Preparation
Bottom Up
I surveyed the floor around me, meticulously marking off every item on my mental checklist. Every item was arranged in the order it would be needed. That was one of my pet peeves, a lack of prior planning, especially for unlikely contingencies when Murphy’s Law derails the best of plans. My ideal world was one of methodical progression, one step following another, according to schedule. Even on those occasions I indulged in what could only be called a sexual perversion I still applied the same rigorous procedures as when I was drafting some mechanical design.
I picked up the roll of athletic tape and began with my left foot. Starting just above the heel I covered the narrow part of my ankle, with some to spare. Next I applied my anti-bruising trick, which consisted of plain old kitchen aluminum foil cut into wide strips and folded over. I wrapped a strip around the part of my ankle where the pressure would be felt. To keep it in place I relied on the old reliable: duct tape. The result was padding to protect the ankle but allow for a close fit later on. The right foot received the same treatment. I waited for a few moments to make sure the wrappings weren’t too tight. The last thing I wanted was to cut off circulation and have my feet go numb.
I confess I can be the tiniest bit on the overeager side. The next step was technically out of order but I didn’t have the patience to wait. Out in my garage I have a small machine shop setup. Yeah, mechanical engineer, what a surprise. I occasionally make use of it to modify equipment that isn’t quite suitable for my use. In this case the “equipment” were four sets of police style leg irons, high quality ones with an ergonomic oval designed to more closely fit around ankles. My modification was to cut down the standard 14-inch connecting chain, mandated in the U.S., to only three chain links. The change left a slight amount of play but not enough to do much more than stand up.
Why four sets? I like to feel some weight. With four cuffs stacked around each ankle I can’t ignore their presence. I put them on in pairs, facing each other, keyhole to keyhole. I can slide them apart enough to insert a key, assuming there are no other security restrictions. On they went, a snug fit around the padding but not so tight as to impair circulation. All were double-locked to prevent accidental tightening.
I took a moment to admire my work. No walking allowed, and even attempting to stand might very well lead to me landing on my face. From now on I was limited to crawling on the floor. Even that option would be degraded in the near future as I worked through my preparations.
What came next is one of my own designs. At the moment all it would take to remove the leg irons is a handcuff key, which didn’t appeal to my goal of maximum possible security. A common solution used by the police is a plastic box that folds over a simple pair of handcuffs. When closed and held in place by a padlock it’s extremely difficult to access the keyhole. There’s the added advantage of the cuffs being aligned in a rigid position, further reducing freedom of movement.
It took some time to accurately scale the measurements and mill a larger version of the handcuff box. Mine is made out of billet aluminum alloy instead of plastic. It’s substantially larger, to fit over four ankle cuffs. I also embedded a high security Abloy lock to ensure it stayed closed. It was wider too, extending over nearly all of the cuff body, almost to my ankle. When locked in place my ankles, and my legs, were effectively held close together with no independent movement.
There is always a sexual side to bondage. In my case it begins with a cock and ball cage. The one I use is a common design, which begins with a cage anchored using an adjustable ring around the base of the penis, with a bar bisecting the ring to trap the balls, and a tube for the shaft. It’s simple and effective.
Naturally I had to add a few changes. The first was building up the locking ring into a wider sort of shackle, with a groove milled into it… This groove would be important later.
What came next was a particularly nasty bit of design work. I started with a solid steel rod, milled a slot along the length, and then drilled out one end to fit over a single hand cuff swivel. I drilled a hole so that the rod could be pinned to the cuff swivel. Placing the rod between my legs I closed and double-locked the cuff around that groove in the base of the cage. Bending my knees I pushed/pulled the cock cage until it was behind my legs.
While I had my legs up I used two leather straps to bind my knees. They shared a common metal ring underneath, which is where the buckles were also located. These were medical buckles, the kind that have a simple lock to prevent tampering. Once in place my knees were held together, with the ring suspended below them.
Why cut the slot in the rod now attached to the most sensitive part of my anatomy? I picked up the outer, hollow tube, which had metal wedges welded at both ends that fit into the rod groove. The slot prevented the outer tube from being twisted. Guiding it onto the track I slipped it over the far end of the rod. At the nearer end of the outer tube I had added a metal shroud that covered the handcuff keyhole. This fit nicely over the cuff, not only preventing it from being removed but created a rigid link between cock cage and the steel rod. At the far end I had added threads to the inner rod. Since the outer tube was slightly shorter I screwed on a threaded end cap fixing the outer cover in place without it sliding back and forth.
