Having a very sexually repressed upbringing left me very vulnerable to developing some very powerful kinks later in life. Once I hit university, a wide world of sexual exploration opened up to me that I had never even considered before. To make things even better, my family had helped me rent an apartment off campus (to keep their precious daughter away from all those bad influences, of course) which left me with a whole house to myself. I was primed to get myself into trouble, and very eager to do so.

Unfortunately, the was one major obstacle I hadn’t planned for: I was painfully shy when it came to real life sex. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone once or twice, mostly with a lot of alcohol, but my own self-consciousness at not knowing what I was doing really dampened the mood. And so, I resolved to figure myself out before jumping back in the pool. As with everything I did back then, from my studies to my hobbies, I went all in on my little “project”. No expense would be spared, no angle left uninvestigated. I would take myself for a serious ride.

Over the next few weeks, packages would arrive every few days. When you don’t have much of a social life, you’d be amazed how large a budget for sex toys you can justify. Between my studies and my “investigations”, I didn’t really have time for other people and I also didn’t really mind. Dildos, vibrators, lubes, plugs, porn… I had more than enough to occupy my time. But while it was all deeply enjoyable, I still didn’t feel like I had really figured out my “best pleasure” yet. Everything felt good, but the most exciting thing about all of it was the fact that I had gone so overboard with it… but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to go more overboard, wanted to make the experience even more hedonistically extravagant. I wanted a kink of my own, but I didn’t even know where to start.

The answer, of course, is that you find things like that by accident.

It started off simply enough, at least for how I was at the time: I had slapped a suction cup dildo onto the edge of my tub, and slipped a vibrating cock ring onto it. I had been playing around with riding cowgirl, and found this was the best way to really ride any of the toys I had bought so far. With one foot in the tub and one foot on my bathroom floor, I bounced up and down onto the toy with my hands behind my head. A fantasy floated through my mind, imagining my hands cuffed above me: maybe bondage was an angle I should look into? The idea definitely sent shivers through me, and I found myself quickly cumming hard around the vibrating dildo. The sensations quickly became intense, and I moved to lift myself up and off the toy.

On this fateful day, I had left just a bit of water in the bottom of the tub when I last showered. And so, when I went to stand, my foot in the tub slipped on the water and slid out from under me.

Out of reflex, I immediately shifted my weight to the foot outside the tub. But that foot had been on my bathmat, and the sudden sideways motion caused it to slide out from under me as well. In the span of one frantic second, instead of lifting myself off the dildo, I had instead slammed myself down onto it with all of my weight.

Fortunately for me, this particular dildo wasn’t overly wide or long. But the vibrating cock ring was an entirely different matter, as I pinned it against my oversensitive clit with full force. As my legs scrabbled for stability, stars exploded behind my eyes as a single thought flashed through my mind: Oh my god, am I trapped on this vibrating cock? Will it just keep assaulting my pussy, over and over?

Of course, the answer was “no” because my hands weren’t actually tied up in any way. All I had to do was hold the side of the tub to stabilize myself, and I would be able to easily lift myself up and off the invader. But the unexpected and massive second orgasm that hit me first took my breath away, and I found myself almost passing out before finally freeing myself from the situation.

All in all, I had been “trapped” for maybe twenty seconds of panicked flailing, and I had never been in any genuine danger. But as I lay panting on my bathroom floor, staring up at the still-vibrating dildo, I knew I had awakened something in myself. Reaching down, I was absolutely soaked in a way I had never been before. The brief thought that I might have been trapped and forced to endure endless mechanical pleasure had set my mind on fire, and I immediately knew my search was over. It wasn’t about what turned me on anymore; now, it was about the how of it. What was the best way for me to leverage this newfound interest of mine?



I started small, of course. The simplest attempt was to just play with a vibrator in bed, but to try and keep holding it against me once I came. This didn’t work at all: once the post-orgasm sensitivity spiked up, I reflexively pulled the toy out right away. I just didn’t have the discipline to keep it in place, even if regret washed over me as soon as I pulled it away. I needed that feeling of helplessness, needed something to actually stop me from giving up right away.

