Lessons in Endurance
by R.G. Bargy

Francesca had to admit to herself that this was nothing like she had imagined. In her own self bondage there had been continuous self stimulation, a foreknowledge of what was to come, and a modicum of comfort in the positions she had put herself in. There had always been a certain amount of movement available to her. She would roll or bend, change her position at will. There was no chance of boredom or inactivity. She remembered telling Matt that he did not need to do anything when she was bound, that the ropes would be enough. He was just taking her at her word, but his ropework was not like hers. Having persuaded him to take the game seriously, he had learnt quickly. Despite all her experience at escapology, albeit self inflicted, she had not escaped once from his knots. This knowledge only magnified her disappointments, because she no longer fought what she could not defeat. She was bored, and that was something she would have never believed possible.

She was naked, of course, clothes had never been a factor in her bondage games. There were ropes that pressed against her most personal parts, of course, this had been part of the instructions. There was pressure on her tits, from both rope, and in this case her own body weight. There was a wickedly tight crupper splitting her in two. Her legs were tight together, tied at the ankle, knees and thighs, just as she had told him. Her hands were behind her, immovable, with ropes around her arms and waist. Her body was criss-crossed with ropes pressing on all sides. Only her head could move, and that was staring at the floor, because her neck was tiring from trying to look around and locate her husband.

Matt was ignoring her. He had found a film and was watching it intently. She could not even see him. She was tied to the dining room table, rigid like a corpse, but face down. The number of ropes holding her onto the table had ensured that there could be no movement. No movement meant no stimulation. Nothing could rub her because nothing could move. She might have well been encased in a suit of iron, or a mummyís cloths. No flexing of muscles or struggling could produce any sort of movement or stimulation. What was worse was that her mouth was taped shut, so she could not even complain.

In all her instructing, she had never discussed the merits or drawbacks of different gags. Matt had not gagged her before, so the subject had not recurred since that first deliberation. This time she had complained. She had demanded attention. She had even called him names. So he had gagged her. This had been the only entertainment of the whole proceedings so far.

He had tried a handkerchief, which of course did not work. He had tried a tea towel, but had not thought to knot it, so the result was equally ineffective. She had seen him start to bunch up something and warned him against filling her mouth with loose material. She had not seen the plaster coming, so that by the time her mouth had been covered it was too late. She could only await the inevitable pain of its removal. She made a mental note to request he find some other way to gag her, but for now she must endure.

She wondered why she was in this position. It was not particularly erotic. It was very effective at holding her, but surely there was more to it than that. She could see no way for her to reach orgasm, and how was he going to... Her mouth was not blocked, at least not when he started, and her head was not held. The plaster was easily removed. He was going to fuck her mouth. She could not move, so she could not stop him. Surely she would choke! The realization sent floods of signals to her straining muscles, but to no avail. It was impossible to move let alone escape. She made ineffectual noises, not that she had any specific word in mind. Was this the moment to try and call a halt?

She had used the safety word most times now, to signal she had had her fill of orgasms. It seemed that he waited for her to stop him, which suited her very well. Her appetite for multiple orgasms had, if anything, increased with the bondage games. Once he had tried to pull her hands too far up her back to be comfortable. It had not hurt as much as all that, but she was not prepared to be left in such a position so she had called Ďsausagesí. He had duly relented, and the session had proceeded to its natural conclusion. This time the deed was already done. Whether she called now, or it was removed later, the plaster was already stuck and its removal would sting. If she tried to call a halt now he might consider it an abuse of the word, even though she would be just exercising her right of veto. This had been the only effective gag after all, so demanding its removal was tantamount to preventing him shutting her up. It was not just the plaster, there was the matter of him fucking her mouth. She had no proof that this would happen of course, but she could see no other reason for her to be put like this. Then again she had told him that part of the idea was for him to be able to fuck her as he wished without prevention. Surely he was just carrying out her wishes? This was definitely more complicated than she had ever imagined, you needed a manual or something.

