The Parachute Stretch

by Abrank

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© Copyright 2006 - Abrank - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; bond; cbt; cons; XX

“I’m going to New York next week,” my wife announced one night at dinner.  We were in the dining room of our home in Reigate, near London, eating a chicken dinner and drinking a rather inferior Chardonnay.

“Oh, what for?” I asked.

“I’m attending the annual company meeting.  They want me there to answer questions about my project.  One of the shareholders has already submitted a question.”

“How long will you be gone?” I asked.

“Only two days.  I fly out Monday morning and I leave New York Tuesday night.  That’ll get me be back early Wednesday.”


The following night my wife said, “I don’t want you enjoying yourself too much while I’m gone.  I want you to miss me and long for my return.”

“I always do that,” I replied.

“I’ve got a little surprise planned, so I want you to take a holiday from work while I’m away.  Make it two days; Monday and Tuesday.  No, while you’re at it you might as well take Wednesday off as well.  I’m sure I will be very sexy when I return.  In fact, why don’t you take the whole week off?  It’s September and the cold weather will be here soon.  Tell them you need a real holiday and will be going away.”

“Yes, dear.”

She kissed me.  “Wednesday will be something to look forward to.”

I was both excited and nervous.  It was clear that she intended to leave me in bondage while she was gone, and the thought of this was exciting.  But the longest she had left me bound was only a little over 24 hours.  The thought of being bound for two full days made me nervous.


Sunday night she handcuffed me and we made long slow love.  At least I made love to her with my tongue, but she wouldn’t let me climax.  She said she wanted me frustrated while she was gone so I would be looking forward to her return.  I spent the night with my hands cuffed behind my back.  I felt very frustrated and, needless to say, hardly slept.

After an early breakfast she made me strip naked and put on my platform shoes, the fetish ones with eight-inch heels.  She chained me standing in the spare bedroom, the one she called the playroom or the dungeon depending on her mood.  My arms and legs were held wide apart as if I were tied to a St Andrews Cross.  My wrists and ankles were secured in strong leather cuffs chained to eyebolts securely screwed into the floor and ceiling.  Although my bonds were tight, my feet were on the carpet and I could just about put my weight on my heels.

The keys to the padlocks were on a single key ring.  She tied a short length of string to it, stood on the stepladder and tied the string to a small eyebolt in the ceiling.  The keys hung down and touched my fingers.

“Can you release yourself, dear?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so,” I said grasping one of the keys with my fingers.

“Not yet,” she said lifting the keys from my fingers and tying a loop in the string.  This raised the keys and held them out of my reach.

She gagged me with my largest ball gag, one that had a breathing tube through the center.  Every bondage session with her was different, and I looked forward to the novelty.  So far, it was similar to several previous sessions.

She attached my parachute harness to my balls, and fastened the straps around the handle of a metal bucket.  This was new; previously she had only used metal weights to stretch my balls.

She teased my cock, grasping it and moving her hand up and down its shaft, causing my foreskin to retract and then recover.  This quickly aroused me and my cock soon stood up in an erection.  She stopped when I was aroused but just before I climaxed.  Long practice had made her an excellent judge of my state of arousal.

She moved behind me and I heard her leave the room.  I was right on the edge and badly wanted to finish what she had started.  I tried moving my hips to swing the bucket to try to give myself some extra stimulation.  But it didn’t work; all it did was keep me aroused.  It was a deliciously frustrating experience.

“Enjoying yourself?” I heard her say behind me.  “You won’t want to do that while I’m away.”  She had quietly entered the room while I was futilely swinging the bucket.

She moved round in front of me and I saw that she was smiling and carrying a folding table.  She set up the table next to me and placed her large stainless-steel cooking pot on top.  She left the room and returned with a jug of water, which she poured into the pot.  She repeated this several times until the pot was almost full.  This made me worried.  It seemed that the water might end up in the bucket hanging from my balls.  Perhaps she was going to slowly siphon the water into my bucket, gradually stretching my balls.  I hoped that she didn’t intend to put too much in; I knew from experience that a weight of ten pounds or more gave me real pain. But there was considerably more than ten pounds of water in the pot; it looked as though it would just about fill the bucket. 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She ignored my muffled question, and stroked my cock, which had become slightly soft, making it stand up again, and arousing me.

She tied a string to the handle of the bucket and passed the end through an eyebolt in the ceiling.  She undid the loop in the key string then tied the key ring to the end of the bucket string with cotton.  The cotton pulled the keys sideways out of my reach.

