Martin : Fluctuat Incertis Erroribus Ardor Amantum : The Passion of Lovers surges and swells in Irregular Waves (f/m)

[Canuck100]

Fluctuat Incertis Erroribus Ardor Amantum : The Passion of Lovers surges and swells in Irregular Waves

By Martin

Wed Apr 22 12:09:36 UTC+0100 1998

I have just discovered your marvellous page, and have read every word which has been posted. So much of what has been written mirrors my own child and teen years in the 1960's and 1970's.

From the age of seven or eight I was intrigued and excited by bondage scenes on television. Living in England, the shows I remember were "The Avengers", "The Baron", and many American crime and detective series. Honor Blackman and Diana Rigg bound and gagged in perilous situations, and so often wearing leather boots, haunted my dreams. I experimented with tying myself up but no matter how clever I was I was never helpless. It was at the age of twelve that the formative bondage experience of my life took place.

I should explain that I was strong and quite tall for my age, with an slim athletic figure (and went on to play rugby for England at Under 16 and Under 18 level), and I had tried wrestling and tickling girls of my own age and older, but they never succeeded in overpowering me, and my friends were not into kidnap and tying up games, as so many of your correspondents reported.

One Christmas holiday my sister, who was fourteen, had invited a new friend to stay for a few days. Barbara was about my height, with long, slim legs and just about the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Both she and Zena, my sister, were out every day riding across my father's estate. On the second day of her stay my sister was thrown from her horse, and was taken to hospital as a precaution. Barbara, slightly dishevelled, came into the library in her tight white shirt, immaculate jodhpurs and shiny, black boots. What happened was to change my life for ever.

I had been engaging in one of my favourite pastimes in the library whilst the house was quiet. My younger sister, Amanda, had collected many girls' comics over the years. I had taken a great pile of them down to the library, and was searching through them for picture stories where the heroine was placed in bondage. As Barbara walked across the polished, wooden floor towards me I quite forgot what I was doing, concentrating instead on the leather riding boots she was wearing. As she reached the table she giggled, and suggested that I was perhaps a little old for reading girls' comics.

Sitting beside me she looked at the three piles on the table. The largest pile comprised the comics I had yet to search, the second pile comprised the rejects and the smallest pile - embarrassingly open at the pages where bound and gagged heroines were illustrated - was in front of me. Silent for a moment she flicked through the smallest pile, before fixing me with a wide smile.

"I used to like stories like this," Barbara said. "We must like the same sort of things." With that she walked out of the library, without another word. I sat, red with embarrassment, hoping the earth would open up and swallow me. I cleared up the comics, returning them to Zena's room, but keeping the interesting ones with me.

Fearing that Barbara would tell my sister, my mother or just drop it into the conversation at dinner was foremost in my mind. I headed for the stables, where I intended to spend the rest of the afternoon in the hay loft. Climbing quickly up the wooden steps, I failed to see Barbara grooming the horse she had been riding that morning. Throwing myself down into the straw, I quickly immersed myself in bondage fantasies with the aid of the pictures in the comics. A few minutes later and I heard someone climbing up into the loft. It was Barbara.

"You really do like seeing girls tied up, don't you? she said gently. You looked so upset in the library I had to come and see you. I shan't tell anyone. Don't worry." She lay down in the straw beside me, and flicked through the pages. "Which is your favourite? I like the kidnap stories best. We act them out at school."

She was so kind and understanding that I opened my heart to her. An hour later we were still lying there, talking about my fantasies. Barbara asked whether I had ever tied anybody up. "Only myself," I admitted shamefacedly. "Oh, I bet you like to pretend that you're the girl on the television or in the picture."

That, suddenly, clarified the situation for me. That was it. Apart from the fact that I couldn't tie myself properly, the fantasy that I had never admitted to myself or understood, was that I wanted to be the damsel in distress. Tears flooded down my face. Barbara was silent and thoughtful for a few moments. "Come on over to the big house. I think I know what you need." We walked over to the house and up to the guest wing. I followed Barbara in a daze, my eyes glued to those pert buttocks jiggling in her jodhpurs and the click of her riding boots on the wooden floor.

Asking me to wait outside her room for a moment she went inside and rummaged around. Five minutes later she invited me inside. Laid out on the bed were a white blouse, a black mini skirt, a pile of underwear and a pair of black leather, knee-high boots. "You're about my size. Your hair is almost down to your shoulders." She paused. "What we could do is dress you up as a heroine in my clothes, and then I could tie you up really tightly." She paused again. "Well. What do you think?"

My chest seemed to be about to burst as I struggled for breath. I was filled with excitement and horror. "Go on," Barbara said. "It'll be our secret." I swallowed hard, and just about managed to utter, "Okay, I'll give it a go."

With my back to Barbara, I quickly stripped out of my clothes. Quickly pulling the lacy knickers up my legs to cover my modesty, I was then faced with the small white bra. "I can do without this," I said. "Oh no, you must," whispered Barbara. "We'll stuff it with a pair of socks to make you look right."

