The Force of Nature Copyright Abrank 2005

 

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Warning! This story might contain activities that might not be suitable in selfbondage. Please play safe.

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The Force of Nature

Copyright Abrank 2005

 

I received a lengthy email from a correspondent in California. He had become stuck during a heavy bondage session and, after managing to free himself, fulfilled a promise to tell someone about the experience. I had several questions, all of which he answered. I have edited his original account to make it more readable, and incorporated material from his answers. The account that follows accurately represents what he told me, and he assures me that it is a true experience. He wishes to remain anonymous, and for reasons that will become clear when you read the account, requests that it not be shown to blonde females who live in California and who are unsympathetic to bondage.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

I was at the top of the stairs and feeling very afraid. I couldn't see down them and in my imagination they appeared as formidable as a vertical cliff. I feared that once I started to descend I would slide all the way to the bottom, ripping off my genitals in the process. But I could see no alternative; the sharp knife that I hoped was lying on the floor below represented my last and best hope of freedom.

 

But let me begin at the beginning, or as near to the beginning as I am prepared to go.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

I was finally beginning to feel better. I had dumped my girlfriend two weeks previously and had been suffering. Yes I know, it's harder on the one who gets dumped, but it was hard on me also. I had finally revealed a little of my interest in bondage to her, and she had not reacted well, ridiculing me and calling me a pervert. I don't think I ever really liked her; she became my girlfriend only because she was beautiful, had a great body, and liked sex. She was also intelligent, but boy, was she vain. Damn, I didn't mean to tell you anything about her. You don't need to know what she was like and I just want to forget her.

 

Anyway, it was Saturday evening. I didn't have a date and had sufficiently recovered from my depression that I was horny and needed sexual relief. But I also wanted bondage. I don't know how these things work with me, but rather than just masturbate, I decided to tie myself up. The thought excited me, so I made plans. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became, and the more elaborate the plans.

 

I wanted to put myself into a hogtie and force myself to enjoy, or at least endure, the position for a few hours. I had long wanted to sleep in a hogtie, but had never been able to. After a few hours I would release myself if it were possible, or just lie awake waiting for the release mechanism to give me my freedom.

 

This time, to make sure I didn't give up too easily, and to force myself to make a really serious attempt to sleep, I wanted to ensure that I remained bound for at least ten hours. When in bondage I can be amazingly clever about releasing myself ahead of time so I have to take elaborate precautions to ensure I remain tied up for the full period. I have to remove all possibility of summoning help, eliminate every alternate escape method, and deny myself an emergency escape. Yes I know this is dangerous and I am stupid to put myself in these situations, but my desire for erotic bondage can only be satisfied if I am certain that there is absolutely no way for me to escape. When I first started doing self-bondage I was satisfied with what I call symbolic bondage; bondage with an emergency escape, a quick and easy way out. But that does nothing for me now. To get the adrenaline rush, or at least a sexual arousal, I need to know that there is no way for me to escape quickly. The biggest arousal comes from thinking that I am permanently trapped and that there is absolutely nothing I can do to escape.

 

You can see my problem; my search for sexual arousal tempts me to flirt with disaster. I know it's dangerous, but since I had always managed to escape in the past, I had become confident that I would always be able to escape in the future. The fact that you are reading this shows that my confidence was not incorrect, but my last escape was so fortuitous that I worry about the future. But I am getting ahead of my story.

 

Let me give you an example of how elaborate my precautions have been. I wanted to prevent myself from summoning help. I reasoned that if I lived in an apartment I could always bang on the walls or floor, even if bound, to attract the attention of neighbors. Living in a house would deny me this option and would also allow me to remove my gag and shout for help without being heard. So a couple of years ago I bought a small house. I don't like the extra work associated with a house and would much prefer to live in an apartment or condo, but felt that this was the only way to get the secure bondage I craved.

 

To make myself a prisoner in my own house, I had to do more than just lock the doors and make the keys inaccessible. I could imagine myself breaking down a locked door, even when bound, and escaping. I could also break a window to escape, and putting bars in the windows did not seem like a viable option, I think it was not allowed by the local fire code anyway. The solution I adopted was to chain myself to something in the house. The chain would not allow me to reach any outside door or window and thus would prevent me calling to the neighbors for help. Rather than chain myself to my bed, or to another piece of furniture that I could smash or drag around, I chained myself to an anchor point attached directly to the structure of the house. I had several anchor points, but the one I used for this session was a large bolt that went through the floor near the top of the stairs. An iron ring was attached to the top of the bolt to which I would padlock the chain. I normally kept the bolt covered with a small chest of drawers to conceal it when the occasional visitor, usually a sexual partner, was expected to come upstairs.

 

I had begun preparations on Friday. I didn't allow myself much sleep that night thinking that such deprivation would encourage sleep during the bondage session planned for the following night.

 

I began my final preparations around 9:00 pm Saturday evening. First I fixed an ice timer to the upstairs bathroom ceiling. The house was old and had twelve-foot ceilings in all rooms. I set up my stepladder in the bathroom and stood on the topmost step. A little dangerous yes, but it was the only way I could reach the ceiling. The ice timer consisted of a ring through which was threaded a nylon knee-high containing about twelve hours worth of ice. Ice timers are a little unpredictable but, as I said earlier, I wanted to spend at least ten hours in bondage. A set of keys and a small penknife was tied to the other end of the nylon. When the ice melted the nylon would be pulled through the ring by the combined weight of the keys and knife, and they would then fall to the floor and become accessible to me.

 

After securing the bathroom ice timer, I took the ladder downstairs and fixed a second ice timer to the ceiling in the foyer, also set for twelve hours. This was a backup in case the first timer failed for some reason. Unfortunately this one held only a knife. Normally I would have attached my second set of keys to this timer, but I couldn't find them. I suspected my girlfriend must have accidentally taken them when she left, though I can't imagine how they could have become mixed up with her things. Ice timers are very reliable and I had never had a failure, so I judged I would be perfectly safe with only one set of keys. I was also still somewhat affected by the loss of my girlfriend and wasn't as concerned for my safety as I usually am.

