Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult by Jurgen von Stuka

usually covered with books, reports and other junk intended to keep anyone from sitting in it.
           Early in my planning, I try to decide how the script will go. I can just get into The Chair and get on with it or I can set up a preliminary scene that may or may not end up with me in The Chair. If I want to play a role in this scenario, I may dress myself suitably first, planning to strip during the "capture" and end up in The Chair or on the floor, squirming in acute bondage and able to view the DVD or film in segments as I wish.
           The value of high tech equipment in this scene is obvious. I can't imagine the old days when I might have had to browse through magazines, looking for the "trigger" story or photos that would set me off on my own private SB adventure. The visuals and sound from the DVD are far more efficient for what I seek.
           In this hypothetical case, I enter the room dressed in a short, white cotton dress with short sleeves and an elastic waist with a wide studded leather belt over it. Under it, I wear only a pair of white bikini panties and a minute little white lace bra. White hose that come up to the top of my thighs accent the black patent leather high heels on my feet. I have on large, silver hoop earrings but no other jewelry. I have done my make-up quickly, but the eye shadow and lip-gloss give my face an innocent look that will quickly be lost when the gag harness and blindfold or hood are pulled over my face and my tears of desperation ruin the eye shadow and liner.
           Before I can react, someone is behind me with a handful of rope. I am surprised because I didn't think anyone else was in the room. I imagine that they quickly bind my wrists together. Thus tied, I stumble around the room until they get ready for the next part of the scene. I untie my hands and put a long rope around my waist to help create an upper torso rope harness. They pull the rope from my waist up behind my back, slip one end under my left arm, up over my head and behind my neck, then back around the front, under the right arm, across my back again, winding it around and over my chest under my breasts. They make several loops around my body, constricting my chest. The other end of the rope is fixed the same way so that when they finish, I wear a sort of multi-strand rope harness around my chest, squeezing my bra-covered boobs together and forming a neat base of rope for what is to come. In reality, I do this without my hands bound, but that is one of the fascinating elements to SB…I am imagining myself being bound by someone else while I am doing it myself, alone.
           My nipples harden at once, pushing against the light padding in the bra cups and encountering the bits of fine sand and gravel that I put into the cups before this began. This is a self-tantalizing move that I love. The sand rubs my nipples and breasts continuously as I move in resistance and against the restraints. The remaining ends of the chest ropes, knotted on the center of my spine, hang down my back. My hands are once again cruelly pulled up and captured in the rope ends, effectively holding them against my back, below the shoulder blades. I tie the wrists tightly so that I have no motion left in my arms.
           Yes, of course, I set this up so that I can tie it and it takes a few minutes to get it right. The way this is done in reality is to leave enough rope after the chest harness is completed so that the ends hang down and can be twisted and wrapped around my wrists. Once the chest binding is complete, I tie a knot in the remaining ends and then wrap this around my wrists until it is tight. This is not perfect, but it's not permanent anyway. I roll around on the floor, grinding the sand and gravel into my breasts, imagining these two good-looking thugs are playing with me, testing to see exactly what my potential may be for their later plans.
           I struggle and begin to scream and get