Once the bra was fastened, I pulled on the white blouse which was a good fit. The skirt, which came half way down my thighs, was a little tight and I felt a little restricted in it. And then came the boots. Made out of soft calf leather, with a small heel, I pulled the right boot on. It came right up to me knee, and when I zipped it up it was a perfect fit - all tight and shiny and black. The left boot quickly followed, and I was ready. I walked over to the full length mirror and looked. I felt good. I felt vulnerable. I felt like a goddess.

Barbara stood beside me. Her face was flushed and she was breathing heavily. "Time for action," she whispered. "I'll be back in a few minutes." With that she rushed out the door. I turned and walked away from the mirror, looking back over my shoulder as I did so. The tight skirt and the black boots were all I could look at. My mind was racing. Within a few minutes I would be bound (no mention had been made about being gagged) tightly so that I could struggle and not escape.

Barbara came bursting though the door, carrying coils of rope and bundles of leather straps which she had found in the stables. Without a word she threw them on the bed, selected a thin piece of rope and advanced on me threateningly.

"I want you to do exactly as I tell you. Put your hands behind you." I did so, and she moved behind me. The thin cord was wrapped tightly around my wrists, and then cinched fiercely. I felt the cords bite into my flesh. This was it.

There was no point in struggling. The very tightness of the cord was sufficient for me to realise that there would be no escape. Barbara took me by the arm and pulled me over to the bed. Reaching down she took another longer piece of thin cord and moved behind me. Lifting my wrists away from my body, she slipped a loop of cord up above my elbows. Pulling the loop tight, like a lasso, she then wound the rope firmly around my arms, before cinching the loose end securely. As the rope was tightened, my arms were pulled together and I was aware that my bra was pressing against the thin material of the blouse. My imagination went into overdrive.

Kneeling in front of me, Barbara took another piece of rope. I expected, as in all the best television series, she would tie my ankles, preventing my escape. However she had a plan of her own. Taking a length of rope she wound it round my thighs, just above the level of the mini skirt. Momentarily I was puzzled, especially as the loops seemed much less restrictive than those on my wrists and arms. "Open your legs as far as you can," she instructed. Given the looseness of the rope I was able to open my legs a couple of inches. "Keep them like that, and don't squirm." Barbara then took a very thin piece of cord, and reaching between my legs, wound the cord once at right angles to the ropes round my thighs. She then pulled the thin cord very hard, causing the loops around my thighs to be enormously tightened. The flesh on my sensitive inner thighs seemed to be on fire, as she tied the cord off.

She then repeated the process above the knees. "I've got no intention of you escaping," she whispered in my ear. "You're mine to do with what I like." Finally she bent down to bind my ankles. The thin cord was bound tightly around my ankles, and I watched in fascination as it cut into the soft leather of my boots. When it came to tying the thin cord at right angles to cinch the loops, Barbara put all her strength into it.

I stood there immobile. Carefully, and with considerable difficulty, Barbara turned me round so that I was facing her bed. She moved the remaining ropes, straps and scarves, to one side. "Kneel on the side of the bed," she commanded. I did so, and she pushed me forward so that I was lying face down on the bed. My feet were still touching the floor, but my body and thighs were on the bed. "Don't go away," she whispered in my ear. Looking with difficulty over my shoulder, I saw her stride over to the laundry basket and quickly remove a pair of her dirty knickers.

Returning, she sat on my back, straddling me. I felt very vulnerable, especially as my skirt had rucked up at the back, exposing the lacy, white knickers. Barbara leant over me and, without warning, stuffed the knickers into my mouth. Retching and choking a little, I tried to spit them out. Barbara immediately reached for the knotted scarf that was on the bed, and rammed the knot into my mouth, before tying the scarf very, very tightly at the back of my head.

Standing up she lifted my feet off the floor and laid me full length on her bed. I had been tied very securely, even painfully so, and knew there was no escape. I squirmed on the bed, but could hardly move. Then came Barbara's master stroke.

Taking a short piece of cord she tied it to the ropes around my ankles, and then looped it over the ropes around my wrist. I had seen enough television scenes to know that the next move would be to pull hard on the connecting cord to tie my wrists to my ankles. But here was where Barbara's experience of being tied up herself became obvious.

"I hope you're ready for this." Slowly she pulled on the rope, moving my booted legs about three inches off the bed. It was then that the loops around my thighs, knees and ankles made their presence felt. Barbara had tied me whilst I was standing upright, and the short cords she had tied at right angles to those loops had caused them to constrict painfully. However the moment my ankles were raised, the loops around ankles, knees and thighs, tightened again inexorably. She pulled again. The loops tightened again. Slowly but surely she continued pulling until the heels of my boots were right up against my wrists.

I was in heaven, albeit a painful one. Pushing me gently onto my side, Barbara moved the full length mirror so that I could see myself. There I was. A pretty girl with short hair, and I had been inescapably bound and gagged, by a tall, slim blonde in tight jodhpurs and polished black riding boots.

"Go on, struggle," she encouraged. "I don't think you'll escape, but you never know."

After a few minutes of painful but immensely rewarding struggle, there came a sound I shall never forget. "Martin! Martin! We're back. Where are you?" Barbara rushed to the door, and came back into the room a few seconds later. Her face was ashen. "It's your mother. She's coming up the stairs."

[MaxRoper]

An excellent story with a perfect cliffhanger ending. Thanks for resurrecting this gem.