Permanent Rubber Bondage Stories

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Permanent Rubber Bondage Stories
Who is he? And why have you got him tied up like that?”

These were the shocked and stammered words that came from the unknown and unsuspecting young female who had just been ushered into my presence.

“Don’t worry, he’s perfectly happy like that. His name is Steve and he enjoys being tied up.”

Mandy’s words failed to appease the startled woman, however.

“You mean he willingly lets you do this to him?”

“Well actually, he ties himself up. The trouble is, because he uses handcuffs, he can’t get out again. So he relies on us to release him...if we see fit. You see, we’re the custodians of the keys, so when he gets released is entirely down to us. But that’s the way he likes it.”

A slight jingling sound reached my ears, as Mandy obviously showed the bunch of keys, which included the keys to the handcuffs as well my other shackles, plus a few padlocks which I occasionally used to chain myself up with. The newcomer still had questions about this strange scene being acted out before her, however.

“And what is he wearing exactly?”

This was a reference to the fact that I was kitted out in what was essentially women’s wear; an emerald green spandex long-sleeved leotard on my arms and torso, with sparkling pink ballet tights adorning my legs.

“Oh that’s just another of his strange idiosyncrasies, Tamsin. He likes wearing tights, leggings, cat-suits and anything else that’s skin-tight and form-fitting.”

So the name of this inquisitive visitor was Tamsin.

“And what’s that covering his head?”

“That’s what we call a bondage hood. It means he can’t see a thing and his hearing is severely impaired. It also enhances the gag he’s wearing beneath it. Isn’t that right Steve?”

I felt the sharp toe of a shoe prod my tights-meshed foot, and made an attempt to answer the question; the muffled noise that passed my sealed lips only serving to prove the point.

Still this Tamsin – who I was attempting to form a mental picture of – hadn’t exhausted her lines of enquiry.

“So how long has he been tied up for?”

“Ooh, it must be a little over four hours now.”

It was Kirsty, Mandy’s sister and my co-jailer, who answered this time.

“You mean you’ve just left him like that for four hours ?!”

The disbelief in the newcomer’s voice was now off the scale. Mandy confirmed this time-span.

“That’s right, and we have no intention of letting him go for a long time yet. But as I said, he’s quite happy like this.”

“Too bad if he isn’t, because there’s no way he’s going to be released in the foreseeable future.” Kirsty chimed in.

I always enjoy Mandy and Kirsty’s badinage when I’m tied up. Especially when they start telling me how they plan to keep me restrained and helpless for extended but unspecified periods of time. This is the whole charm of bondage, not knowing when – or even if – you’re going to be set free. It gives me a buzz and causes shivers to rush through me, making my tights feel even tighter than they really are, and the restraints even more restraining.

****

But first a bit of background information. Mandy is twenty four years old, with Kirsty two years her junior. They live in a rambling old Victorian house which they inherited from their wealthy parents, who were tragically killed in a road accident some years ago. With cellar and attic, plus three floors of rooms, cupboards, dark corners and confined spaces, the building is just perfect for concealing secrets. And that’s why I find visiting their house so appealing...that and my two charming hostesses, of course. Mandy and Kirsty are both stunningly beautiful redheads, with sleek figures and long shapely legs. But even more importantly than that, their mischievous nature borders on the sadistic at times. Which is why I like to spend as much time as possible in their presence.

Actually, that last sentence isn’t strictly true, for although I tend to stay at their house for lengthy periods - occasionally several days – much of my time there is spent alone. Because that’s the nature of our agreement.

I don’t now recall exactly how I broached the subject of my twin fetishes of bondage and skin-tight clothing to the sisters, but it was probably after we’d downed quite a few drinks in the pub one evening. All I know is that both Mandy and Kirsty seemingly had no qualms about my strange perversions. Quite the opposite in fact, they found my fondness for tights ropes and inescapable handcuffs, arm-binders and straitjackets rather fascinating. So a few days later, when I tentatively – and rather nervously – asked them if they’d be willing to accommodate me indulging in these peculiar habits whilst in their cellar, they’d readily agreed to help out. And when I informed them that I wanted no control over when they released me, their eagerness to please both surprised and delighted me. (One proposal that didn’t receive their seal of approval, however, was my plea to be allowed to reciprocate and tie them up on occasion. It was made perfectly clear that they would be the dominant partners in this relationship, and I would be the eternal submissive. Oh well, you can’t have everything!)

