BDSM Library - BondageCircus

This story is the result of a series of challenges I received over e-mail. My partner would imagine a bondage situation and I would then describe how the heroine managed to free herself. The project was that her bondage would get stricter and stricter, and more dangerous with each new challenge. Until she found herself in am inescapable bondage that would kill her.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Introduction

This story happens in a special circus called the "Bondage Circus". Aurelie Catena, the Queen of Escape Artists, has volunteered to enter a special show where she will face a series of bondage challenges from which she has to escape.

First round: Hog-tied

You are brought out into the centre of the ring by two of the stage hands they each have hold of one of your arms as you are brought out. I stand in front of you and announce, "This act will be a little different as the next slave will undergo several rounds of torture purely for your entertainment. each round the bondage and pain she will endure will get harder and harder as she will have to escape. The crowd gasps and cheers as they see your lovely body.

I enter the arena, trying not to blink in the spotlights. I hear the crowd cheering. I try to smile to them, even through I can hardly see them, blinded by the harsh light. I am wearing a very sexy outfit principally made of criss-crossed black-leather straps connected with shiny buckles and rivets. It looks like every part of the outfit could be unbuckled to its components. My anonymity is guaranteed by a black-leather mask covering the upper part of my face while leaving my long, curly auburn hair to flow down my back to my waist. My white, round shoulders are naked. Below them begins the criss-crossing of leather, keeping two black triangles over my proud, firm breasts. A shiny stud is glistening just where my nipples should be. The leather straps leave most of my back, flanks and flat belly uncovered to reach a skirt made of hundreds of black-leather strings hanging in a corolla from a belt circling my hips. With each step, the strings move around, offering glimpses of my white, athletic thighs, and of my black leather thong. The string skirt stops short of my knees. My long, well-defined legs continue down to my feet which are perched on top of the highest pair of black-leather heeled sandals ever seen. My whole body is athletic and very feminine. A look of strength and suppleness emanates from my persona as I walk, led by the two assistants.

"She is the queen of the escapologists. She is the one who was left chained inside a crashing plane and who managed to parachute 300 meters above the ground, the one who got out of a pit of hungry tigers where she had been thrown strictly hogtied. You have all seen her famous dares. Tonight, I am proud to introduce Aurélie Catenaaaaaaaaa!"

As you announce the rules of the first show, I can't prevent my heart from beating a little faster. Your Circus is renowned for its harshness and I always know that something can go wrong as there is no trick in my art. Just strength, will and suppleness.

Well round one will probably not be much of a challenge but will make a nice warm-up. Besides after each round she will remove a part of the gorgeous costume. Several lengths of rope are brought out and I tightly tie your hands behind your back. I then tie your ankles together and sit you on the ground I tie a rope around each ankle and bend you in half at your waist and tie your ankle ropes to your wrist ropes leaving your arms strapadoed and your ankles by your shoulders.

I smile and stand back to watch

Aurélie's long, athletic legs are pressed tightly against her torso, her knees on each sides of her breasts and pushing them together. Her feet are on each side of her head, with the rope connecting together pressed across her face. Her arms are contorted behind her and pulled hard up between her shoulder blades, tied to her ankles. She is lying on her back on the floor. The position has made her skirt to open like a flower, offering the crowd a clear view of her black-leather thong and of her straining, muscular legs.

In spite of the strictness of the bondage, Aurélie does not look in too much discomfort. She is obviously very supple and used to have her body twisted around. She is even smiling, even though her face is concentrated as she assesses her situation.

For a moment there is not much to see. Aurélie is making small movements with her legs and arms, exploring the limits of her freedom. Muscles can be seen rolling under her white skin. Then one can see her arms trembling, her hands making fast movements behind her back. She seems to be pressing her legs even harder against her shoulders, slackening slightly the rope connecting her ankles to her wrists.

And suddenly there is a snapping sound. Her legs unfold and she moves her arms from behind her back. She lifts her hands in the air, free of rope. She sits up and curls her legs against her chest, bent at the knees. Her fingers are working fast on her ankles and in a matter of seconds she unties her legs.

She stands up, smiling widely and bowing to the cheering audience.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Second round: Hog-tied with a spreader bar

The crowd cheers, I step up, very nice. now you will remove an article of you costume and we shall move to round 2

Aurélie blushes sligthly at this order. She is not used to get naked in public, but the pay was high enough to induce her to accept this clause of the contract. She knows that it is now easier for her because she can choose and remove one piece of cloth herself. During the next rounds, clothes will be taken from her and she will have no control about it. This is going to be more humiliating.

She bent over, keeping her legs completely straight, unbuckled the straps around her calves, and stepped out of her shoes. Walking on her bare feet was much more comfortable. She smiled to the public and then, turning to the host, she said, "Ready for round 2. I'm all yours!".

I smile and look at your body then I take a length of rope and tie your hands behind your back tighter then last time I get another length of rope and wrap it around your elbows and pull it tight forcing your elbows together. A 3 foot bar is brought out and I tie your ankles to each end forcing your legs apart. then I force you to kneel and tie your wrists to the spreader bar.

Aurélie is kneeling on the floor, her back slightly arched, her thighs widely spread. Her shoulders are pulled backwards, making her leather-clad firm breasts to jut forward proudly. The lanyards of her skirt have fell from her muscular thigh and are gathered in front of her crotch, leaving her legs naked up to her hips. Her flat, muscular belly is contracted. In the heat of the spotlights, her skin is glistening with a thin layer of perspiration. Her toes are clenched tight. She is smiling but one can see she is concentrated on her task.

