Self Bondage Farm Girl Volume 01

--------- Intro ---------

Some people pity me for being a farm girl. They say that when you live five miles from the nearest hangout, it's so much harder to socialize and meet people.. and meet boys *wink*.

I think being a farm girl comes with benefits. Actually LOTS of benefits - benefits that those town girls don't understand. For example, I have plenty of privacy, I can do whatever I want, my parents don't blink an eye when I leave the house ... the list goes on.

I feel like any young woman would be interested in those perks, but for me specifically there is more. I enjoy "DIY", or in other words making or building my own solutions to problems. Living on a farm means I have access to loads of tools and machines that let me make just about anything I want to, with a little trial and error and help from the internet. Plus we have plenty of spare materials - wood, leather, metal, and more!

And maybe it takes a Very special kind of person, but the combination of all that is especially perfect for me because it has all the ingredients of the perfect self-bondage scenarios. After all, why do I need to meet boys when I can satisfy myself just as well - actually even better - on my own?

That's why when my classmates were choosing colleges and making plans to move around the country, I instead made plans to work full time on our family farm, maybe someday to inherit it when my parents are ready to retire. You might find this to be a boring and monotonous life, but trust me: I keep myself busy and entertained with wild new ideas.

---------

My heart is pounding in my chest. Though part of me knows it's absurd, I feel like it can be heard through the old tractor shed's doors, around the unused pig house, over the mown field used for yard games during family gatherings, and across the family farm road to where the house sits like a part of the landscape at the top of a small rise. Months of planning and preparation has culminated into this event today, and my nervousness compounds with excitement over finally being able to execute on the plan that has soaked my panties at night for the greater part of a year.

Of course, I have certainly not been idle all this time. I make it a priority to set up a "scenario" for myself every month no matter what. These scenarios are the ones worthy of stories, and it would do them an injustice to describe them in brief. It helps me patiently bide my time and fuel my imagination in between the *scenarios* to do small things in my bedroom. It feels very basic but I can't deny how reliably satisfying it is to tie a vibrator between my legs and cuff my ankles and wrists to the bedposts. From there it's mostly a matter of suppressing my aroused moans and orgasmic screams lest my dad, mom, or younger brother hear. When I'm getting ready I can tell when it's going to be especially difficult to keep quiet, and on these nights I stuff my mouth tight with my ball gag to help contain the noise.

Anyway, those nights are simply delay tactics to survive my mundane farm girl life until the stars align and I can arrange a particularly devious and clever Scenario for myself. And today the stars have aligned. My parents have gone with my brother to Milwaukee, a LONG day's drive from the farm, for the regional hockey tournament - apparently he and his dorky hockey friends are actually pretty good this year. This is one of the best opportunities for a scenario that I have had in a long time - much better than just sneaking off for an hour when the others are busy.

After taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to slow my heart and keep my head from spinning in anticipation, I stride quickly over to the corner of the shed and pull at a tarp hanging down from the storage loft above. The tarp - which I had earlier positioned to appear inconspicuous, as if I had hung it there to dry - falls to the ground revealing an intricate nest of wires and tubes. I smile at the mechanism, grateful that the work I invested over the last three days will let me get to the good stuff faster.

However, there is more setup to perform, and I get right to it. I hustle, almost jogging, halfway across the shed and haul myself up into the seat of the forklift. I hesitate briefly before turning the key, knowing that this will be the loudest part of my whole afternoon. I smile to myself, a little embarrassed, and turn the key. Why should I care how much noise I make, while my whole family is in Wisconsin? The forklift rumbles to life, and I maneuver the vehicle through the shed towards the rest of my setup. As I near, I slow until the forklift is barely moving and carefully align it with the inconspicuous marks I made on the ground earlier this week. Once it is perfectly positioned, I put it in park. But before I turn the machine off, I reach for another handle. The forklift's prongs raise slowly until they are just the right height - just a smidge more than 3 feet off the ground.

