|Gromet's Self Bondage & Mummification Plaza - Bondage Stories|
© 2001, Rod Stiffener - Used by Permission
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Part I of the Lady Jane Trilogy
I play bass in a jazz quartet, just for fun and we all have day jobs. Music is a hobby, and if I had to do it for a living then it would start to become a chore. We play at small clubs now and again, also weddings, friend’s birthdays, charity fundraisers, and so on. We try to appear in public no more than about once every two or three weeks. Our sax player Mike lines up most of our gigs as he is a bit of a social animal with a wide circle of acquaintances. He and the keyboard player are both in there forties and quite experienced musicians. The drummer and I are mid-thirties and new to playing jazz.
Mike knew this lady called Jane, a divorcee, whose son was getting married. The lad’s father had pots of money, and the bride was well connected, so it was going to be quite a society wedding. Two days before the main event, there was to be a garden party at the bride’s parents place so that the two families could get to know each other. Sort of the high-society equivalent of dogs circling and sniffing each other’s butts, I suppose.
I turned up on the day itself and helped set up the gear in one corner
of the large landscaped garden under a small marquee. The house was
set further back behind some trees, and another marquee formed the bar
and headquarters for the finger food.
She talked posh like a Sloane Ranger, but could swear like a trooper. Being already a bit tipsy, her talk with Mike about arrangements was interspersed with the odd “Fookin’ ay!” and suchlike. Mike is the “sex symbol” of the group, actually he is like a little leprechaun with a big pot belly but an outrageous flirt and he does it with such humour that he gets away with it. If I said half of the things he says to ladies, I would be continually drenched from having drinks thrown in my face. But when he does it, chances are he will get lucky!
We were all set up, had done our soundcheck, and now people were arriving. Old maiden aunts, doddery uncles, but also bridesmaids and friends of the young couple. The bridesmaids (four of them!) were dressed in what I might term your “basic little black number,” in other words skimpy mini-dresses that showed a lot of leg and a lot of cleavage. The bride was more demure, in long evening gown.
We started our set, playing more subdued “elevator” jazz to start off. Swingtime and bossa, like “Sweet Georgia Brown” or “Girl from Ipanema”. Not to my taste as I like to get really intense with more of the funk-fusion and Miles Davis stuff, but we weren’t there to scare the gentry and livestock. Of course everyone totally ignored us. They were way too cool and sophisticated to acknowledge that a live band was there playing just for them. And playing for free as a favour to the bride’s mother. But the catering staff were enjoying it, at least they were the only ones giving any positive feedback. And Lady Jane, of course. She was hovering around to make sure that wine was flowing in our direction, and we were starting to get a bit loose.
At the end of the second set, Jane asked Mike “Are you all getting enough
to eat and drink?”
For our third set we didn’t care whether people liked what we played or not, as we were now fairly pissed and so were the audience. We were playing stuff like “Birdland” by Weather Report and funky R&B numbers like “Green Onions” and “Watermelon Man”. The bar staff were grooving, meanwhile there were a few Hooray Henries and Henrietta’s stumbling and falling into the undergrowth, while at least one matriarch went down flat on her back by the fountain and had to be carried up to the house. Nothing like a bit of alcohol to bring out peoples’ true colours!
Time to pack up our gear, my favourite part of any gig. We badly
needed some groupies able to carry speaker cabinets as well as give blowjobs.
But the few groupies we had were not inclined to do either, so nothing
for it but to lug the stuff ourselves. Mike and I were winding up electrical
leads, of which there were a lot, some about forty feet long.
Mike grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back. Playing along, I got a microphone lead and quickly wrapped it around her slim arms and tied it off against the pole of the marquee. There, she wouldn’t knock over any more instruments now! I had expected her to struggle, or at least squeal a bit, but she didn’t. She just went all limp and passive. It had been so easy to bind her up, that hardly anyone had noticed. It just looked like she was standing against the pole. But I noticed that her breathing was now uneven, in fact a bit ragged.
Mike was a bit disappointed by the seeming lack of reaction, as we had
been doing this to stir her up for a bit of humour. So he tickled
her, on the side of her ribs. She couldn’t stop him, as she was unable
to move her hands. But the tickling made her squirm around in an
effort to avoid his invading fingertips. Her eyes were going round
as saucers, and she let a high pitched moan escape from the back of her
By the time all the gear was packed, I had sobered up. Nothing
like exercise in the cool night air to clear the head. And just as
well, because I had a vanload of gear to drive away. Almost everybody
had gone, just the caterers rounding up the last few stray glasses from
the lawn and shrubbery. I was opening my driver’s door when I noticed Jane
further down the drive, trying to get her keys into the door of her little
car. It was an MGB-GT, one of those classic sports-coupes with just
enough room inside for two people, a packet of sandwiches, and a change
of underwear. She was not having much luck getting the door open,
because it was dark and she was drunk.
When I got back she had succeeded in unlocking and was now in the passenger seat of the MG. I squeezed in behind the wheel and fired it up. Like most British cars of the sixties it was pretty agricultural to drive and the suspension was as hard as rocks, but it had a satisfying rasp to the exhaust note as I pulled away from intersections. She had the window rolled down and was breathing deeply of the night air.
She didn’t have much to say, apart from giving me the address and occasional
directions to get there, also a few words about how lovely we had played
that night. We pulled up at her apartment block and parked in the basement
She handed me my glass, then stood right in front of me as she sipped
hers. Behind her hung a fairly erotic painting, very tasteful and
artistic but nevertheless depicting a buxom woman playing with herself.