She descended from the stepladder and stood in front of me.  She looked very sexy in her short skirt, and I felt my cock getting hard.  Always the optimist; I hoped she would allow me an orgasm before she left.

“I know you’ve always wanted to stretch your balls.  Now’s your chance.  As you pee into the bucket, the weight will pull them down.  But try not to make too much pee before I get back, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“What about a safety release?” I asked.

“What did you say?”

“BACK UP RE-LEASE,” I shouted emphasizing each syllable.

“Oh that!  Yes, well, if I am not back in time I suppose you will eventually make enough pee to make the bucket drop a foot or so.  When that happens the string will break the cotton and the keys will swing down into your hand.”

“Don’t be silly.  There’s no way my balls can stretch that far.” I said into my gag.

“Now I don’t want you peeing all over the carpet.  I know it is easy for you to miss things, you miss the toilet all the time.”

She tied a string around my cock just behind its head, then attached a three-pound weight which she placed in the bucket.  The string painfully forced my cock to point down.

“There.  Now even you shouldn’t have too much trouble with your aim.  And the weight will help you begin your stretching exercise.”

She looked thoughtfully at me and added, “I don’t want you climaxing while I’m gone.  I don’t think you can do that with your penis pointing down can you?”

I shook my head.

“Good.  I want you to save all your sperm for Wednesday when I get back.”

I was not looking forward to the next two days.  With my inability to climax, and with the increasing weight on my balls I knew I would be very anxiously awaiting her return Wednesday morning.

She pushed a plastic tube through my breathing tube into my mouth and secured it in place with several turns of duct tape.  She dropped the other end into the pot of water.

“I almost forget,” she said, and sprinkled several packets of powder into the water.

I had to adjust my breathing.  If I attempted to breathe through my mouth as I had been doing, I breathed water instead of air.  I had to break the lip seal around the ball gag or breathe through my nose.

“I don’t want you getting thirsty while I’m gone,” she said as she stirred the contents of the pot, “so I’m giving you lemonade to drink.  Don’t drink too much, just enough to stretch your balls a little.  I thought about giving you wine, but you might be tempted to overindulge and I don’t want you drunk when I return.”

She stroked the shaft of my cock, and said, “The poor thing will have to wait till Wednesday.  But now I have to finish packing.”  She flicked my nipples with her fingernails and left the room.


She returned half an hour later dressed in one of her business suits.  “I’ve brought you a couple of presents.  I know how boring it can be standing around with nothing to do.  So I’ve brought you the radio.”  She placed it on the table and turned it on.  “The batteries should be good for a couple of days, I just put new ones in.  Here’s your other present, you have a choice.”  She held up nipple clamps and a blindfold.  “Do you want the nipple clamps?”

There was no way I could stand those little devils for two days.  I shook my head.

“Very well.”  She blindfolded me.

“I’m leaving now.  Try to enjoy yourself.”  She kissed me on the cheek.  “I love you, and will be thinking of you.  I know you will be thinking of me.”

“I love you too.  Bon voyage,” I said into my gag.

She left the room and I heard her lock the door leaving me to my lonely vigil.


By Tuesday afternoon the pressure on my balls was extremely uncomfortable.  I had peed a few times and the weight of the bucket seemed to be definitely stretching my balls.  I worried about circulation.  I had never had this weight applied for so long.  I decided I would try to avoid drinking any more until she returned.

But I was thirsty and the lemonade tasted good.  I drank another mouthful.  “I’ll just keep it in my bladder and not pee it into the bucket,” I told myself.  This thought consoled me.  I ignored the fact that I had thought it before.

The news on the radio was interesting, then alarming.  Some planes had crashed into the World Trade Center towers in New York City, setting them on fire.  A first I was worried for my wife, but relaxed when I remembered that her meeting was in midtown, quite a distance from the attack.  But then I worried that the Empire State Building would be attacked; it was very close to her meeting place.  I felt relieved when I heard that all civilian aircraft had been grounded and air force fighters were guarding the city.

But the real shock came later when the radio announced that all flights into and out of the US were cancelled for at least three days.

“Oh my God!” I thought, “I’m stuck here till my balls stretch!”  I struggled energetically but futilely to break the bonds holding my wrists and ankles.  The effort relaxed my bladder, and I heard my pee pouring into the bucket.