She arches her back a little more and reaches the spreader bar with her fingers. Her fingers explore the rope, looking for a knot, which she quickly finds. In a matter of seconds, the knot is undone. She then reaches with her fingers to her left ankle and begins to fidget with the strap. In few seconds, the strap is undone, freeing her left leg. She then closes her legs, allowing herself to reach easily the right ankle strap. Instants later, her right leg is free too. Smiling widely, she stands up, cheered by the public.

She faces the public, smiling and bowing her head in greetings. Meanwhile, peoples can see that her arms are moving slightly. She is moving her fingers fast behind her back while she keeps smiling and bowing her head. Her feet are slightly apart as she works on her bondage and suddenly, the spectators can see pieces of rope falling on the floor, between her feet. And then her hands appear on each side of her waist as her white teeth flash in a wide smile. The public cheers loudly as she turns around showing her arms, which are now only tied at the elbows. Slightly red can be seen around her wrists, where the rope had been wrapped tightly.

The rope cinched above her elbow is digging into her flesh, which is bugling above and below the coils. Aurélie kneels down once again and grab the metallic spreader bar, holding it by one of its ends. She stands up again and faces the public again, with the bar visible between her legs. Then, the spectators see that she is pushing the bar upwards and she makes little moves with it. It takes longer this time. Aurélie’s face is concentrated. The lower end of the spreader bar can still be seen between her thighs and moving rapidly. After about two or three minutes, she stops moving the bar. Her abs contract like steel, the muscles of her arms bulge like knotted ropes, her face becomes slightly red... and suddenly there is cracking sound, pieces of rope fall behind her, she moves the bar slides down behind her, moves a little bit more and then fall on the ground...

Then, she lifts her arms high in the air, circled with red welt around her elbows. She smiles widely and bow deep several times. An assistant brings her a glass of water and a wet towel, which she uses to refresh her body and mouth. But as she does, and as the crowd cheers, she feels some anguish ball forming in her throat. The third round is about to begin. A new cloth will be removed from her and the next bondage will be the first involving some level of pain.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Third round: Split tie

The crowed cheers your efforts and I look at your skirt and grin. I unbutton it then slide it down your legs and hold it for you to step out of.

Aurélie’s long legs are now entirely naked. Her crotch is now offered to the sight of the audience, covered by a thin, black-leather thong. It consists in a narrow black triangle covering her vulva, and three thin lanyards that pass between her firm and round buttocks and above her hips. Above her thong, she is wearing a bra and a leather jacket.

I look you over then a stage hand brings me out a long pole. I ask you to lay on your back and then tie your left ankle to one end of the pole then forcing your to do a spits I tie your other ankle to the other end. The camera zooms in on your open crotch area then pans out over your body. another pole is brought out and I place it behind your back between your back and elbows and tie your elbows to it then your wrists to the ends of it. the crowed enjoys how your breasts are forced out. I step back and admire my work.

Aurélie remains a moment on her back on the floor. Her legs are spread open at 180°, leaving her leather-clad crotch in full view. She blushes as a cameraman comes close and zooms in between her thighs, showing the slight bulge and her perfectly trimmed crotch. She is used to do the split but still the position is somewhat difficult, and it is completely paralysing her legs. Her leg muscles are bulging under her skin as she tries to get used to the position. She knows that soon her legs will begin to cramp and ache. She wiggles her toes to keep the blood circulating in her feet.

She clenches her abs, which for a strong bar under her belly. Her shoulders are lifted off the floor and she sits down on her taut butt. She smiles at the camera, flashing her white teeth. Her hands bend at the wrists at an incredible angle, her long fingers reaching for the ropes wrapped there. Her long black nails begin to scratch at the ropes. She scratches and scratches, her fingers moving fast over the ropes, which are soon showing signs of destruction.

She works as fast as she can, but the cramps in her legs are increasing. She tries to clench her leg muscles, to wiggle her toes, to move her feet, but the pain keeps building up. She can’t do nothing against it. Her legs and lower belly are soon covered with beads of sweat and the pain is showing on her concentrated face. Still she keeps working on her wrists’ binds.

She is biting her lower lip as she fights the pain as much as the ropes, and suddenly the ropes around her left wrist fall apart, soon followed by those around her right wrist. Her arms are now only bound at the elbows. She leans sideward, resting one end of the pole on the floor and pushes. The pole slides between her back and her elbows until the end is against her chest. A last pull with her free hand and the pole falls, freeing her elbows and arms completely.

The public cheers as she lifts her arms in victory, a smile mixed with pain covering her sweaty face. She bend over her right leg, like doing a gymnastic exercise. Her fingers reach the rope around her ankle and she undoes the knots there. Seconds later, her right foot is free and closes her legs with a moan of relief. Untying her left ankle is then an easy matter.

Soon she is standing again, smiling and bowing to the public, cheered by them.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Fourth round: the stocks

After your jacket is removed a set of stocks is brought out you notice that there is only one hole for your neck and with flat board. I place it around your neck then latch the halves together the wood fits very tight around your neck the hole being just a little too small.

I am now only wearing a narrow, black leather thong and a black-leather bra that contains my proud breasts. My body is bathed in hot lights, standing almost naked in front of millions spectators. The stocks are heavy on my shoulders and the hole for the neck is slightly too small, putting some pressure on my throat. I hate stocks. They are among the most difficult piece of bondage to get out, even if the latching system is very simple.

I take a long nail with a larg head and place the back of your hand against the end of the stock and drive the nail through your palm nailing it in place.

