A Bad Trip (Experience) In Self-Bondage

by Hiliary Maria dubh nic Seamus

 

I  was  27 years old when this happened. I was out  of  the service  and  was enjoying several months of freedom  (back  from 'Nam  --  after 4 years in the Sea Cadets, 4 years  NROTC  and  8 years duty in 'Nam) I was in New York City, staying with  Phyllis - I knew her from college (she was 3 years ahead of me and also 3 years older - she was 30 at the time). We shared the same  ideas and  tastes (both of us were into B&D and mild SM, she  not  only tolerated  my "dressing", she improved me). I never would be a Playboy  Flower  Child Model, but sitting on an  ottoman  in  her living  room, looking in the mirror by the door, I  saw  looking-back at me a perfectly acceptable (and as most who knew me put it - attractive young woman). At this time I still had the  slender build  of my teens - 6-foot tall and 153#, 38-29-38  and natural hair  that  reached  halfway between my  shoulders  and  my  ass. Thanks to "Phil's" help, my make-up was perfect. The  micro-dress (white eyelet lace fabric) fitted perfectly.

Phyllis was ready to leave for work - it was 0730 AM and she started  at  0830.  She was telling me what to  prepare  for  my dinner  - she would be at her parents' home until midnight and  I shouldn't wait for her, but I should be ready. "But," she added, "knowing you, you will be binding yourself today. Be warned - If you can't get out and I find you so, you'll remain bound until  I decide to release you. Come here, give me a kiss." Our kiss was very  much more than friendly or sisterly. Until last  night  we regularly fucked like a pair of mink. Now her fertile period was starting, and since she was allergic to the pills then available, and she was a nurse, it was decided that a Follett Catheter would be inserted into my urethra and bladder to help control me  while she was unable to have sex (Phil was jealous - no one but no one but  she  would enjoy me while I stayed with her). Since  I  had mentioned to her that I might do some shopping and clubbing later in  the day, she insisted that I be locked into my chastity  belt before  I finished dressing (I had no male clothes - Phil  and  I lived like two sisters -- an older sister [Phil] and the  younger sister  [myself]). The chastity belt was because she planned  to be the one to "pop" my cherry on my birthday (I shivered when she shown me the strap-on-dildo harness with the pony-sized dildo she planned to use on me for the event).

My  dressing,  always  a project, began  at  0500AM.  After bathing and shaving (Phil insists that I always be free of bodily hair  - What I can't remove myself she does - remember she  is  a nurse  and used to prepping patients for rectal  surgery).  This done,  on  this day she inserted and inflated the  catheter,  and clipped  shut the end so that I wouldn't  "dribble"(the  catheter went through a hole in my panties and one in the crotch-strap  of my  chastity belt). After a complete GI colonic, a retention plug in my rectum took  care of that need (she has used this before on me - no fun using it,  but it did the job). After my gaff, a sanitary pad (she decided that I should also start my "period") and panties, then the chastity  belt went on (no cum-bersome locks, this was retained by flat and undetectable  locks -- securing two waist straps, one buckling over the  locking  one). Next came my bra and breast forms.  Then  a chemise that barely reached my hips. Strapping my wrists together in front of my body (and my ankles as well) she used a hook in the  ceiling (originally installed to support a  planter  -  the plant died - and now I hung from it on occasion) to suspend me so that I was on my tiptoes. Around my waist went the corset and the busk was hooked shut. Going behind me she grasped the laces and began  to tighten the laces. Since I wore a corset  daily,  this went  fast. In  no-time I was laced down to  a  25-inch  waist. Letting  me  down,  on went my pantyhose and  heels (these  were D'Orsey Pumps with 4-inch heels and ankle straps). Next came  my mini-slip -- bodice and 2-inch band of lace, it barely reached my crotch.  Over  this  my  mini-dress,  barely  mid-thigh,  short sleeves, princess  neckline  -- of white  eyelet cotton/linen blend.  Once zipped  in,  my hair and makeup were taken care of.  This  done, Phil told me to sit on the ottoman in the living room and  behave myself.