 

The knives were a backup escape allowing me to cut myself free from the hogtie in case I was unable to manipulate the key to unlock my handcuffs. I had read stories on the Internet where people had attempted to use a knife to cut themselves free from bondage, only to discover that it was blunt and they were trapped. To avoid this mistake I made sure that both my knives were sharp.

 

After setting the two ice timers I returned the stepladder to its closet. This was downstairs and would be inaccessible to me once I was bound. I moved my bedside chair to the far side of the bedroom and placed the bathroom stool next to it. These would now also be unreachable and would prevent me stacking them on another piece of furniture to reach the keys. Not that this would be possible when bound, but I have found it best to remove all objects that even hint at an escape method. I emptied the lower drawers and cupboards of anything I thought might help me escape from my bonds. I moved all my tools to the far side of the second bedroom and closed its door.

 

To prevent anyone entering the house while I was in bondage I bolted the front and back doors. I hadn't changed the locks since my girlfriend left, and I didn't want her intruding, I thought she still might have a key. To deter burglars, I left some downstairs lights and the TV on.

 

Now I was ready for bondage. My heart was pounding with anticipation, and I felt flushed. It had been a long time, and I was really excited.

 

I started by taking a shower and shaving my legs. As usual I would be dressed as a woman; I like to imagine myself a women in these situations and am turned on by the feel of restrictive female clothing. I cut both my toenails and finger nails very short. The toenails were to avoid snagging the nylons, which were the first things to go on. These were thigh high and their suntan color covered up minor skin blemishes and gave my legs an attractive sheen. The next items to go on were my platform shoes. I loved these shoes and they made me feel sexy. They had a three-inch platform and seven-and-a-half-inch stiletto heel. Learning to walk, and even to run in them, made an interesting couple of bondage sessions, and I may tell you about them sometime. Anyway, the shoes were bright red and had a wide strap that fastened around the ankle to hold them securely in place.

 

My corset was next. It was Victorian style and had heavy boning. I laced it up fairly tightly, but not to the final tightness. I connected its garters to the top of my nylons and then walked around to enjoy the sensation and the anticipation of further restriction. This delay allowed my internal organs to adjust, and the corset to be laced more tightly. But my illusion as a woman was somewhat spoiled by my penis which stuck out proudly in front of me.

 

I sat on the bed and pulled my leather mini skirt part way up my legs.

 

Next I put on my custom-made leg irons. These were massive things with a heavy one-foot connecting chain. They fit over the ankle straps of my shoes, preventing me undoing them, and were secured with padlocks. I passed the hasp of the padlock securing my right manacle through the end of my anchor chain. This chain was another heavy one, the heaviest I could buy, and its other end was padlocked to the iron ring at the top of the stairs. It was this chain that really kept me a prisoner in my house. It allowed me into my bedroom and bathroom, and even allowed me to go downstairs, but only a little way beyond the bottom step.

 

A nylon rope was tied to the center link of the chain connecting my fetters. To prevent my fingers undoing this knot I had melted it together. This rope would be used in the final step of my bondage to secure my legs in the hogtie position. I pulled the end of the rope up through the leather skirt and let it hang down the back.

 

Once I had padlocked the leg irons around my ankles I no longer needed to bend at the waist. I tightened the corset, not all the way, that would have left me gasping for breath and unable to sleep, but I laced it pretty tight.

 

The most difficult part of the bondage came next: putting on my homemade chastity belt. This was a complicated process and required my penis to be soft, not hard as it then was. My penis was rigid with anticipation and begging for stimulation. Just a few strokes would have given it the orgasm it so desperately wanted. But I knew if I yielded to its demands and came, the session would be over. I would probably masturbate a couple of times, take off my corset and shoes and retire to bed. My erotic brain wanted more, it wanted a long session in a hogtie, so I resisted the temptation. Carefully avoiding touching my penis, I lubricated the inside of my plastic penis tube, and turned on the clock radio. I lay down and tried to concentrate on a talk show.

 

About fifteen minutes later I noticed that my penis had gone soft. This was what I was waiting for. I took the plastic tube and forced my penis into it using a ballpoint pen to push it in. Next I picked up the front shield of my chastity belt. This was made of thick leather and had two holes. I pushed the end of my penis tube out through the lower hole and padlocked it to a metal ring at the bottom of the shield. I had to work quickly; I didn't want my penis getting hard again with all the manipulation. I stood up and bent my penis tube straight down, twisting my balls out so they stuck forward. I slid the shield up the tube and squeezed my balls out through the upper hole. A leather strap was attached to the end of the penis tube nearest by body, and I pulled this out through the upper hole and buckled it around my balls. This strap was one inch wide and held my balls securely outside the shield and away from my body.

 

Strictly speaking, exposing my balls in this way was inconsistent with my desire to be shaped like a woman. The reasons I did so were complex. Exposing them is this way allowed sexual stimulation which was deliciously frustrating since there was no way to achieve orgasm with my penis bent down. When dressed in a skirt they could not be seen so did not really disturb the illusion of femininity.

 

Illusion is all part of the game of self-bondage. I remember once going swimming bound in a similar way. The bulge in my Speedos caused by my balls looked like that caused by an erect penis. But I digress; let me get back to the story of my bondage session.

 

The top of the front shield was sewn over a chain. I pulled this chain tightly around my corseted waist and padlocked it at the back next to my spine. This was the first real bondage; without the key to this padlock I could no longer remove my corset.