She remembered her first aid training where the instructions were to put a person face down to avoid choking. With her head tilted back there would be a straight passageway down her throat, be it air or solid. Tied as she was there could be no obstruction and little chance of choking. As long as she could avoid the gagging instinct there would be no danger. She had taken him in her mouth so many times why should this be any different?

She had no control; that was the difference. A bondage fanatic who was also a control freak? It was almost ludicrous.

She was still pondering when events took over. The plaster was ripped away causing the inevitable squeal, but before she could complain he had filled her mouth with his swollen cock. He was not gentle, but then again she did not resist. On the contrary she consciously covered her teeth with her lips making an O shaped receptacle encouraging him to orgasm as soon as possible. She was ready for his spurt, but it still forced a gagging response as it hit the back of her throat. She forced herself to swallow, holding her breath so as not to choke. He withdrew with a satisfied sigh. She saw him reach for the plaster and managed to blurt out.

"No. Please no, I will be silent." She was desperate "I promise." She pleaded, still fighting to breathe evenly again. Her mouth felt horrible, and she now had a salty taste in it, but at least she could lick her lips.

She knew that he was not finished with her this time. He had already proved his capacity for repeated orgasms on a previous occasion, but it had been her pussy, not her mouth that had been the target.

He had tied her over a foot stool spread-eagled like some sort of sacrifice. Her hands were lashed to two of the legs, her ankles to the other two. She was longer than the footstool so it produced a natural arch in her back, which he had accentuated by placing a cushion under her bottom. Her tits had been pushed skywards and her pelvis jutted provocatively. He had not even tied ropes around her torso, so she felt completely exposed, with no ropes to protect her from any attack. He had periodically teased and touched her, encouraging her nipples to swell, and checking between her legs that she was moist.

When he had entered her it had been almost a relief. His cock filled the hole that was gaping and his pumping started to satisfy the itch that had formed inside her. Of course he came too soon, and his withdrawal produced a scream of anguish. She had needed him inside her, to finish her off, and vocalized her complaint. To her amazement he had told her that her time was not come, and that he would be wanting her services again later. She had never known him climax twice in an evening so this was a revelation in itself. He had assured her that he would be up to the task and that he had something for her to think about in the mean time.

First he had produced her nipple clamps. She had finally admitted to owning them a day or so previously and he was obviously keen to see their effect. She could hardly prevent their application, with her body stretched open and inviting. He had teased her nipples to make them swell and attached the clamps into place. It was as if someone had set fire to her breasts yet she knew the pain would subside into a continuous throbbing. Already her body had started straining when she felt something inserted into where his cock had been. It was a vibrator. So he had been lying, she thought, relief was on its way, but no. He did not switch it on. The frustration was unbelievable! No matter how much she tried to swivel her pelvis or flex her vaginal muscles the vibrator stayed where it was within her. There was nothing to push against, so it followed her every move waiving around like it was a part of her. She could not even dislodge it so that it fell away. She concentrated so hard on the intruder that she forgot the torture to her nipples, that was, until she grew weary and relaxed. Then her mind focused on the relentless stimulation and rekindled her desire for release.†

Even now, just thinking about it made her go hot and cold. It had seemed to go on for eternity. When he had returned she had welcomed his attention. It took much longer for him to reach orgasm, it being his second of the night, and his pumping was enough to start something inside her. She had never known a vaginal orgasm and the feelings were unfamiliar, enjoyable, but promising more.

Having satisfied himself he had taken his time with her. He had kissed and sucked her still throbbing nipples. He had played with her vacant pussy, pushing the still silent vibrator in and out but not giving her any sort of satisfaction. Even when he had turned it on, he did not hold it still, like she would have done. At one point he moved it just before she climaxed and her squeal had been ear piercing. She could not be sure if it had been deliberate or not. Her orgasmic release when it had come had been mind blowing.