As I see you approaching with the nail, my eyes grow wide and I try to pull my arm away, but an assistant is holding my hand and arm securely against the wood. The pain as the nail penetrates through my flesh is atrocious. I scream to the top of my lungs, yanking on my arm to free it, to no avail. A few more hammering and the nail head is resting against my damp palm. My arm is stretched under the plank, with my wrist bent at the end and my palm facing outward.

I get another nail and nail your other hand the same way.

My struggles are even more frantic as the assistant holds my left arm and you place the nail. I know what it is now, and my right hand is still throbbing in agony and sending waves of pain up my nerves. A few seconds later, both arms are stretched out under the stocks, my hands nailed to the wood. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, I’m panting slightly. Never have I been in so much pain.

A spreader bar is bright out and I fasten it behind your knees buckling the leather straps around your legs. I take a lenth of wire and twist tie it around your ankles then pull the wires tight and tie the ends to the end of the stocks putting you in a frogtie type position. the camera pans over your skantily clad body zooming in on your nailed hands and then your spread legs.

I am lying on my bowed back, with my arms stretched out, my knees wide apart, and my feet pulled towards the ends of the stocks, forcing me to curl my body. The wires are digging cruelly into the flesh of my ankles, making the skin to bulge around it. The position is very obscene, my wide-open thighs offering an unobstructed view of my scantily covered crotch. A camera is zooming upon this area and my crotch aired to millions of TV across the planet.

But my intimacy is the last of my concern. My hands are in agony, almost paralysed by the horrible pain transfixing them. I can hardly move my fingers. My belly is panting fast as I try to accommodate to the difficult position, my breath slightly hindered by the tight neck hole. My toes and the black-painted nails are wiggling helplessly. I can feel the hard wood planking against my spine. I’m sweating profusely.

I have to figure a way out. From the corner of my eyes, I can see the latches of the stocks. There is one each side of my head, in the middle of the arms. They are very simple latches but they are desperately out of reach of my fingers or my face.

I am very bendy and thus, by clenching my strong abs, I manage to curl my body even tighter, getting some slack in the wires anchoring my ankles to the stocks. I twist my feet so as to bring my toe nails in contact with the wire, on both sides. Then I begin to move my nails along the wire in a sawing motion. This is difficult and extremely painful as the wires keep yanking on the stocks, reviving the pain in my nailed hands. It is very slow too, but some powder of metal can be seen falling from the wire, where my toe nails are working. My abs are forming like pipe under my belly skin, the muscles of my legs are knotted and slightly trembling. My face is a mask of pain and concentration.

Several times, I have to take a rest and lay on my back, trying to breathe more deeply. My shoulders and arms are full of cramps. My neck is getting raw from the continuous chaffing of the wood. My hands are immobile, half clenched, the big nail head visible in the middle of the palms. But always I start my work again.

And suddenly, the wires break apart! My feet are free, whilst my knees are kept wide apart by the spreader bar. But now at least my legs have more freedom. For a moment, I uncurl my body, relishing the regained possibility to stretch my cramped legs and my spine. Lying on my back on the stage, my proud leather-clad breasts are heaving on my chest.

Then I sit down, lay my left leg on the floor and bring my right knee against my mouth. Using my teeth, I unbuckle the strap holding the knee spreader bar. Once it is free, I do the same with my left knee. The public cheers as I stand up, trying to smile in spite of the pain in my hands and shoulders.

Then I sit down again and use my left leg to brace myself on the floor. I lift and contort my very bend right leg, bringing my toes against the latch on the left-hand side of the stocks. My skilful toes fumble a few seconds with the latch and then open it. I do the same with my left foot and the right-hand latch. The stock halves open, letting me breathe more freely. Grimacing with pain, I lift the half nailed to my hands from my shoulders, while the other half fall on the floor. I put the heavy timber on the stage in front of me. My hands are still nailed to it in a very awkward position.

I try to pull on the nails but I just manage to torture myself without making the nails to move at all. I look around and notice a screw protruding from the wall. Crawling on my knees, I push the half stock in front of me until I reach the wall. Once, there, I lift the right end of the stocks and manage to slide the screw head under the wide nail head. It makes me wince in agony as the pain propagates along my arms. I clench my teeth and begin to push against the stock with back of my hand. I can feel the screw head slowly pulling the nail out of the wood. The flesh of my hand seems to be pulled out too and I scream in deep agony. Inch by inch, I manage to pull to long, bloody nail out of the wood and flesh. With a last inhuman scream, I yank on the nail, which pulls out completely. The stock and the nail fall on the floor as I howl, shaking my pierced hand.

Pulling the nail out of my left hand proves easier as I can now use my right arm to work. But the pain is not any lower and my screeches echo through the circus. Finally, the left nail is pulled out too. I stand up and lift my arms victoriously. I’m drenched in sweat, but I have got out of the fourth challenge!

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Fifth round: the sawhorse

I look at your painfilled body and let you catch your breath for a minute. Then I reach behind you and unclasp your leather bra and slide it down your arms leaving your breasts exposed for the crowd and the cameras. I get an evil grin on my face and a sawhorse is brought to the stage. I lead you to it then place you stomach down on the sawhorse so that your legs are spread and beside the legs of the sawhorse on one end and your arms are at the other end.

I’m resting on my belly on the top plank of the sawhorse. I can feel it pressing against my front, from my pubis to my neck.

I take a length or barbed wire and fasten your wrists to the legs of the sawhorse as tight as I can then do the same to your ankles after making sure the top of the sawhorse is against your slit through your thong. I add some more wire around your upper arms and thighs.