And that’s the way things developed from there on. At least twice a week I would walk round to their sprawling mansion and either handcuff and tie myself up - firstly relinquishing any keys or release devices to the girls - or, if my bonds were to be something I couldn’t get into alone, hand over control to Mandy and Kirsty for them to do the honours. And I have to say, when they did get their hands on the ropes and other bondage equipment in my extensive stash, the zeal and passion with which they worked showed that this was a labour of love.

Once restrained to a point where it was impossible for me to escape, control of the situation was handed over to my female captors. I would be locked away in the windowless cellar, the dark attic, or one of the many cupboards, wardrobes or ancient tea-chests that seemed to be permanently empty, as if awaiting my presence. Once shut inside one of these confined spaces, I would be left for an unstipulated stretch, which could be as little as four hours, or run into days. Whatever decision Mandy and Kirsty came up with was final, and I had absolutely no say in the matter. Which suited me just fine. And it also seemed to bolster my jailers’ underlying sadistic tendencies, inasmuch as it brought out a devious and ruthless side in them, and they seemed to delight in the fact that I was completely at their mercy.

This arrangement had been in place for close to six months when the incident referred to above occurred. And it was to prove a momentous occasion for me, as well as an experience that the unsuspecting Tamsin would never forget.

****

The day in question started like any other. At around three o’clock that afternoon I wandered around to Mandy and Kirsty’s house, my bondage equipment packed into two large holdalls. I was already wearing my chosen outfit for the night, although nobody I passed in the street on the way would have guessed that beneath my everyday attire I was wearing a skin-tight layer comprising the leotard and tights.

Upon arrival, it was quickly agreed that today’s action should take place in the cellar, and that I would be the one to tie myself up. So, while my two smiling partners-in-bondage looked on, I slipped off my shirt, trousers and shoes, leaving me now standing in just my second skin of spandex and nylon. After a few moments, while Mandy and Kirsty admired my outfit from every angle, I got to work on my task of creating a situation for myself that I wouldn’t be able to reverse.

Firstly, I handed the bunch of keys to Mandy, before sitting down on the cold stone floor and beginning to bind my ankles together with a tightly wrapped and cinched rope, which I finished with a secure knot. I repeated the process three more times, firstly just below my knees, then just above, before finally completing my leg bondage around my thighs.

Now it was time to ensure that Mandy and Kirsty got some peace and quiet whilst I remained here. Ever the resourceful type, if I ever snagged or laddered a pair of tights whilst putting them on or wearing them in the convention sense, I never disposed of them, but always kept them to utilise in other ways. Hence the reason that the medium I used for gagging myself today happened to be a pair of less than pristine hosiery. Scrunching these up into a ball, I opened my mouth and pushed the yielding bundle into the space behind my teeth.

This, of course, only worked as an efficient sound muffler if I was unable to work the wad of material out of my mouth again using lips and tongue. To alleviate this possibility, I therefore took a spool of grey duct tape, peeled away the end and pressed it firmly down over my mouth, before beginning the process of winding the immediately bonding strip around my head. After five circuits, I knew that my lips were sealed to such an extent that this adhesive wrapping would only be removable with the use of my fingers; a task which, of course, would soon be beyond my means.

Before shackling my hands behind my back in the handcuffs, there was just one more obstacle to add to my already restrictive arsenal, and that was the hood. Manufactured from premium latex, the head sheath fit perfectly around the contours of my skull. As the girls would later inform Tamsin, the hood boasted no openings for eyes, ears or mouth; the only outlets being two pinprick holes in the region of the nostrils. When laced up tightly at the back, and with the buckle at the neck fastened, the all-covering casing – like the layer of tape beneath - couldn’t be tampered with by the wearer if their hands were out of commission.

