The Magician | bondage story

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I have to admit to a powerful interest in placing human females into bondage. No particular kind of bondage; any kind gives me a great sense of... well, let's leave it at that. I often look for inspiration - and entertainment - on the Internet and it was there that I came across these two stories.

Let me say at once that they were quite well told stories and certainly didn't lack a sense of humour. But, and I will repeat that - BUT - there is one aspect of them that is distinctly worrying. They both came from the pen of someone who hides behind the pseudonym of Limey and both concern themselves with the subject of magic. One relates the story of a wizard who starts out to train an apprentice and perhaps the only good thing about it is that the apprentice is a girl whom he puts in bondage. The other concerns magic as practiced by a Fairy Godmother - of all things!

Why should I find these two stories worrying? Perhaps it will be sufficient explanation when I tell you that I am a real practitioner of magic. I am a Magician. I kid you not; those in the craft do not call themselves Wizards or Godmothers and they all resent the confusion between the designation Magician and the so-called stage-magician or Illusionist.

An Illusionist does not practice magic but seeks to give that appearance by sheer wanton trickery. I and my fellows, both of the male and female kind, would not consider the use of tricks and sleight of hand; after all, why bother with that when it is so much easier to make an alteration in the natural order of things by using The Power. A descendant of the Magi can boil an egg without the bother of getting out of bed nor is there the need to make preparations beforehand. Why try to lay an egg when the world is full of chickens willing to do it for you?

And there is another source of confusion. When I prepare a three-course dinner and deliver it to my table piping hot, it has not been "conjured" out of thin air. It is not possible to deny the natural laws of Physics. That dinner comes from the kitchens of a high-class hotel or restaurant. Such an emporium, catering for the needs of a large number of hungry and well-heeled customers, does not notice that one serving goes astray - indeed at the end of the day they throw away an unwanted excess which dwarfs my honourable purloining.

I do have to admit that this Limey has got one thing correct and that is the embargo on using magic for evil purposes; use it other than for good or at the worst where it does not harm and the magician's powers are likely to wane. Let me give you an example:

I was walking one day through a market place - I name no names - when I came across a gross over-fed man unwrapping an enormous beefburger. A young boy - obviously under-nourished, under-clothed and under-washed - had expressive eyes fixed on the burger and any reasonable person might have given him a share. But this moron offered only a kick and shouted at the child. Despite his needs the boy was agile and leaped out of range of that vicious foot but his eyes never left the food being rammed toward that bloated face.

I was incensed. It took but an inconspicuous wave to transfer a large black beetle under the top cover. The ensuing crackly crunch brought a distinct green pallor to surround the toothy cavern; he ripped it away, took one quick look and hurled the sandwich from him. I deflected it in a smooth mathematically-controlled arc so that it landed at the boy's feet and, as it was falling open, I as deftly removed the offending creature. The boy was certainly surprised by this sudden change of heart but, after looking at the man now retching in the gutter, he lifted the food and made off at speed. For good measure I transferred another burger into the pocket of his ragged trousers and hoped that he would not make himself ill by eating them both at once.

Thus I performed an act of vandalism in the pursuit of justice and increased my integrity. In a similar manner there is nothing wrong in the use of magical arts to derive pleasure for one's self but it must also give pleasure to any other party who may be involved; most certainly it must not distress them.

I was driving once through ... we will leave it at that ... when I sensed a powerful call. A human female was endeavouring to pleasure herself but a feeling of desolation was denying her success. Her desire was plainly centred on bondage and, of course, my immediate desire was to offer assistance. I parked my car in a place safe from vandals - on the roof of what had once been the local cinema - and returned to the spot; it was the work of a few seconds only to locate the woman.

I found her face down on a bed; her ankles were spread to the corners with odd lengths of rope while her wrists were tied together crudely with a long length of ribbon which had been passed through the bed head and then tied back to her left wrist. It was a somewhat pathetic attempt at self-bondage but the clear impression I was receiving was one of great loneliness - she had been deserted by a boy-friend who had often indulged her passion for bondage. To assist her was a matter that could only afford me the greatest of pleasures.

I unravelled the knot on her left wrist, drew out the ribbon tightly so that she was stretched out, passed it back through her wrist binding and then secured it on one of the bed-head posts; she could no longer free herself. One of the earliest manipulations which I learned in my apprentice days was the skill of removing holes and I used it now both to close her eyes and to close her mouth; this is a much more hygienic method of blindfolding and gagging than that usually employed. It is also much more effective?