I grimace as I feel the barbs penetrating my skin all around my limbs. I make sure to clench my muscles as strongly as possible, making my forearms, biceps, thighs and calves to bulge as you coil the wire around them. My arms and legs are now applied tightly against the sawhorse legs. Looking down at my uncomfortable position, I see that my toes are but inches above the floor.

I make sure you have one of your naked breasts on each side of the top of the sawhorse then take two nails and a hammer, I place the tip of one nail against the side of your left breast and nail it to side of the top of the sawhorse then do the same to your other breast.

I can’t resist the urge to scream as the nails pierce my tender flesh, penetrate through my mammary glands before entering the wood. Every hit of the hammer makes the sawhorse to propagate the pain to my whole body. I can feel the hammer against the sides of my breasts as you push the nails deeper, until the nail heads are against my sweat-covered skin. The pain emanating from my breasts is transfixing. I don’t dare to breathe too hard by fear it would increase my agony. I look down and see my proud breasts hanging down, protruding under the top plank of the sawhorse, with my nipple erected because of the pain.

A rope is looped around your neck just under your chin and tied off to the back end of the sawhorse forcing your to keep your head up or strangle.

I feel the rope pressing against my throat, forcing my breathe into a hiss, unless I arch my neck even more backwards. I am now forced to stare at the spotlights above me. I cannot even look at my arms. The strain on my neck is painful and I wonder how long it will take for the first cramps to appear.

I am now only wearing a narrow thong, the widest part of which is hidden against the sawhorse. The black leather strings over my hips and between my buttocks are so thin that my body is virtually naked. My body is stretched cruelly on the sawhorse, leaving me helpless, pinned to the wood, my skin glistening in sweat under the hot spotlights. Or so it seems to the hapless crowd.

All the muscles in my limbs are still bulging, clenched tight. When the host announces I am free to start, I relax completely. This gives some slack in the barbed wire coils around my limbs. Not enough to slide them through, but giving me definitely more freedom. I contort my unbelievably supple wrists until my long fingers ended with their long black-painted nails reach the place where the two ends of the wire have been twisted together. Unable to look down, panting and hissing to the sky, I have to find them by touch alone. All along, the barbs are grinding cruelly into my flesh.

I begin to untwist the wire, bit by bit. Hours of training have made my fingers as strong as vice-grips and very agile. I keep twisting the wire, painfully arched on top of the sawhorse. Sweat is dribbling along my limbs, dripping from my nipples. My mouth is gaping wide and my tongue slightly stuck out. I’m grunting as I try to breathe in spite of the rope pressing on my wind pipe. My buttocks are clenched in concentration. A few minutes later, the wires are completely untwisted. I then proceed to uncoil them until they get loose enough to let me slide my narrow wrists and hands out of their cruel embrace.

Now my forearms are free to move. I flex them and reach with my fingers to my biceps, coiled with barbed wire. I try reaching the wire with my fingers on each side but I can barely brush them with the tip of my black nails. I then cross my arms and pull on the wire. Thanks to the slack I’ve got in the upper coils, I can reach the wire of each arm with the opposite hand. I find the twisted wire and begin to untwist it as I did before. In a few minutes, my arms are completely free.

I immediately reach for the throat rope. I pull on them, making it circle around until I bring the knot where my fingers can untie it. Then it is a matter of seconds until I can again breathe freely. I can also look wherever I want and look at my nailed breast.

At first, I try to pull on the nail head to extract them from the wood. But this causes so much pain in my breasts as I yank on them that I can’t continue. I have to try something else I grab one of the coils of barbed wire and uncoil it completely. I then slides some of the barbs to get a long enough length of harmless wire. Pressing on the side of my right breast, moaning from the pain, with my fingers trembling from the pain, I twist one end of the wire under the nail head, between it and the breast flesh. I make sure it is twisted very tightly. Then I make a double loop with the other end of the wire, which I grab with my right hand. I the use this handle to pull on the nail head with more strength.

The muscles bulge in my arm, sweat pours from under my armpit, my body trembles. My face is grimacing as I can feel every tremor of the nail inside my very flesh. I pull and pull and pull, and suddenly the wood gives way and I pull the nail completely off! I let go a long scream of pain as I feel the steel sliding inside my raw flesh.

I take a few moments to gather the courage to do the same with my left breast, and then I proceed. A few minutes later, my left breast is throbbing in agony too, but is free. I am now able to straighten up and sit on top of the sawhorse. Immediately, I feel the pressure against my crotch increasing as most of my weight is now supported by the narrow plank. The leather thong is hardly a protection. I grimace in pain and reach for the barbed wire coiled around my thighs. I now use the nails as tools to help me untwist the wire ends and free my thighs, all along grunting from the pressure against my sore crotch. From time to time, I let my poor vulva to rest by supporting my weight with my hands. Eventually, my thighs are free.

I then carefully climb down the sawhorse and sit down on the stage. It is now much easier to free my ankles, first the left, then the right. I finally stand up, holding the four strands of wire and the two nails. My limbs are circles with red marks and spots where the barbed wire has cut into my skin. I am free, once again! I bow deeply before lifting my arms in victory, offering a clear view of my still proud naked breasts.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Sixth round: the post

I help your body up to your feet then I trace the hole in your left breast with my finger. "she’s very impressive I tell the crowd. They agree with loud cheers. I look your body over admiring the nail holes and wire marks. Then I loop my thumbs around the straps of your thong and start sliding it down your legs. The crowd goes wild at the sight of your bare pussy. I throw the thong into the crowd.

