{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"5c856d96-9f46-42e4-b546-5f4fbf44589a","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2023-06-16T09:23:01.071Z","title":"Birthday Bondage","slug":"birthday-bondage","shortId":"lokLtsIN","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"First time female self-bondage. This story is written in the first person from the point of view of the female sub.\n\nPlease remember that self-bondage can be dangerous: don't try this at home.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"84416eb7-c4ec-42db-a17e-cce5c4d7de14","title":null,"summary":"\nI walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around\nme; the apartment is comforta","wordCount":4647,"readTime":23,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

\nI walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around\nme; the apartment is comfortably warm this evening. Anyway, there's\nlittle point putting clothes on just now. They'd be coming off again\nin a few minutes.

As\nI walk into the kitchen, my eyes are drawn again to the large box on\nthe table placed against one wall. The box has been there all day,\nwrapped in pretty paper and with a golden bow on the top. It's my\nbirthday present from Charles.

I\nglance up at the clock on the wall: two minutes to eight. Almost\ntime.

I\ndon't know exactly what's in the box, not exactly. But I do know what\nsort of thing it is.

Bondage.

For\nmy birthday, my boyfriend is giving me the gift of bondage.

\n–––

I\nfirst developed – or, at least, first became aware of – an\ninterest in bondage back in college. As part of my course, we had to\nwatch some tedious old movie. I can't remember its name, or what it\nwas about. All I can remember is one scene. There was a woman who'd\nbeen gagged and tightly tied up by the bad guy. She was lying on the\nfloor, making mumbling noises through the gag as she wriggled around\nand tried unsuccessfully to escape. Eventually the film's hero –\nthe woman's boyfriend – found her. Before he released her, her gave\nher a playful pat on the cheek and said: \"You look damn hot like\nthat, it kinda suits you, I think I might leave you there for a\nwhile.\"

It\nwas a corny line, but it was a corny film. I didn't care about that.\nFor me, the line and the scene were hot. I hardly noticed anything\nthat happened in the rest of the movie, I was too busy thinking about\nthat woman and wishing I was her. Wishing that I could be bound and\ngagged, unable to escape and completely at the mercy of my boyfriend.

I\nfailed that unit of the course.

Instead\nof fading, my interest in bondage grew. I began surfing the web\nlooking for kinky pictures and reading stories of women in tight\nbondage. I always wanted more: one more story, one more video. I made\na habit of clearing my browser history often!

Over\ntime, I began to realise that my interest in bondage wasn't just the\nphysical side – though of course that was a major factor. It was\nalso the element of trust. Allowing a man to tie you up, letting\nyourself become his helpless plaything... that was the ultimate act\nof trust.

If\na relationship didn't have that level of trust, was it worth having?\nI came to the conclusion that bondage wasn't just a fun game, it was\nan essential part of any serious, long-term relationship.

Which\nsounded great in my head, but didn't work so well in real life. Most\nof my boyfriends I simply didn't trust enough. Those that I did\ntended to go cold when I mentioned bondage; believe it or not, not\nall guys get turned on by the idea of a bound woman. Most just\nthought I was weird.

So\ndespite my growing desire for bondage, I never actually experienced\nit.

Until\nCharles.

Of\nall the men I've known, he's the one I feel most connection with. I\ntrust him totally. After we'd been going out for a few months, I\nsuggested that we could add a little bondage to our sex. To my\nsurprise his answer was simply: \"If that's what you want.\"\nHardly enthusiastic, but better than I expected.

I\ntold him all about my obsession and the film that had started it.\nOver the next weeks we began to experiment with improvised bondage: a\ncloth round my head as a blindfold, a clothesline to tie my ankles\ntogether, a pair of plastic toy handcuffs.

It\nwas wonderful.

And\nthe best thing was that the more we played, the more he got into it.\nIt turned out that I'd 'unlocked' a side of him that he didn't know\nwas there.

