arrangement. A few hours later we both left, and didn’t see each other for about a week.” — hungfun
“It’s a Friday night. It’s me (22F), my boyfriend Aaron (23M), and his best friend Jack (27M). We are, as usual, sitting in my new apartment, enjoying some Sailor Jerry’s and Netflix. We are tipsy and excited to finally have just the three of us in the same room; we’ve spent a lot of time with other friends lately, so the trio-only night had been a long time coming.
At this point, all three of us had grown pretty close as friends. “Very” close. A few months back, I’d treated Jack to a few blowjobs, one really good fuck, and a lot of teasing. It started out as requests from my boyfriend, who really gets off to the thought of me with other men. But I warmed up to the idea very, very quickly.
Though no more sex had happened at the request of both Jack and Aaron since then (“so no one feels left out”) we had never stopped being flirtatious. A particular memory was us at New Years, where Jack thoroughly beat me at a game of strip poker. Naked, I made sure to pose a bit, just to remind him of what he could still be having. He kept gloating about how he’d beaten me, “put me in my place.” Really, I should’ve seen the writing on the wall about what would eventually happen.
At some point during the night, I make a joke at the expense of Jack. Some insult about his taste in music, just trying to tease a reaction out of him. It works instantly.
“Don’t make me get my belt,” he says without missing a beat. His face gets so comically serious that I start laughing.
“I dare you,” I fire right back. Just to make a point I pull my red hair up away from my neck and show it off.
“I didn’t bring mine, actually, but if you have a spare…” He shrugs, his drink sloshing in one hand.
“I absolutely have one,” Aaron, my boyfriend, says, springing off the couch so quickly that both Jack and I burst out laughing even harder.
Aaron comes back with a studded black belt, swinging it like an idiot. He hands it to Jack, who gives it a few exaggerated cracks. We all laugh, ready to begin whatever comedy bit we think is about to come.
But then Jack leans over, wraps the belt around my neck, and pulls it so tight, so fast, I don’t have time to react.
“Holy shit,” Aaron whispers under his breath. He nearly drops his drink.
I gasp, my eyes instantly watering. Jack lets off the belt, wiggling his fingers underneath the part around my neck, giving me an inch or two to breathe.
“Too much?” he asks. It’s both concerned an
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