The next step was to secure the crack chain. I called it that since it was designed to pass up the crack between my buttocks. Its purpose was to connect the bottom of the front shield to the back of the waist chain and at the same time hold a butt plug in my ass. The crack chain was hanging down between my legs and my corset prevented me from bending down to grab it. So I lay down and moved around until I could reach behind and seize it. I stood up again, holding the crack chain behind me.

 

I lightly lubricated the butt plug, which was attached to the crack chain, and pushed it into my anus. It didn't go all the way in, so I pushed it in and out, to get my sphincter prepared for what was coming next. Pulling up on the chain I sat down on the wooden bedpost. This pushed the plug into me and its tapered shape forced my sphincter to open wide. As the plug completed its short journey, I felt my sphincter muscles gratefully closing down around its narrower neck. I threaded the crack chain under my waist chain and pulled the end down, tightening it. I knew that if I made it too tight, it would become painful and prevent me sleeping, so I relaxed it a couple of links, then padlocked it to my waist chain.

 

My genitals and torso now felt well secured and gave me an erotic feeling, but there was no way for me to get an erection without freeing my penis from its downward pointing tube. The chastity belt, being leather, was more of a toy than a steel one would have been, but I didn't possess a steel one and my home-made one would be perfectly secure once my hands were bound behind my back. I could wear it for a long period since I could make pee by sitting on the toilet. The urine passed down the penis tube and out the end without wetting the leather.

 

Next I attached two foam rubber pads to the chastity belt. These sat on the outside of my hips and gave them a more feminine shape, but they also had a brutal purpose, which I will explain in a few minutes. The rubber pads were held in place by small straps that were padlocked to the waist chain, the edges of the front shield and the crack chain. This made everything a little more secure.

 

Next I put on a white satin top. The important thing about this top was that it covered my shoulders. I knew that when struggling from my bedroom towards the bathroom in a hogtie, my shoulders would be pressing on the carpet. Without this protection I would get carpet burns.

 

My leather skirt had fallen down over my shoes and I couldn't bend down to pull it up, so I lay on my back on the floor. First I raised my legs and grabbed the nylon rope dangling from my leg irons. Lowering my legs to rest them, I pulled the nylon rope tight and tied it around my balls, over the leather strap already encircling them. Then I poked my shoes completely through my skirt and lifted my legs again to slide it towards my waiting hands. With difficulty I stood up, and as I did so the rope attached to my balls lifted the chain connecting my ankles. Keeping my feet together, I pulled the skirt up, tucked in my top, and zipped the skirt closed. It was a mini skirt and its hem was high on my thigh, but below my crotch. The skirt had a belt which, when I pulled it tight and buckled it, effectively concealed the waist chain of my chastity belt.

 

In nylons, high heels, tight corset, sexy mini skirt and concealed penis, I felt like a woman. I was sexually aroused. My heavy leg irons heightened this feeling and I fantasized I was a helpless female at the mercy of any passing male. I walked around
to savor the sensations to their fullest, taking the small steps imposed by my leg irons.
At each step, as I separated my feet, the connecting chain was straightened pulling down on my balls. This was erotically frustrating since I knew that my chastity belt prevented me from getting an erection to relieve myself.

 

It is clear that self-bondage is not a very logical activity, certainly to the degree that I practiced. For example, the tugging on my balls in no way decreased the illusion that I was a woman, it simply gave me erotic and stimulating sensations that were not gender specific.

 

The heavy anchor chain pulled on my right ankle, reminding me that I was a prisoner.
I tried to imagine I was part of a chain gang, but could not since I believed that only men were chained in such a way. I admired myself in the mirror of my dresser on the far side of the room. The mirror was tilted to show only my legs and lower body so that the illusion of a woman was not spoiled by the absence of breasts or by my masculine face. When I raised my leg, the miniskirt rode up and exposed the tops of my nylons and the garters. It looked very sexy. I imagined that the rope I saw disappearing up under my skirt was attached to a clit ring, or perhaps to two labia rings. I fantasized I was a prisoner, a sexual slave, and now must spend the night being punished for some minor infraction of the rules. This was my final moment of freedom before being gagged and bound in a cruel hogtie.

 

The last stage of the bondage was approaching. These were the bonds that would cause discomfort.

 

First came the head harness. I strapped it around my head and pushed the ball gag into my mouth. I tightened the straps and inserted the small padlocks to secure the buckles. These, of course, were more symbolic than necessary; with my hands bound behind my back in a hogtie I would not be able the reach the buckles.

 

I own a posture collar but had decided not to use it. I still hoped that I would be able to get to sleep, and knew that the collar would effectively prevent that.

 

I checked that everything was in order on the bed then turned out the light. Shuffling to the bed I sat on the edge and put my blindfold on. My heart was racing; I was so excited at the prospect of a night in bondage. I was panting; my breathing affected by my excitement, the tightness of my corset and the gag. A part of me said, "Stop all this nonsense and just masturbate." But it was such a tiny part of my mind that I brushed it away.

 

Reaching under my skirt, I untied the nylon rope from my balls and passed it under a raised leg so that I was holding it at my back. With my other hand I picked up my handcuffs and the padlock, my final two bondage items. The handcuffs were hinged. I chose them rather than the chain-linked ones since they had a slightly more rounded edge, and I thought they would hurt my wrists less. I had considered wearing gloves to protect my wrists, but this would have made the process of unlocking them too difficult, particularly after a prolonged session.

 

I lay face down on the bed and maneuvered myself into the middle, being careful not to lie on my side. As I lay down in my final position and moved both hands behind my back, my exposed balls became squashed beneath the front shield of my chastity belt. Instinctively I raised my hips a little to relieve the pressure. Making sure that the keyhole was facing my fingers, I placed one cuff around my right wrist and clicked it closed so that it was snug but not tight. I bent my legs, looped the rope over my handcuffs and, before I could change my mind, quickly locked the other cuff around my left wrist and tightened it. This action was perhaps the most critical step of my bondage and ensured that I would be firmly secured for the next ten hours or so. I could not double-lock the handcuffs, but I had decided this did not matter since I would be spending my time lying on my front and there would be nothing to accidentally force the cuffs to close further.