The purpose of that steel pole, my “Rod of Discipline”, was to act as an inflexible spacer between my ankles and the cock cage. The end cap had a squared off block with a hole through it. That block mated with a matching slot in the security cover between my ankles. I used a common but larger than necessary padlock to secure the connection. I had been very careful as to the length of the rod. My knees had to be at a precise 45-degree angle. Any attempt to draw up my legs, or extend them, brought an immediate reminder that wasn’t possible.
That ring under my knees? Directly underneath it was a raised cut off chain link welded to the outer tube. I finished with a carefully measured length of chain that started at that connection, ran up to the ring under my knees, and back down to the same point. Again I used a simple padlock to secure it. after adjusting the length to add some tension and help support the rather substantial weight of the heavy steel rod and cover.
That completed immobilization of my legs. They were all but useless, a deadweight I would have to constantly struggle against. Of course I could still crawl across the floor, except my legs would become a virtual ball and chain I would have to drag with me. Being a rigid fixture I couldn’t flex my legs for leverage. The unusable state of my legs would intentionally present a difficult challenge later on.
A Break
I was coming up on a short break, to rest and enjoy some of my handiwork. Using the same technique as the padding on my ankles I wrapped my wrists in athletic tape, added smaller aluminum foil strips, and an outer finish of reliable duct tape. Picking up a pair of hinged police handcuffs I fastened one end around my right wrist and double-locked it, being careful to ensure the keyholes pointed toward my fingers. The fit was somewhat loose since my position would be awkward, but not enough to slip over my hands. I perched my chin on my knees and leaned forward to reach under my legs, positioning the other end of the hinged cuffs between the chain to my knees and my ankles, above the rod. I closed the open cuff around my left wrist and engaged the double-lock. The click of a handcuff ratchet is so satisfying.
The reason I use hinged handcuffs is the way it forces the prisoner to keep their hands together, in my case palm to palm. The only freedom of movement is the way the hinge can bend, essentially a slight forward/backward arc. Because my arms were far apart, to reach around my legs, the handcuff hinge allowed me to keep my wrists at an angle, forcing my hands closer together.
I fought with the handcuffs, but I knew it was pointless. They were well-made and performed their function flawlessly. I gave up after accidently striking that accursed connecting rod with a little too much enthusiasm. The resulting stab of pain in my groin was a warning I could not ignore.
I still had the unimpeded use of my hands, for what that was worth. I could touch the padlock holding the rod in place, and with some effort I could reach the floor to either side of the rod. What I could not do is straighten up. If I tried to pull back and give my back some relief I ran into the barrier of the chain to my knees. It was a mild form of positional stress. It wasn’t an issue now, but in a few hours my back muscles would be complaining with an insistence hard to ignore if I did nothing.
I sat there, staring down at my feet. Other than helping to keep me upright they provided me with no other assistance. I had to be careful not to fall over to one side. I was sure I could still grab the handcuff key resting nearby on the floor, though it would be more difficult on my side.
Should I satisfy my perverse nature and go with the optional extra I had placed close to hand? Why not? I had an overabundance of time, and my back wasn’t bothering me, so no need to rush my break. I did have to scoot over so I could reach the thumbcuffs. I had a love/hate relationship with that cruel bit of restraint. I hated the way they clamped on tight so as not to slip off, but loved the loss of dexterity. Simple tasks become complicated when thumbs are unavailable.
The thumbcuffs were fabricated from a single oblong metal body, which held the ratchets and locks. At each end was a cut out for the thumb, and the bow that imprisoned the base of the thumb when closed. Like regular handcuffs there was a double-lock, though to be effective the bows had to be tight so as not to slip off. When in place the wearer had to keep their hands close together and in line, further interfering with manual dexterity. Used with hinged handcuffs they formed a package that robbed the individual of nearly all the use of their hands.
“Nearly” was the operative word. After some practice I could use my other fingers to pick up the handcuff key and, pinched between my index fingers, guide it into the thumbcuff keyhole. It wasn’t easy. And I was prone to drop the key and so start over, but I was confident now I could unlock them.
