A Quiet Night In

Tuesday night always means, for me, a quiet night in. Perhaps a couple of hours slouched in front of the TV watching a movie while I work my way through a bottle of wine and a slice or two of cake. Sometimes just an early night and a chance to catch up on some reading. Last week I was feeling a little blue and a little bored, and decided to cheer myself up a bit with a spicy evening in; treating myself to something special.

Want to know my recipe for a fun night on your own? Let's start with my ingredients:

one pine-framed double bed with bedside table;

one set of clean, white, brushed cotton sheets;

one warm cotton nightshirt, pale blue;

one close-fitting pair of sports panties;

one mains power extension cable;

three mains timers;

three lengths of soft white rope;

one pair of steel handcuffs, with key;

an assortment of small and large mains-powered vibrators;

one roll of duct tape;

one ball of string;

one tray of ice cubes;

one length of string, one end frozen into an ice cube; and

one coffee mug.

When I'd got everything together in the bedroom I took a glass of wine up, shut my bedroom door, lit a few candles around the room, and put my favourite Norah Jones CD on to repeat. Then I kicked off my trainers and sat up on the bed for a while, just listening and enjoying the wine while I got really relaxed.

By the time the glass was empty, I was truly chilled out. I sat up and pulled my T-shirt over my head, tossing it across the room towards my old tattered armchair from college; it was quickly followed by my bra. Standing up, I slipped out of my jeans and panties and tossed them in the same direction. Then I sat back on the end of the bed and stared to get myself ready.

First things first: the vibrators. My little friends! One was just a very basic, battery powered dildo; my first vibrator, again from college days. Not very exciting, but reliable and faithful, which is more than can be said for some people. An adventurous once-upon-a-time boyfriend with an interest in electronics had adapted it for me so it now runs off the mains, about the only lasting favour he ever did me. The second was very thin, and had some kind of gizmo on the plug end that caused it to run at randomly varying speeds. Lots of fun. The last was one of those little eggy things that tucks away so neatly in little spaces.

I started with Old Faithful, greasing him up with massage oil then slowly sliding him inside me, taking my time - if you don't enjoy yourself, even when you're just getting ready, then what's the point? When I'd got him in about as far as he'd go, I got the thin buzzy one, greased that up too, and slowly slid it into my butt. Hell, if that electro-head boyfriend could see me now! He'd always, shall we say, expressed an interest in going that way himself. I didn't. Some of these guys seem to think we're just gagging for it, if only they knew the right way to ask. Well, not this gal. But here's the thing: getting that buzzing feeling right up back of things is just something else. So the buzzy gets to go where no feller every will.

When they were both safely in place, I pulled on the sports panties - tight fitting, good for keeping everything in place. It only took a few more moments to tuck the eggy vibrator in between the folds either side of my clit. Then I used the duct tape, wrapped back and forth, over and under, just to make sure everything stayed where it belonged - and to secure the power leads against my left thigh too (wouldn't want them pulling out at a crucial moment!) The vibrators were plugged into the extension cable through the timers, each set to go off at different times; the first should kick in after about ten or fifteen minutes.

The next priority was to secure my eventual, but not immediate, release. This involved a clever, and largely failsafe, technique. First, I tied a length of string to a little hook screwed into the back of the bedstead, and tied the handcuff key to the other end. I hung it over the front of the bedstead so it just rested on the pillows. Then I snapped the handcuffs just onto my left wrist, lay back, and made sure I could reach the key and unlock myself again. Perfect.

Now the clever part. I took the string embedded in an ice cube (which had already melted a little), and tied the free end to the same hook. Putting the ice cube into the coffee mug, I covered it with as many other ice cubes from the tray as would fit in the mug, then put the mug down on the bedside table, pulling the string fairly taut. Then I simply hung the key loosely over this second, tight string. The idea was that, in the end, the ice would simply melt, the embedded string would come free, and the key would swing down into my reach. Brilliant.