 

I was not yet in a hogtie; the nylon rope from my ankle chain was looped over my handcuffs and not connected to them. Holding the rope with my fingers, I began to pull it tight, drawing my ankles closer to my hands. There were small loops tied in the rope, and I felt them slipping over the handcuffs. My plan was to lock the final padlock through two of these loops, securing me in a hogtie. There was no way for me to undo the knots in the rope, since after tying them I had melted them together. I had also cut my fingernails short, I didn't want myself foolishly scratching away at the rope trying to get an early release.

 

I used rope rather than chain for this final bondage step for safety reasons. I find that when in a hogtie the force of my legs pulling on my handcuffs may not allow me to move my hands sufficiently to unlock them. This is particularly true if I have been in a hogtie for any length of time. The safety measure consists of the availability of a knife, which I can use to cut the rope removing the tension on the handcuffs and allowing me to unlock them.

 

I have learned, from bitter experience, that bondage that feels comfortable after half a minute can feel like hell after half an hour, and bondage that is comfortable after twelve minutes can be pure torture after twelve hours, so I was going to be careful not to tie myself too tightly in this final step. There was no hurry to lock the final padlock, I was looking forward to several hours of bondage, so a few minutes delay would make little difference. I pulled the rope tight so that my fingers touched the heels of my shoes. I slowly pulled it tighter so that my hands reached my feet. I could feel the pressure in my knees and thighs. The handcuffs were digging into my wrists and my shoulders were being pulled back into the top of my corset. I held this position for a few seconds, then in my imagination pleaded with my master to be lenient. He, or I, relaxed the rope letting one loop slide back over the handcuffs. I held this position for a few minutes to persuade myself that I could stand it, then relaxed the rope one more loop and padlocked it together. I thanked my mythical master for his generosity. I was now committed to spending the rest of the night in a hogtie.

 

I struggled against my bonds to test them. They were, of course, unyielding. My situation was sexy: I was blindfolded, gagged, corseted, chastised and secured in a hogtie with no possible way of releasing myself for several hours. By moving my pelvis I could affect my balls, squashing and stimulating them, an erotic combination of pain and pleasure. This was also frustrating; with my penis bent down there were no way I could achieve orgasm.

 

I amused myself by squirming about for several minutes, enjoying my bondage and the helpless position I was in. But then, knowing the futility of trying to achieve an orgasm, I recalled the original objective of the session; to sleep in a hogtie. I tried to relax and empty my mind.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

But sleep was impossible. My body was too stimulated by the sensations of my bonds, and erotic thoughts swirled around my mind. After half an hour or so, just when I was beginning to feel a little bit sleepy, my body began to complain. My knees were objecting to being bent up. I felt that in order to sleep my legs needed to be straight. The gag was holding my mouth wide open and my jaw was beginning to ache. I was lying on my balls and putting pressure on them. To relieve this pressure I could bend my thighs, lifting my hips, but this pulled on my wrists and shoulders. It was a tradeoff that became crueler as the night progressed.

 

For those of you who have been in a hogtie similar to mine, you will know that relief can be obtained by rolling onto your side. But this was impossible in my situation. The foam rubber pads attached to my hips contained sharp nails. If I turned and lay on my hips the nails would be driven through the protective foam into my flesh. I had wanted to force myself to spend the night in a true hogtie lying on my stomach, not wimping out and lying on my side. Before many hours were up, I bitterly regretted this decision.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

After lying for a long time in slowly increasing pain, I decided that I was not going to achieve my objective of sleeping. All I now wanted was release from my torment. I cursed my stupidity in setting the ice timer for twelve hours. Why hadn't I set it for a more reasonable three or four hours? That would still have allowed me time to get to sleep.

 

Eventually I decided I had to do something to relieve the pain and the boredom. In order to release myself I had to wriggle my way to the bathroom and wait for the ice timer to drop the keys. There were many obstacles to be overcome, the first of which was getting off the bed and down onto the floor.

 

I wriggled backwards off the side of the bed and lowered my knees to the floor. I carefully slid the rest of my body down and was soon kneeling on the carpet. The position seemed more comfortable than the hogtie, and I remained motionless for several minutes. I wondered if I could move into the bathroom while kneeling. I decided I could and that it would be more comfortable than crawling in a hogtie position. But there was a problem.

 

When the keys fell from the ice timer they would land in a bowl. I had practiced recovering the keys from the bowl while lying down in a hogtie, but not while kneeling as I now was. To be certain of release I therefore had to be lying on the floor in the bathroom. To get from my bound kneeling position onto the floor I had to fall over. The corset that held my body in its rigid grip would permit no other way. The nails on my hips prevented a sideways fall, and if I tried to fall onto my back I might tighten my handcuffs. The only option was to fall forwards onto my face, a frightening prospect. I had placed a pillow on the floor next to the bed to soften this fall. But there was no soft cushion in the bathroom, only hard ceramic tiles.

 

I knelt for a long time wondering if I had any other choices, but decided that my original plan of falling onto the pillow then crawling into the bathroom was the best. I moved forwards until I felt the pillow touch my knees and then, summoning up my courage, I fell forwards onto it.

 

The fall was more frightening than painful.

 

I lay on the soft comfort of the pillow for a while before deciding it was time to start my journey to the bathroom. I had no idea what the time was, but suspected that I still had some hours before the timer released the keys. However the journey into the bathroom was likely to be a slow and strenuous one requiring frequent rests, so the sooner I started the better. I wriggled off the pillow onto the carpeted floor.