Being careful to check the keyhole faced forward I closed the right-hand side, followed by a similar clamp around my left thumb. I managed to push the double-lock button with my middle finger.
The designer of these thumbcuffs must have graduated from sadist school with a magnum cum laude degree. My first reaction was to try to slip them off. No such luck; I knew from experience how far they had to be tightened to stay on. I tapped the rod with the cuffs. One time I had added a large, loose steel ring over the rod, as an anchor for the thumbcuffs. That had been a major mistake. My hands were held so close to the rod I couldn’t reach the key on the floor. I finally had to tip over and painfully slide across the floor until I could reach the key. Even then it took a good ten minutes before I could finally maneuver the key into the thumbcuff keyhole.
One learns from mistakes. Thanks to a large keyring on the end of the handcuff key I could reach it by touch with my other fingers. I have learned to appreciate the advantages of opposable thumbs. Now that I have some practice I can manage with only index fingers what should be a simple release task but still proved to be time-consuming.
I went back to staring at my toes. They might be useful, if anything was within reach. It was wishful thinking on my part. I turned my head from side to side. If anyone were to stumble across me right now I’d be in serious trouble. A person could scoop up the keys off the floor, long before I could reach them. I closed my eyes, visualizing the disaster scenario. That was one event to which I had no Plan B to release myself.
My thumbs quickly started to ache. Reaching to the side I strained to reach the handcuff key, which would open both the thumbcuffs and the hinged handcuffs. I had to scoot closer to reach the upturned keyring between my loose fingers. Holding the key between them I steered it into the thumbcuff keyhole, twisted in one direction to release the double-lock, and the other to open the bows.
The relief was instantaneous as blood flowed back into my appendages. With thumbs restored I was able to unlock the hinged cuffs holding my wrists captive. I stretched my newly freed arms above my head, relishing my return to unrestrained freedom, even though it would be short-lived.
Top Down
Break over, I continued with my preparations. The bottom-up phase, my legs, were finished. Next would be what I called the top-down phase. It started with a large, leather panel gag. A foam-covered rubber insert filled my mouth, held in position by the large, curved panel of leather across my lower face, with a molded chin piece attached to the bottom to prevent it being pushed up. Straps went around and, in an inverted Y-shaped harness, over my head. They all fastened behind my head. I’ve used this particular model many times. I could still speak, make noises, even yell, but the results were muffled and unintelligible. There were baffled vent holes so I could breathe through the insert in my mouth, although they didn’t impair its intended function to render me incapable of speech. It was bulky and rather uncomfortable to wear, but the effectiveness made up for the shortcomings.
The problem with the gag was the ease of removing it. To address that problem I used a thin leather hood. The one I used was custom made, with an air vent in front and mounts for screw-in plastic lenses over my eyes. It extended down over my neck. It was a comfortable fit but without being loose, which helped to keep the gag in place. Locking straps in back, using those same medical belt buckles, prevented easy removal. Being leather it could get quite warm inside, especially after some exertion. Again, it fit so well I accepted its limitations.
At the moment the lenses over the eyes were not in place, so I had unrestricted vision. With the lenses in place I could only see through small holes, blocking peripheral vision and about 70% of my normal field of view.
One of my particular kinks was not being able to move my head. To this end I relied on a proven product, the trusty leather posture collar. I picked it up and slipped it around my neck, front to back, until I heard the click of the lock when the ends met behind my neck. It was bulky and heavy, being made of several layers of leather, all riveted together. The lower section extended down to my chest. The top had a high chin rest to keep my head up and tilted back. It was a close fit underneath the gag chin piece. The sides extended almost up to my ears.
It wasn’t a close fit. I had no problem breathing, and the rigidity, thanks to the thickness of many layers, guaranteed I wouldn’t choke. What I could not do is turn my head at all. I could see straight ahead, and that was it. It overlapped the leather hood, a deliberate choice to prevent any attempt to slip up the bottom.
I paused to make sure all the parts were working well together. I didn’t have a mirror nor did I need one to have a good idea of what my head looked like. Above my shoulders was a featureless mask, broken only by the eye sockets and the narrow breathing vent grill where my mouth should be. Due to the way my head was angled back I had to lean forward to see the floor.