I blush as I realise I am now stark naked in front of the cheering audience. Out of shyness, I cross my hands in front of my nicely-trimmed pussy.

Then a post it brought out on stage and I push you against it with your back to the post. A metal spreader bar is brought out and your wrists are locked into it so that your arms are spread and the bar is behind the post. I place a padlock on both shackle and put the key in my pocket. The rough bark of the wood scrapes your back. I take a length of barbed wire and farther secure your wrists to the metal bar both above and below the shackles.

I grunt as the barbs are digging into my already sore wrists. With my hands so wide apart and the post pressing against my spine, my chest is thrust forward and my proud, pierced breasts are jutting out invitingly. I feel completely helpless already, offered to the sight of the eager crowd.

Another spreader bar, four feet long, is brought our and I lock your ankles to it in the same manner.

My feet are now very wide apart, forcing my thigh open, providing an unobstructed view at my trimmed crotch. As the bar is behind the post too, my legs are pulled backwards slightly, forcing my crotch forwards. My nether lips are pulled slightly apart. The cameras are zooming of my lower belly, enticing enthusiastic cheers from the crowd.

I look at your breasts and select another length of barbed wire and wrap it tightly around each of your breasts squeezing them painfully. A length of rope is looped through a ring at the top of the post and I tie it to the wire between your breasts. Two stage hands hoist your body off your feet by your breasts and tie off the end of the rope.

I moan in utter agony as the wire is wrapped coil after coil around my poor breasts. As the wire is tightening around their bases, shoving its cruel barbs into my tender skin, my breasts begin to bulge forwards, more and more flesh and blood being pushed into the two taut balls of reddening skin. The pain increases fast and they begin to throb in incredible pain. I grimace as I see my breasts being changed into mushrooms filled with boiling woe. As the rope begins to pull them upwards, the pain doubles. I get on my toes, trying to ease the pain, but the pull keeps going. My breasts are pulled higher and higher as I scream and shake my head. My body is lifted of the floor; my toes are stretching downwards, trying to reach the floor. Each yank on the ropes extracts a groan of pain from my throat. When the hoisting is over, my big toes are hovering six inches above the floor.

I grab another length of barbed wire and loop it around your right ankle then loop the other end to your wrist and do the same to your other ankle, pulling your feet higher, until they are just one foot from your hands.

“Ooowwww, pleaaaaase! Stop that!!!” I beg you, my body arched against the post, my breasts and pussy pushed forwards.

I look at your exposed and vulnerable pussy and bring out a 4-foot steel wide and blunt spike. I insert the tip into your pussy and attach it to the post. Your body is now bound to the post so that it can slide up and down it with just the rope tied to your breast wires holding you up and keeping you from being impaled. The more you jerk around the more the wire and barbs cut into the rope. Finally, I pierce your clit and hook the padlock key to it.

I scream out loud as my clitoris is pierced and a ring pushed through the fresh wound. Hanging by my breasts, the pain is incredible. I have difficulty to focus my mind on the task I have to accomplish. For long minutes I’m just hanging against the rough wooden post, my bulging breasts stretched upwards, trembling, trying to get used to the horrible agony. It feels like my breasts are going to be torn from my chest and I do not dare to move, scared to hasten the process. This would mean my death as I would be slowly impaled on the blunt spike, unable to stop it to penetrate deeper and deeper through my bowels. Breathing is difficult too as each move of my chest sends waves of pain through my breasts.

But slowly my breasts become drown into the pain which seems to recedes. At least I can direct my mind away from just coping with the throbbing. I can feel the key dangling from my aching clitoris. For the moment, it is excruciatingly out of reach. After some hard thinking, I decide for a strategy.

First, I arch my back some more, lifting my buttocks higher against the splintered post, pushing my right foot next to my right hand. My taut belly is pushed even farther forwards. My fingers begin to explore the barbed wire there and find one of the barbs. My fingers begin to move very fast, moving my black nails against the barb. After about two minutes, ma fingers pull out a short piece of wire. But by now, my back is so tired I cannot stand like that any longer.

With a sigh of relief, I let my butt slide down along the post and hang like that recovering some strength, grimacing in pain. Rivulets of sweat are rolling down my strained body and dripping on the floor from my knees. Every breath, however shallow, is accompanied by a strong pain in my tortured breasts.

After a few minutes of rest, I arch my back again, bringing my feet against my hands. My left hand begins the same operation as did my right hand before. Simultaneously, I begin to pick the right padlock with the piece of wire. My muscles are trembling in the process. I have to keep my back arched painfully hard and this is a very strenuous task. But finally, I both get a piece of wire in my left hand and my right foot is freed from the shackle. It is still coiled with wire though and just hangs from my hand.

I let myself slide down once again to rest. And then I hoist myself again and free my left foot from the shackle. The spreader bar falls on the ground, leaving my feet only retained by the barbed wire connecting them to my wrists. Untwisting it was a slow and painful process, but a few minutes later I had freed my feet completely. This changed my situation completely. As I had been hoisted above the floor with my legs wide apart, now that I was able to get them together, I was able to stand up on my toes and to step off the impaling spike. I was not hanging by my breasts anymore, which provided a great relief to my throbbing chest.

My arms were still shackled to the end of a spreader, set behind the post. I twisted my arms so as to bring the spreader almost parallel to the post. I the contorted my body until I was able to reach the key hooked to my clitoris with my fingers. Once I had done it, it was easy to unlock my wrists and free my arms completely. Uncoiling the barbed wire from my breasts was a simple, though very painful task.