Next I walk over to the corner previously hidden by the tarp and I wheel out a dolly upon which a tall and skinny custom construction sits. I maneuver the dolly, and the construction, in between the two prongs of the forklift and carefully set it flat, then shimmy the apparatus until the bottom portion is nestled underneath the prong closest to the wall - and the wire contraptions. This bottom section is just wooden scaffolding that has been attached to the dolly to support the rest and ensure it is all at just the right height. I position two carefully folded towels on the forklift prong, separated just wider than most of the scaffold, and then twist the handles of two heavy clamps to hold them in place. The clamps also secure the scaffold firmly to the forklift prong, and I give a small nod of satisfaction.

Then my eyes drift to the rest of the apparatus which is now stabilized by the forklift. Mainly, the fucking machine which now rests atop the prong, business end sporting a thick dildo realistically mimicking a black man's throbbing cock pointing mostly straight down and just a little bit forward. I squeeze my thighs together in anticipation of giving my "friend" a warm and tight embrace with my sopping wet pussy. This is not my largest dildo, but it is substantial and it will most certainly stretch me from the inside as the machine goes to town.

That is not all that came on the dolly. For out of the base of the dildo there is a thin clear tube which winds around before it is lightly secured at the base of the fucking machine, where the piston moves back and forth. Here the tube is interrupted by a small plastic bulb, like a pipette from science class. The bulb is carefully positioned within the rods and frames of the fucking machine, in a place where it will be squeezed when the fucking machine is at the peak of its extension. That will push whatever happens to be in the bulb down towards the dildo, and ultimately out the dildo's tip in a little squirt.

And what, I think to myself, is IN the bulb? Well, whatever happens to be in the wide-mouthed funnel that feeds the short tube connecting to the bulb. And what is in THAT? Nothing yet, I gratefully acknowledge, but later... I shudder, knowing what might make its way into the bulb, and hoping I can avoid that fate. However, at the same time that I am repulsed by the thought of what might enter the funnel, and the bulb, and the tube, and the thick black cock, and my gaping pussy... the thought of subjecting myself to such a degrading and grotesque fate makes me squirm in naughty anticipation.

Not to be distracted too much before I even begin, I grab the special extension cord that I modified specifically for this event and plug the fucking machine in. The rubber shielding of the extension cord is cut open, and three thin wires protected by black rubber have been spliced into the cord. They snake their way along the ground, join several other identical wires at the bottom of a vertical PVC tube, and eventually poke their way out of the top of the tube.

That accounts for three of the thirty wires carefully arranged in my contraption. Three more have long tails which dangle from the top of the PVC pipe, unconnected to anything. I snatch these wires and pull them up through an eyelet overhead. Then, one at a time, I tie the wires to the handle of a bucket which is precariously balanced just over the wide funnel on the fucking machine apparatus. Well, balanced isn't really the word. The bucket is attached to the scaffolding by a hinge such that it cannot possibly rest upright on its own, so it is only the three wires which hold the bucket upright enough to contain liquid. If the three wires disappeared - or, I press my thighs together as I think, were cut - then the bucket would dump its contents into the funnel.

Giving each wire a quick tug to ensure that they are secure, I retrieve yet another crucial ingredient from the corner of the shed. I open the door to an appliance similar to a large toaster oven and take out a heavily reused milk bottle from the toasty interior of the warmer. I uncap it, and slowly dump the contents into the bucket atop my contraption. This was the piece of my kinky puzzle that took the longest to put into place, as I had to discreetly order this ingredient ahead of time and nervously wait for its delivery. The fluid heaves great glugs and almost seems to pulse as it leaves the narrow opening of the half-gallon milk bottle. The musky smell of the stuff fills the air, and my nostrils greedily suck in the scent, raising a jumble of emotions ranging from disgust to curiosity to raw lust. Casting the now empty bottle carelessly to the side, I consider what I just primed my devious apparatus with, balancing precariously right above the spot where I will soon be trapped. Half a gallon of hot bull semen.

Shaking myself out of the brief trance, I set a couple of minor odds and ends in place, tug on the weight of a cuckoo clock until it is exactly at a particular sharpie mark, and survey the space to see if I've forgotten anything.