 

Once on the floor I began to inch my way along. The main problem here was carpet burns, so I moved very slowly to try to minimize them. If I was careless I might force my top down exposing the skin on my shoulders. Another problem was that the hard floor was squashing my balls, and to relieve the pressure I tried to raise my hips increasing the force on my handcuffs, and shoulders and bending my back against the corset.

 

Being blind made my progress difficult, but the difficulty was probably more psychological than real. If I got completely lost and disoriented I could always follow the anchor chain back to its anchor point, orientate myself, and then head into the bathroom. During my journey to the bathroom I collided with one unexpected wall, but correctly guessed which wall it was and redirected my squirming.

 

Eventually I made it into the bathroom and my head touched the bowl that I had placed under the ice timer to catch the drips. There was a towel in the bowl to soak up the water. Consequently it was difficult to hear the dripping that indicated the ice was still melting and the keys had not yet been released. The keys would fall onto this towel. This ensured they wouldn't bounce and become difficult to locate or impossible to retrieve. When blindfolded I know I can find my way around my house but am less certain of locating small objects.

 

I listened carefully and heard the slow drip of water. This meant that the ice had not melted and so the keys could not have fallen. There was not much I could do until they fell, so I tried to relax. Thus began my vigil waiting for the keys to drop. I knew I would hear them; they would make a kind of splat sound when they hit the wet towel.

 

My vigil was not a comfortable one, my balls were being crushed on the hard unrelenting tiled surface, not gently squashed on the soft cotton sheets and mattress of my bed. The hogtie was causing pain in my knees, thighs, arms and shoulders. The gag was making my jaw ache and the tension in the rope was pulling the handcuffs down and hurting my wrists.

 

Painful boring hours slowly passed, the only entertainment being counting the drips of water. I tried telling myself, "Only a hundred more drips and the keys will fall." But the hundreds stretched into thousands and still the keys did not fall. My body was now in real pain, and I wished I could get back onto the bed, but that was impossible. My hogtie condemned me to the floor. That was my world; a purely horizontal one. I could aspire to no higher.

 

It seemed that I had been lying on the cruel hard floor for several hours when I became aware that the dripping had stopped. It had been slowing for some time but now had stopped completely. But I hadn't heard the keys fall. I could not believe that the keys hadn't fallen; my ice timer had always been one hundred percent reliable. I thought that I must have dozed off, unlikely as it seemed in my painful condition.

 

I moved over to the bowl, held the rim with my hands and tipped it towards me. This was a tricky maneuver, but one that I had practiced. I had to extract the towel with the keys, then find the keys with my hands without letting them drop to the floor. If that happened I would have to lie on my side to recover them, a painful alternative. I carefully searched through the towel, not once but three times, until I was convinced they were not there. I tipped the bowl up, but the keys were not inside. I carefully moved sideways over the bathroom floor, trying to find them with my body. After squirming about for what seemed like hours, but in retrospect was probably only about half an hour, I became convinced that the keys were not on the floor and must be somehow hung up in the ice timer.

 

I began to panic. I had precluded every method of escape other than these keys. Even the telephone was beyond the limits of my anchor chain, not that I could reach it from my hogtie position. "Oh god!" I thought, "I'm going to die." I was not expecting any visitors, and any that came would leave when I failed to answer the door. If friends telephoned and I did not answer, they would simply assume I was out, perhaps on a spur of the moment vacation. Even when I did not show up for work they would do nothing more than try to reach me a couple of times by telephone. I saw no possibility of outside help. A weird feeling of arousal came over me and, had my penis not been bent down by my chastity belt, I think I would have had an orgasm.

 

I wondered how long I could survive without food or water. In my panic I thought about sucking water from the damp towel to keep myself alive. I thought that I might live for about a week, dying a horrible painful death. I scrabbled at the nylon rope with my fingers trying to find a knot I could undo, but this was impossible, I had melted all the knots. Foolishly I jerked on the rope trying to break it, but it was much too strong and I only succeeded in hurting my wrists and hands as the handcuffs were forced down.

 

I tried to calm myself and reassure myself that everything was going to be all right, "Don't be silly, there's a knife downstairs. You're going to cut yourself free. You're going to live to tell the tale." I vowed to myself that if I did live, I would never put myself in a hogtie again. To reinforce this vow I also resolved to tell someone about it, or at least write to them so that they could tell me how stupid I am. I live in California, just outside Los Angeles, and people do a lot of stupid things here, but my behavior went far beyond stupidity.

 

I wriggled my way out of the bathroom to the top of the stairs. This seemed to take several hours since I had to stop and rest every few inches. A whole lot of things were hurting, even the front of my shoulders where they had been in contact with the floor as I squirmed along. My knees were killing me, and my thighs, wrists, shoulders, upper arms, jaw and balls were all very painful. My hands were tingling from the pressure of the handcuffs. At least my skirt prevented my balls from being scraped on the floor, it was just the pressure from the strap around their base and from being squashed by my weight that hurt them. I also needed to make pee.

 

I stopped at the top of the stairs. The prospect of descending them while bound in a hogtie was terrifying. The steps were wood and were uncarpeted. I had read an account on the Internet in which someone had descended basement steps in a hogtie on their back, their heels somehow catching the edges of the steps. It seemed their hogtie might have been looser than mine. The heels of my shoes, being so long, might break off if I tried to do that, and I didn't think I could get enough leverage from them to support myself. Bedsides, I had not double-locked my handcuffs, so lying on my back might force them tight cutting off circulation to my hands. If I tried to go down on my front I couldn't see how I could stop myself sliding all the way down and ripping my exposed balls off. It occurred to me that even if I had the second set of keys I might have attached them to the ice timer at the bottom of the stairs, so they would also be inaccessible.