She smiled to herself, remembering the total satisfaction and the pleasure. She had learnt one more thing that night. Her struggles and frustrations had tightened the knots so it took longer for her to be released. Matt had always freed her hands first, partly so she could help free herself, and partly because it signified that he was finished. By the time her legs had been released she had stiffened up like a board. The pain was excruciating and she could hardly walk. She realized that under normal circumstances she closed her legs together during the final moments of orgasm. She had always known that shutting her legs made orgasm more difficult, but she had not realized that it actually helped relax her inner muscles. By keeping them forced apart while he had untied the rest of her she had not been able to relax properly. She had resolved to request that her legs be freed first if ever they were stretched wide for orgasm. Today that did not seem to be a problem. Her legs were locked together. Perhaps he would change her position for orgasm? He had to really, as it was there was no way she could see for her to be stimulated, save for a tug on the crupper and despite the bondage† she was not in the least bit turned on so it would take more than that to get her going.

Could bondage ever be a trial? Such thoughts had never occurred to her before. Bondage was excitement. Bondage meant sex. Bondage meant stimulation. Bondage was not being able to stop someone pleasuring you. What if instead it meant not being able to stop someone ignoring you?

At least he had not blindfolded her. Matt liked blindfolds. He had used them several times before and it had felt exciting and new. She wondered why he had not blindfolded her this time. The answer was clear -- there was no need. She could not see him anyway. He was not trying to surprise her so there was no need to block her sight. It occurred to her that on this occasion a blindfold may have made things more interesting. The again, possibly not, if nothing happened, then even the anticipation might cease. Without sight as well as movement she might shut down altogether. Was it possible to sleep in bondage? She supposed so.

"Wake up sleepy head," his voice was gentle and she momentarily forgot where she was. There was a brief panic at not being able to move before realization returned. Her eyes could barely focus and all she could see was his crotch. Not even a cock visible she thought dimly.

"I think you have been lying here to long." He informed her.† She could have told him that, but she had been told to be quiet, and quiet she was being. She felt him release the ropes holding her down onto the table. What was going on? She could not be being freed, there had been no orgasm. He had not fucked her again, had he? Surely she could not have slept through such an intrusion. No she was sure that could not be, yet he was even untying her legs.

"I want you to give me a tongue bath." He explained.

Fransesca was still not fully with it. A tongue bath? What did he mean? She felt a little dizzy as he encouraged her to sit on the edge of the table. Her upper body was still tightly bound, only her legs now dangled free. He lifted her down and she followed him meekly up stairs.

She watched him get undressed, throwing his clothes all over the floor as usual. Then he jumped onto the middle of the bed and turned himself over. Hands behind his head, he said triumphantly.

"Pleasure me."

All was made clear. He wanted another orgasm and this time she was to take a more active roll, albeit a severely restricted one.† She tried to reach him standing by the bed as she was, but it was a large bed and he was in the middle of it. She struggled onto it, and crawled gingerly towards his groin, afraid that she would fall on top of him.

"Not just my cock," he ordered, "all of me. I want you to lick me all over."

Her balance was not good without her hands to support her, but even so you could have knocked her down with a feather so to speak. His words sunk in and her mind objected. Fellatio was one thing, licking his feet was something else.

She considered biting his toe. She considered it, but relented.† She slowly bent down and started to lick him. It was difficult with her hands behind her and the crupper still tightly holding her, but at least she was no longer bored. She licked the insides of his thigh and was pleased when he jerked uncontrollably although he nearly kicked her off the bed. She avoided his cock completely, even though it had started to swell slightly. She spent a long time on his chest, licking around and around each nipple before clamping her mouth down firmly. She knew he could not take this, but she had been given full permission. She felt his hands grab her head but she looked him straight in the eyes and said petulantly, "You told me to lick you all over."

He grunted something unintelligible; the gist of which she assumed was that she need not concentrate so much on his nipples. Why not? Surely she was allowed some fun in this game? Eventually she returned to his prick and started encouraging it. Despite all her efforts, and she did try, his spurt barely left is cock, just dribbling out while she licked him clean.† He was obviously disappointed. What now? She thought. I could run away, but where to? This is my home and my arms are still held tight, yet it seemed a little odd to just sit and wait to be caught. But wait she did.