It\nwas the greatest sex I'd ever had. No, it was better than that.\nSlowly the bondage became more important that the actual sex.\nSometimes, Charles would tie me up and tease me to distraction, then\nsimply masturbate in front of me and leave me horny and frustrated.

Of\ncourse, we wanted more, much more than we could get with home made\ngear. When I showed Charles some of my favourite online sites that\nsell bondage equipment, his eyes almost bulged out of his head!

We\ndid a lot of 'window shopping', talking about what we'd like to get\nfor him to use on me. But we never bought anything; the good stuff is\nexpensive. We both work, but don't live together. So our salaries\nhave to support two homes. The gear remained a fantasy.

Until\nthree weeks ago, when Charles said: \"I've had an idea. It's your\nbirthday soon, how about I buy you some of that bondage stuff?\"

\"Wow!\nThat would be... no, it's too expensive. You can't.\"

\"Hey,\nit's not just for you. Remember, it's for my pleasure as well. And\nsince your birthday is on Saturday this year, you won't have to worry\nabout getting up for work the next day.\"

I\ndidn't take much further persuasion. Charles said he'd order\nsomething for my birthday but refused to tell me what. He wanted it\nto be a surprise.

\n–––

And\nhere it is, sitting in a box in front of me. My birthday surprise.

Charles\ncame round early this morning and left it with me. \"Open the box\nat exactly eight this evening,\" he said. \"Then follow the\ninstructions I've written on the note inside. I'll be back to see you\nat nine.\"

He's\nevil, in a good way. He could have waited and brought the box with\nhim this evening, but he knew the effect it would have on me.\nSitting there all day on the kitchen table. Its presence searing\nitself into my mind as I wonder what's in it. It's certainly bigger\nthan I expected, Charles must have spent a lot of money. I've been\ntrying to imagine the contents, trying to develop X-ray eyes. Of\ncourse, I could simply have opened it earlier, but as I said, this is\nabout trust. He needs to trust me as much as I trust him.

The\nhands on the clock have been crawling slowly. Finally they reach\neight o'clock. It's time.

I\ntake the bow from on top of the box and place it safely in a drawer;\nit'll make a good souvenir. Then I tear away the wrapping paper to\nreveal the brown cardboard inside. This is sealed tightly and I\nwonder if there's a message in that. Using a pair of scissors, I\nremove the box's bindings. Then I open it carefully.

As\nI do so, the first thing that strikes me is the smell of new leather.\nI breathe in the sensuous perfume as I look down at the box. Inside\nis a cornucopia of black leather, dotted with shiny metal. My eyes\nwiden as I realise quite how much he's bought for my birthday gift.

I\ntake out the hand-written note and read it slowly. Once every word of\nhis instructions are imprinted on my mind, I put the note aside and\nunpack the rest of the contents. Each item is placed on the kitchen\ntable, in the order they'll be needed.

The\nsight of so much bondage gear along with the dark smell of the\nleather and the clinking of metal already has me turned on. Without\nthinking, I reach a hand beneath the towel wrapped around my waist.\nIt would only take a slight touch and I'd orgasm right now. But no.\nNot yet. I pull back the offending hand.

It's\ntime to start applying the restraints, to get myself ready for\nCharles. Glancing at the clock, I'm surprised to see that it's\nalready ten past eight. After going so slowly for hours, time is now\naccelerating. Just handling the metal and leather has almost left me\nin a trance.

Everything\nis in place. First I remove the towel and lay it carefully on the\nfloor; the room is warm, but the tiled floor probably isn't.

That\ndone, I turn back to the table and pick up the first item. Unlike the\nrest of the gear, this is more decorative than functional: a red\nleather breast harness. How to put it on isn't obvious, but\nfortunately I've spent enough time on the internet to recognise it.