Finally, I fed a short length of rope under the mattress at the head of the bed, round the wooden frame underneath, and tied it off. The free end, long enough to lie across the pillows, I used to tightly and firmly secure the handcuffs. Then I wrapped tape around the knot - plenty of tape, to deter me from unpicking the knot later on, except in a dire emergency.

Nearly there now. I looped a length of the soft rope around the bottom left bedpost, then wrapped it repeatedly round my left ankle, tying it off to make a comfortable but very secure restraint. It was a bit of a stretch, on a double bed, to secure my other ankle to the right bedpost, but worth the effort: I love that sense of exposure and vulnerability that comes from being spread wide open. I quickly pulled the blue nightshirt over me; if you're planning on an hour or two of just lying around, you don't want to get too cold.

Then I lay back on the pillows, enjoying the stretching sensation in my legs as I did so, reached up and quickly snapped first one, then the other of my wrists in the handcuffs.

Time began to pass slowly. The candlelight flickered off the walls, and the gentle music from the CD filled the room. I gave a few experimental tugs against the ropes around my legs; they were very secure. I tried wriggling a little harder, but nothing was giving way. This is part of the fun: making sure you can't escape, then trying to do so anyway. The CD changed track, and I began to wonder whether I'd managed to tie my right ankle as effectively as the left. After all, it had been a bit tricky leaning over ... I tried squirming my ankle in the loops of rope, seeing whether I could find any room for manoeuvre. No luck. A few sharp tugs confirmed my suspicion that whatever leeway there might be wasn't sufficient for a quick escape.

Not that it would do much good anyway, of course. It might be a sort of psychological victory over yourself, but in my current self-inflicted predicament, what help would it be? My wrists would still be locked in steel, and even getting an ankle free wouldn't help change that much. I was stuck for the duration. I grinned to myself: this was, of course, the whole point.

A couple more tracks mellowed the atmosphere, while I lay back and felt joyously helpless. Every so often a wriggle would serve to relieve stretched muscles and underline my captivity.

Then a click from the first timer, and Old Faithful began to buzz quietly. Here's the game I like to play, when I'm having a night in like this: how long can I hold on? With Old Faithful I could probably hold on for hours. When the power kicked in I started getting this lovely, gentle throbbing sensation right inside me, a kind of sensual humming inside. It's great, especially when you can't stop it or control it; it warms me up real slowly, just the way I like it. I guess if I stayed that way for a good while, I'd lose it, just tip over, but it would take plenty of time. That's not really Faithful's job when I'm playing like this - it's more of a teaser, a get-you-going.

When I pulled against the ankle ropes now, changing my position just a little each time, it would cause tiny movements within, shifting this throbbing hum around just a bit. I tried pulling in my knees as much as I could (which wasn't much) and had a go at squeezing the vibrator. Another game: can I push it out altogether, spare myself the sensation? Fortunately the combination of panties and tape kept it firmly in place. I lay back for a while and just bathed in the warmth, feeling myself begin to glow slightly.

No-one's ever found me like this, of course; I'm careful to make sure the doors are locked and I won't be disturbed. Still, at moments like this it makes a great fantasy. I imagine some guy coming in - it doesn't matter who, some repairman or the doctor or whatever, but someone really good-looking, of course - and finding me so helpless and at his mercy, squirming for relief, embarrassed and excited at the same time. In my favourite fantasy he doesn't say a word, just pulls up the tatty old armchair and sits to watch while I build up and up and spill over. Then perhaps he unties the string leading to the key and puts it in his pocket, so he can watch it all over again!

Another click pulled me back to reality for a moment; the thin buzzy vibrator started up, its persistent fizzing right up the back of me sharply alternating with the gentle hum of Old Faithful. Oh, now I was squirming. This buzzy one had the variable gizmo, so its sensations kept changing - sometimes strong, sometimes gentle, now maybe faster, then later a little slower. It became a counterpoint to the steady throb from the front, not exactly pleasurable, but hugely stimulating. I found myself pushing down against the firm mattress to alter its angle within me, causing it to press harder against me inside. My breathing was getting heavier and faster now, and I found myself tugging against the handcuffs, unsure whether I wanted to switch it all off or go to work on myself and finish the job! But the cuffs held me in their unrelenting metal grip, and I was forced to wait.

