A Trio in Bondage: My Turn to Be Tied Up by Mary and Jen

If you haven’t read the tale “Pillory - the whole story,” it’s best to begin there. You can locate it on this forum, posted on November 25, 2009. That narrative introduces our characters along with some of their equipment.

I have been fascinated by self-bondage since I was a kid. I recall steering neighborhood play toward games that involved being tied up. Cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers were rich sources for me. I looked for opportunities to tie up the girls in the neighborhood, and to be tied by them myself. I found equal joy in both roles.

I met Jen and Mary at work; we worked in the same office. I first started our bondage relationship by taking a massive risk. I won’t go into all the details of that story; you can find it linked above. Also, I don’t suggest anyone else take the exact risk I did. It was dangerous physically, emotionally, and socially. I could have died or been humiliated beyond imagination. But the big risk paid off greatly. Now I have a beautiful woman, Jen, as my bondage and life partner, with occasional help from our mutual friend, Mary.

On a Friday evening, after we were both home from work, Jen told me it was my turn to be the victim right after dinner. Naturally, I agreed. Jen was always plotting new fantasies for us. More than half the time she wanted to play prisoner herself, yet she was also a fantastic mistress. She could be playful and teasing with me or seriously dominant. You never knew what to expect. That night she looked mischievous, but we would see.

She told me to finish cleaning up the kitchen dishes before preparing myself. I cleared the plates, loaded the dishwasher, and poured her a glass of wine before going off to get ready. She hadn’t asked for it, but that is what a good slave does. Preparing meant taking a shower, shaving close, and adding a hint of cologne—the specific scent she had chosen for me. She found one I should wear when dominant and another for when I am submissive. I couldn’t quite detect the qualities in her mind that created these associations, but I didn’t question it. If she believed this particular cologne made me a better sub, I was only too happy to wear it.

Clean and scented, I stepped into the living room. She had pulled down the blinds, put on music, dimmed the lights, and sat in her chair sipping wine. She looked me up and down as if judging a slave for purchase at market. While I was showering, she changed clothes too. She wore tight leather pants, boots with a nice heel, a white silk blouse (unbuttoned enough to show a black lacy bra), and black leather gloves. The gloves fit tightly with short flared gauntlets. I had helped pick out her clothes because they turned me on, and she did the same for my wardrobe. After inspecting me thoroughly, she told me to go get into my French maid outfit.

I returned to the bedroom and opened our ‘special’ drawer. First, I took out a lacy satin garter belt. I put it on, pulled up the stockings, and attached them to the garter. Then came the shoes: nice ankle-strap pumps with high heels. I buckled the straps and stood up. The dress was one piece, zipping up the back. The skirt part was barely long enough in front to reach the stocking tops, but cut higher in the back to reveal my rear. It looked more like an apron than a traditional skirt; petticoats made it stick out slightly. That high back cut left my ass available for whatever Jen had planned. I pulled on a pair of long black leather gloves, smoothing them up almost to my shoulders, feeling the supple leather and savoring its smell. Finally, I picked up the leather collar and buckled it around my neck, then grabbed the chain leash.

Back in the living room, I placed the chain leash on the table near where Jen sat, still sipping her wine. She looked me over again. Was that hunger in her eyes? Would I be in for a long playful night of teasing or due some punishment? I couldn’t tell yet.

She stood up, snapped the leash onto my collar, and started walking toward the basement stairs, tugging me along as we went. I followed, having a bit of trouble balancing in heels. She unlocked our playroom door and pulled me inside. This was my first sign that punishment awaited. If she had taken me to the bedroom and tied me to the bed, I might have expected more playful activity.

Our playroom is well-equipped for bondage. There are sturdy iron rings set into the ceiling and walls. We own a wooden pillory adjustable for either Jen or myself, plus a post in the middle of the room ideal for tying someone up. A king-size bed sits in the corner. It’s a reasonably large room with windows facing only our backyard. The double-glazed windows are nearly soundproof. It is a very private and snug play space.

Jen pulled me to a spot under hanging chains from the ceiling. She placed a steel shackle around each wrist, locking them with padlocks. Then she walked to the wall and tugged on the chains, adjusting them until my arms were raised fully overhead before locking them in place. Next, she directed me to spread my legs and shackled them to a spreader bar. She buckled on a ball gag, forcing it into my mouth and securing it tightly behind my head.