A\nsoft leather strap goes from the base of each breast around to the\ntop. These are then buckled in place, encircling and slightly\nsqueezing my breasts. I pull the straps tight, not enough to hurt but\nenough that I won't be able to forget their presence. A stiff piece\nof leather joins the loops together and also acts to keep my breasts\napart: the classic lift and separate, but in red leather. Another\nstrap runs from each breast loop round the side of my body and these\nbuckle together at the back. For all the apparent complexity of the\nharness, most guys would probably find the buckle easier to undo than\nthe classic bra catch!

Once\nthe harness is securely in place, I look down at my breasts. They're\ndefinitely perkier than normal in their leather enclosure. But I\ncan't get the full effect from this angle. So I leave the kitchen and\npad, naked except for the red leather, to the bedroom. Here I stand\nand view myself in the full-length mirror. The effect is, if I say so\nmyself, stunning. My breasts look better than I've ever seen them and\nthe red of the leather goes perfectly with the colour of my skin. My\nwandering hand sneaks into action again, this time stroking my\nalready firm nipples. A few tweaks later, I force myself to stop. I\nwalk back to the kitchen with my bound breasts and their steel hard\nnipples thrust out proudly before me.

Stroking\nmy nipples wasn't just for fun. Having them hard will make it easier\nto apply the next item from the box: a pair of nipple clamps. These\nare small yet powerful. Several blunt prongs go around each nipple\nthen a screw tightens them in place. I put them both on and, as with\nthe leather breast harness, tighten them so that the sensation is\nstrong without being painful.

Now\nit gets serious; the next item on the table is the first piece of\ntrue bondage equipment.

A\npair of metal ankle cuffs.

I\npick them up and the two rings – I guess they're made of steel –\nare cool to my touch. The metal is wonderfully solid and unyielding.\nThe cuffs are designed to close smoothly then be locked by small\npadlocks, which Charles has thoughtfully left looped through the\nclasps. A short length of heavy chain, maybe three inches long,\nconnects the rings.

I\nsit down on the ground and fit one of the cuffs around my left ankle.\nI take the padlock from the clasp and remove the piece of tape over\nthe lock hole; Charles has not, of course, left any keys for me, so\nthe tape ensured that the padlock wouldn't accidentally close too\nearly. Well, that time has past. The loop of the lock slips easily\nthrough the ring on the cuff and it takes only a gentle squeeze for\nit to slip into place with a quiet yet deeply meaningful 'click'.

The\nright ankle cuff goes on next and another 'click' confirms it too is\nnow securely locked.

Locked.

My\nankles are locked in steel and I don't have the keys.

The\nblood is rushing through my body as my heart beats fast. This is it,\nthis is real. These cuffs aren't coming off my ankles until Charles\ndecides to remove them. It occurs to me that like this I wouldn't\neven be able to put on a pair of jeans to cover myself.

I\ngo to stand up, only to have trouble doing so. Having my ankles\nchained so closely together makes it difficult to get my balance and\nI need to use the table to help. Once standing, I experimenting with\nwalking. Well, moving anyway. With my feet hobbled like an animal,\nactual human-style walking is out of the question. The best I can\nmanage is a slow shuffle. Just a few minutes ago I walked to the\nbedroom in seconds. Now it would take at least five minutes. Even if\nI wanted to run, wanted to escape, it wouldn't be possible.

The\nrestriction of my movement doesn't end there though. This is just the\nstart.
\nI take two long, black leather straps from the table and,\nas instructed, wrap both around my legs. One strap goes just above\nand the other just below my knees. Each buckles tightly and is locked\nin place, further restricting my limited mobility. Now my legs feel\nas if they've been welded together into a single, useless pole. \n

I\nam already helpless, and there's plenty more of my birthday treat\nstill to come.