I found my mind wandering back to its fantasy of being discovered, of that silent watching man. If there had been a man there at that moment, I think I would have begged him to lift up my nightshirt and caress my breasts. Surely even the quietest of observers, even the gentlest of voyeurs, wouldn't be able to resist such an offer from me, hot and helpless as I was? Please, mister, please just touch them, let your fingertips brush my nipples, perhaps kiss them softly ... I had to stop thinking about it, calm down, focus my mind. I was getting too close, too excited; I was losing my little game. I took a deep breath, and relaxed as many muscles as I could. The throbbing and buzzing were insistent, but if I closed my eyes and let the tension flood away, perhaps ...

A third click, and all was lost. The egg. I hadn't realised how ready I was. Its little vibrations were like thunder and rushing water on my aching clit. I cried out loud, and every muscle in my body tensed, pulling uselessly against all the restraints. The worst (and best) thing I could have done. Muscles clenched within too, and as luck would have it the variable gizmo thingy stepped up a few notches, sending a wild fizz right up my rear. I think I screamed, but I'm not sure; my ears were roaring. The climax burst within me, an internal nova that shot its warmth down my nerves and crackled like electricity inside. Oh, so wonderful.

And then I would have been finished. But ah, no. Those insistent little devices were still buzzing and throbbing. I looked up helplessly at the key, well out of reach, then over to the coffee mug. I couldn't see ice over the lip of the mug any more, so some had melted - but how much? How long would I still be stuck here? My legs were still jittering a little from that last climax, and my panties were wet through with excitement, but still the stimulation forced itself on me. I tried again to squirm myself free, but now every movement simply added to the delightful sensations of those persistent companions. Couldn't I get just a few minutes respite, a moment's relief before being forced back up again? I wasn't wriggling in my bonds now, I was writhing, writhing and hot and ready to beg for release. But beg to who? I'd put myself into this. My fantasy watcher was only in my mind. The vibrators weren't listening ...

... just buzzing and throbbing and fizzing. Irresistably.

The second time I held out for a good few minutes, which I think was pretty commendable. By the end, I was shuddering, shaking, gritting my teeth with the effort and trying to hold on. But there was no denying now the remorseless wave upon wave of sensation, heightened by the feeling of helplessness. The second time I know I screamed, and bucked, and fought against the ropes and cuffs, and rode the climax fiercely, hoping to draw its sting, and loving every minute of it. I thought perhaps if I really threw myself into it, let it empty me from within, that I might drop down the other side into a calmer place.

It was not to be.

The third rose up within just a short while later (or so it seemed; I was losing track of time by now). It rose quickly, but teetered on the brink for what seemed an eternity. I was hanging in a kind of limbo between the normal world and some fiery orgasm. I was bathed in sweat now, pulling hopelessly against the ropes that held my ankles so firmly, crying with frustration at this seemingly endless teasing. The climax, when it came, was equally slow and powerful, a sweeping sensation that enveloped me and burst from deep inside, leaving me gasping for air.

Twice more, if you can believe it, I was drawn up and over, while I struggled and cried and rejoiced and enjoyed. No matter how hard I tried to control myself, I was lost to the stimulation and sense of vulnerability.

Who knows how long it had been when the key suddenly slipped loose and swung down onto the pillow, just beside my waiting hands. My fingers were trembling as they fumbled with it, trying to get the cuffs open. Another click - the last, the sound of the lock. My right wrist was free, then quickly my left. I pushed myself up as quickly as my tired muscles would allow, and disconnected the power supply to the vibrators. Relief at last.

Ten minutes or so later, I'd freed myself and stumbled down to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. Back upstairs, sitting on the bed, I surveyed the mess of tape, rope and wires now piled on the floor. The sheets underneath me were rumpled and damp with sweat; they'd need changing before sleep. I was aching and sore and filled with delight.

What fun! Oh, how I'm looking forward to my next quiet night in!