Not quite full sensory deprivation, yet it was sufficient to inflict considerable limitations on me. Sure, I could breathe, but the volume of air was reduced due to the way the gag worked. If I engaged in strenuous exercise I’d quickly find myself out of breath. However, without legs I did not plan on running a marathon anytime soon.
Mid-Section
That left the middle section: torso, arms and hands. This is where it gets complicated. I wanted the maximum restraint possible, yet I had to be able to free myself when my session ended. I did not want to face the prospect of ending my days lying on the floor, slowly starving, because my release mechanism went awry. Not only did I have to be able to reach the keys, but also use them to open the locks. A handcuff key in the hand did no good if a security cover I could not remove blocked the cuff keyhole.
I had to strike a fine balance between my preference for layers of security, the denial of access to the locks to prevent tampering with restraints, against the need to eventually work through those layers. I wanted difficult procedures that required patience and determination, yet not prove to be impossible.
Those medical style locking belt buckles were a good example. The locks were crude and easily pried open. They did have a place in my overall scheme, primarily to keep leather straps in place. My “layering” was to use the buckles in places where I could not reach once my wrists were restrained. Even the simplest lock is effective if out of reach.
Handcuff, leg iron and thumbcuff locks were only a small step above the medical buckles. They offered some protection against brute force, such as prying open, but the integrity of the lock depends for the most part on the captive having no access to tools, or obviously the key. There were specialty cuffs using better locks, even some that required two keys. But standard police-issue wasn’t very secure without constant supervision, hence the availability of cuff boxes for chain cuffs, and the metal clips that covered the keyholes on hinged cuffs. I used a combination of all the cuff enhancements for what I considered the best results.
Like real estate, location is always an important factor. While I did cuff my hands behind my legs in the break, this is not a sustainable position, nor does it work with my next phase. Placing my hands, and arms, behind my back gave me more mobility than between my legs, plus more comfort for endurance purposes. I can go for several hours with my hands behind me, before my shoulders start to complain. In the same manner, I can go all day with my ankles cuffed together. There is a limit to how long I can endure the current bent knee position but that’s still longer than keeping my hands behind my back.
Considering my arms, medical restraints are wonderful inventions. I repurposed a set of large ankle leather cuffs and belt to pin my upper arms to my body. The cuffs were a good fit to the area above my elbows. The leather belt threaded through eyelets, fastening the cuffs in place. I ran the belt around my torso, locking it in front with the buckle. The net effect was to force my upper arms against my body, so I could only extend my arms below the elbow.
Why tie down my arms? My first choice is handcuffs behind my back. One problem is it’s often possible to slip cuffed hands over the backside, past the legs, and wind up with hands in front, an unacceptable outcome. It’s far more difficult to accomplish that trick with arms clamped to the side.
I planned to use hinged handcuffs behind my back, but I need an anchor to reduce range of movement. Police departments had solved that problem for me ages ago. I obtained a wide leather belt with a steel ring riveted about halfway down the length, and the usual locking buckle at one end. Normally this would be used to confine hands in front, but I put it on backwards, with the retaining ring in back. I could control how much freedom of movement I’d allow my cuffed wrists by running a chain from the belt ring to the cuffs.
I was close to the last of my preparations. Once my hands were cuffed behind my back I’d be committed to the rest of the plans for the night. But first I had one more detail to take care of, a case of self-induced near blindness. I screwed in the pinhole lenses to the hood. Instantly my view was reduced to a patch of the ceiling, and not much else. Given the way my head was fixed in place all I could manage was to twist my body left or right, while leaning forward, to see anything more. The way the posture collar forced my head up and back deprived me of useful vision. I had so little a field of view I couldn’t even see my toes.
Tonight I changed plans at the last minute. Rather than the usual hinged cuffs I decided to try out a new acquisition. At considerable expense I had purchased two pairs of high security chain cuffs, made in Australia. These were distinctive in that they didn’t use a standard handcuff key. Instead there was a pin tumbler lock built into the top of the cuff body. Turn the key one way, it engaged the double-lock. The other direction, it opened the cuff. Each pair had a unique key.
The extra complexity appealed to me. Wearing two pairs, I had a 50% chance of getting the right key when unlocking one pair of cuffs. Get the wrong one and I had to start over. However, due to the unusual design there was no cuff box or security cover available to block the key ways. I always used security covers. Forced to fabricate my own I added some innovations.