Next\non the list of instructions from Charles is the gag. This is a large\nrubber ball, the same red as the straps encircling my breasts,\nattached to a black leather strap. I lift it off the table and hold\nit in front of my face, admiring it like a work of art. Then I open\nmy mouth and press the ball in. It's bigger than it looks and I have\nto stretch my jaws wide to get it past my teeth. Once that's done,\nI'm able to close my mouth again. I take the straps round the back of\nmy head and thread the end of one through the buckle on the other. I\npull tight, then tighter still, forcing the buckle one last hole\nalong the strap. This is definitely not comfortable, but it's not\nmeant to be. The important thing is that there will be no possible\nway for me to push the ball even slightly out of position in order to\nspeak.

Before\nI can change my mind I reach out and grab another keyless padlock\nfrom the table. A click and it's done. The ballgag is securely\npadlocked in place. Too late to worry now about the discomfort, all I\ncan do is endure it.

I\nmove my jaw experimentally, trying to speak. Very little sound at all\ncomes out, what does is totally unintelligible.

This\nis another important part of the trust that I associate with true\nbondage. At a basic level, being gagged means that I can no longer\nscream or cry out for help. But I don't expect to need to do that\nanyway, not with Charles. More important is that I can't even ask him\nto stop – or start – doing something. I can't beg to be released.\nI can't tell him if I'm enjoying what's happening or hating every\nsecond of it. With this gag in place, a groan of pain sounds the same\nas a groan of pleasure, a groan of frustration or even a groan of\nboredom. With no ability to give Charles any feedback, I simply have\nto trust him.

Of\ncourse, at the moment I can still communicate with my hands and my\neyes. But that won't be the case for much longer.

To\nbegin the final stage of my self bondage instructions, I pick up a\nsix inch length of heavy chain which has an open padlock slipped\nthrough the link at each end. One end is to be locked to the small\nlength of chain between my ankles, so I bend down...

At\nwhich point I lose my balance. With my legs joined, I begin to topple\nover. My arm instinctively shoots forwards and I catch hold of the\ntable. By doing so I stop myself falling, but at the cost of letting\ngo of the chain. It flies out of my hands, hits the kitchen floor,\nbounces off the tiles then scuttles over to the far side of the room.

Fuck.

Now\nI need to get it back. I make a few tentative movements with my feet,\nbut trying to cross the room standing up isn't going to work; I\nalmost fell just leaning over and there's nothing to hold on to after\nthe table.

I\ncould simply forget about that chain, Charles would understand. But\nI'm not going to do that. It would ruin what's still to come. This is\nmy birthday bondage treat and I want it to be perfect. Which means I\nhave to get across the room.

Holding\non to the table, I slowly lower myself to my knees. With my muscles\nstressed, the straps around my legs press in more deeply; I wish I\nhadn't made them quite so tight.

Once\nkneeling, I bend over and place my hands on the floor in front of me.\nThen I pull my knees forwards. Lean out and put my hands ahead, pull\nmy knees forward. Hands ahead, knees forward, hands ahead, knees\nforward... The process is repeated slowly as I crawl across the\nkitchen floor like an animal. I can't help thinking about how I must\nlook, a naked, crawling woman with her breasts poking out through a\nred leather harness. Grunting with exertion through the large ballgag\nthat stuffs my mouth. If anyone was here to see me, it would be\ngloriously humiliating.

In\nthe past, I've complained about this kitchen being too small. Just at\nthe moment, it feels massive.

Eventually\nI reach the wall and retrieve the chain. Fortunately, the padlocks\nare still in place so I don't need to hunt for them. I take one\npadlock and use it to attach one end of the loose chain to the middle\nlink of the one between my ankles; it's not going to get away again!\nThe other padlock I keep carefully in my hand as I turn and begin the\nlong, slow crawl back to the table.

Crawling\nlike this is not something my muscles are used to and I'm panting by\nthe time I get reach the table. The temptation is to spend a few\nminutes resting and getting my breath back, but that incident has\ntaken up valuable time and I don't want to be late for Charles. So I\nhook the second padlock through the loose end of the chain, ready for\nlater, and pull myself back up to my feet.