There, I think to myself. Everything is in place, except for one key piece. Myself, of course! My hands shake a little as I rip my clothes off and toss them unceremoniously to the side. My nudity makes the shed seem huge and that I might as well be naked out in the open air, though of course that is silly. Shaking off the feeling, I quickly ratchet a padded set of handcuffs on one wrist and put leather cuffs on my ankles, one of which includes a pre-set length of rope with a clip on the loose end.

I scoot a stool up to the side of the forklift - just in front of the big black dildo - and precariously balance my naked butt on the stool as I swing one leg, then the other over the prong of the forklift, one on each towel I had earlier secured on either side of the fucking machine setup. I inch forward to position the dildo right at the entrance to my pussy. Perhaps in another circumstance I would have had to play with myself or apply lube, but as I part my pussy lips it is clear that they are ready for the intruder despite his girth. I awkwardly place both elbows on the ground below my back and gently push my hips up and forward enough for my knee pits to rest precisely on their respective pads. A moan escapes my mouth as my other lips engulf just the tip of the girthy cock. Though it feels like it is barely inside me, I know that as long as my knees are hooked around the forklift like this there is no chance the dildo will spring free of me. Next I have to exercise my home-grown contortionism and arch my back as far as it will go to try to reach towards my feet below the machinery. The stool is in the way, so I lift my butt - deliciously sliding the dildo in another inch or so - shove the stool to the side, and twist myself back even further. Finally I am able to snatch the dangling rope already attached to one ankle cuff and fasten the clip to the opposite ankle.

I collapse in a huff. With the stool gone, my torso flops down at a steep angle. I'm mostly supported by my knee pits and upper calves hooked over the forklift prong, with the rest of my body draped down from there until my shoulder blades rest firmly on the ground. My ankles are now attached together by a rope, which is held firmly underneath the fucking machine scaffold - I can't lift my feet any higher than they are right now, nor can I retract them off of the forklift prong.

I take a few deep breaths, recovering from the exertion of my feat of flexibility. As I do I consider if I really want to go through with this plan. This is my last chance to back out before subjecting myself to the possibility of... my whole body shudders as I consider it, and my pussy clamps tightly around the dildo as if trying to pull him further into her. Not a mini-orgasm or anything like that - more of a foreshadowing of the pleasure to come. No, it's not even a question. I'm going through with this.

Without a second thought, I reach just a bit to the side and flip a switch on the extension cord there. I try to secure my wrists before the electronics get to work, but it is in vain. The fucking machine reacts immediately, pressing the dildo firmly into my warm and inviting pussy. It is slow, but it is still too much for me to handle elegantly as I freeze with my arms splayed out at wild angles from my body and give out a long, delicious moan. It is several seconds until the dildo reaches its maximum depth in my uterus, just shy of bumping into my cervix, and reverses course to spend the next several seconds retreating to the edge of my cavern. I revel in the feeling of the cock gently pushing in and pulling out, and wriggle my hips about as much as they can move with my knees pulled out to their wide angle.

I shake myself out of it for a moment - I have work to do. First things first, I finish the job by passing the unoccupied side of the handcuffs through a bracket on the ground and securing it onto my final free appendage so that my arms are trapped in an outstretched position. The cuff clicks with finality as it seals my fate. Now I'm trapped here until I earn my freedom.

Now finally done with the labor of launching my predicament, once again I relax and lay still for a moment and revel. As I passively enjoy the pleasure of the machine fucking me gently, I stare up at my freedom. Two keys dangle a few feet above my cuffed hands, definitely unreachable, for now.

One key is descending towards me, albeit excruciatingly slowly. It is attached to the weight of the cuckoo clock, which quietly ticks above me. After much experimentation with lots of ideas about DIY timed releases from self-bondage, I have come to rely on the cuckoo clock as my favorite. It is extremely reliable, as the weight descends straight down at an extremely well-regulated pace. And it is very easy to dictate specific amounts of time until the key becomes available, ranging from 30 minutes or so all the way up to 24 hours (I have been brainstorming what kind of self-bondage I can do with that kind of timeframe - another day though). Today I pulled the weights up to my 1-hour mark, so after that I'll be able to grab the key, unlock my handcuffs, and undo the rest of the predicament from there.