"So what to do with you now?" He said apparently thinking out loud, "canít have you running away can we?"

She had heard him like this before. He had obviously not planned further than this moment. It angered her slightly to think that he had not planned an orgasm for her, only him.

"I really do not feel like trying to satisfy you," he admitted, only adding to her mounting anger, "I suppose I could strap a vibrator onto you, but it does not have to end here."

Fransesca was puzzled and it must have shown.

"What if you were tied up for the whole night?"

Her heart leapt, she was not sure if it was excitement, surprise or something else.

"I donít know," she said slowly, "I had always fantasized that it would happen," she confessed, "but I do not know if I could."

"Letís see," he said obviously warming to the idea, "but perhaps you should go to the loo first."

"It would be difficult like this, even with my hands free the ropes will get in the way."

"Youíll manage," he encouraged, "let me untie your hands."

She turned away from him so he could reach the knots that held her.

"While youíre out there perhaps you can decide how you want to be."

"I donít understand," she queried. "Why do you want me to decide? Youíre the jailor, Iím the captive remember."

"But it is your fantasy," he reminded her, "I am just playing the role you want me to play."

It was still difficult with the crupper in place, but she managed without making too much mess of the ropes. She made a decision. It was wild and reckless, and she hoped she could go through with it. Matt may not agree, she almost hoped that he would refuse. How far would he go? Or may be he did not care?

"So," He asked, "whatís it to be? The bed, the floor?"

"The garage," she said quietly.

She watched him digest her words and his eyes open wide.

"Youíre kidding," was all he could say. It was her opportunity to back down, laugh it off and spend the night in relative comfort tucked up in her own bed as it were, albeit tied up, but no.

"You asked," she said simply, "I told you. If you want to fulfill my fantasies it has to be the garage."

He still seemed not to believe her.

"It should be the cellar," she explained, "but we donít have a cellar. We do have a garage, and itís not as if the car is in it." It was used as a storage room for clutter collected over the years, the freezer was there too.† The garage would be an excellent substitute and it could be accessed without going outside. To her mind it was perfect.

"Youíll freeze," he exclaimed.

"Itís not that cold this time of year," she persisted, "besides Iíll be lying on a blanket."

"We donít have a blanket," he said unhelpfully.

"A duvet cover then," she corrected forcefully, she was going to do it now, and nothing he said would change her mind. Her insides felt all knotted at the thought of being left alone, tied up, in the garage. It was a great adventure, so simple, yet out outrageous in its own way.

"Youíre serious," he said his voice still showing signs of disbelief.

"It will give me nearly eight hours to get myself free," she continued as if it was perfectly normal, "perhaps you do not think your ropework is up to it?" She challenged.

She watched him react indignantly. She was going to force him into it, whether he approved or not. He had started it by not finishing her off when he should have. He had been trying to get round it by challenging her to a night of bondage. She was now challenging him to go through with it properly. She could not remember the last time they had slept apart. Hopefully he would have an uncomfortable night as well, although not physically uncomfortable like she would.

She watched him get up and fetch his dressing gown. He picked up the ropes that were lying on the bed, and then rummaged in the bottom of the wardrobe for the bag that held the rest of them.

"The garage it is," he said firmly, "perhaps you would like to find yourself a duvet cover?" He said coldly. She complied trying not to show any sign of the feelings inside her.

Despite her claims the garage was already significantly cooler than the rest of the house. She shivered as her foot touched the rough concrete floor. Was it cold or excitement? She was not sure. She spread the cover in the middle of the floor space available. One bare light bulb lit the place, adding to the atmosphere. There was no back window and no light would come through the door at the front. She lay face down with her hands behind her. This time she would dictate to a certain extent how she would be tied.

"Just my arms and legs," she told him, "laying flat on the floor, not tied to anything, and not hog tied either."

"So you can roll about, and find something to free yourself with," he said mockingly.

"Thatís how it goes," she told him flinching as he cinched the ropes tightly on her wrists. "If I can see without the light on that is."