There\nare three items left on the table. I take two of them and place them\ncarefully on the floor next to the towel, taking a good look to\nensure I know exactly where they are. Then I pick up the third and\nfinal item.

A\nblack leather hood.

My\nhands tremble slightly as I lift it; it is, in a word, beautiful. The\nleather is thick yet soft and I caress it seductively with my\nfingers. The front is sculpted in the rough outline of a human face.\nAt the bottom, there are loops running around the neck through which\nis threaded a leather strap in which a padlock is hanging, ready to\nlock. Apart from the neck entrance, there is only one gap in the\nleather: a breathing hole at the nose. There are no gaps for eyes or\nmouth. Once this is in place, I won't be able to see anything and any\nsounds I might mange to make through the gag will be further muffled.

Holding\nthe hood in one hand like a precious gem, I use the other to help me\nlower myself to my knees. Then I position myself carefully on the\nfloor. I take a final look at the other two items, making sure I know\ntheir exact location. Good. It's time.

I\nslip the hood over my head.

It's\nsnug, but not tight. I pull it down slowly, enjoying the sensation of\nthe leather gradually enveloping my head. A little adjustment ensures\nthat my ears are flat and the features on the hood line up with those\nof my face. In particular, I make certain that the breathing hole is\nproperly positioned. Even though there is nothing covering my\nnostrils, the smell of the fresh leather is intense. It's an almost\noverwhelming, deliciously sexy scent.

As\nimportant as what I can smell is what I can see: nothing. The hood is\ntight enough that what little light that gets through the nose hole\ndoesn't make it to my eyes. With this hood in place, I am totally\nsightless. And, although I have no way to test it, I suspect that any\noutside sound is also being muffled. In addition, the leather beneath\nthe chin keeps my jaws pressed together, pushing my mouth more\ntightly around the ballgag and making it yet more difficult for me to\nmake any sound.

A\nhood like this is strict bondage on its own, even without the breast\nharness, ankle cuffs and leather straps which are also locked on my\nbody.

Of\ncourse, I could still remove the hood; it's not true bondage if you\ncan get out. So it's time to change that.

I\nreach my hands up to my neck and find the strap at the base of the\nhood. I remove the padlock and hold it gently whilst I thread one end\nof the strap into the buckle on the other than pull it through. I\nmake sure not to tighten it too far, just enough to be secure. With\nthe strap buckled, I take the padlock and place it through one of the\nholes. I give a little squeeze and feel the now familiar sensation of\nthe lock snapping in place – though this time I can't hear the\nclick. My fingers run across the padlock and confirm that yes, it's\nclosed.

The\nhood is locked on.

I\ngave up the power of speech some while ago, now I have just robbed\nmyself of sight. Until Charles releases me, I will be unable to see\nwhat is happening. Unable to prepare myself, either mentally or\nphysically. Totally helpless. I run my hands happily across the\nleather that hides my face from the outside world and that hides the\noutside world from me.

Just\ntwo pieces left to go on. I reach out with one arm and feel around.\nThe first is where I expect and I pick it up. It's a simple leather\nstrap: looped round, buckled and locked; unlike the other items, this\ncame pre-locked in my birthday box. It forms a circle perhaps\neighteen inches in diameter. \n

Before\nputting it on, I lower my upper body gently to the ground, so that I\nam now laying face down on the towel. I pick up the strap and place\none hand through the loop, then use my other to pull it up above my\nelbow. Now the other arm goes through. This is more tricky and takes\nsome wriggling to get the strap correctly positioned. Eventually I\nmanage, and now both arms are pinned behind my back by a short,\nleather loop above my elbows. With this in place, I couldn't reach\nthe hood to remove it even if it wasn't locked on. Out of interest I\ntry bringing my hands to my front, but there's no way I can reach\nthat far. Certainly not far enough to play with or soothe my nipples\nthat are throbbing in the metal clamps.

