The Bondage Challenge

Where are all the kinky, dominant guys? Even after That Book made BDSM mainstream, I still have trouble finding a man with both the desire and ability to tie me up properly.

Yes, I'm kinky. Very kinky. I don't understand why most women enjoy a man pounding into them without any rope, leather or chains involved. It's just so... dull. In fact, you can give me the restraints and forget the pounding!

So I have a rule for men: if they want a relationship with me, they need to pass a test. They have to show that they have both the inclination and ability to treat me the way I need to be treated: they have to bind me so that I can't get out. I've been into bondage for a long time, so that's not an easy task for them. Which is the idea: I'm kinky, but I'm not easy.

Is it topping from the bottom? Sure. But what's wrong with that? We both get what we want.

The problem is, most men can't pass the test. So when I break up with one, it takes me months to find another. When I'm single, like I am now, I keep auditioning men in the hope that they'll pass, but most fail.

Andrew was one of those who tried and failed. Unlike most of them, he decided to have another go. Today is Friday and he's coming over this evening, hopefully for the weekend. I wonder if he'll do better this time?

The doorbell rings. I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it's eight o'clock precisely. Good, he's punctual.

I take my time walking downstairs to the front door. I like my men to dominate me in the bedroom, but until we get there, I'm the princess and he waits.

Not that I'm dressed like a princess tonight, no ball gowns or fancy clothing. Just my tightest ripped blue jeans and an almost transparent tight white top. I haven't bothered with a bra, so my nipples can be seen plainly through the thin material. On my feet are plain, black leather boots. The whole outfit is designed to show off my assets without looking like I've tried too hard.

And, just as importantly, it's all easy to remove.

As I walk slowly to the door, I think back to the night when we met.

-----

It was about six weeks ago, a Friday again, and as usual I was in a singles bar. One of the reasons I enjoy living in a big city is that there are lots of places to meet new men!

I'd been standing alone at the bar, sipping my drink slowly, for almost an hour. A couple of men had already hit on me, only to be given polite rejections. Andrew and his friends had arrived about twenty minutes ago. I'd seen him watching me since they came in.

As usual on these nights, I was dressed to impress. Nothing outlandish, no fetish gear. Tight, black leather trousers sat above red, high-heeled shoes. My top was a red piece covered with a repeating pattern of small, black designs which – if you looked really carefully – might, perhaps, have resembled handcuffs. And, of course, the colour of my lipstick sat just the right side of the line between flirty and tarty.

I was, if I say so myself, looking good.

So was he.

As I finished up my drink, I turned my head and let him catch my eye. I gave a quick smile, then brushed back my hair and turned round to face the bar again.

He was over within seconds. "Hi!" he said. "I'm Andrew. Can I refill that glass for you?"

Straightforward approach, no cheesy pickup lines. Good start.

"No," I replied and his face fell. "But perhaps... perhaps I could get you a coffee? At my place?"

"Er... oh... yes. Yes of course!"

"But there's just one thing..." I leant in and whispered into his ear: "You have to tie me up."

His eyes almost bulged out of his head. I knew then that he'd fail the challenge, but he was cute so I decided to let him have a go.

We were back at my house in less than half an hour. Nothing was said during the cab ride, but I could almost hear his mind whirring as he tried to decide whether he was the luckiest man alive or the victim of a joke set up by his friends.

When we arrived, he paid for the cab and we went indoors. I didn't bother with the coffee that neither of us wanted. Instead, I led him straight upstairs to my bedroom.

Once there, I switched on the light and closed the door behind us.

"So," I said. "Have you ever tied up a woman?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's not something I've ever really done. But now you've suggested it, well..." His eyes caressed my figure. "I'd definitely like to give it a try."

I smiled. He had an open mind, which meant he had potential. "Well, here's your chance. It's a challenge: you tie me up and I try to escape. If I get out before morning, I win and you go home. If I can't escape, you win. Would you like to see the prize?"

His smile told me all I needed to know. I began slowly undressing, putting on a show. By the time I was down to my lacy bra and panties it looked as if his cock was going to burst through his jeans.

I removed the final items of clothing, then walked over to the cabinet where I keep my toy collection. Since he was new, I decided to keep it simple. I leant over, making sure he got a good view, and brought out a long piece of soft, red bondage rope which I store neatly coiled.

Turning, I threw the rope to him. He caught it easily, held it in both hands and ran it through his fingers as I went and lay face up on the bed.

"Here's the deal," I said to him, opening my legs slightly. "You tie me up, any way you like. Then you go downstairs and sleep on the couch. If I'm still tied up in eight hours, I'm yours for the weekend. You can do whatever you want with me."