Again I was free and could bow to the crowd, victoriously.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Seventh round: The crossbows

While the post is carried away and the implements for the new challenge brought on stage, I take some welcome minutes of rest. I drink almost a gallon of water as my mouth and throat are so parched. I have lost a lot of sweat during the last challenges.

A sheet of plywood is brought out and I lay your naked body spread eagle on the board. I use U bolts to tightly bolt your wrists and ankles making sure your body is well spread. Then a larger bolt is brought out and your neck and waist is bolted down. Then two more for your thighs.

I am spread-eagled against the plywood, my limbs stretched wide open. The cameras are zooming on my crotch, whose outer labia are pulled open and inner ones slightly gaping. The U-bolts are cold against my sweaty skin.

Then the board is set so you are upright. I set up a stand with 5 crossbows all aimed at your torso. Tied to each trigger is a string at the end of the first two strings is a clamp and I attach them to both of your earlobes.

I gasp as they crush my ears tight. Their springs are very strong and there is no hope they will slip from my skin. Understanding what is going to happen, my mind already begins to churn to find a way out.

The next three have a safety pin attached to them, I take the first and pierce it through your right nipple and latch the pin then do the same to your left. For the 5th I tease your clit then push the needle through it and latch the pin to it as well.

I yelp twice as the safety pins are pierced through my tender nipples. This is getting very serious. But when you pierce my very clitoris, I cannot suppress a loud howl of agony as my most sensitive spot is wounded. I look down at my body and at the three large safety pins hanging from beads of throbbing flesh. The problem with these pins is that no amount of pulling will dislodge them. They will either rip out of my flesh or stay in place. I gulp nervously. And then, as you begin to tighten the lines, I expel all the air I have in my lungs.

Now stay very still I tell you as I make sure the strings are tight then turn off the safeties to the cross bows. I place a sixth on the stand and aim it then walk the string to you and give it a very slight tug, the bolt shoots from the crossbow and embeds itself into the board directly between your legs.

I am now spread-eagled vertically, facing five crossbows aimed at my chest, naked, barely able to move. As I fill my lungs again, I notice, looking down my cheeks, that my trick as allowed the nipples lines to get looser. At least I can breathe freely. But my clitoris is pulled out of its protective sheath of flesh by the pin transfixing it.

I am in a very difficult position. I do not dare to move too much. I do not even dare to look at my situation. Moving my head could trigger the crossbows connected to my earlobes. I have looked at my situation before the lines were tightened and now I have to work from memory alone. I can feel the U-bolts pressing into my flesh and bones, squeezing them against the plywood. I am spread, half hanging by my wrists and half sitting on the thigh bolts. I contort my feet, feeling around. My big toes are hardly brushing against the floor if I stretch them down.

I make some attempts at pulling on the bolts but they are strongly affixed to the board, probably held by nuts screwed on the back side of the sheet. This time, I feel stuck. The spotlights are focused on my plight, making me sweat like a fountain. I wish I would have drunk more. As I reflect about my situation, I begin to wonder whether I am going to die from thirst or from the crossbows bolts. Sweat is dribbling down my stretched limbs, down my spine. I can feel the plywood sheet drinking my sweat against my back. And then a little spark of hope lightens in my mind. It is humiliating, but this is the only alternative to death...

Much to its amusement, the public realises suddenly that urine is trickling from my crotch. Immediately, and to my shame, a camera zoom upon it and follow the rivulet of yellow liquid as it dribble down my legs. I concentrate on my crotch, as do the camera, and I let ooze a trickle of urine. Not strong enough to stream forward, but enough to dribble along my legs. I let it flow and flow. The crowd believes I am finally loosing my pride, but to me, this flow of urine is my last hope, my ultimate weapon, my last way out of this predicament. I can feel the warm liquid trickling along my thighs, then down my calves before dripping on the floor from my toes. But most of the urine does not get so far as it gets trapped within the entangled fibbers of the plywood. I can imagine the strong liquid entering the layers of wooden pulp, dissolving the glue holding them together. And I keep oozing urine to feed the process.

Once my bladder is empty I investigate what I have done. I twist my feet around, I clench my thighs. I proceed gently, as I do not want to pull on the clitoris trigger. And yes! I can feel that the plywood has loosened around the U-bolts. I can now shake the metal in its sheath. Very carefully, I begin to twist and move my ankles, see-sawing the screw ends of the U-bolt through their holes. After some time, I begin to feel sawdust on my heels, indicating that I am doing some progress. I continue my moves, which get wider and wider as the U-bolts get looser. All the time my mind remains focused on the menacing crossbows aimed at me. The very pain I feel in my earlobes, nipples and clitoris is reminding me not to move too much. Had they been painless, I would probably already have been killed 100 times.

At some point I feel I have gained enough slack to squeeze my feet out of the bolts. Very slowly and carefully, I pull up my feet and manage eventually to free my feet. The first step to my freedom is behind me, but the most dangerous is still to come.

I explore the extent of my freedom. My legs are free from the middle of my thighs down. I can now put my feet flat on the wooden stage and move them around. I move them around, testing how far I can move them. I am sweating profusely and rivulets of perspiration are trickling down my body. The move I am going to do will be very dangerous. It might mean the end of my life and I hesitate to do it, weighing my chances. I keep fidgeting with my feet and toes against the floor.

Finally I let it burst. Bracing my feet firmly against the floor, I let out a wild scream while kicking the stage powerfully. The whole board jerks sideward. The lines pull cruelly on my nipples and clitoris. I feel them stretched forward and then I head five lethal clicks. I clench my eyes tight. The board resounds with five, almost simultaneous thuds. A sharp pain in my belly and I howl in agony and despair. I hear the crowd cheering madly.