With\nmy arms strapped behind my back, there is nothing to support my upper\nbody. So my weight now rests on my breasts. These are poking out of\nthe red leather harness, which means that the nipple clamps are\npressed to the floor. I'm definitely beginning to regret having\ntightened them so much.

One\nfinal item to go: handcuffs. Charles and I talked about handcuffs\nwhen we were fantasising various scenarios (though none of our\nfantasies were as intense as the current reality!) Normal handcuffs\nhave a 'double locking' mechanism to prevent them becoming too tight,\nbut with my hands behind my back I probably wouldn't be able to\nactivate this. So we found some online that have a built-in limit to\nhow far they can close. We measured my wrists so that we could be\nsure they would be secure but not dangerous.

All\nI have to do is put them on.

I\nreach out to the side where I left the handcuffs, however the leather\nstrap around my elbows limits how far I can stretch; my fingers can\nonly just touch the floor next to me. Damn. I should have thought of\nthat! I should have locked the cuffs on to the chain between my\nankles before strappinging my arms, that way I'd simply have to raise\nmy legs to get to them.

OK,\nI can do this. I roll gently on one side, getting one hand to the\nfloor. After a little scrabbling around, I realise that the\nhandcuffs aren't anywhere in reach. I think back, visualise the scene\nwhen I put them down. Work out the direction I have to move. Then I\nstart wriggling that way, my hand sweeping back and forth over the\nfloor gently – the last thing I want to do is knock the cuffs\nfurther away.

The\nirony of the situation strikes me as funny. Anyone watching would\nthink that I'm struggling to get out of my bondage when in fact I'm\nstruggling to make it more severe.

That's\nit! I feel the touch of metal on my fingertips. I wriggle a little\nmore, then the cuffs are safely in my hand. In doing this, I've moved\nmy whole body off from the towel and on to the cold floor tiles.\nUnfortunately there's no chance of getting back to my original\nposition now, and the towel is probably laying scrunched up half way\nacross the room. So I'll just have to stay where I am.

I\nturn my body back to lay on my stomach. As I do so, my breasts hit\nthe ground and the nipple clamps bite hard. I give a little scream of\npain through the gag. That felt good, but I don't want to do it\nagain!

I\nfold my legs at the knees, bringing my feet up towards my back.\nReaching down, I'm relieved to find that the padlock is still looped\nthrough the free end of the chain that dangles between my ankles. I\ngrasp hold of it and lock it to the middle of the handcuffs.

Once\nI put on those handcuffs, there's no going back. This is it. The\nmoment of truth.

Who\nam I kidding? The moment of truth is long past, there's been no going\nback for ages. When did my situation become inescapable? Was it when\nI put on the hood? The ballgag? The ankle cuffs? No, the real moment\nof truth was before that. From the moment I opened the box and saw\nthe bondage gear that Charles had bought, my current position was\ninevitable.

Without\nwaiting to think further, I click the handcuffs shut around my\nwrists. I am now laying hogtied on the kitchen floor, naked except\nfor my restraints, with the keys to my bondage held by someone who is\nprobably still miles away.

I\nstart to panic. What if Charles is in an accident? What if a stranger\nbreaks in before he arrives? All sorts of scenarios run through my\nmind.

Stop\nthinking like that. Why should he have an accident today of all days?\nIt's no more likely to happen now than yesterday or tomorrow. Why\nworry about something that's almost certainly not going to happen and\nthat I can't control?

I\nrelax and give myself over to luxuriating in the physical and\nemotional feelings of bondage. Enjoying the knowledge that there is\nabsolutely nothing I could do to escape, not even if I wanted to.

Seconds\npass. Minutes. How long? I should have looked at the clock before\nputting on the hood. What time is it? It must be at least half-past\neight. No, all that messing around with the chain and the handcuffs\nmust mean it's more like ten to nine. Charles will be here soon.