First, I went with the hinged cuff slipover clip style, except I added a twist. I bent the clip, sized for a single pair, into an angle at each end, so the cuff bodies were turned inward. I made the second clip a little longer so they could be used in tandem. I would still have the reduced mobility effect of hinged cuffs, only more so since the dual covers would keep the cuff pairs further apart.
From this point on I had to work by feel, since I couldn’t see the floor. To start I needed the setup to anchor my wrists to the waist belt. I had used a steel rod, a large one, to link my ankles to their anchor point. Why not do something similar for my hands?
I had to fabricate my custom linkage. I started with a round steel bar similar to what I’d used for my legs, except it was considerably shorter. I didn’t want a padlock jabbing me in the back so I attached one of those spring-loaded carabiners to the end of the rod. It snapped into place around the belt ring. It wasn’t very secure, but the rod was longer than the reach of my hands, so I couldn’t push open the latch on the carabiner. It would provide some flexibility of movement while anchoring the handcuffs to my body.
The other end of the rod had a slot milled in it. Handcuff covers are held in place by means of a horizontal slit cut into the bottom of the metal clip. If a chain or other obstruction is passed through the slits the cover can’t be removed. My choice was an oblong flat bar with a long oval cut in the middle, what’s known as a “Martin Link”, sized to fit through both the covers I would use. The goal was to set a fixed distance from my body to the handcuffs, essentially to create a zone of isolation around my hands, forcing them away from any opportunity to tamper with the rest of my restraints.
Reaching behind my back I fastened the first pair of cuffs to my wrists. They were heavier than standard police-issue but not uncomfortable. Fortunately I didn’t have to worry about keyhole positioning, since the lock was at the top. I used the key to turn both locks to the double position, to prevent further tightening. I managed to drop the longer security cover in place, covering the keyways. The effect was immediate in sharply reducing movement.
On went the second pair in front, again using the other key to double lock. Like the first the shorter, second cover dropped into place without too much difficulty. My wrists were now held in alignment at two separate points. Something told me I was going to be pleased with the results.
It’s tricky guiding the flat bar on the end of the rod into the back of the first cover if one is already handcuffed, though thanks to practice it didn’t take too long before I felt the end of the bar line up and slide through both covers. I grabbed hold of the tongue protruding from the front to hold it in place.
This was it, the last piece of the puzzle. Reaching down I picked up the special padlock I’d bought for just this purpose. It was heavy due to the armored case and hasp, a gross overkill but again, the weight appealed to me. With hasp inside the oval cutout I snapped it shut. That was it, the final lock that completed my preparations.
I ran my fingers across the smooth outer surface of the front cover. I could brush my fingers against the top of the rear cover, but it wasn’t easy. I grabbed the padlock in one hand and pulled on it. It had a chunky feel to it, as if it were a solid block of metal. I gave it a good yank, with no result. With my other hand I felt for the keyway on the padlock. This one had a spring-loaded dust cover. To open it I’d have to both push open the dust cover and insert the key, a two-handed effort. The key wouldn’t turn unless the dust cover was held open all the way.
Impulsively I jerked on my hands only to be brought to an immediate stop due to the fixed connecting rod. I felt the pull against the waist belt. As expected, it met its design goals, confining me to “this far and no further.” I tried to reach around to either side of my body but the rigidity of the cuffs, the fixed length of the connecting rod, as well as my pinned elbows, proved to be too much for me to overcome.
I planted the palms of my hands on the floor and leaned back. I closed my eyes since there was nothing to see except the ceiling. Instead I tried to visualize my appearance, as if I had been discovered by a stranger. The keys, except for the armored padlock, were scattered on the floor, out of sight of my immobilized head. There was no way I’d be able to locate the right keys, and use them in the necessary sequence, to free myself before the same stranger could simply gather them all up.
In fact, none of the keys I could reach would be of any use, but I’ll get to that later.
Another Break
Before starting the last phase I took a moment to rest and evaluate my situation. Legs, every bit as inoperable as I planned. I tried to yell out “help” as loud as I could. There was some noise, garbled and without much volume. I could breathe easily, but that was all the gag would allow, no deep breaths. With all my might I tried to turn my head, or at least lower it. It wasn’t going to happen. Eyesight, I had some but as to how useful it would be remained an open question.