She saw me glance at it.
She opened the door to what was clearly her own bedroom, being the largest
and looking most lived in. A large brass bedstead with railings at
head and foot. Various items of clothing laying about, also knickers,
and a few silk scarves.
She stood looking at me. And I looking at her. She was studying
me with the air of a chessplayer who has completed her move, and is waiting
for me to make my move. I should say at this point that I am a pretty consensual
sort of a guy. I am into mutual pleasure, and I don’t get pleasure
from another’s pain or humiliation. But here the lines were getting
blurred. She had laid a trail for me from party to bedroom, and all
the arrows said, “Tie me up! I love it!”
There was a useful length of scarf left over, so I used the free ends
to tie her wrists to the brass rail at the foot of her bed. She was
still standing, facing me, and unable to use her hands or move away.
Her shoulders were pulled well back by her bonds, so that her bosom stuck
out at me even more prominently. I stood in front of her, looked into her
greeny-blue eyes, studied her aristocratic features. I touched her
on the cheek with a fingertip. The skin was soft, and lined from
age and smoking. She looked coolly back at me. Almost taunting
me, daring me to make her loose that cool.
Well, I like to take my time, no need to rush. She wouldn’t be going anywhere. Meanwhile I would let my fingers do some walking. I spent a while feeling her tits, squeezing them through the bra, taking their weight in my hands, rubbing my fingers over the place where I expected her nipples to be. After a time I was able to positively locate the nipples, when they became erect and could be felt as two hard buttons through the bra cups. Her breasts really were massive. In her younger days she would have been the All-American dream, a tall skinny girl with big bust. They hung lower now, but there was still a lot to hang.
She was still fully dressed, and I was just going to grope her through
her clothes at first. I put my hand on her crutch, lightly stroking
her pubic mound through dress and underwear. She was still regarding
me coolly, and I wanted to make her lose that cool somehow. What
about a little finger-fuck?
I knelt and gathered up her skirts until they were bunched up around her waist. This revealed her long tanned legs, and loose-fitting French knickers. These were easily pulled aside to expose her sex, with its liberal thatch of brown curls. Holding the gusset out of the way with one hand, I lightly inserted the index finger of the other into the start of her groove. She looked down at me kneeling before her, my finger touching her softness in the most private place imaginable. She was unable to do anything except scream, yet even then she chose to stay silent.
I pushed my finger in further between her legs, which were not that
far apart but enough to gain access to the entrance of her vagina.
I could feel heat rising from there. Things definitely got warmer
as I neared her insides, and my finger easily slipped past her soft and
swollen opening. I changed the angle to push upward, deep as I could
into the slick moistness of her passage. This lady was wet!
Wet and very open. Absolutely no need for additional lubrication,
she was already well lubed!
I pulled very suddenly back out of her, and her eyes flew open with
Time for me to get exposed. Except I only removed my trousers and briefs, leaving my shirt on. My cock was erect, and sprang up from under my shirt. She looked at it with interest. I wondered whether I should make her suck it for me, but decided to save that for another time (assuming there would be one). Right now, I just wanted to ravage her. The thought of her being helpless to stop me made me feel like skipping all the usual preliminaries and just cutting right to the chase. Lets fuck this lady!
I stood right up against her, my face only an inch from hers, my cock
brushing her lower belly. She could feel it coming at her.
I kissed her full on the lips. She didn’t respond, but just passively
relaxed her mouth so my invading tongue could snake its way between her
lips and into her mouth. I dry-humped my cock against her belly,
just to make it a bit harder than it already was.
Normally screwing while standing is awkward, especially from the front.
But Jane was tall enough that I only had to bend my knees slightly to get
my cockhead between her thighs and butting at her entrance. I lined
it up in the right direction, held her buttocks in my hands, then suddenly
heaved while pulling her to me. She gasped at the shock of being
so completely filled with absolutely no warning, but she was so wet that
my dick went up easily. It was now encased in her hotness, not a
deep penetration because her legs were not very far apart, but very pleasing
because of the warmth and wetness of her.
My thrusting was becoming very pleasant for me as my tempo increased, and the force of it was drawing all sorts of “ooofff!” and “Unnh!” noises from her. I felt myself starting to come. It was not going to be a big orgasm, because I usually need a lot of foreplay and oral sex before I can have a reeeaaallly big orgasm, but I was going to enjoy this one by pumping as hard as I could. I started to shoot in her, and the thought crossed my mind that I should have found out if she were on the pill, or menopausal, or anything like that. Too late now! My jism was coming out in spurts, helped by huge thrusts that had her butt jammed up against the brass of the bedstead. It was lovely! The feeling of release after all that pent-up excitement, plus the extra turn-on of knowing that Lady Jane’s insides seem to melt at the very idea of her hole being all mine for the taking.
I pulled my wilting cock out of her and hugged her to me, sticky cockend
pressed between our bellies. She hadn’t come yet, but then I hadn’t
wanted her to. Time for that later. First, I better go and
get my van of gear, otherwise it might not be still there in the morning.
On my way out I picked up her apartment keys and locked the door behind
me. Out on the street, I hailed a cab and told the driver where the
van was parked. As we drove, I kept thinking about Lady Jane, tied helpless
to her bed waiting for me to return, her cunt already sticky with my semen,
wanting to come but unable to do it herself, and wondering what was going
to happen next.