At this point, it was reasonable to consider involving other people in my sex life again. But the situation had changed over time: a strange side effect of my nonexistent social life was significant success in my studies. With increased success came increased obligations, and the window of opportunity to socialize freely had closed behind me. This didn’t bother me as much as I expected it would: between my work and my “play”, I felt quite fulfilled and didn’t really miss it. It did, however, mean that I couldn’t look towards giving up control to another person in order to achieve my necessary feelings of helplessness. And so, I became increasingly creative.

By the time I graduated, I had devised a setup where I would turn on a vibrator, slide it into myself, slip on a pair of panties to hold it in place, then I’d tie my hands to the bed frame. The knots were never that good, but it was enough that I would have to put effort into untying them in order to release myself. I would enjoy the slow build, writhing on the bed knowing the torment to come, until finally the inevitable crash would hit me. Only once I came would I allow myself to begin trying to escape, at which point my sensitive pussy would force the most delicious moans from me as my toy cruelly continued its assault. My fingers would tremble as I would struggle with the knots, lengthening my torment whether I wished it or not. Eventually I would manage to work myself free, shaking as I would slip the panties aside so that my twitching pussy could force the invader out and onto the bed, still buzzing angrily. Exhausted and satisfied, I would commonly fall asleep right then and there (leading to many unnecessarily dead batteries, as I would forget to shut the damn toy off first).

I was addicted to the ritual of pleasure I had created for myself, and my mind was filled with extravagant scenarios in which I would be forced to endure more and more mechanical torment. Thanks to my exceptional grades, I was employed directly out of school at a corporation halfway across the country. While my family cried and wailed as they wished me goodbye, all I could think of was the absolute freedom that awaited me: if this is what I had accomplished on a student’s budget, what could I get up to with real resources at my fingertips? The prospects thrilled me, and I began to comb through my fantasies for aspects that I could actually achieve, no matter how ridiculous. I had dreams to work towards, and no reasons to hold myself back. The idea that any of this could go too far never even occurred to me at the time, nor would it for over a year.



The day I finally made a serious mistake was a Friday, leading into a long weekend. I had been working late all week, leading a number of high stress projects that had been ongoing for months. This would be the first real weekend of freedom I had in quite a long time, and I intended to make the most of it. Kicking off my shoes haphazardly in the front hallway of my house, I threw a frozen dinner into the microwave as I began to unzip my dress. I rarely wore much clothing while at home these days, mostly just to enjoy the freedom of nudity. But this time, I was more concerned with efficiency: once I had eating the food I biologically required, I was anxiously looking forward to fucking away all the tension that had been building up without release. I ate quickly in my bra and panties, impatient to move on to fulfilling my baser needs. Once finished, I finished undressing to take a quick shower while I digested, then barely towelled off before heading down into the basement.

The rest of my house was kept presentable to guests, just in case I ever had any (though I generally didn’t). The basement, however, was for my eyes only. It wasn’t finished, with a concrete floor and exposed beams for walls. In any other household, it would have been filled with spare seasonal decorations and other random storage. In my house, it contained a washer & dryer in the corner, and an intimidating conglomeration of sex machines and chains in the center.

It had taken some time to assemble, with parts being switched in and out and the overall design being a matter of trial and error. But the current setup was a resounding success, to the point of making me instantly wet anytime I laid my eyes upon it. At its core, a sybian sat upon a large foam mat, wide enough for my knees on either side to be protected from the hard concrete floor. The sybian itself was relatively standard, save for the control box which I had replaced with a custom aftermarket model. Instead of manually controlling the speed, vibration, and rotation, this control box would instead randomly cycle through preset “sequences” on its own. Once turned on, it would keep playing through its options endlessly until turned off.