Slowly I open my eyes and look down at my stretched body. Four crossbow bolts are deeply planted in the board, next to my chest. The fifth is imbedded in my waist, a few millimetres from my side. The wound is painful but innocuous. I let out a deep sigh. I made it!

Still my situation is far from enviable. I am still pinned to the plywood sheet by six U-bolts. Moreover, my nipples and clitoris are now stretched wide out towards the now disarmed crossbows. They are throbbing from the agony and send new urgent messages of pain whenever I move.

After a few instants to recover from the nervous shock, I resume my escape. I lift my right foot and contort it until I manage to push the rod of the test bolt still lodged between my thighs between my big and second toe. I have long trained myself to work with my feet and they are almost as strong and deft as regular hands. Grasping the bolt with my toe, I gently pull it off the board.

Armed with this new device, I set myself to scrape at the plywood around the U-bolt holding my left thigh. The wood, imbibed with my urine, is soft and weak. Digging into it with the sharp bolt head is relatively easy. After some time, I have enlarged the holes enough so that I can extract the U-bolt from the board. It falls on the floor, clanging. I smile weakly as I let my right leg and foot to rest a moment. My foot is cramped by this precision work. My body is bathed with my own sweat and my clitoris and nipples are like in fire. But I am now far closer to freedom.

I can now stand on both feet, which releases the weight my wrists were supporting. I am breathing freely now, which brings new energy to my muscles. I grab the crossbow bolt with my left foot and turn to free my right thigh in the same way I did with my left. Thirty minutes later, both my legs are completely free.

After a bit of rest, I curl up my body. My abs are clenched tight, forming like a bar of steel under my belly. I reach with my left foot to the bolt wounding my side and I pull it off with a gasp and scream. This one will stop hurting me at least, even if my nipples and clit keep torturing me and forcing me to moan and grunt continuously.

Now, I fold my right leg entirely up my body, reaching with my foot towards my right hand. My toes are clenched around the head of the crossbow bolt. I seize the bolt with the tip of my fingers before letting my leg down again. I’m holding the bolt in my right hand now and I begin to dig into the wood around my wrist. In 15 minutes I have dug holes wide enough to free my right wrist.

My first task is to unhook the pins pierced through my nipples and clitoris, and then to release the clamps on my earlobes. With the atrocious pain gone, I can work more freely. Digging out the U-bolt of my left wrist is done very fast. Then follows the one around my neck, and finally the waist bolt clangs on the stage floor as well.

Lifting my arms in victory, I smile to the cheering audience and bow deep. Once again, the Queen of Escape has proved her skills.

I like to write this kind of things. So, if you can imagine a cruel bondage situation, feel free to send it to me over e-mail, and I shall try to escape it and send you my story.

Also, you can check my blog on my Yahoo 360° where you will find other types of scenarios I like to write for. Collaborative writing is what motivates me, so do not hesitate to write me!

The escapologist show

Paragraphs written by CL

Paragraphs written by Aurélie Catena

Eighth round: guillotine

A leather single sleeve arm binder is brought out on stage as well as a pair of steel mittens. They are basically mittens made of steel. They are rather flat allowing your hand to slide in and there is a place for the thumb. You can't move your fingers much in the mittens. I put the mittens on your hands and lock them on, then slide the leather arm-binder over your hands and arms pulling it tight so that your shoulder blades are almost touching. This causes your breasts to be pushed out. A guillotine is brought out with two holes instead of one where your head would be. I tell you to kneel in front of the guillotine and pull your breasts into the holes. I bring out a skewer and push it through the side of your breast as close to the wooden stock as I can then through the other breast using the skewer to lock you in place. I attach a chain to the centre of the skewer running up to the release of the guillotine and then down to your wrists. Now when I turn off the safety, any movement will release the blade.

Then a wooden stock is brought out and padlocked to your thighs forcing you to spread them wide. Two more skewers are brought out and forced through the sides of the stock and through your thighs helping to lock them on. Another set is locked around your ankles in the same way. And a strap is fastened around your back to hold you to the guillotine.

I hold a key in front of you, "now I know you like to be given at least a little chance so open your mouth". When your mouth is opened I place the key in your mouth then seal you mouth with a large ball gag with the straps locked behind your head. “Now here is the deal: if that blade is released, it will release the ball-gag, letting you get the key to your arm-binder, cuffs and padlocks”.

I turn off the safety. “OK, now go!”

For some time I remain under the shock. Pain is pulsating from all directions and I do not even dare to move. The worst pain is coming from my breasts. The skewer is going through the glands and is causing excruciating agony. The trigger line connected to it between my breasts is pulling them up slightly; ready to snap free if the skewer were removed. But there is more. The holes through the wooden panel of the guillotine are too small for my breasts and they are thus strangled at the base. Already, blood is getting trapped inside them and they are swelling, getting purple and taut. My nipples are standing erect, hard as pebbles.

My knees and shins too are aching from resting on the wooden stage, with piercing pain flashing from my skewered ankles and thighs whenever I dare to shift my weight a little. I do not dare to move my arms, in spite of the cramps slowly building into them, caused by the cruel tightness of the arm-binder. Sweat is rolling down my whole body, forming glistening rivulets. It pools into my steel mittens.