Then I entered the room. I may be a magician but I also adhere to the principles of a gentleman and I am not going to recount the details of the night that followed. Sufficient to record that, for both, it was truly a night to remember. At first she thought the boy-friend had returned but soon the mistake became obvious; then of course she became scared but that, coupled with the futile struggle to escape, only added to her arousal.

Come the morning we were both exhausted but it was time to be gone. I wished to leave her a token of my appreciation, something that would always bring back the memory of this night. But then... I couldn't leave her with any memory of some of the things I had done to her... things that were not possible in the human realm of endeavour. At last however, I settled on a small jewellery-standard waist chain. You may well ask what was special about that? It was made from a metal-like substance, unknown to human chemistry, which cannot be cut or broken by any human means and which cannot be unlocked because it is a continuous loop. I fashioned it to slip over her feet and then up over the hips to her waist where it was shrunk to form a snug fit; without my help she would wear it for the rest of her life. It was inconspicuous under clothing but she would always be aware of its presence.

I had intended to return but, dare I admit it, I found other amusement and forgot about her. It was some two or three months later that I was reminded of my one-night stand when I bumped into her at the entrance to a large store; she failed to recognise me, of course, but in any event her attention was elsewhere. To my consternation she was looking at my latest conquest who sported a necklace in the same pattern as her waist-chain. I couldn't risk their meeting and exchanging notes - who could guess at the degree of recollection that might ensue? With unprofessional haste I erected a light-deflection screen between them so making them mutually invisible.

However it was evident that I had committed a boo-boo. The young lady spent some time in a desperate search for the "other woman" and her thoughts revealed something else which I had overlooked... she had never been sure whether my gift of love was indeed that or merely a marker which tagged her as one of my seraglio. And now she was reasonably sure... and surely with reason? ... that I had marked her as mine.

I had to undertake action, swiftly and positively, to convince her that she had not simply been used, else I had indeed offended. So, once again, I compounded business with pleasure and set about making a real impact that would put her mind at rest. I am pleased to record that I succeeded in both parts of that intention but that brings me back to this pestiferous pen-pusher Limey.

Whoever he/she/it is has compiled a story about a woman with an irremovable belly chain. The feather-plucker failed to get it right else secrets of the craft would have been revealed for which there can be no forgiveness. But how does that escapade of mine come to be known? Who on ... or off... this Earth follows my activities?

If I'm being watched then am I under suspicion and if so... of what? Or is this some cheap-jack hack who is unable to make up his own stories and spies on... but hey, wait a minute... why should any magician be in need of cash or require to bolster an ego? The thought that someone might be watching considerably cripples my style in the love-making business and what more serious blow can there be to the pleasures that abound?

I began to trawl the Internet hoping to pick up a clue and only last night I found this other story from Limey. It concerns a magician who attempted to abduct a woman by trapping her in a chain bag which he disguised as a garment. If a magician intended to abduct a woman ... why on earth would he need to trap her in a bag of chain mail or any other bag for that matter? Here is another of my inventions poorly disguised. Coincidences do happen, of course but... three in a row ?

I happened to be looking through an encyclopedia and had stopped to peruse a most interesting article on ladies' clothing through the ages. I was particularly taken by a graceful picture of an equestrienne in the habit assumed for riding when ladies habitually wore long skirts that made it essential to ride side-saddle. For me the most fetching part of her ensemble was the hat held in place by a tightly-fitting lace veil which was also said to prevent her pretty face from being desecrated by flying mud. That particular veil made me think of chain mail - a chain-mail hood? - and from there is was but a short step to creating a cigar-shaped chain-mail bag in which I confined my next love.

I kept her in there for some three days and derived great amusement from the spectacle as she tried to find the opening through which I had inserted her and through which, from time to time, I handed in food and drink. To add to the interest for us both I arranged that, the harder she struggled, so the more the bag shrank. Thus her restraint became more and more severe until, in the throes of... er... intense excitement, she relaxed for a while.

Yes, she was caught. I held her captive in that chain-mail bag for those three wonderful days. But she was never in any doubt as to her personal safety. In any event... I joined her in there each night...?

I will not reveal the reward which became hers when our relationship ended because I am waiting to see what next this Limey may reveal. My life has become centred around the Internet; until I find this character, and execute proper justice on the judas, life can never go back to its true and proper course.



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