I saw the lump in his throat as he swallowed. "Anything?"

"Well, anything sane! But that's only if you win. If I get out, I win and you leave. Out the door, out of my life. Gone. OK?"

He nodded, twisted the rope in hands a few times as if getting the feel for it, then walked over to the bed where I was laying. He spent a few seconds looking down at me, whether deciding what to do or just admiring the view I'm not sure. Probably both.

Am I crazy? Letting a man I don't know come into my house and tie me up? Promising that he can do anything with me if I can't escape? Maybe I am a little bit crazy, it's definitely a risky thing to do. Hell, let's be honest: it's dangerous. But I like to think I'm good at sizing men up quickly, I've had plenty of experience. If I have any doubts, I don't even invite them home. Sure, it's still a risk – but one I'm aware of and willing to take.

"Hands out front," he said. I complied, holding them straight up in the air.

He reached out and wrapped one end of the rope around my left wrist and knotted it lightly. "Is that too tight?" he asked. I shook my head, at which he removed then retied the knot, tighter this time. Yes, I thought, this guy has potential.

He wrapped the rope around my left wrist a few times, then took it over to my right. A few coils went round that, finished off by another tight knot. He stood back to admire his work so far and I smiled up at him, wriggling my arms gently to emphasise my apparent helplessness.

"Wow," he said. "You looked hot before, but now... Tied up like that. Wow. Now you're just amazing."

"Thanks," I replied. "But remember, you can't have me if I can escape. You've more work to do."

"With pleasure."

He took the length remaining at the end of the rope and ran it down towards my feet. Then he stopped.

"I've had an idea," he said. "Bring your knees up."

I complied silently, bringing my legs together and lifting them so that my bound wrists were between my breasts and my knees.

He ran the rope from my wrists between my legs and down to my feet. A loop went round my left ankle and was tied in place. Then he wrapped all the remaining length of rope around and around both ankles until there was only enough left to tie off in a final knot.

Being tied up and immobilised is one of the things I enjoy most in life. The touch of his fingers, the feeling of the soft, red rope... all had combined to make me hot and damp.

He stepped back from the bed and looked at me. Laying on my back in front of him naked, wrists and ankles bound to themselves and each other, legs in the air.

"Like what you see?" I asked with a grin.

"Oh yes, very much. I never realised that tying up a woman would be so much fun." His hand rubbed his crotch, apparently without even realising he was doing it.

Well, he'd passed the first part of the test: enjoying it. But the second part...

"So," he said. "What now? Do I go downstairs and wait until morning?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'd be out of these ropes before you got to the bottom of the stairs."

His face crumpled with disappointment.

"Not bad for a first time," I said. "But you made lots of mistakes. It would have been better if you'd got me to cross my wrists then wrapped them both ways. Or at least cinched the loop."

"Cinched?"

"As it is, I can wriggle quite a bit and the loops aren't secure." I demonstrated, using a thumb to flick a loop over. "Which means I can find enough slack to get my hands to the knots." I easily untied one wrist then the other. Then reached down and untied my ankles.

I dropped the rope on the floor and lay back on the bed.

"Sorry, Andrew. You can let yourself out."

At this point, one of three things can happen. Around 95% of men slink off and I never see them again. A few seem to think that 'No' means 'Yes' and assume I'm just teasing; the pepper spray I keep nearby makes it very clear that I'm not.

A very, very small number of men ask for another chance.

Andrew let his eyes run along my naked body from my feet all the way up to my head. Then he looked me directly in the eye. "Let me try again," he asked.

I studied at him and pretended to think about it. In reality, I'd already made up my mind. He was cute, he'd clearly enjoyed tying me up. I'd been single for a while and found myself wanting him to succeed.

"OK," I said. "You can have one more go."

He moved towards the rope on the floor, but I raised a hand and stopped him.

"But not tonight. I have a rule: some people get a second chance, nobody gets a third. Don't waste your second chance until you're sure. Go away, do some research, maybe buy some gear of your own. Then contact me." I gave him my phone number.

"So it doesn't have to be rope?" he asked. The expression on his face showed he was imagining the possibilities.

"No," I replied. "Whatever you like – except chains and handcuffs. Even I can't get out of those." That last bit was a lie, I'm very flexible.

He double checked he had my phone number right, then left.

-----

Even when I agree to give them a second chance, most men never actually come back. Maybe they decide they're just not into the kinky stuff, or maybe their male pride is hurt by the fact that they failed my challenge. I never know nor care.

But Andrew... Andrew came back. About four weeks after our first meeting, he sent me a message asking to see me again. We arranged a Friday evening, and here we are.