It is now about 0730 AM. Well, after finishing dressing me, Phil  left me to my devices. Having planned to do just what  she had  warned  me about, I decided to get things  ready  for  after dinner.  Going into my bedroom, I opened my and pulled  my  "toy chest" out of the closet. Opening the trunk, I took out of it  a number of items; some, like a sponge soaking in a jar of a strong brine solution (there was a 1/4-inch layer of undissolved salt on the  bottom of the jar) were prepared much earlier. Others  were gloves  - "little white wrist-length gloves", over the wrist  (to mid-forearm straight dress "coat gloves", over-the-elbow  "formal gloves"  with their 3-button opening on the wrist, and my  secret treasure  --  a pair of leather "5-button wrist  to-the-shoulder opera-length gloves" with the straps above the elbow (inside  the glove) and below the armpit (above the bicep - top of glove folds over to hide the strap) which would prevent the glove from  fall-ing.  Also I took out of the trunk some large bundles  of  3/16-inch sash cord, a pair of Hyatt-styled Leg Irons where the hobble was  reduced  to 1-link, a special homemade  harness,  a  leather collar, a discipline helmet with only a set of breathing holes, 2 lengths of sheeting strips, and a bunch of padlocks. Putting the trunk  back into the closet, I took the items I had removed  into the  living room and put them on the cushions on the floor  where the couch normally was (this couch was suspended from the ceiling and rings in the floor accepted snaps on the ends of chains  from the  couch  so that tit wouldn't sway. Since we didn't use  the couch very often, it was pulled-up to the ceiling (14-foot  ceilings - this was an old building) and the rings in the floor  were perfect  for my purposes. Making sure the locks were  all  open, and  putting one length of sheeting strip into a pan of water  to soak, I made some phone calls.

It is now about 0830 AM. No luck. Dave, who I  counted-on to squire me around was dissed from our last date when I  refused to  "put-out"  for him (He didn't, and to this day  doesn't  know that I am not a girl), and refused. Everyone else was at work or going  to work. Nothing to watch on TV and I didn't want to go shopping  alone,  much less clubbing; and a single  woman in an adult bookstore was fair prey -- much less the risks involved  if the  police  conducted one of their raids. I was caught  in  one once, and Phyllis told me that the next time I would have to have my day in court -- the cops didn't believe that I wasn't hooking --  lucky Phyllis's dad (an attorney - and a good friend  of  the Mayor  and  Governor) got there and sprung me before they  had me strip and  a matron do a cavity search me. With nothing else to do, I decided to test  my idea and see if I could escape from the harness I had made.

As usual, for me to think of such an idea was to put it into action - only my habit of not thinking ahead was to cost me dearly. Taking the brine jar to the kitchen, I took the sponge  out, squeezed  most of the brine out of the sponge and packed it  into my mouth. Taking the sheeting strip (2-inches by 6-feet) out  of the pan of water, I squeezed it until it was just damp.  Centering  it  between my teeth, I tightly wrapped it around  my  head, under my hair and between my teeth and knotted it behind my head.

Taking  the dry strip (3-inches by 12-feet) I did the same.  One or two attempts proved that I couldn't be heard - I could  barely hear  myself make a squeak through the gag. Going-back into  the living  room, I sat down on the cushions and started doing a  tie on myself. First, I placed the ankle-cuffs on my ankles, securely  locking them. Then I took a bundle of sash cord, doubled  it and thoroughly bound and cinched the insteps of my feet. Then  I used  the  remainder of the bundle to bind and cinch  my  ankles.

Then came my knees - above the calves and above the knees - both individually cinched and then jointly cinched and knotted.  Then I  did 1-inch bands of cinched binding at mid-thigh  (just  above the  hem  of my dress) and a final 1-inch binding  at  my  crotch (tops of my thighs -- 1-inch below my crotch). I had two bundles of sash cord left. Slipping my dress up to my breasts and  using pins  to  hold it there, I doubled the remaining cord  and  looped both  around  my toes and crisscrossed my feet and legs  with  it until I couldn't flex my feet or legs. I tied the ends off at my chastity belt.

Ignoring  the  fiery bite of the tight cord (Phyllis  and  I were  going to go out tomorrow, it was Sunday - it would be  warm and I knew I would be wearing heavy hose to cover the rope burns) I  used a lock to secure one end of the chain to my  ankle  cuffs and in a redundant mood also locking the cuffs together.