Now blind, I reached into my lap where I’d left the handcuffs. I’d carried out this next manoeuvre so many times before, that even in total darkness I could quickly lock one cuff around my left wrist, place both hands behind my back and complete the final, most crucial, part of my bondage. Now trapped, with no way out, I was Mandy and Kirsty’s prisoner until they saw fit to release me. Before they left me, however, they decided, as they sometimes did, that a couple more bonds were needed. To this end, they wrapped broad leather belts around both my chest and waist, incorporating my arms inside the circumference of these unbreakable bands, and thus lashing my limbs to my torso.

“Goodbye Steve. We’ll leave you to enjoy yourself for a while now.”

“But we will be back later, when we’ll have a little surprise for you.”

And with that cryptic remark hanging in the air, I heard two sets of feet climbing the stone steps that led back up to ground level, followed by the shutting and locking of a heavy wooden door.

****

And that, until my captors returned with their unsuspecting guest, was that. I passed the time in blissful helplessness; alternately struggling to enhance my sense of the futility of such actions, and luxuriating in the knowledge that my destiny was out of my control. Which, for me, is what makes bondage so special.

So when the door opened and three, rather than two females entered, I was bewildered and confused. Was this something to do with the surprise I’d been promised? Clearly it was.

Having gleaned what I was dressed in and why, that I’d tied myself up of my own accord, that I couldn’t get out again, and that, as well as my limbs being out of action, my powers of sight and speech had also been curtailed, Tamsin started along another line of questioning; the ultimate answer to which would shape the events of the night ahead...and even further into the future.

“So what happens now? Did you bring me down here just to show me that you keep a guy all bound up and helpless?”

“Well no actually, we wanted your opinion. What do you think of Steve? Do you like what you see?”

Tamsin’s retort was that she couldn’t really see much of me, so it was hard to pass judgement. This prompted something that I hadn’t expected to happen. For within seconds, I felt a hand release the buckle at my neck and the lacing at the back of my head began to loosen, before I was suddenly readmitted to the world of vision.

“There, what do you think now?”

As I squinted into the unfamiliar brightness, Tamsin seemed too embarrassed to offer an opinion. When I managed to focus, however, I encountered a sweet creature, probably in her early twenties; long blond hair and piercing blue eyes; sleek and shapely body with well formed breasts that strained provocatively against the material of a tight fitting blouse; short skirt and long slender legs sheathed in silky black tights. Or, to put it another way, my kind of girl. As I took this vision in, Kirsty rephrased the enquiry to her guest.

“Would you have any objections to spending some time with Steve?”

For a second or two, Tamsin didn’t seem to understand the question. And to be blunt, neither did I. As Tamsin blushed and stuttered, Mandy turned her attentions to me.

“What about you Steve? Do you fancy a bit of quality time with Tamsin?”

The answer was most definitely yes, but I thought better of trying to articulate this, not only because I was gagged and the reply would be incomprehensible, but also because I didn’t want to frighten Tamsin off. But why, exactly, were our views on each other being sought? All was about to be revealed.

“But why are you asking me these questions? Are you suggesting that I might like to stay down here with him?”

The way her eyes darted first to Mandy, then Kirsty, and finally towards the exit, suggested that Tamsin had suddenly become suspicious of her friends’ motives. But if she’d kept her gaze fixed on Mandy, instead of glancing anxiously in all directions, she would have seen that the elder of the sisters had surreptitiously picked up a leather item from my stash of bondage gear, and was holding it behind her back. As she took a step towards the now rather confused and bemused visitor, I noticed her younger sibling step back towards the door, in doing so blocking Tamsin’s only escape route.

Suddenly Mandy lunged at the now rather perplexed and frightened woman, grabbing her left arm and twisting it cruelly up behind her back. Immediately Kirsty took this as her cue to join the fray, and before she could fight back, their disorientated victim found both her wrists being held in close proximity to each other and her hands being forced into my leather single-sleeve arm-binder. Tamsin fought hard against her oppressors, kicking out as best she could and desperately trying to stop this attempted encasement. But two against one was not good odds under the circumstances, and with Mandy now pulling the leather up her arms and around her shoulders before securing the attached straps, whilst Kirsty laced the mitten as tight as she could make it, her chances of escape from this unforgiving restraint were absolutely nil. This didn’t stop her protesting long and loud, however.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I didn’t come here tonight to be treated like this!”