The main problem with that plan - besides the fact that my back, knees, and definitely my pussy would all be killing me well before the hour mark - is that John is supposed to arrive at the farm to do his chores in about an hour as well. John works for my family as a farm hand, and especially while the rest of my family is out of town he has his share of the farm chores to take care of to keep things running smoothly. Now, don't get me wrong, I am certainly not opposed to letting John fuck me, but when I do I don't want to have This be his first impression of me as a sexual person! Maybe I'll orchestrate a more mundane self-bondage scenario for him to "accidentally" discover me in, but this is far too extreme and compromising! It's not guaranteed that John will come to this shed during his chores, but it is also entirely possible... In either case, the cuckoo key is DEFINITELY more of a fail-safe than anything.

The second key is attached to a string that currently has a couple of feet of slack in it - just enough that when it falls it will dangle right where my hands can grab it. However, three wires are threaded through the key ring, holding it out of reach. When I cut those three wires the key will drop and I will release myself. But that's not all - for the wires holding the key out of reach are also the wires spliced into the extension cord. It took a bit of research into how electronics work, but for each of those wires I cut more power is routed to the fucking machine, allowing it to pound into me faster and faster the closer I get to my freedom. By the time I find all the wires to drop the key, the machine will be slamming into my love tunnel fast enough to bring me to an earth -shattering orgasm, and then I'll be able to set myself free. Sounds easy, right?

Of course there's the little problem of the other three wires connected to the bucket, a possibility that simultaneously thrills me and fills me with dread.

My hands grope around on the ground above my head until they grasp the wire cutters I had pre-set there. Firmly holding the tool in my right hand, my left hand feels for the wires and surveys the lot. There are 30 wires in all, and they are all splayed out and pulled taut in reach of my wire cutters. So taut that even when I try to pluck the wires to see which ones vibrate the key taunting me from a couple feet away, there is absolutely no response. Absolutely no way to know which three wires are holding my freedom. And which three wires are holding back my humiliation..

For a moment I am content with the slow penetration from the machine, so between that and a bit of hesitation to commit to any of the wires, I focus on the sensation of the thick dildo slowly and deliberately plunging deep into my cunt. It is almost frustrating how slowly the cock pushes in and pulls out of my soaking wet hole. In fact, less than a minute later I begin to get impatient for change.

My fingers dance along the wires, using mystic criteria to judge which ones seem most likely to advance my predicament for the better. The hell with it - I settle on a wire a bit to the left of center and blindly cut it.

TWANG! The tension in the wire releases, the sound reverberating throughout the spacious shed. My eyes wildly survey the wires I can see overhead to see what it did, but there are still three wires connected to the bucket. And my pussy would Definitely let me know if the machine was ramping up. So a decoy.

I sigh, not sure if it is in relief or disappointment. But there are many more wires that do nothing than wires that matter, so it isn't too surprising. Once again I open the cutters and angle them blindly towards more wires, less discriminating this time. I just cut once it feels like there is a wire between the blades.

TWANG! Again, nothing. My pussy burns with desire, the tantalizingly slow fucking doing everything to tease and nothing to satisfy.

TWANG! Nothing. TWANG! Nothing. TWANG!

I flinch within the limited range of motion I have right now as the bucket overhead begins to fall, though I quickly realize that it is not falling so much as simply jostling. All the same, the movement in the bucket is enough to bounce a dollop of creamy white fluid over the lip. I watch it as if in slow motion as it falls down, down, down, and splashes onto my left hip. The glob of bull semen is quite thick - if my body weren't thrust up at such an extreme angle it likely would have inhabited that very spot on my body until the end of my predicament. But with my hips held practically straight up from my shoulders, the oblong ball of spunk creeps from my hips down to the base of my left breast, where it momentarily pauses as if deciding to go around or over the top. It threatens to slide towards my sternum, where the valley between my breasts would practically funnel the glob directly into my mouth, with how sharply my neck is pressed to my chest by the unforgiving ground beneath me. Revolted by this thought, my body thrusts itself in a frantic twist, which thankfully sends the ball of jizz to the other side of my boob to trace a slimy path down past my armpit before plopping to the ground.