Now I picked-up the harness (Phyllis hasn't seen this item). Pulling  it over my head, I then unpinned my dress, allowing  the skirt  to fall where it wanted (I AM NO LADY WHEN I PLAY  BONDAGE GAMES)  and secured the harness. First I snugly laced shut a  3-inch collar of thin deerskin. Hanging from the back of this  was a  4-inch  wide strap. In the front hung a  1-inch  wide  strap. Riveted  to the straps were 4 straps, each 2-inches wide  --  one that  would  go around my torso above my breasts,  one  below  my breasts,  one  just  below my ribs and one around  my  waist.  I quickly  buckled  the  straps, slipping  a  small  "poodle"  lock through  the tongue in each buckle. This harness fitted tight  - in fact, the waist was so snug that I knew that my waist had been reduced to 24-inches. The locks secured, I looked in the mirror.

With  the  black straps of the harness contrasting  to  my  white dress, pantyhose, heels, etc., the effect was something else. My packed  mouth  and the distressed look in my face caused  by  the extremely  tight  gag also helped. Except for my free  hands  I looked like the classical damsel in distress.

Now I picked-up the earplugs, fat foam cylinders, compressed them  and put them into my ear canals. Over them went  plugs  of swimmers  ear wax then a fat pad of cotton wool. It  worked.  I couldn't  hear the radio that was quietly playing. Satisfied,  I put  on  my gloves. First went on the "little white"  gloves of wrist  length. Next, I smoothed on the mid-forearm  gloves  over the  wrist length gloves. Next came the "over-the-elbow"  formal gloves - I had some slight trouble with the wrist buttons, but  a button  hook make short work of this problem. Taking the  discipline helmet, I adjusted the laces so that it was open as much as possible. Taking a final look in the mirror, admiring the damsel in distress that I saw looking back at me, I slid the helmet over my  head, closing my eyes as I did so and felt the  eyepads  slip into place over my eyes. After insuring that the nose holes were properly  placed (1-inch lengths of 1/4-inch tubing slid up  into my nostrils as the helmet slid into place), I laced-up the  helmet.  Once  done, I knotted the laces and  cut-off  the  excess.

Then I tossed the knife away to make freeing myself harder. Once done,  the  helmet fitted like a second skin,  except  for  my mouth. The pressures the tightly laced helmet placed on the  gag and  my jaw were something else. Feeling around, I  located  the zipper and zipped-shut the helmet over the laces and buckled-shut the  attached  collar.  Now feeling around on  the  cushions,  I located  the  other  collar. This was a rigid  collar  of  stiff leather, double thickness and 5-inches high on the sides and back with a cut-out for the chin, and it had double locking straps  1-inch wide Riveted to it. Sliding the loops on the collar through the  slots  in  the straps I closed the collar  around  my  neck, covering the collar, zipper and lacing of the helmet. I  located by  feel  the lock I wanted, not a "poodle" lock, but  an  honest bike  padlock  with a 6-inch long hasp. I slid the hasp  of  the lock  through the loops but didn't lock it. Then I  secured  the straps  on the helmet across my eyes and gag, further  increasing the pressure on them, and locked them with "poodle" locks. Until I  used the keys to release myself from the helmet, it was on  to stay. At this time I also secured the end of the other length of chain to my collar between the two sets of straps on the  collar, passing the bike lock through the end link, and then secured  the lock.

Feeling  around,  I  located the opera  gloves.  They  slid easily  onto  my arms (the silk lining saw to that).  It  was  a problem  with  the 5 buttons on each wrist, and even  the  button hook  was little help since I couldn't see what I was doing,  but eventually I secured the buttons and buckled snugly the straps  on each glove above the elbow (inside the glove) and above the bicep (outside  of the glove, but the top 3-inches folds-down  covering the strap). My main problem was my dress sleeves. They were the short,  mid-bicep puff sleeves that tightly buttoned at the  base of the puff, but finally I managed to undo the buttons enough  to slip the top of the gloves under each sleeve and then  rebuttoned each  sleeve.

