Yuzax's Bondage Chronicle

My particular problem started when I was about six. I distinctly remember having a weird attraction to those scenes in the Jungle Book where Mogli is constricted by a snake. That's my first real memory of arousal, and I think the timing has forever conflated bondage with sexual attraction

Initially, I didn't think much of it. I fantasized about being tied up with my boy and girl friends, but I didn't know that was bizarre. Then the internet came along, and I discovered that others shared my fetish as my independence on the Internet grew.

This allowed me to become an active creator of fetish films ten years ago. I was working on a video contest, and thought I'd be clever if I started with a girl tied up and worked backwards. Two weeks later my 9th grade crush was helplessly duct taped to a rocking chair, and a monster was born. I followed it up the next year with a light-hearted home invasion flick that saw the heroines (the two prettiest girls in class) taped back to back and cleave gagged. With another damsel to play off of, they blamed each other for being in this mess. I was in heaven! I was also caught with these videos on my camera, and my parents were more upset that I had girls over in secret rather than what I did TO them. When I came clean they were no doubt shocked, but my therapist didn't really seem to be. He said my fetish was harmless. And thus I had a clean bill of mental health.

I was pretty quiet for a while. One girl in band and I had a running game where I tied and gagged her, and I once tied three girls together with a scarf (the owner was my 9th grade crush, a victim for the second time). These were lighthearted affairs, for sure, but didn't do anything to curb my growing appetite for harder bondage. I was moving from maintstream TV scenes into fetish films lifted onto the Internet (though I really got into these for the acting).

After a few years in college, I resumed. During winter break I tied up a girl from high school who pretended to move through the various stages of grief (denial, anger and so forth). My concepts were getting more clever.

The next victim was assailed by a magical roll of duct tape (I know, just go with it) that, once revealed as the villain, wrapped her up in progressive increments as she tried and failed to escape. By the end she was practically mummified. That same month, I made another film where a clueless girl was conned into being a guinea pig for a saleman's rope.

For those keeping score at home, that's six different girls I had tied up on film. The worst case was the one I didn't tie up on camera, however. A girl I had been sweet on (though she was certainly sweeter in reverse) came over for dinner. Everything went well, and then I sprang my trap. Unfortunately (for me) she was not about to take that lying down. Something of a tomboy she managed to wiggle free before I had her trapped, then we tussled for a bit (in hindsight I should have let her tie me up--might have been fun) before calling a truce. Having "innocently" tied her with her scarf on a previous occasion, she didn't lost track of the score, and our relationship was never the same.

If this account disturbs you, that's good. Sadly, it wouldn't be the last time that happened. Indeed, I only made one more film with a rowdy girl wrapped up in cling film. There wasn't much to the plot by that point. I had been pretty proud of my playful writing in the past (I certainly never wanted to inflict pain or injury! It was still innocent like my childhood fantasies), but this was just a series of takes of her wrapped up and then tied up (and, of course, gagged--vigorous talking through a gag was one of my signatures as an amateur fetish film producer). I haven't actually made a film since. In those intervening years, I've had opportunities, and that dark impulse inside me has come close on a number of occasions. (Three in about as many years).

Sadly it hasn't been a complete change for the better. I alienated one friend when I probed her willingness to "help me out" with a "project", and she saw right through me. Strike no. 2. The nadir came when I basically assaulted a roommate. I will defend to the last that I never had any intent of hurting her, though I must have been criminally insane to have not thought that far ahead. If all went according to plan, I would lure her into my room, distract her, then pounce and tape her up (despite the bondage affinity, I've never been good with knots). Once her mouth was taped over, she'd never be heard over the party raging below.

Okay, so if all of this hypothetically worked, what then? There'd be a girl, taped up, and I'd...do what exactly? Fapping right in front of her would be horrid, and filming it equally so. But despite these considerations--or really a lack of said consideration--I decided to roll ahead anyway.

