Where do I start? I start with, I am Grace Manners, or just Grace to my friends. I work as a trader for a US investment bank in Canary Wharf. From losing my virginity at fifteen I've always been promiscuous, my early years spent discovering the joys, or sometimes not, of teenage sex.
At twenty I was introduced to bondage by a boyfriend's father. To this day I'm not sure whether the incident was planned or a genuine opportunistic event, but it changed my life forever. It was a warm sunny evening, and I went round to see my boyfriend who it turned out had gone out without telling me. His father was always flirting with me and being the little slut I am, I encouraged it and somehow ended up being tied spread-eagled to his bed and fucked senseless. It was the most mind-blowing experience I'd ever had, and it opened my eyes to a BDSM world I had never imagined existed. Over the years I've experimented with many sexual perversions, but I always return to what has become my whole being and soul, bondage, forced orgasms and orgasm denial.
In terms of looks, I'm 5'9" tall slim and shapely and I'm what a number of my work colleagues would call 'posh top totty', a description that some may find offensive, but which I have no problem with. I figured out at an early age that I could use my looks and body to get what I wanted and over the years the trashy hooker look has gradually matured to the classy business executive. I still love to dress provocatively; black seamed stockings, suspenders, high heels and a tight-fitting business suit usually do the trick, and many a time I've sat in boring work meetings fantasising about being tied spread-eagled to the meeting room table and having those alpha guys fucking all my holes and wanking over me, and me with no ability to stop them.
I should probably say at this point that I'm now thirty-one and despite being pretty much able to have my catch of guys, I choose to be man-less. I've had my fair share of boyfriends and was even engaged to be married for a time but it's just not me. I have endless energy, and an exceptionally low boredom point and I concluded some years ago that the idea of being tied to one guy for the rest of my life would just be too restrictive. So, when I say man-less that means man-less in the sense of a permanent relationship. What I do have are a number of fuck friends, all of whom have been selected on the basis that they are, let's say fit and of generous proportions, and we're not talking Mc Donald's fans here, and for their ability to thoroughly use and abuse my body and generally leave me sore, worn-out and feeling like a dirty depraved slut.
But back to the point of this story, so over the years I've had many sexual partners and whenever possible, I've furthered my BDSM interests, but I've also become a huge self-bondage fanatic. I've spent hours thinking up and acting out elaborate situations where I would be restrained and unable to escape for long periods of time. The older I got the more elaborate these fantasies became but even though I'd toyed with bondage with various boyfriends, I'd never met a partner that I'd felt totally comfortable with to really let go with, or that I considered sufficiently trustworthy to fully give myself to without question.
Five years ago, at the height of the economic boom I got promotion and if I say so myself, a well-deserved sizable pay increase and bonus. Whilst my colleagues spent theirs on crates of Moet, Rolex's, Porsches, and trips to exotic destinations, I spend a nice fat wad on a secluded farmhouse estate in the home counties. The property consisted of a newly refurbished five-bedroom barn conversion, treble garage, workshop, second barn, stables, other assorted outbuildings and twenty-five acres of land, much of which was dense unkept woodland.
All in all, far too big for me but there was one feature that made this a must-have property; nestled in the woods adjoining the house was a dilapidated old World War II air-raid shelter. The estate agent showed it to me almost with embarrassment saying that it could easily be removed, which of course it couldn't, but he could have had no clue of the ideas it set racing in my perverted mind.
About sixty feet long, thirty feet wide and ten feet high, it was built so he said of four-foot-thick re-enforced concrete walls, surrounded on three sides and the top by earth and after seventy-five years of neglect, now totally covered in long grass, bushes and brambles. There was a single entrance down five concrete steps and through a heavy industrial cast iron door which itself was half covered by weeds and bushes. Being newly converted, the house was great and didn't need much doing to it other than moving in. It was always the air-raid shelter that was going to get my immediate attention and within a week of buying the property I had it thoroughly cleaned out, rubbish removed, and the ceiling, walls and floor all washed down, sealed and painted. The ceiling and walls received three coats of thick white masonry paint and the floor I coated with the thick grey rubber floor sealer, the sort you see in garages and industrial units. The heavy cast iron door was also rubbed down and painted, but on the inside only. I wanted the outside to remain looking dilapidated and neglected in the unlikely event anyone should actually pass by.