In\nmy dark, silent world the time passes slowly. My sight and hearing\nare blocked, the only thing I can smell is the leather of the hood.\nWith my other senses nullified, every touch is magnified. I feel the\ncold of the tiles beneath my naked body, the pull of the metal around\nmy wrists and ankles. I feel the pressure of the gag in my mouth, the\ngrip of the clamps on my nipples.

The\nmuscles in my legs are beginning to feel strained, but if I start to\nunbend my knees then the pressure on my wrists becomes painful.\nArching my body like a human bow reduces the strains on my legs and\nwrists, only to move it elsewhere. All I can do is alternate between\nthe sensations.

More\ntime passes.

How\nlong now? How long have I been like this? It must have been half an\nhour, surely? But then, with nothing changing there's no way to mark\ntime.
\nI decide to count seconds and get to 200 before my mind\nwanders again to the feelings of my bondage. I start again,\nconcentrating harder than before. This time I manage to get to 900\nbefore I stop. That's fifteen minutes.

Fifteen\nminutes on top of all those other minutes. How long have I been here?\nToo long. Where is he? Where is Charles? He should have been here by\nnow.

As\nI think this, there is a touch on my back. I freeze.

A\nfinger runs slowly and gently down my spine and is then lifted. A\nsecond later there is a sharp smack on my ass. I squeal through the\ngag, more in surprise than pain. There is another slap, then another\nand another. I start squirming as my ass cheeks hot up. Then the\nslapping stops.

What\nthe hell? Who? How? Did I leave the front door unlocked?

My\nquestions are answered by a voice speaking next to one ear. \"Feeling\ngood?\" it asks. \n

The\nvoice is muffled but definitely belongs to Charles. I relax happily.

But\nhow long has he been here? How long have I been here? As if reading\nmy mind, he speaks again.

\"Surprised?\nGood. I didn't think you hear me through the hood if I opened the\nfront door quietly. It's quarter to ten, I've been sitting with a\nbeer and watching you since nine. It's a very pretty sight.\"

Three\nquarters of an hour! He's left me laying here, watching me silently,\nfor 45 minutes. The bastard. The evil, wonderful brilliant bastard.\nThe thought that he's been in the room all this time is so\nexhilarating.

I\nfeel his hand pat my cheek gently through the leather hood. Then his\nvoice comes again:

\"You\nlook damn hot like that,\" he says. \"It kinda suits you. I\nthink I might leave you there for a while.\"

Best\nbirthday ever.

","authorName":"Amber Talidge","authorUserId":"51f6c2d1-3999-49fd-86fb-773dfdb72dc6","rating":5,"ratingCount":2,"reviewCount":2,"quoteCount":0,"storyCodes":["Moderate","1st Time","Real Life","Bondage","Leather","Consensual","Romantic"],"language":"English","readTime":23,"recommendations":[{"id":"72b56ee1-1416-4c09-9420-abf1650ff59f","title":"The Bondage Challenge","slug":"the-bondage-challenge","shortId":"BTpicEcP","synopsis":"What I want most from a man is simple: bondage. I need a guy who can bind me so tight that I can't get out. Andrew failed the first time, but tonight he's not taking any chances; he's brought a straitjacket.\nThis is going to be fun.","rating":5},{"id":"15420662-27cd-48ee-88f9-8abd3ff0f16a","title":"The Music Room. The Sequel","slug":"the-music-room-the-sequel","shortId":"svRH3rcA","synopsis":"Sequel to \\\"The music room\\\" for those who want the details spelled out for them instead of using their imagination. (You know who you are)","rating":5},{"id":"40f37dff-d609-4a3b-982b-98b6fc0a48a4","title":"Her Breasts","slug":"her-breasts","shortId":"CsIFInGZ","synopsis":"A man acquires his wife's breasts and what he does with them.","rating":5}]}}},"actionData":null,"errors":null}