A True Story of Self-Bondage Punishment

“Beep beep!” My alarm clock chirps right on schedule. It’s already two in the morning, and I was sleeping so deeply. Do I really have to get up? Then my imagined Mistress starts yelling at me.

“Get up, slave! Right now! Take off that nightgown! Hurry! And those panties too!

I obeyed my imaginary Mistress without a second thought. Standing there naked and ready for inspection, I waited while she listed all the offenses I had committed.

“It is time for your punishment, slave. Hold out your wrists.”

I slipped on a pair of handcuffs, then used a small nail to poke through the little double-lock hole in one side. Earlier this evening, I had left my keys up in the barn loft atop a pile of old hay bales. I didn’t want to tempt myself with an easy escape.

“Now get your rear outside. And take that jar with you.”

I grabbed the large jar from the kitchen counter and carefully opened the door to the dark outdoors. The warm, humid air wrapped around me as I stepped onto the grassy lawn, still wet with dew. It was August, so high humidity hung in the air. There was just enough starlight for me to find my way to the punishment spot. Through the gloom, I could barely make out the glow of the white ropes. I worked up a sweat driving two stakes into the ground, angling them deeply so the ropes wouldn’t slip off.

Once the stakes were set, I threw a long chain over the large branch directly above them and locked the ends together with a combination lock. I threaded the open shackle of a second combo lock through a link in that chain for later use tonight. Now, once my ankles are tied, I can just reach up to touch the overhead chain.

And here I am, ready to endure. “Spread your legs wider, slave! Wider still! Tie those ropes tight around each ankle.” I followed orders, wrapping the rope several times and tying three very secure knots. “You know what to do next, slave. Do it!”

I picked up the jar, tossed the lid aside, and caught a whiff of sweet honey. I dipped my forefinger in and rubbed it against my thumb. Should I? “Do it!”, the voice commanded. One more dip, then I rubbed some honey onto each nipple. This time, two fingers went into the pot before going straight to my slit. I worked plenty inside me, all around my pussy lips. Setting the jar down, I plunged my whole hand in and reached back with cuffed hands to touch my bottom. Another generous handful was smeared over my buttocks, reaching between my legs.

No turning back now. I scooped up handfuls of honey and spread a thick coating from toes to waist. More. So much more. Frenziedly, I rubbed the golden nectar over my arms, shoulders, and neck. Before long, my entire body was dripping with sticky goo, glistening under the starlight. Tilting the jar upside down, let the rest of the honey cascade over my head, running through my hair, seeping into my ears, and trickling down my back into my crack. Honey dripped from my chin onto my breasts.

I reached up to find the open shackle waiting for my handcuff chain. With legs spread wide enough that I could just barely touch it, I shuffled my feet a bit. Straining with slippery fingers, I managed to snap the lock shut. “Now suffer until dawn, slave.”

My punishment has begun, and I am held captive for hours. The sensation is almost indescribable. I can feel the honey trickling down at a snail’s pace, slowly dripping from elbows to tits. It tickles but feels incredibly sensual.

“Don’t let the creatures of the night get you, slave. See you in the morning.”

My imaginary Mistress leaves me alone, but what did she mean by “creatures of the night”? I am stretched so tight and wide; if anything comes around, what can I do? Nothing. Minutes passed slowly. Suddenly, I felt something strange—not quite a tickle, but close.

On my foot. Something crawling on it. Ants! I feel them creeping up my leg, higher now near the waist. They paused. Another one started its journey up my other leg. Is this really my punishment? Soon more ants were climbing both legs and some even made their way to my hands. I felt them on my back and neck; a few investigated my bottom while others spent time around my nipples. One crawled across my face, causing me to shake my head violently. They looked black, about half an inch long. A string of ants moved rapidly up both thighs and settled in the area around my pussy.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I started having an intense orgasm. Shaking within my cuffs, legs stiff as boards, I went through a series of climaxes. Totally spent, I hung limply from the overhead chain, breathing hard and whimpering. Oh how I wanted this punishment to end! If only I had turned off the alarm and stayed in bed. But then I wouldn’t know this moment or experience this wild kinky ride in selfbondage. I had no choice; did I? Please punish me, oh imaginary Mistress of the night.

Finally, I notice the sky brightening. By now, dozens upon dozens of ants have inspected my private parts without missing a square inch—at least they haven’t bitten yet. Just crawling endlessly. With enough light to see clearly, I realize my whole body is covered in large black ants and other indescribable bugs.

Suddenly, another earth-shaking string of orgasms hits me. This time I almost pass out. As my breath returns, I work on opening the combination lock. Squashing ants around it with my fingers, I try the numbers twice before succeeding—the third time is indeed a charm. Painfully lowering my arms, I just stand there gasping for air. Cold and needing to pee, I am nearly too tired to untie my ankles. So I simply let go, peeing like a man right into the honey jar below.

My body, especially legs, ache so much that bending over is difficult. Why did I tie so many knots? A complete mess with sticky ants and honey stuck everywhere; some still crawling, many dead now. And my keys… they are in the barn loft on top of an old stack of hay bales. Slowly dragging my legs forward on painful steps toward the barn, I climb the ladder to the loft.

Bits of dirt and hay cling to the soles of my feet. In the loft, I climb a pyramid of old bales where I stored them. My foot stumbles, kicking one bale out from under me as I fall forward, upsetting everything. I tumble down among the bales covering myself in dusty dirt and rotted hay while the mountain avalanches around me. Some break apart; others fall through the floor opening, knocking over the ladder.

I lie there exhausted, crying, smeared with honey, sprinkled with ants, and rolled in hay stubble. Oh no! My keys! Where did they go?

“Are we having fun yet, slave? Finding your keys will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. HA Ha ha ha ha.”,