Around the foam mat, a number of steel brackets were drilled into the concrete. These had been an absolute bitch to install, especially when any of them would turn out to be slightly misplaced. I was never exactly handy with power tools, and found the masonry drill I rented to be loud and hellish, but I was too motivated to let it stop me. And so, after great effort, I had put together the current arrangement of brackets to hold strong chains in place. And within reach in front of the sybian, a single steel rod was drilled down deep into the concrete. It had a small hole through it near the top, just large enough to accept the shank of a padlock.

Completing the set was a set of cuffs: one for each ankle, one for each thigh, and one belt for my waist. Each was made of strong leather, padded for comfort, but held in place by strong keyed locks. The key was stored on a shelf at the edge of the room, far from the sybian. Each cuff & belt was attached to a length of thick chain, measured to the perfect length. Already feeling myself drip with excitement, I began to lock the cuffs and belts into place; the weight of the unbound chains always made my stomach flutter with excitement for what was to come. On a whim, I set my phone on the shelf with the key, setting it to record a video. I hadn’t ever recorded one of my sessions before, but I found myself curious to see what I looked like as I thrashed and moaned.

Dragging the chains behind me, I moved over to the sybian sitting ominously in the center of the room. Lube sat in reach nearby, and I began to cover the toy liberally; it would not do for things to dry out once things started, given how difficult it was to stop. Once everything seemed ready, I knelt carefully onto the sybian’s protruding cock, feeling its textured base nestle against my clit. Even without power, it made me shiver with anticipation.

Carefully, I began to thread the chains of my cuffs through the brackets on the floor. As each was pulled into place, I felt myself lose mobility: all the chains held me down atop the sybian, unable to raise myself far enough for my clit to escape the silicone surface that would soon be vibrating incessantly against it. With everything in place, there was absolutely no mercy or escape for me.

All the chains ended in the same place: their final links just reached the single steel rod that jutted up in front of the sybian, enough that I could slide the rod through to hold them in place. And once every chain was pulled taut against the rod, the final step was put into place: a cheap dial combination lock that I had originally purchased to use on my gym locker.

As anyone would know who had used these dial locks before, they weren’t exactly the most reliable. Turn twice to the right, set the right number, once to the left, and so on… even at the best of times, they could be quite finicky to unlock. When you just wanted to open your locker so you could go home, this was a downside. But as a final challenge to overcome as a rumbling powerhouse of sexual pleasure tortured your pussy? It was perfect. Slipping it into the hole near the top of the steel rod, I snapped it closed and spun the dial once randomly to ensure a challenge when the time came. Now, until that lock was removed, I was absolutely pinned to the powerful toy between my legs. All that was left was to awaken the beast.

Taking hold of the control box, I looked up at the clock I had placed in full view: 8:43. More than enough time to utterly exhaust myself, and stil get a full night’s sleep. My record so far had been an forty-seven minutes, but I was feeling ambitious tonight and wanted to give my best since I was recording this for posterity. Of course, that could just as easily work against me: being too horny frequently meant I came too quickly, and was soon sent scrambling against the padlock for my freedom. But whatever happened, I was always left feeling completely satisfied. With one last shaky breath, I clicked the box to “ON” and quickly tossed the control box out of reach.

God, if only I had known what that night had in store for me. But would I have done anything different, if I had?



I had come to recognize most of the sybian’s automated patterns at this point: some were more gentle, others were near-abusive in their intensity. I had come to assign personality to my machine, given how much time I had spent subjected to its whims. Tonight, it seemed angry at me. No sooner than the control box had left my hands, the machine revved straight up to full power with no warning.

I doubled forward, gasping. As pent up as I had been, I had still been expecting some degree of a buildup before plunging into the deep end. It knocked the wind out of my lungs, leaving me unable to even moan. But just as soon as it began, the machine stopped completely, leaving me confused and desperate. It hadn’t played this trick on me before, and it left me unsteady and unprepared for whatever came next.