I open the door and he's standing there with a sports bag in one hand. In the other is... a large bunch of flowers. Not what I normally expect from a man who's about to tie me up, hopefully for the weekend!

"Thank you," I smile. "They're lovely."

He returns the smile and, to my relief, doesn't make the predictable response. I definitely feel good about having invited him back for a second chance.

I show him into the lounge, then take the flowers in the kitchen and place them in a vase. That done, I pour coffee; this time we actually will be having coffee! Well, he'll be having it. I'm not going to drink anything, just in case he succeeds in tying me up for the whole night.

Joining him in the sitting room, I hand him the cup then we sit down facing each other. As he sips his drink, we make small talk. But not for long. After all, we both know why he's here.

Since he's too much of a gentleman to broach the subject, I start.

"So, Andrew. Do you think you'll manage to restrain me properly this time? Bind me so tightly that I won't be able to get out all night."

"I hope so," is his honest reply. "I've been doing a lot of research on the internet..."

I laugh. "Oh you poor thing. That must have been a dreadful chore."

He laughs easily along with me. "Oh yes, I really hated viewing all those sites! The things we do for... lust."

"And the bag?" I ask quickly, looking down at it on the floor.

"Oh yes. I also did some shopping. Like you suggested. I never knew how much kinky stuff there was out there, just a mouse click away! It was difficult to choose, but I in the end I bought..."

He stops as I hold up my hand. "Don't tell me," I say. "Show me."

I get up from the chair and he rises too. He picks up his bag and I lead him up to the bedroom.

Closing the door behind us I go and stand by the bed. "Here we are," I say. "How would you like to tie me up? Clothed or naked?" I'm teasing and can see from his face that he knows it.

"Oh, I think you should be naked. Especially for what I have in mind." He looks meaningfully at his bag, which he places on the floor.

Sounds interesting.

I start to strip, beginning with my top. Since I'm not wearing a bra, I do this slowly, teasing him as I gradually expose my breasts. As expected, his attention is immediately riveted by them.

Next I remove the boots, revealing the naked feet inside. Wearing boots on bare skin isn't comfortable, but I knew that this evening I wouldn't be keeping them on for long.

Finally, off come the jeans. Not only did I do without a bra, I also did without panties. This slowly becomes apparent to Andrew as I shimmy out of the jeans. They drop to the floor and I kick them aside, now standing totally naked.

"Oh yes," he says. "Quite a show. Almost worth the price of admission on its own."

I turn to lay down on the bed, but before I do so he stops me.

"No," he says. "I'm going to need you standing up. At least at first."

Now this is definitely getting interesting. I was expecting maybe a hogtie, but he's clearly got past that in his 'research'. So I stay standing and spread my arms.

"OK, here I am. Standing."

He kneels down and moves his bag so that I can see it well. Then he slowly unzips it. He reveals the contents gradually, teasing me in much the same way as I teased him. I catch sight of something large and white, with the flash of metal buckles. My mind races and I realise that there's only one thing this can be.

He brings it out of the bag and lets it unfurl before me. I was right.

What he's holding is a white, canvas straitjacket. The front is solid with two long, sealed arm pieces. The opening is at the rear where there are rows of eyelets on both sides for lacing up the occupant. There are also loops, straps and buckles attached at various points.

I've been bound in straitjackets before, but not very often. They're great pieces of bondage equipment and if used correctly they're almost impossible to escape from. Unfortunately, they cost a small fortune. At least they do if you buy a quality one and know how to use it.

From what I can see, this looks like a very high quality. It's made from sturdy-looking white canvas with very solid stitching. A good choice. Maybe I really will be unable to get out and have to spend the whole night in it. Possibly the entire weekend if that's what he decides. If he knows how to use it.

It's a wonderful thought and I realise I've taken a step forwards in my eagerness to get into the jacket.

"Arms out," he says and I raise my arms, holding them out straight in front of me.

He brings the jacket towards me, lining up the arm holes. I slip my hands into the long sleeves and, as he continues moving the jacket forwards, I push my arms into it, wriggling them along the canvas tubes. Although the material is soft, it's also very strong and the sleeves hug my arms tightly.

By the time the front of the jacket makes contact with my chest, my arms are deep into the sleeves. There are no holes at the end for my hands, the material simply tapers off into a flatter section. I can still bend my hands into fists, but individual fingers are effectively useless. The very ends of the sleeves are sealed with straps attached.

Now that my arms are secured, Andrew walks round and stands behind me. He takes the open sides of the jacket and pulls them together behind my back, causing the material at the front to pull more tightly against my body and push heavily on my breasts. My nipples are hard and dig into the fabric.