Other internal features included two steel 'rails' running the length of the ceiling that I guessed had been used for moving heavy equipment in and out. For the time being and after much fighting with rusty bolts, I removed them and dumped them in the barn, but I just knew that it wouldn't be long before they would be back in place.
Surprisingly, the shelter still had a power supply but for what I had planned that needed to be completely replaced. There was a rusty old distribution board on the back wall, and I arranged for a local electrician to replace this and run two armoured feeds the fifty feet from the house mains to the shelter. With this done, I had him fit a series of lights and power sockets and equipped it was some basic facilities; a small fridge/freezer, table, chairs, a relaxing sofa, a full-length mirror and an emperor-size heavy wooden framed bed.
Self-bondage; for years I'd been a fan and now I had the environment to really experiment in. Preparations would as ever be meticulous, but I knew it would be worth it. Over the years I'd accumulated a range of bondage toys and devices and now was the time to really put them all to use. To begin with I assembled my collection of favourite toys including my favourite remote controlled butt plug and vibrator, chastity belt and matching bra, ball gag, leather hood and blindfold and the latest addition to my favourites list, a vacuum bag.
The first thing to attend to was the latest addition; the vacuum bag. The bag was made up of a rectangular steel pipe frame over which was stretched a thick cream covered latex rubber sheet. Sealed on the top, bottom and along one long side, the fourth side had an air-proof plastic zipper its entire length. The bag frame fitted neatly onto the bed and although I wouldn't ever class myself as a master cabinet maker, within a morning I'd fashioned wooden upright stands which I positioned at each corner. From underneath, I put several screws through the bed slats and up into the stands and from the top, I drilled a single hole through each of the steel frame corner brackets. Screwing each corner down onto the uprights, I glued the drill holes with Araldite and finally covered them with silicon bathroom sealant to prevent any air seepage. The vacuum frame was now firmly secured on a block at each corner, with the underside of it laying on the mattress and completely unable to move.
The other important feature was the vacuum pump itself and timer. These came with the bag and were pretty simple to setup and operate. On testing it out I found that it would completely empty the bag of air in about two minutes, enough time I was sure to position myself and most importantly, to get my mouth comfortable around the breathing pipe. The final detail was to sort out the shelter door which was locked by a large steel lever that rotated ninety degrees. Horizontal and the lock was open. Turn the lever ninety degrees clockwise to the upward position and the door was locked. On examining the outside handle, it was clear that a single bolt held the lever on. I removed that bolt and after a WD40 spray and bit of pushing, shaking and general wriggling around the handle came off. Now I could remove the handle, enter the shelter, lock it from the inside in the knowledge that short of a nuclear bomb going off, I wouldn't be interrupted. In fact, if a nuclear bomb did go off, I most certainly wouldn't be interrupted.
I'd concocted many plans over the years, but I decided to start with a simple experiment to get warmed up. For my first adventure both of my holes would be plugged, the chastity belt fitted, and the keys secured so that I couldn't get to them for a fixed time. I would then put ear plugs in, fit my hood and climb into the vacuum bag. Having first set the butt-plug and vibrator remote, I would zip up the bag and get comfortable fitting the air tube in place so that I could breathe. After a few minutes, the timer would turn the pump on sucking the bag tightly around me and restrained by the bag I would be helpless against the plug and probe. When the timer cut the power to the bag, the air would slowly return and after a minute or so I would be able to unzip the bag and escape. I couldn't wait and just the thought of being helpless trapped in the bag made me shiver in anticipation.
I played with the timer and bag for several evenings, setting the timers on and off and watching it suck the air from the bag. Finally, I repeated the tests with a couple of rucksacks in place to simulate my body. The sight of the latex being sucked in tightly around them made me shiver with excitement. Sure enough, once evacuated, the bag held them securely in place and within a couple of minutes of the pump turning off, air would seep back in allowing movement and escape.