Before I could think deeply on the matter, it loudly revved back to life beneath me. More moderated now, it sent me on a rollercoaster of rising and falling sensations that I couldn’t follow. Even if I would have recognized the pattern at any other time, that initial attack on my senses scrambled my brain. All I could do was endure the rapid fire of changing sensations, throwing back my head and moaning deeply when my breath returned to me. My hands ran across my breasts and neck, tweaking my nipples out of instinct as my hips ground down onto the vibrating base. When I was of sounder mind, I would try and lean further back so as to give my clit as much breathing room as possible; this was a marathon, and I had to pace myself. But tonight, I was too wrapped up in need and I fell into a sprint, rubbing my clit back and forth across the textured vibrating surface of the toy. Part of me knew this would cost me later, when the sensitivity was too much for me to bear, but I could feel my phone’s camera on me and it drove me to put on a good show. Silently, I thanked myself for deciding to record tonight’s adventure; it was pushing me to go even further than I had before, which was becoming more and more difficult the further I went. Tonight would certainly be a night worth remembering.

All too soon, I felt the familiar feeling of lightning travelling across my spine. Quickly glancing at the clock, I laughed breathlessly: 8:52. Contrary to my original hopes, this was more likely to be a record for the shortest session ever. But that was alright; I was enjoying myself far too much to care. I found myself panting like a dog in heat, the slight wetness from my earlier shower already replaced by a sheen of sweat over my entire body. But before I could crest the peak, I found myself looking up at my phone and wanting to push myself even harder. And so, with great force of will, I began to take short sharp breaths as I tilted my hips. While I couldn’t actually lift my clit off the machine no matter what I did (I had made quite sure of that), I could briefly reduce the direct contact and try and draw things out. Cumming was inevitable, but I could try and hold it off.

Early on, I had tried to hold off cumming for as long as possible out of an excited fear of what came after. But I quickly learned that it had the absolute opposite effect: while it did push the “suffering” further into the future, it also made it infinitely worse once the time came. The longer I edged myself against the toy, the more sensitive I became and the greater the agony once I finally came and the machine wouldn’t stop. Even for a glutton for punishment like myself, it proved to be too much and I couldn’t bring myself to draw things out like that anymore. But this night was special, and the camera inspired me to push harder and higher. Like the cuffs and chains, the camera forced me to surpass the limits I thought I had. And so I rocked back, groaning as my pussy cried out for the release that I was withholding.

Reaching back, I grabbed the cuffs around my ankles to arch myself away from the vibrations. This was a risk/reward maneuver, however, as it shifted the focus from my clit to the dildo rotating inside me. The further I leaned back, the more it pressed against my G-spot with every rotation, and I found myself gasping at the sensation. While my clit had always been the easiest way to make me cum, the sybian had shown me that it wasn’t the only way. I wouldn’t be able to hold out like this for long, no matter how I tried to delay things.

Sometimes, I swear the machine knew what I was doing and it would act to thwart me. Things were already hard enough for me as it, with the machine shifting back and forth in waves of vibration and rotation when it suddenly switched to full rotation & full speed. Leaned back as I was, it began to thrash against my G-spot with the force of my full body weight against it. I jerked hard against it, shrieking in surprise as I felt a G-spot orgasm surging up in me. Instinctively, I doubled forward, palms flat against the ground in an attempt to relieve the intense pressure I felt building.

So of course, that is when the machine began pulsing the vibration of the clit pad at some ungodly intensity as well.

I had tried my best to hold things off, but I was only human. Bent forward, my clit was mashed fully against the sybian as the dildo stirred me up from within. I threw my head back and screamed, feeling my legs shake uselessly in their bonds as a massive orgasm ripped through me. Wetness flooded my thighs; I wasn’t usually a squirter, but this was a very special night and I couldn’t hold back even if I had wanted to. The pulsing of the vibrations kept me riding aftershock into aftershock, as I helplessly looked up at the phone dispassionately recording me coming completely undone. The scream devolved into incoherent moaning as my clit’s sensitivity rose beyond what I could handle, and my pussy fluttered wildly around the gyrating dildo.