The jacket has a high collar which he lifts into position, then pulls tight at the back. I feel him run the cord through the collar eyelets, then he begins to thread them down my back. One to the left, one to the right, tighten. On to the left, one to the right, tighten...

A zip would have been a lot quicker and probably just as secure, but nowhere near as much fun. At least half the fun of bondage for me is the thrill experiencing being bound; I assume that men get as much fun out of the act of binding. Slower is often better.

Certainly Andrew takes his time, occasionally making appreciative comments about how much he's enjoying it. The cord gets lower and lower down my back, and with every eyelet the chance of my escaping becomes less. He's not leaving any slack at all in the cord and is pulling the jacket very tight, compressing my stomach almost like a corset.

Eventually the cord reaches the final eyelets at the bottom of the jacket and he ties it off. I wonder how good a job he made of the knot?

Now he turns his attention to the other straps on the rear of the jacket. These buckle and tighten across my back. Not only do they serve to seal the suit more tightly, they also protect the lacing and make it almost impossible to loosen.

At the moment, I could reach behind my back. However, with my hands enveloped in the canvas ends of the sleeve, opening the buckles would be a difficult task.

Soon it will become impossible: he says a single word, "Arms".

I know what needs to be done and cross my arms loosely underneath my breasts. I leave a little slack to give me more room to twist and turn later, making escape easier.

He takes the two ends of the arms of the straitjacket and pulls them behind my back. One of the straps goes through the buckle on the other and he pulls tight. Well, as tight as he can with me resisting.

My plan to leave my arms loose doesn't last long. From nowhere I feel a sharp pull on the hair at the back of my head. I squeal and for a moment forget to concentrate on keeping my arm muscles tensed. In that instant, he pulls the strap behind my back tighter and my arms are jammed right into my chest beneath my breasts. Any slack I had is now gone.

He really has been doing his research. He definitely knows how to use a straitjacket.

My arms are now sealed tightly as if hugging myself. Even if I had the use of my hands, their positions would make them ineffective. I twist and pull experimentally, but the buckles at the back are solid and don't give.

There are two more straps hanging down from the bottom of the front of the straitjacket. I had been wondering if he'd forgetten about them, or not known what to do with them, but he that's not to be.

He takes the first strap and runs it under my right thigh and round the back where it's buckled in place at the bottom of the rear of the jacket. The second goes round my left thigh and is also buckled tightly. With these two in place, I won't be able to get the jacket off over my head. Also, the constant pressure on the sides of my pussy is going to ensure that it stays moist... not that I need any extra stimulation!

"Well done," I say, the compliment sincere. "It's going to take me a while to escape from this."

"Did I say I was finished?"

He goes back to his bag and this time what comes out is black. Three black leather straps.

He takes these and walks round behind me. "Legs together," he says. I obey, then feel the first strap being placed around my ankles. He pulls it tight and buckles it in place. Another goes below my knees and a third above them, pulling my thighs together and causing the straps at the base of the jacket to press more firmly on my pussy.

My legs are now securely welded together. So much for the idea of using my feet to manipulate the straps!

"Onto the bed," he says.

Walking is impossible with my legs and feet strapped together. There's just enough slack in the ankle straps for me to hobble slowly, half an inch at a time. It takes me at least a minute of slow shuffling to cover the short distance to the side of the bed. Andrew watches on, clearly enjoying the sight of a tightly bound woman struggling to obey his command.

That's the sort of attitude I like in a man.

Now I'm at the side of the bed, how am I going to get onto it? I try kneeling forward, the thigh straps cutting into my muscles as I do so. With my knees on the bed, I bring up my feet and try to swing round...

At which point I fall flat on my face on the bed, unable to use my hands to stop myself.

From behind me I hear Andrew laugh. Then he walks over and rearranges my body so that I am laid out neatly in the middle of the bed. He turns me over so that I'm face up and can see him standing, leaning over me.

"Thanks!" I say.

He smiles. "Such a pretty face," he says. He reaches out a hand and runs a finger along one of my cheeks. "So pretty. It almost seems a shame..."

What does he mean by that? I watch him go over to his bag and bring something else out. Black leather again.

He walks back over and holds the object so I can see it: a black leather hood with eye, nose and mouth holes.

"Covering such a pretty face," he says. "It's a crying shame. Well, I suppose I'll just have to man up and do it." He gives me a cheeky wink.

The hood, like the straitjacket, is open at the back with eyelets for lacing it up. He places it over my head and pulls it down gently, manoeuvring it into place and ensuring that the holes in the front line up with the relevant parts of my face.