Mandy had an instant rejoinder to this argument.

“When we invited you around for the evening, I asked you what you’d like to do. And I distinctly remember your response word for word. You said “I don’t mind, we can do whatever you like”. So that’s what we’re doing now – what we like. And what we want is a companion for Steve on his longest ever stint in bondage. He’ll get lonely otherwise... and you’re just his type.”

This announcement seemed to spur Tamsin on to an even greater effort in her bid to escape. Giving one mighty kick to Kirsty’s shin, the latter temporarily relinquished her grip on their captive. With Mandy engaged in selecting some ropes from my holdall, for a second Tamsin was out of their clutches and took this unexpected opportunity to make for the door; screaming for help as she did so. She didn’t get far, however, as Mandy quickly realised what was happening and in an instant had grabbed the fleeing woman around the waist and was hauling her back to the centre of the room.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere.”

She turned to her sister, who was gingerly rubbing her leg.

“Come on, let’s make sure she can’t pull another stunt like that.”

This they achieved by wrestling their semi-restrained prisoner onto the floor and binding her legs in similar fashion to my own. As Tamsin gradually watched her freedom ebbing away, and her scope for physical resistance diminished, her shrieks for someone to come to her aid took on an almost hysterical air. But, as I already knew, these cries for assistance were never going to be successful; the cellar being underground and well out of earshot of any passerby in the street.

Notwithstanding this fact, once the binding of Tamsin’s legs had come to a conclusion, it was decided that the decibel level needed to be restricted to a minimum. And once again, Mandy and Kirsty utilised an identical technique to the one I’d used on myself, in order to silence one now very unhappy young female.

Getting Tamsin to open her mouth, in order to muffle her vocalising capacity, was achieved by holding her nose so that she had no alternative if she wanted to breathe. With Kirsty holding the still wriggling woman’s head, Mandy was then able to push the nylon ball into its resting place. A gurgling, retching, almost choking sound emitted from Tamsin’s now filled mouth for a second or two, until she managed to manoeuvre the alien object into a position with her tongue whereby she could spit it back out again. The only problem was that the evil sisters were one step ahead of her, and were already embarking on the next phase in their quest to keep their erstwhile friend quiet. Each circuit of tape around her head caused a whimper of dismay to fill the air. But with each layer, those squeals reduced in volume until, by the time Mandy was satisfied that Tamsin’s vocalising abilities were now close to zero, the tape was cut and smoothed down across her face.

“There, that should keep you quiet. I’m sure that the next time you’re free to speak you’ll be thanking us for introducing you to a new and exciting pastime.”

Tamsin’s claim that this most definitely wouldn’t be the case was barely decipherable. But if she thought that her woes had reached their peak and could get no worse, then she was in for a nasty shock.

I always carry two latex bondage hoods with me. After all, you never know when you might need a spare. And now Mandy and Kirsty decided to put the second one to good use. This hood was almost identical to the one I’d been wearing until recently, devoid of eye or ear outlets, and with laces at the back and a buckle on the collar to ensure it stayed in position. There was one major difference, however, and that was in the region of the mouth. Because whereas my hood had no opening for the intake of refreshments or air, by contrast the one now earmarked for Tamsin’s head boasted a narrow slit which could be opened or closed by means of a zipper.

As Tamsin saw this fiendishly claustrophobic contraption being readied for her, the panic levels rose tenfold and she started begging for mercy, at the same time shuffling on her derrière in a backwards direction. It did her no good of course, and within seconds Kirsty was manipulating the devilishly tight fabric over their prisoner’s skull whilst Mandy held her in check. Despite shaking her head violently while screaming “No! No! No!” as loudly as her gag would permit, the veiling of her face behind a layer of soft yet durable latex left her sightless and hysterical. Needless to say, the zipper was left in the closed position.

For several minutes now, I had been watching t
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