It was St. Patrick's Day, four years ago. I texted her from across the room. She wanted to see my electronic drum kit, and I was happy to show her (this was a genuine bonus by the way, us both being in the drumline). We walked up the stairs, I played around on the kit, then invited her to try. She said it wasn't working--uh oh. I pretended to play around with some things, then told her it was all good. The minute she sat down to play, I made my move. I started wrapping her up around the abdomen: she dropped her sticks in clear shock. I made some poor attempt at a Snidely Whiplash impression: again, this was meant to be playful, not deranged. She seemed to take it a little well at first, saying that she herself had tied someone up the last time she had been this high (it was college, so that part should have been obvious). I spun her around in the drum chair, gagged her. My heart was beating as it always does in this kind of situation, as it is right now (I've been quivering during this whole composition). She asked me at some point what I was going to do with her, a hint of distress if ever there was one, and I simply said "I'm just going to tie you up."

Thus far everything had gone pretty swimmingly. Then she acted in a way I hadn't quite planned. Maybe it was because I had taped her mouth shut. Maybe I wasn't acting as playful as I might have otherwise. Or maybe she wisely sensed this was a bad situation that would only get worse for her...actually, for us both.

She bolted.

She headed for the door I had locked behind me (a damning true mistake, since it indicated some nasty intent. While I didn't want to hurt her, I definitely didn't want her to escape.) On instinct a hand went out and blocked her path. She stood there, a friend I had enjoyed many a good time with, and harbored a secret crush on, her torso in a silver corset, her arms awkwardly dangling over her stomach. Three pieces of tape lay over her face.

In this moment, though of course I wouldn't have reasoned so at the time, my future hung in the balance. A future where I either embraced the dark side that we all carry, to act on animalistic impulses and abuse those around us, or one in which I acted according to the justice of my fellow man. And in that same flash of a moment, I made that call.

"Stop! I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

Maybe it made no sense, but nonetheless I undid the tape. I apologized profusely, most likely in tears. Knowing now that I wasn't going to rape her or kidnap her, she recovered herself somewhat, comforting me. Then she walked out of the door and, like anyone I've tried to pull that stunt with, she has walked out of my life as well. That seems a small price to pay for my actions: I was certain campus PD were on there way to haul me off. I solemnly prepared to face a trial I thought was coming.

Fortunately nothing of the sort happened. We haven't spoken much, but she told me not to worry about it. Several years hence, and I've tried to reach out to her, with no luck. I'm not surprised. But I'm forever glad I made that decision.

It's certainly not all sunshine and roses. Sometimes I seek out those girls (now women) who appeared as my lady models, and try to engage the experience. Understandably they're less jazzed about the idea than I am. I've also brought it up with girls that have had no such exposure: a passing joke or running gag, but I always feel dirty afterwards, the same way way I feel when I fap to this stuff.

On one hand, I'm proud of my corpus. Though it's largely gone (especially the raw footage) some parts of it remain. Part of me wants to hold on, while another part realizes that it must be destroyed or buried so deep that it would never be found by someone else. Certainly I don't want it to go public for the ladies' sakes. Some of them have gone online, and I shudder now that total strangers--with my sick passion but none of my fondness for these friends (none of the actresses were strangers, after all)--have enjoyed themselves with folks I love.

I've recognized to varying degrees that these strains--my addiction to fapping, my obsession with bondage, my warped idea of sexual arousal--are all strongly connected. I must break those habits if I'm to emerge as a successful person. Reducing fapping will give me back a huge chunk of my life, and leaving bondage behind, well--I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, or fapping for that matter, but I should control them, not the other way around.

I'm not sure if this is how its done here, but I propose that I go fap free for 7 days (I get back from a business trip on the night of the 15th, so what better time marker). I know that I can't kick this thing cold turkey, and I'm not sure that I want to. My main goal is to wean myself off of this destructive habit.

Sorry for taking up so much space. I've never once unloaded this story in its entirety, so even if no one reads it the relief is enormous. Thanks so much for your support. I'll try to return it in time.

yuzax

 

I agree. Most of the footage is forever gone, but I'll destroy what remains.