I didn’t even bother trying to fight the cuffs. Handcuffs by themselves were bad enough. With the rigid covers in place and the awkward position set by the connecting rod I had no hope of anything but the most basic of function from my hands and arms.
Worst of all by far was the fixed bar between my ankles and the cock cage. I lifted up my feet and foolishly tried to flex my knees one more time. Even the slightest attempt to move was painful. That solid steel “Rod of Discipline” had no play at all. It was the critical element in what was to come next. In one sense I was terrified of what I would soon face. Yet at the same time there was the excitement of being extremely helpless, at the mercy of even a small child if one should appear.
Yeah, I did have a recurring fantasy of being discovered. The probability of it actually happening was vanishingly small, yet it was a bit of fun to imagine what would happen if I suddenly found myself deprived of the means of release and at the mercy of a stranger.
The Task
To Everything There Is A Purpose
What was the purpose of all the elaborate preparations? Someone might argue the means is the end. Not me; the means, all the hardware sturdily attached to my otherwise naked body was selected for a specific end, what I called “My Task”.
Restraints are the opposite of most modern machines. They are intended to make simple, everyday undertakings as difficult as possible, to make life harder instead of easier. My assignment was as simple as could be: stand up, walk down the hall to the next room, go inside, pick up an essential item, and bring it back to this room. It would take me less than a minute…were I unfettered by the myriad of impairments firmly attached to my body.
This trip would not be a matter of minutes. Hours, maybe, if I were lucky. Standing up was out of the question. My ‘walk” would be a slow crawl, more comparable to a snail, and an old one at that. In absolute terms the next room was close by, though relative to my current state of mobility the distance was substantial.
The item to be retrieved was small, and on the floor in that other room. Locating it was another matter. The lights were off over there, and I certainly could not reach the light switch. Add to that I had to work by feel, with my hands stuck behind my back combined with a lack of eyesight. Whatever light came in through the open door from the hallway would not be useful.
The item I had to find? It was the key that opened the armored padlock which kept my handcuffs bound to the rod extending to the waistband. Without it I could not remove the covers over those delightful handcuffs, much less free my hands entirely. It was the linchpin that would keep me in full bondage mode until removed.
The trip back to the first room wouldn’t be quite as bad. With that crucial key I could pull free of the fixed rod and slip off the security covers. I’d still be handcuffed, but with a better range of movement, especially since they were chain cuffs. After that it was only a matter of unwinding my preparations in reverse order.
I sat there, contemplating the open door and the corridor beyond. This would be the most difficult, inching my way through the hallway into the other room. The hallway lights were dim, intentionally so. It wasn’t as if I needed a well-lighted pathway I couldn’t see.
A journey begins with the first step. My “crawl” involved lifting myself up with my hands and sliding forward, while holding up my feet to reduce drag. I’d done it before, so I knew it worked, sort of. It was strenuous work for little gain, so I had to stop often to rest. There was also the issue with the gag, limiting how much air I could take in. Deep breaths would leave me gasping for air. The last thing I needed was to pass out from oxygen deprivation.
Best Laid Plans
Spreading my palms on the floor I pushed upward and slid forward. Except that’s not what happened. I’d forgotten about that rod from my handcuffs to the waistband. This was my first outing, so I had no prior experience using it. I had assumed, foolishly, that it wouldn’t make a difference when it came to crawl time.
In hindsight I immediately figured out the problem. The length of the rod left my hands too far away from my body. I had no leverage to lift my weight. Now if I had the full use of my arms that would not have been a problem, but with my elbows clamped firmly next to my body I couldn’t bend my arms for that extra bit of mechanical advantage. In my head I ran through what I’d done. Yes, I was an idiot. If the connecting rod had been cut in half, although my reach would be sharply reduced, I would have been better off. Or if I’d chosen to use a chain instead of a fixed shaft. But no, I was fixated on minimum equals maximum reach.
Now what to do? In frustration I tried shifting my hands to the left and right, but it was obvious that wasn’t going to work either. I flexed my hands, and then tried to twist my wrists out of their parallel alignment. Once again I was reminded of how well I’d designed those security covers. They weren’t going to bend or come off. My last act of desperation was to pull as hard as I could against the waistbelt. Same problem, my hands were too far back to have any leverage, not that the sturdy belt would split apart from my wishful thinking.