 

The stairs were a trap, if I started down and found I couldn't make progress I would be stuck. I would never be able to get back up again. And what if the knife hadn't fallen? Or was somehow out of my reach? I would be absolutely stuck with nowhere to go. I decided the stairs were too dangerous.

 

I tried to relax and think of an alternative escape plan. The first step seemed to be to find something sharp with which to cut the rope joining my handcuffs to my ankle chain. The lower cupboard in the bathroom contained nothing suitable; only soap, toilet paper, and various plastic bottles. I had carefully sanitized the contents. Similarly the bottom drawer in the chest in my bedroom contained only soft clothes such as socks and shorts. There wasn't even a belt with a sharp buckle I could use. The anchor chain was long enough to allow me to enter the second bedroom, but that was closed with a stout wooden door. There was no way for me to reach the door handle. I tried to imagine myself forcing it open by banging my head against it or pressing my knees against it, and realized I could never open it that way. Even if I could have opened it I didn't think there was a knife within reach, I had moved all my tools to the far side.

 

I tried to think what other objects might be available to me. I thought that if I could reach something electrical plugged into the wall I might be able to use the metal prongs of the plug to abrade the rope. My bedroom contained a small bedside table on which was a clock radio and lamp, but these were on the far side of the bed and beyond the reach of the anchor chain, even if I could have somehow moved the bed or crawled under it.

 

I wondered if the keys had fallen. Since I had heard nothing I decided they had not. I had moved the bowl so that they would fall directly onto the tiled floor and make a loud noise.

 

I prayed. I'm not much of a believer but I was now in desperate straights.

Suddenly I remembered that the corners of the padlocks securing the fetters around my ankles were angular, perhaps I could use them to cut or abrade the rope. I struggled for several minutes trying to reach and get a grip on the padlocks but could only just touch them with my fingers, there was no way I would ever be able to use them on the rope.

 

I lay still, recovering from the struggle and trying to think what else I might use. I could feel the tips of my stiletto heels. They were rubber and consequently of little use. But what if I could break the heel? That might leave a sharp edge that I could use to attack the rope. I grabbed my right heel and, using all my strength tried to break it off the shoe. But it was too strong for me.

 

The effort I expended on the heel left me panting with exhaustion, or as near to panting as one can get with a gag-filled mouth and a chest compressed with a corset.

 

My wrists and knees had suffered during these struggles. My wrists were simply painful, having been bruised by the handcuffs, but my knees were demanding to be straightened and given relief from the agonizing position of being bent for so long.

 

I was running out of ideas when suddenly I realized that I might be able to remove the rubber tips from my stiletto heels. These were within easy reach of my fingers. I started by attacking the tip of my right heel, but it was hard rubber and resisted my efforts to remove it.

 

I rested my tired fingers then attacked the tip of my left heel. I thought I felt I give a little so redoubled my efforts. In a little while I succeeded in removing the rubber tip. I felt the end of the heel with my fingers; it was sharp!

 

Hope surged through me for the first time in an hour; I could use the end of the heel to cut through the rope. Using my fingers I began to rub the rope against it. It was difficult, and put an extra strain on my wrists, but I persisted; it seemed like the only way to freedom.

 

After rubbing for a few minutes, I felt the surface of the rope. It was rough so I knew I was making progress! I was encouraged and motivated so resumed rubbing. Although I was anxious to sever the rope as quickly as I could, the strain on my wrists and hands compelled me to rest at frequent intervals.

 

My need to pee was becoming urgent and I could no longer ignore it. I decided to pee on the bathroom floor since it would be easier to clean up. I crawled painfully into the bathroom and made pee while lying on the floor. I felt both ashamed and relieved as the warm wetness reached the front of my thighs.

 

I resumed rubbing the rope on my heel. After doing this for what seemed like hours, I realized I was not making progress. I had worn the edges of the heel down so it was no longer sharp, it had become rounded and smooth.

 

I sank into depression. All that hard work was for nothing!

 

I tried to move away from my pee, which had become cold, but my skirt was wet and it didn't help. I felt disgusted that I was spreading a smear of urine over the floor.

 

I couldn't relax, my bondage was now just too painful. I cursed myself for my idiocy and lack of foresight. I hate to admit it, but I came close to crying. I think the emotion was the base one of self-pity. I picked futilely at the rope with the remains of my fingernails, but could make no progress.

 

I decided to pray again. I prayed very hard for the keys to fall. But they didn't.

 

I lay there trying to relieve the pressure on different parts of my anatomy. This was a cruel self-torture since slightly reducing the pain in any one part of my body seemed to greatly increase it in another. Some aches, such as that in my jaw, could not be relieved no matter what I did. My gag was making me drool, and I was very thirsty.

 

Suddenly a possible solution popped into my consciousness. My subconscious must have been busy trying to find another way to escape, and now it had found one. The ballpoint pen that I had used to poke my penis into the penis tube had a metal clip. I thought I had left the pen lying on the bed. If I could reach it, I might be able to break the clip off and use the broken end, which would hopefully be sharp, to cut the rope.

 

With renewed hope I crawled into the bedroom. My shoulders, thighs and forehead hurt painfully and I imagined I was leaving a trail of blood across the carpet.

 

I bumped into the side of my bed, reached up and managed to grab the edge of the bedcover. I was not optimistic about the outcome, I could not remember where I had left the pen. Even if it were now on the bedcover I was not sure I would be able to retrieve it. Fortunately the bedcover was not tucked in so I was able to pull it with my hands. I was hoping that the pen would fall directly into them. I was not sure how I would find it or retrieve it if it did not.

 

I was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to pull the bedcover in a bunch towards my hands when I felt something land on my back. I assumed it was the pen and a tremendous feeling of relief swept through me. I felt that escape from this torture was now at hand. The pen was resting between my shoulder blades, half on my skin and half on my top which seemed to have been pulled down a little by my crawling. I couldn't resist stretching my hands up as far as I could, but of course it was far out of my reach. I thought that if I could only raise my head and body it would slide down towards my waiting hands, but I could not.