She noticed a momentary pause in his tying as he considered this added piece of information.

"You could pull half of this stuff down on top of you if youíre not careful," his concern was genuine. She did not try and answer him. He continued to tie her, taking more time than usual and checking as he went. He used the ropes that were already in place as anchors for the ties that followed. Her hands were in the small of her back tied to the waist rope but not directly to the crupper. Her legs were not attached to anything as instructed but there were three different ropes holding them tight together, one at the ankles, one below the knees and one at her thighs. A Rope ran between them secured to her waist and under her heels. He was making sure she that would not escape.

He finished securing her and she was aware of him standing up. She tested her bonds; they were secure, for now. She heard him turn and walk away. The light went out leaving just the light from the kitchen door. Once that was shut there would be nothing she thought.

"Good night," he said as if this was all perfectly normal. "I will see you in the morning," he paused, "Have fun."

The door shut and darkness closed around her. To her surprise it was not pitch black. There was an eerie green light from the freezer and a small orange glow from the plug socket. It was not enough to see by though. She looked around and could hardly make anything out at all. It was strange and alien and not a little scary. An uncontrollable shiver ran up her from head to toe and back again. The duvet cover was not any real protection from the hard floor and as she rolled over she felt something raised like a stone or even a nail. She rolled around bending and straightening trying to get the ropes to loosen a bit. She had little movement. There may have been no table but she found herself almost as immobile as before. She could roll over, with difficulty, but the way her legs were tied meant she could not bend her legs giving her little way of propelling herself forward or back.

She put as much tension into each movement left available to her. Even if the knots did not pull free, the pressure would tighten them giving her a few precious millimeters of extra rope to play with.

She could not see the ropes of course, but had noted him taking several turns around her for each knot. Her natural pliability would mean that there would be some play in the ropes; the trick would be to be able to wriggle out. Likewise her hands were held tightly to her back. He had not forgotten the lessons about tying her arms. On the contrary her arms had been held firm with ropes going both in front of her chest and straight between her shoulders behind her. She could barley flex her elbows yet there was a little movement in her hands, enough to give some hope. Everything would be easier if she could find something to cut or rub against though.

Her eyes had adjusted as much as they were going to and she was amazed how much she could actually see. The freezer was along one wall and Mattís work bench was next to it. Despite his natural untidiness, Matt was very careful with his tools, cleaning then after use and hanging them up afterwards. There was little chance of finding a blade or even a screwdriver, even if she managed to worm her way over there. The pile behind her was more promising but it was just a mass of shadows, the light did not really reach that far and Matt had warned against rubbing at it blindly. She was reckless, but not stupid. Matt would not hear if there was a landslide and she could be severely hurt if something did fall on top of her.

She had no idea what the time was. There was a clock in the garage but the hands were not luminous. She was not in the least bit tired, but she was getting cold. She was also feeling stiff. She had already spent several hours tied up on the table and although there had been a gap between then and her first moments on the floor, the position she was now in was similar, and her muscles reacted accordingly.

She tested her bonds again and was disappointed to find that she was as helpless as when she had started. She could feel no slackness at all. The floor felt uneven and was starting to hurt. She was beginning to regret suggesting the whole thing.

It was all Mattís fault. He should have finished her off once he had had his second orgasm. So what if it had been pathetic? Serves him right for trying to come twice!

She had tried, she really had, and he had not cared in the least. Well she would show him.

Her resolve fortified she returned to trying to free herself, but it was no use. She was tired, physically tired. She was uncomfortable. And she was alone. The freezer rattled and then there was silence.

She had not noticed the noise of the freezer. It had been gurgling away with a low hum, but she now noticed it had stopped. The silence was unnerving. She wanted the freezer to start up again. She did not like the the quiet. She strained to hear noises from outside, but it was a quiet area. Their house was set back from the road, and it was a cul-de-sac so no vehicles need use it. Perhaps there were rats? Or mice? Or cockroaches? Fransesca tried to curl herself up in a ball at the thought but the ropes prevented it. Her legs would not bend. She was naked and vulnerable but the ropes could not protect her from animal or insect. This was becoming a very bad idea in deed. Panic welled up inside her making breathing difficult. Even though she was not gagged she could not cry out. It was as if her throat had seized up. She concentrated on breathing and relaxing and breathing.