Contingency Plan
Don’t panic, I told myself. You’re not stuck. That was true. I could still bend at the waist, so I had a way to reach my destination, moving along like an inchworm. It wasn’t my first choice for a method of travel, but I had no other option. I twisted my legs sideways, following them down onto my side. Without the means to break my self-induced fall the landing was a bit rough. Chances were I’d have a bruise on my arm tomorrow.
It turns out my legs weren’t so useless after all. Bending forward as much as possible I lifted up my legs and straightened out. Using my shoulder I was able to slowly turn around until I faced the open door. Draw up my legs, straighten up at the waist, with help from hands, and I ever so slowly made my way to the entrance to the hallway.
When my breathing picked up I called a halt to rest. I rolled over on my stomach to give my arm some relief. There I was, hands and feet sticking straight up in the air. Now I knew how a turtle felt when turned upside down.
I was halfway through the doorway. When I rolled over on the other arm I could actually see the door to the second room. I hadn’t really made much progress but seeing my destination was heartening.
Draw up legs, use them for leverage when pushing forward from the waist, that was my strategy. Ready to go I drew up my legs, only to collide with the door frame. Oh great, what else can go wrong? Unable to see I wasn’t able to center myself in the doorway, and now I was too far to one side.
Rocking back and forth on my hip and arm I was able to twist my body around the doorway, until my knees finally cleared the door sill. That required another rest period. At this rate the thirty second walk really would take over an hour.
This was the point where I was really beginning to hate the handcuffs. While resting I brushed my fingers against those infernal security covers. A good choice for a name; they did a remarkable job of preventing tampering with the cuffs. I could feel the shape of the shoulder that covered the locks on the top of the cuff bodies. So close yet so far; the layer of aluminum alloy frustrated any idea about freeing myself without that vital key in the other room.
Once again I yanked on that accursed padlock. Why didn’t it pop open? If not for the posture collar I’d shake my head in disapproval at my thorough preparations. Every lock was either covered up or out of reach. Naturally I anticipated I’d get tired and bored, ready to call it quits halfway through my self-imposed ordeal. Tough luck, I had to see it through, no choice in the matter.
It seemed like days until I finally arrived. Lying on my side I could see the open doorway and the darkened room beyond. The key to my salvation was in the far corner, so I still had a ways to go. Eager to regain even a small degree of my lost freedom I rushed in, overdid it and was left gasping for breath for several minutes.
When I chose the vented gag my intention was to ensure I would make slow, deliberate moves after planning out what I would accomplish. Haste would be my nemesis; patience my guardian angel. Internally the gag was similar in some ways to a harmonica, with channels and baffles to reduce airflow as well as disrupt sound waves. It performed as expected, even though it was uncomfortable to wear, being wedged in my mouth by the outer panel across my face. It was safe to use, as long as I was prudent in my activities. The gag did not reward impatience or stupidity.
Slowly this time, I crawled to the corner where I’d left the key. Behind my back my hands were extended, searching for the means for my eventual release. It took a while until my fingers brushed against the small bit of brass. Involuntarily I shouted my joy, which was dutifully muffled and garbled by the gag. Next to the handcuffs the gag was moved to number two on my list of most hated restraints.
I had the padlock key, but to use it took two hands: one to hold open the dustcover; and the other to insert the key. I took a moment to calm down before starting. The padlock was large and bulky, plus the keyway was on the bottom. I managed to get a finger on the dustcover top and pushed it to one side, exposing the gateway. Working by feel I began to insert the key. That’s when my left hand slipped, the dustcover hit the key and knocked it out of my right hand.
Accidents happen, don’t lose your cool, I reminded myself. I found the key and tried again. This time when I went to insert the key it wouldn’t go in. I was certain the key matched the lock, so what was the problem?
I let go of the dustcover to examine the key with my fingers. Backwards, the flat side should face the center of the keyway. A quick reversal and the third attempt proved to be the charm. The key went in, turned, and I was rewarded with the sound of the padlock hasp popping up with a satisfying click.
I pulled off the padlock and slid the security covers off the flat bar at the end of the connecting rod. It didn’t take long to pull off the two covers. Suddenly it felt like my hands were free of any controls. I could stretch, reach back to the waistbelt, and I was able to extend my hands to either side.