By now, my common sense was screaming to me  "STOP NOW!!! GET YOURSELF OUT OF THIS BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!!!" I was too  stubborn. I started, I'll finish it. Lying on my  side,  I located the  free  end of the chain on my  collar.  I  slid  it through  the ring at the head-end of the cushions, and then  wiggled  up  toward  the  ring, tightening the  chain  until  I  was stretched  as tight as was possible. I felt-around for  the  remaining  padlock, found it and slid it through the link of  chain at the ring and the ring and locked-it. Reaching behind my back, I located the purpose of this harness. (Here I have to  digress. Located  on  the back strap, just below my shoulder blades  is  a loop  of leather parallel to the strap. Through this I  wound  a series  of  12-inch wide loops of heavy -3/16-inch thick  -  wall thickness - latex tubing -- a total of eight loops which I  knotted  the  ends  tightly together. Just at my  waist,  below  the bottom of the strap, on the waist strap, I had riveted a pair  of handcuffs  which I had modified. I had cut the chain  that  connected  the cuffs together and welded the cuffs to the ends of  a 5-inch  long  by 1/2-inch thick steel rod that  had  been  passed through  three steel eyes (lock hasps riveted to the belt)  which made it unremovable. With an effort, I managed to flex and  bend both  arms enough to get my hands to the wrists into  the  rubber hose loops. working one arm at a time, I moved them by inches at a  time  down  in-to the loops, keeping my arms  tensed  apart  to stretch and spread the loops. Eventually I reached the bulge of my forearms, the point of no return. Here, I took a breather. I cupped  my  hands together and pressing out with my arms  at  the same  time dipped one shoulder - it worked - the bands of  tubing slid-over the elbow on that side. Doing the same with the other arm,  I  found I had reached my goal - both elbows  were  tightly pressed together, and I began to have doubts of freeing myself  - even  if my wrists were not secured, there was no way I would  be able  to pull my arms out of the embrace of the loops  of  rubber hosing.  Imagining how I must look, I chuckled to myself  at  the sight I would present to an onlooker - Except for my wrists, I am totally  and unescapably bound, with a discipline helmet  tightly secured  over my head. Due to the struggles with my elbow  bindings,  my skirt had ridden-up around my waist. Deciding to  continue as the "damsel-in-distress" I didn't adjust it to cover me. I decided to finish myself off. I located the cuffs, managed  to get my wrists into each and rolled-onto my back. With a  "click" they were shut - too tight as it became quickly obvious as I felt the  cuffs bite through 4 pairs of gloves. I was able to  ignore the  bite  of the cord on my legs, but not that of the cuffs on my wrists, and since I had to flex my elbows - the cuffs  were  too high  to  allow my arms to remain straight, the loops  of  rubber hose  around my elbows hurt very much. "Still," as I thought  to myself,  "give  it a chance. Thank goodness  for  the  cushions, otherwise..."

 "THE  CUSHIONS!!" I shrieked to myself all  of  a sudden. Before starting I was supposed to move the cushions so I would have room to move around. No wonder it was hard to turn  - no  slack in the chains because of the cushions I was laying  on. The attempts I made to try to move the cushions were futile. The dense  foam pads slid-into burlap covers that were laced  through rings on the sides of the covers to rings on the sheet of plywood that  formed the seat of the sofa. Unable to move them, my  body was  bent into an arc from just above my knees to the tops of  my shoulders.  In spite of that, the discovery I next made was  the ultimate.  Feeling  around to free myself - now  I  was  getting scared  -  I couldn't find the keys. I tried to think  of  where they  should  be - in spite of the cushions I should be  able  to reach them, after all, they were on the cushion next to me...  or were  they?  I thought back, then I panicked -- I HAD  LEFT  THE KEYS ON THE SINK IN THE KITCHEN!!

I  struggled and fought my bonds until I was soaked  to  the skin. By now, the cords, tubes and cuffs were beyond hurting. I was being flayed alive, the chastity belt also added to the  fun. It  was rubbing saddle sores. In fact, I was beginning  to  lose feeling  in  my arms and legs - the  restricted  circulation  was making everything feel fuzzy. I also discovered why a discipline helmet  was  so named - as I become heated from  struggling,  the sweat gathered inside the helmet, and combined with the tight  fit of  the leather across my face, made the helmet very  uncomfortable.