I am panting, my nostrils flaring widely. I can feel the key to my freedom resting on my tongue, squeezed by the large gag which is also just failing to dislocate my jaws. My first attempt has been to push it with my tongue and try to expel it from the corner of my mouth, but the gag is so thick that I can hardly move my tongue at all. Only a thin thread of saliva is able to drool out of my stretched lips. I have considered swallowing the key and wait for it to be processed through my body. But how I would recover it with my mittens, I have no idea.

As I keep thinking hard under the hot spotlights, the pain keeps growing and my breasts swelling. Freedom seems to pass through the loss of my womanhood, of those breasts which have made me proud and earned me so much success. Without them, would I ever gather the crowds for something else than a freak show? “Come and see Aurélie, the breastless girl!” This is not possible! There must be another way ! And I keep churning my brains around this problem.

Finally, in my pain-raked mind appears a faint sparkle of hope. This will be a dangerous bet. An all-or-nothing gamble. Well, a little-or-nothing gamble, actually. But I am so endeared with my breasts that I am willing to take that risk to save them. I carefully look at the board holding my breasts. It has a groove in it allowing the blade to fall through and cut my breasts. I lower my head and press the middle of the ball gag against the groove. I then turn my head as far as I can to the right side. I have trained my neck to be very supple and I can turn it very far, with my chin past my shoulder; at least past the position my shoulder would occupy were it not cruelly pulled backwards by the arm-binder. From the corner of my right eye, I can see the ominous blade hanging over my head. I can feel the wood and the groove against the back of my left ear. I force my head a little more, feeling a dull ache in my neck muscles and vertebras. I wonder how it would feel to have them cut by the heavy guillotine’s blade.

I am sweating profusely and trembling a little. I make a few adjustments to my position, straining my neck a little more. I take a deep breath and I pull on my arms. I hear the click as the line triggers the mechanism. I see the blade sliding down its rails, accelerating towards my head. I hear another click as the radio-controlled gag strap lock behind my neck is released. I feel a slight relief in my jaws as the gag ceases to press so hard into my back teeth. The blade is falling fast towards me. My eyes are wide open in sheer terror and I let out a loud scream. A stream of urine splashes between my spread knees.

With a loud thud and a painful shock, the blade crashes onto the side of my ball gag. It cuts the rubber in two and is stopped dead by the steel rod passing trough it, to which the straps are linked. The momentum of the blade pushes the ball deeper than it has ever been, spreading my jaws into a bone-breaking spread. In my reflection in the polished steel of the blade, I can look into my terror-filled eyes. The blade is oblique, angling down along the right side of my face, as I had calculated it would do. I gag, I feel bile coming up my throat, fill the back of my mouth, up my nose before being forced down my oesophagus. I cough, my eyes filled with tears and my mouth burning. My body is trembling like a leaf, but I know I am alive. I have escaped the terrible fate that had been armed against my breasts.

I push with my tongue, with my teeth, until I manage to push the ball gag and the blade deeply embedded into it out of my mouth. The ball is resting against my cheek now. It is covered with my saliva, which help me to make it slide on my skin as I turn my head until I am again facing the floor and my swollen, purple, taut breasts. I keep the key securely hidden in my cheek. I can feel the ball gag resting in the crook at the junction of my skull with my neck.

I begin to contort my arms. I twist my upper body, lifting my left shoulder, until the strap of the arm-binder is against the blade. I saw a couple of times. The blade is very sharp and the strap immediately snaps open. This strap was preventing the arm binder from sliding down my arms. It is now holding only by its pressure against my skin. It is not going to slide without help though.

I know pull my head backwards, feeling the ball gag sliding through my hair up the back of my skull. At some point, it begins to slide down the top of my head, until I let it drop smoothly on the groove, jammed by the ball gag and its steel core. My breasts and my neck are safe now as I am kneeling straight against the guillotine. There is a thundering applause from the public as I smile to them, the key glistening between my flashing teeth.

I begin to contort my arms. I am able to dislocate my shoulder joint at will, which allows me a lot of slack in the upper part of the arm-binder. With all the sweat gathered around my arms, every contortion makes the sleeve to slide down a little. This is hard and painful work though. Every half inch is earned at the price of a lot of pulling and twisting in my strangled and skewered breasts. I am moaning continuously. The muscles of my arms are clenching and unclenching alternately in a well-trained pattern, forcing the sleeve downward. After about one 30 minutes of this gymnastic, the upper hem of the sleeve has reached my elbows. Everything gets easier from that point. A couple of twists and clenches and the sleeves is gather around my wrists. I lift my arms on my left side and bring the arm-binder lace against the guillotine’s blade. In a matter of seconds the lace is cut in several pieces. It is then a child’s play to break the arm-binder apart, freeing my arms.

I lift my steel mittens in the air in a sign of victory but I immediately lower them, grimacing from the pain coming from my strangled breasts. I gulp hard and take a little rest. Then I stretch my lips, showing the key firmly protruding from between my teeth. I bring my right wrist against my mouth and fumble a little bit, until the key enters the hole. I twist my hand, unlocking the shackle at the base of the mitten. I shake my hand and the mitten falls on the stage. My right hand is free!

The rest comes rapidly. With my free hand, I unlock my left mitten and then the padlocks locking the two sets of stocks. Removing the skewers proves terribly painful although technically not difficult. I start with the breasts, clenching my eyes shut while pulling the long skewer as fast as I can. I then undo the leather strap and force my swollen breasts to be squeezed through the holes once again. I can now sit on my butt and unskewer my thighs and then my ankles.

I take a deep breath and lift myself up, using the guillotine post as a support. I then lift my arms in victory and bow to the cheering crowd.

BondageCircus

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