Standing behind me, she reached between my legs and started fondling my cock. I was already hard. She stroked until I was just on the verge of coming, then stopped. She took both my ears, pulled back slightly, whispered that she had a special surprise for me but told me to wait patiently. Not knowing there was any choice other than patience, I nodded. Then she walked out of the playroom, closing the door.

I hung there for a while until hearing movement above in the living room. Eventually, the dungeon door opened and Jen and Mary both entered. Jen was having some trouble because her arms were tied behind her back; she had a cloth gag and her ankles were shackled with a short chain. She remained dressed as before but looked at me with wide eyes, doing her best to role-play a captured damsel while looking beautiful doing it. Mary looked very stern. I was excited beyond belief by the thought that Jen and I would both be dominated by our friend Mary.

Mary positioned Jen back-first against the post. First, she pulled Jen’s elbows back and tied them to either side of the pillar. Then she untied her wrists and re-tied those to the sides as well. Using way more rope than necessary, she bound Jen’s torso tightly to the post, ensuring the rope passed above, below, and crossed between her breasts. She unlocked the ankle shackles, tied the ankles together, then secured them to the post. Finally, she tied Jen’s legs just above and below the knees to the post as well. Jen stood perfectly upright with perfect posture. Pulling her elbows back thrust her breasts forward, and the rope framing them made them even more enticing. I was in heaven watching this. Mary noticed Jen’s head moving about so she used another long scarf over the gag to tie her head securely to the post.

As I admired Jen, wondering if they practiced tying often, my thoughts were interrupted when Mary turned toward me with a very evil smile. She wore a short, tight black leather skirt, boots, and a scarf tied around her neck, but no top. She walked behind me where she was hidden before reappearing holding a thin braided leather riding crop. Clearly, she knew exactly where to find our gear; she had been here before. She flexed and twisted the whip in front of me, showing she knew what she was doing. I was being tortured with anticipation. Would she whip me? How hard and how long? Or would she start with Jen?

ly stroking the inside of my thigh with the crop. “Nice costume, little girl” she said, causing me to blush with humiliation. She rubbed the whip over my legs and ass, teasing me with it and with her words. She told me such things as “You’ve been a bad little girl” and “bad little girls get whipped”. She had her hand under the dress, holding and stroking my cock. As often as I could, I looked Jen in the eye and saw that she was taking it all in. The thing about whipping for me is that it is not about the pain. It is all about the drama. Mary played it perfectly, teasing and taunting, but reinforcing the message with a well placed and well timed swat with the whip. Yes, it was painful, and I would have done anything to have it stop, but it was also erotic and I knew from experience, that even though I truly wanted it to stop now, in the morning I would wish that it had gone on longer and harder. With Jen watching me, I wanted to take the whipping well. I held out as long as I could, but soon enough found myself sobbing and begging through the drool soaked ball gag. I pleaded and begged for mercy, my words muffled and garbled, but the meaning clear. After one of the best whippings I had ever experienced, Mary finally stopped. She stood in front of me and hugging me with one arm, she stroked me with the other hand. “Well done” she told me. It was like an explosion when I came and it left me hanging limp in the chains for a moment until I could regain use of my legs. Mary walked over to Jen and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, then on the top of her breast. She untied her, working in reverse of the way she had tied her. She refastened the ankle shackles and handcuffed her behind. Mary led her from the room, and closed the door behind her. I heard it lock. I hung there for probably half an hour, but who can tell time in a situation like that. Finally the door opened and Jen re-appeared. She was unbound of course, and wearing a nightgown. She unlocked my ankles and lowered my arms. She unlocked my wrist shackles and removed the dress, leaving me in garter belt, stockings and gloves. She lead me to the bed and tied me to the four corners, spread eagled. She lay beside me and told me that Mary had really enjoyed playing with us and would it be alright if she came again. I nodded. Jen told me that perhaps next time I could be the master of two willing slaves. Then she pulled up her nightgown and slid down on me, pumping me until I came again. She removed my gag, to my great relief, and untied my legs, leaving my arms tied. That is how I awoke the next morning.