In addition, the gag and helmet combination was a mistake. As the wet strip of cloth dried, it shrunk, and was beginning  to push  the  sponge further into my mouth. Then I  remembered  the headlines for the past several weeks - several girls and young women  had been found dead in their apartments -- bound and strangled -- the thoughts  of someone breaking-in and finding me like this  arose.

"What  if they decided to kill me because the chastity  belt  and helmet made it impossible for me to service them with a fuck or a blow job? What if they managed to remove the chastity belt  and discovered  that I am not a girl, but a man? On second  thought, no  problem  there - after all, THIS IS  NEW  YORK!!!  GREENWICH VILLAGE, CHRISTOPHER STREET, MARBLE ARCH PARK, etc. No, a crossdressed male would still be a common fuck (as could and still can be  found by the truck terminals). But still, the chastity  belt had a mesh of chain mail between the layers of the waist band and the  crotch  strap - "no key, no pee" as Phyllis put it  when  we bought  it.  And few men, no matter how horny they  were,  would risk a forced blow job. I had plenty to worry about. Also, what if the landlord's handyman came to do some work? He does have  a key, but he comes by appointment - still, there's emergencies. A fire  -  the Fire Department, the Police, the  Press!!!  It  was too-much.  I resumed my struggles - suddenly I felt myself  stifling - I couldn't breathe - there was a buzzing sensation and  a hammering in my head. Then Nothing.

I'm  back.  All  still is dark. The pain was  gone  -  only numbness in my limbs. The brine gag was the most painful thing  I have ever experienced. No wonder the Ancient Romans would pack a rebellious slave's mouth with salt and then gag them and after  a day  let them see water. If I were that slave, I would  rush  to the  cross for a drink of water. I knew I was in  trouble.  The swelling  of  my arms and legs would cause the loss  of  feeling. The sponge packed in my mouth was partially in my throat making it hard  to breathe - not bad enough to gag me, but I knew that  any more struggling might cause it to silk back further - but as  the cutting  sensation from the drying cloth strip told me, I  might not have to struggle - for the cloth was still shrinking - pushing against  the sponge. Also, the helmet wasn't helping. Even if  I hadn't  plugged  my ears, the leather over my  ears  would  still hinder  my hearing. Also, the leather of the helmet was  trapping my  sweat against my skin, making me feel hotter and more  sweaty than  I really was. The tubes in my nose were next to the worst  - the  holes  in them are only 3/16-inch in diameter, OK  for  long, gentle  breathing. Disaster for panicked, struggling  breathing. The worse were my collars. Not enough to strangle, but close -- I fought  to force myself to stay calm, relax, lower my blood  pressure. It was a cycle - I relaxed, then I paniced. Every time I  came down, I was worse off than before. How long this went on, I couldn't tell.  I almost paniced when I feel something touch my  thigh  (by now my dress was rucked up so high that under my back my  fingertips coul feel the hem of the skirt. Breezes from the open window told me that the top of my dress was in even worse dishabille). I stop  struggling when the fingers tapped a 1-2-3 1-2-3 tempo  on  my leg  -  Phil's signal to me when I am unable to hear,  telling  me that she is taking charge. I relaxed.

OK - Phil was home. She kept her word. I had bound myself on Saturday, and it was now One AM Tuesday Morning - she kept me bound for two more days. Only now did I really begin to pay.  Without removing  the helmet, she removed my harness, dress and  chemise. She  put  the layered gloves to good use - she  bound  my  wrists together  in  front of me and then suspended me  from  the  rings holding  the sofa against the ceiling, with my legs pulled  apart and spread wide. She than took a belt and spent, it seems, hours using it on every inch of my back, sides, inner legs and front.

After the flogging (that's what it was) I was cut-down. The collar  and helmet were removed and I was allowed to free  myself as well as I could. Phyllis than told me to bathe and then stand by the foot posts of our bed. That night, and for the next month I spent my nights with my wrists bound behind my back and the bed post,  my body and ankles bound to the post, suspended with my feet off the  floor, supported only by my bonds, gagged and blindfolded.

Eventually  the  rope  burns faded - but  the  memories  and trauma didn't.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Hiliary Mariadubh nicSeamus. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.