 

I tried rocking my body; attempting to get my head high enough to make the pen slide down, but the only thing I managed to do was crush my testicles. Getting the pen off my back was going to be harder than I had imagined.

 

I gripped my top and pulled it down hoping to move the pen towards my hands. It didn't seem to be working; I could still feel it on my skin. I pulled harder, bunching the material of the top in my hands. I heard a ripping sound: the seams at the shoulders had given way! The pen was still between my shoulder blades; it must have started off mostly on my skin.

 

I reassessed my situation. In my struggles I had released the bedcover. I thought that if I could retrieve it I might be able to maneuver my body under it and brush the pen off. But I worried that the pen might then become inextricably lost in its folds. I could imagine myself searching unsuccessfully for hours. I didn't think I had hours left; it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to move. Movement meant pain, and my motivation to overcome that pain was weakening.

 

I thought the safest way would be to move clear of the bedcover, roll over to deposit the pen on the carpet, move up and then roll over to pick it up with my fingers. Accordingly I moved away from the bed.

 

The prospect of rolling over frightened me. The nails at my hips were an inch long and very sharp, I had sharpened them myself with a file. If I lay on them their wounds would be no mere pinpricks, they would stick deeply into my flesh. I wondered if I might be able to bunch up the bedcover to act as a support to keep my hip off the ground when I rolled, but I didn't see how I could successfully arrange it. I thought I might be able to use the pillow that was on the floor for the same purpose.

 

In the end I decided not to use either of them, the bedcover seemed impossible to arrange, and I would have to roll over to just to grab the pillow. Instead I thought that when I rolled over I could take my weight on my knee and shoulder and try to keep my hip off the carpet, and this is what I finally did. The first time I couldn't roll, my knee was too far back. By straining and bending my thighs I managed to roll partly over and felt the pen slide off. I rolled back onto my front and rested, then squirmed forward until I judged the pen was level with my hands. I rolled over partly onto my back, keeping my weight off my hip, but I couldn't feel the pen. I rolled back onto my stomach and lay panting to recover from the strenuous and painful effort.

 

I had to start over. I was crying with frustration. I moved up and squirmed sideways till I felt the pen under my thighs. I moved down till it was under my balls, then I moved sideways again. I tried to calculate where my fingers would be when I rolled, and how far sideways I had to move. I hoped my skirt hadn't moved the pen after I had located it. After saying another prayer (yes, I was praying an awful lot for a non-believer) I rolled over again and was very relieved when my fingers touched the pen. I picked it up, rolled back onto my stomach, and rested. I held tightly onto the pen; it seemed like the single most valuable thing in the world.

 

I tore the clip off, bending it back and forth to break it. Holding the clip very carefully, I was afraid that if I dropped it I would never be able to locate and pick it up again, I started scratching at the rope.

 

Progress was slow. I think I lapsed into a kind of trance, scratching and resting, trying to ignore all my pains and just concentrate on the rope. I could feel that the rope was thinning and this encouraged me to keep working.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

Some time later, it seemed like hours, I felt the rope give way and my ankles spring back. My knees experienced a tremendous surge of relief and the pain in them largely abated. My mind experienced a resurgence of hope.

 

But I was far from free. I couldn't immediately straighten my legs, my knees hurt too much. I had to flex them slowly back and forth.

The next task was to stand up; I was tired of lying on the floor. But getting to a standing position is difficult in a corset, ultra high heels, closely chained fetters, handcuffs and blindfold. It was made more difficult by the penalty of failure. I didn't want to fall; sideways, backward or forwards were all dangerous, painful or both. The first step was to get into a kneeling position. I can normally do this by bracing my forehead against the floor and walking my knees forward. However, when I tried to do this I found I was too weak. I decided to rest. Now that my legs were relatively free I could turn a little to one side and avoid lying too heavily on my balls.

 

I fell asleep.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

When I awoke felt stiff but refreshed. My upper arms and jaw were hurting, but my legs felt better. I was both surprised and pleased that I had fallen asleep. Pleased since it is always difficult to sleep in bondage and it gives me a sense of accomplishment.

 

My feeling of pleasure was abruptly terminated when I realized that I had no feeling in my right hand nor in the left side of my left hand. I painfully flexed my arms and was relieved when I eventually felt a tingling sensation in my numb fingers.

 

I lay still, massaging my right hand to restore circulation and feeling. I had no idea how long I had been sleeping, nor what day it was. I thought it was probably Monday. They would note my absence at work, but would do nothing about it. They would assume I was ill. I was supposed to notify my boss if I wasn't coming it, but he was on vacation. Nobody would realize that my absence was unplanned till the following week when my boss returned, and then he would probably assume I had also gone on vacation. The only enquiry I might expect was a telephone call to the house.

 

Once my hands had recovered sensation and had stopped tingling, I felt strong enough to make another attempt to stand up. Placing my head on the floor I walked my knees forward and was eventually able to lift my body into a kneeling position. Attempting to stand directly from this position was too dangerous in my unstable shoes, so I walked on my knees searching for the bed. It took a little while to find since I was disoriented. When I finally found it I leaned on it and was able to get to my feet and stand up. It felt wonderful. I felt human again.

 

I needed to make pee again. It's amazing how one needs to urinate when one is desperately thirsty. Accordingly I carefully shuffled into the bathroom, lowered the toilet seat and sat down. As I made pee I carefully considered my next move. Sitting on the toilet felt peculiar, and not only because of my chastity belt. My high heels forced my thighs to point up, whereas normally they are horizontal. But maybe you're not interested in such trivia. I'll try to move my story along a bit faster; I've still got a lot to tell.