She allowed her mind the luxury of sinking into old favorite stories. She was living one now. Having been unable to escape she should have sexual relief, but how?

There was no vibrator. The crupper was snug but her fingers could not reach the rope to pull on it. There were too many ropes to dissipate her movements. Her clitoris was unmoved and unaffected. Just one more frustration.

Did she sleep? She supposed she must have. Cold and uncomfortable she may have been but when Matt opened the door she was still tightly bound and helpless on the floor. She had lost.

The light from the kitchen blinded her and all she could see was the bulk of Matt framed in the doorway.

"Is it morning?" She asked weakly.

"No," she heard him but it did not fully sink in.

"No? What time is it?"

"Three oíclock." I was just checking that you were all right."

"Three oíclock?" She could call a halt. She knew she was defeated. One hour or five she would not escape. She could stop this madness now.† She was cold, very cold. Her body ached. Her bed was calling her.

"Then go back to bed."

It was as if someone else had spoken. As the door closed again she felt like crying out, surely he could not leave her? Did he not know? Could he not see? She was a damsel in distress, where was her knight in shining armor? Warm and snug in my bed she thought bitterly.

She did not free herself. Neither did she sleep any more. The time dragged on and she worked but to no avail. She rolled off the duvet cover and the floor had felt like ice. She thought she was already cold but this was colder still. She had rolled around blindly but found nothing. It had taken an eternity to find the duvet again and she had somehow managed to wrap herself in it cocooning herself and adding to her own restrictions. It had been a comfort. The duvet would protect her from animals or insects. She had to defend herself, she was so vulnerable.

This had been an ordeal. A trial of her own making. An experiment gone badly wrong. She could not get comfortable. Her arms ached, her legs felt like they were frozen solid. She lay still, on her back, rolled in the duvet and waited for rescue.

What time was it? Could she see light under the garage door? Where was Matt? Could he have forgotten her? What would she say to him? Was this the end of her bondage games? Had she gone too far? Did this mean she was not a bondage addict? Where was the pleasure? Where was the excitement? Where was the sex? Where was Matt? What was the time? What was that noise? Please let it be Matt.

So time dragged on in her dark, dusty, cold, prison, of her own design.

When the door opened again she burst into tears. Matt rushed over to her and held her in his arms. He picked her up as she was and carried her inside. She was black with dust, disheveled, almost hysterical and she was cold.

Matt had freed her, bathed her, played a hair dryer over her, forced a drink inside her. Then he put her to bed. He had even offered to stay off work and look after her, but she had told him no. She had slept all day, rising to get something to eat, and then returning to blissful sleep again. Matt had found her in bed. She had not even made him some dinner, but there had been no criticism.

"I brought some fish and chips," he said brightly bringing in a tray. He must have come in without her waking and gone out and back she thought dimly. He was acting as if all was perfectly normal.

"I never did get that orgasm," she pouted playfully having finished eating. To her surprise Matt was ready with an answer.

"I have a surprise for you if you are up to it," he said mysteriously. "I can promise you an orgasm you will never forget."

Fransesca was intruiged.

"When?"

"Not now, I need you fully fit,"

"I am fully fit," she retorted, but he would have none of it.

"Patience dear, patience. Havenít you learnt anything?"

Fransesca stifled a scathing response. She had rushed into it. It had been a spur of the moment idea and it had not gone at all as she had expected. She should let Matt do things his way. This time she would enjoy herself. She could hardly wait.

"As you wish," she said meekly.

"Good," he responded rubbing his hands together like some Victorian villain, "This should be fun."

Fransesca did not dare ask for more details, even when it was to happen. She would find out in due course. Perhaps her trials had not been in vein. Matt certainly seemed excited about this idea. Maybe that was how he had spent his night? She thought ruefully.