Reality soon set in. I was still handcuffed behind my back, with not one but two pairs of those shiny steel bracelets encircling my wrists in a loving embrace. I was able to open the carabiner holding the rod against my back. I pulled off the malicious contraption and set it to one side. Next time I’d be more careful about measuring the length.
Now that I was upright again, and with useful hands, I was ready to start back. Without having to crawl on my side I’d make much better time compared to the first part of my journey. I was back to staring at the darkened ceiling, with only a faint light from the hallway. The posture collar earned third place on my most hated restraint list.
Being effectively blinded can have serious consequences. No sooner had I begun pushing toward the door than I felt my feet bump the open door. In horror I heard it swing shut, punctuating my doom with the snick of the door latch clicking into place. The door wasn’t locked, it was a simple spring latch, but that was immaterial. How was I going to open it again if I couldn’t reach the door knob? It was just as effective in confining me as the bars of a prison cell.
I had one detail in my favor. Thanks to the previous house owner all the basement doors used one of those European style levered door handles instead of the traditional round knob. All I had to was pull it down and I could open the door. Sure, no problem, simple as could be, as long as my hands weren’t bound behind my back and I could stand up. With my upper arms held tight there was no way I’d be able to overcome the restrictions of the cuffs and reach up to the door lever.
If I could manage to get up on my knees I’d be high enough to use my hands. That presented other issues. How was I to pull myself up to a kneeling position? And If I managed that, how to get my body out of the way to pull open the door? The door swung in, not out to the hallway.
Kneeling proved to be a futile endeavor. My center of gravity was all wrong, since I couldn’t bend my legs. My attempts were all met with falling over, usually to a painful reminder not to do it again from the pressure on the cock cage. The rod under my legs won the fourth spot on my hate list.
Sitting there in the dark I did my best to remain calm. There had to be an answer to my dilemma. This was Murphy’s Law in action. If it can go wrong, it will. Bread always falls buttered side down. Doors swing shut when you kick them. To pile on the irony, if I’d left the light on I’d be able to see the door handle; the one time my tilted head didn’t work against me.
I was starting to worry. No great idea had suddenly appeared to save the day. When I shifted my sitting position so my back was to the door I felt a toe brush against the short rod I’d used to anchor my hands. There was something in the back of my head…
Of course! That rod was a handy tool. With it I could reach up to the lever if I leaned forward to give my hands more upward reach. The opening in the carabiner end was large enough to slip over the door handle.
I maneuvered around to pick up one end of the rod with my hands. Working by feel I located the door frame by feel. Leaning forward until I was touching my legs I reached up as far as I could, probing with the rod to find the lever.
It took a while to locate it, again by feel. Then I had to slip the carabiner around the end of the lever, which took even longer. Being careful to pull down and to the side, so my door opening tool wouldn’t slip off, I was eventually rewarded with the sound of the door latch retracting.
leaning forward until I could see light shining through the crack in the doorway. I was able to wedge a few toes in that gap and work the door open further. Pushing against the door with my back until my legs cleared the entrance I was able to slide forward into the hallway.
The door slammed shut behind me but I was free of my unintended jail cell. That had been a close call. If I had used a chain instead of a fixed steel rod on the handcuffs I’d have been stuck. If I had gone with the tried-and-true hinge handcuffs instead of the new chain version I might not have been able to extend my hands high enough to use the rod. So many things could have gone wrong, leaving me locked in that room.
I made my way back to the first room, crept through the doorway and headed for where the keys were scattered on the floor. Off came the handcuffs, the belt holding my arms, the posture collar, hood and gag. Going in reverse order I removed the tension chain below my knees, unlocked the bar between cock cage and ankles, unbuckled the knee straps, slid off the rod cover and unlocked the cuff around the cock cage.
I opened the cover surrounding the cuffs on my ankles, followed by the four sets of shackles. Last of all I freed my anatomy from the cock cage. Released from the insistent grasp of all restraints at last, I stood up and stretched. Another night’s ordeal marked as completed successfully.
My thoughts went back to the closed door. Granted, I wasn’t supposed to kick the door, but it brought home a point I’d been considering for some time. I needed a backup, a live person who could rescue me from closed doors or other mishaps. I didn’t want someone to actually handle the bondage part. That process I wanted to keep for my own. What I needed was an observer, remaining in the background unless needed. The ideal candidate would have to be discreet, yet also sympathetic to my obsession. The problem was, where did I find such an individual?