The gorgeous smell of fresh leather seeps into my nose, the hood is clearly new. It's also an expensive one. Some are made of cheap material that hardly bends. Not this one. This is soft and yielding, forming itself over the shape of my head.

Once it's in place, he begins to lace it up at the back. As with the jacket, he takes his time and ensures that the seams are pulled tightly together. Finally, he ties it off at the base.

He lays my head back down on the bed and grins at me from above. I try to imagine what I must look like, my now useless arms hugging my chest, the straps round my legs and the hood covering my face; the black of the leather contrasting with the white of the straitjacket.

It's a good picture and I moan happily. If I was a man, I'm sure I'd want to fuck a helpless package like that. From the look in his eyes and the bulge in his crotch, I can tell that Andrew feels the same way. But that wasn't the deal and he sticks to the agreement.

"Eight hours," he says, looking my body up and down. "Then it's all mine. For the whole weekend."

"Not a chance," I say through the hood, not really believing it. "I'll be out of this in ten minutes."

He laughs. "I don't think there's any way that will happen. Unless..." A serious look comes over his face, "Unless you bite your way through the straps."

I can't tell whether or not he's joking. Then his poker face cracks. He laughs and holds up a large red ballgag on a black leather strap. "But I think I know how to prevent that!"

Jackpot!

I don't struggle as he brings the ball to my face, in fact I open my mouth as wide as possible. If he understands the importance of a gag then he's learned something of the psychology of BDSM, the intense thrill of powerlessness in all its forms.

With the gag strapped securely behind my head, I am now truly helpless. I can't argue, beg or scream. Again, I think that he could do anything; again, he resists.

He makes sure that the nose hole in the hood is clear and I'll be able to breathe properly, then nods in satisfaction. "Almost done," he says. "Just one final touch."

This time he brings out a black leather blindfold. The straps go through loops on the side of the hood and it buckles at the back. Again, it's made of high quality, soft leather and has padding to keep it comfortable. With the straps fed through the hood loops, I won't be able to shake it off.

So now I am sightless as well as voiceless, lacking the use of my arms and my legs.

Andrew has exceeded my expectations.

I hear his voice at my ear. Through the thick leather of the hood it sounds like a whisper, but the words are clear: "I hope you're enjoying this. I spent money on this gear, a lot of money. That money was for you. So you know what that makes you? A whore. My bound, slutty whore."

Those words get my blood beating even faster than before. A bound, slutty whore. Yes. That's what I want to be. No longer a princess, just his helpless bondage slut. I want to cum now right now, want him to fuck me, but he doesn't touch me.

He continues: "I could do anything to you now, anything. And you couldn't resist." I wriggle happily on the bed, demonstrating for both of us my powerlessness. "But," he says. "I won't. I'll stick to the rules of the game, give you the night to try to escape. You've got eight hours to get out. If you're still in this straitjacket tomorrow morning... well, I have plans for the weekend. And another bag of toys in the car."

I faintly hear his footsteps walking away, followed by the bedroom door opening and shutting behind him. I'm left wondering about the contents of that second bag.

So now I have eight hours in which to escape from this tight bondage. If I don't, I'll spend the whole weekend as the helpless toy of a man I barely know.

I lay still for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation of being bound. Then I start shifting around, tugging experimentally at the various straps. He's done a good job and there are no obvious areas of slack that I can make use of.

For a while I think that he's got me, that I really am trapped. That thought always brings with it a pang of alarm, which my brain then translates into a rush of sexual pleasure.

But much as I enjoy being bound and helpless, I really, really dislike being beaten. So I struggle harder, twist in every direction my limbs will go. As I wriggle, testing the bonds, I realise that for all his careful research he's made one serious mistake.

It's a beginner error: he forgot to fasten the strap at the front of the straitjacket that should hold the arms to the chest. Without that in place, I'll eventually be able to get my arms above my head. That will give me enough flexibility and reach to undo the other straps. Manipulating the buckles through the canvas will be difficult, but I've got experience. With time I'll manage it.

If he'd remembered that front strap, or padlocked the buckles, I'd be truly stuck. Trapped here on the bed until he walks in on me tomorrow morning.

As it is, it will probably take me about an hour of sweaty exertion to get free.

All I need to do is wriggle.

I can imagine how he'll react when I walk in on him downstairs, can imagine his face falling. He's so keen, so eager. He has so much potential. Still, rules are rules and he failed the test.

But...

I think back over the evening since he arrived.

I think about how cute he is. I think about the fact that, even when I was helpless, at no point did he break the rules and let his hands wander. I think about the way he ran his finger along my cheek.

I think about the flowers.

I decide not to wriggle.