 

I thought about how I might release my bonds. I could now walk downstairs and pick up my knife. But with my hands handcuffed behind my back I couldn't reach my head harness to cut it off. Although some people can step through their handcuffs to bring their hands to their front, I knew I couldn't even come close to doing so. About the only bonds I could reach were the chains of my chastity belt, and I didn't think the knife would have any effect on them. In order to release myself I had to gain access to the keys, and to do that I at least needed to be able to see.

 

I considered the problem of removing my blindfold. My head harness was very strong and made of double-stitched leather straps. It had a ring on top intended for securing my head and was designed to take considerable stress. However the blindfold was separate and not as strong. It was secured to the side straps of the harness with small loops which I thought I might be able to break.

 

I stood up, flushed the toilet and walked to the chest of drawers in my bedroom. I managed to pull the top drawer open a few inches. I bent down and hooked the top corner of the drawer under the side strap of my blindfold. I carefully forced my head down. I gradually put more pressure on it until it was supporting my whole weight. It didn't break; it simply pulled the blindfold tighter. I tried hooking the drawer under the front of the blindfold. I managed to move it up a little, exposing my eyes to the dazzling bright light of the room. I could move it up far enough to see my feet, but not enough to see straight ahead. The corner of the drawer was scraping me as I worked. I didn't think I was bleeding, but it was painful and I worried about hurting my eyes. Since my attempts to push the front up didn't seem to be succeeding, I decided to resume my attack on the side loop. I needed to remove the blindfold completely in order to see what had happened to the keys.

 

I hooked the drawer under the strap again and began to bounce up and down, putting my weight on the strap. I thought I heard something beginning to break so bounced harder.

 

Suddenly it gave way. I fell to the floor, first on my bottom, then rolled onto my back. I heard the ominous clicking of my handcuffs as they closed tightly around my wrists.

 

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I screamed into my gag. This was the very thing I had been trying to avoid for the last few days. I felt I was now truly doomed. My hands would become numb, and even if I managed to get the keys, I would be unable to unlock the handcuffs. I was condemned to die, to starve to death chained up in my own house.

 

I forced my bottom off the floor to avoid pressing on my handcuffs then, supporting myself on my head and shoulders, rolled over onto my front.

 

At least I could now see. The remnants of my blindfold dangled down one side of my face. I flexed my hands and fingers, I could still move them. I got to my feet then shuffled into the bathroom, more quickly now that I could see, but still slowly so that I wouldn't fall. The trick to standing and walking in the ridiculous shoes of mine was keeping my weight forward on the broad front part of the shoe and not on the pointy stiletto heel.

 

I looked up at the ceiling. My keys were hanging there, tantalizingly out of reach. I could neither climb up to reach them, nor had I a pole or any suitable object with which to poke them.

 

I turned my attention to quenching my thirst. I closed the sink drain and turned the cold water on. When the sink was almost full, I bent down and buried my face in the water, sucking it in around my gag. I had to stand upright to swallow, and could only manage a little water at a time. My high heels meant that I had to bend down a long way and this made water enter my nose. It took a long time to satisfy my thirst.

 

I thought about breaking the rest of my head harness the way I had broken the blindfold. But decided it was too difficult and too dangerous. The straps were much stronger than the side loop that had held the blindfold, and they were tight against my skin. Also I did not want to risk falling on my back again. I flexed my fingers, they still seemed OK. I began to hope that the handcuffs had not tightened too much and would not to cut off circulation.

 

Suddenly I got an intestinal camp, I had to shit! But this was impossible with the large butt plug chained firmly into my ass. I realized I had to get free quickly unless I was to have major long-term effects from this bondage session.

 

The only way to get the keys to fall seemed to be to throw something at them. I picked up a bar of soap with my hands and threw it upwards. The result was pathetic, even humorous, it did not even get as high as my head. I tried throwing a few more objects with no better result. The floor was beginning to look messy.

 

My legs had more freedom of movement than my arms, so I thought I might me able to lie face down on the floor and throw something up with my feet. I managed to do this, but getting into position each time was a formidable task. I held various objects, a bar of soap, a shampoo bottle, between my shoes, lay down on my front and jerked my legs up and released the objects. The heavy anchor chain impeded the force of my throw. I made more than a dozen attempts, but as far as I could tell never got anywhere near the ceiling.

 

All these exertions had made me tired so I shuffled to my bed and lay down to rest. I began to doze but was awaked by another powerful and excruciating cramp. I walked to the bathroom and tried to pull the butt plug out. I could get it a little way out, just so that its widest part fully stretched my sphincter. I cried in anger, pain, and frustration.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

The gag was making my jaw hurt so much that I decided to make a serious attempt to remove it. Since it was leather I though I might somehow be able to cut it off with the knife. I carefully walked down the stairs holding onto the banister so that I wouldn't fall. As I descended the anchor chain rattled noisily down and I thought I had named it well. I had the bitter satisfaction of seeing that the ice timer had worked to perfection and the knife was lying on the floor. With some effort I lay down and picked it up. I carried it upstairs and tried to wedge the handle in the top drawer of the chest so that the blade stuck out. My intention was to use the exposed blade to cut the leather strap securing my gag. But I could not secure the knife firmly enough.

 

I managed to open the door to the second bedroom and entered hoping to find something I could use. The only things the anchor chain would allow me to reach were a filing cabinet and a cupboard. The filing cabinet contained papers, and the cupboard contained bondage toys and equipment, the last thing I needed. Nevertheless I opened it and examined the contents to see if I could use anything, either for poking the keys or removing my head harness. But there was nothing. There was a whip, and had it been longer I could imagine myself standing in the bathroom holding it behind my back in my handcuffed hands and attempting to whip the keys off the ceiling!

 

The file cabinet drawers were metal, and I thought I might be able to use the corners to pry off my gag, or at least damage it. But I was unsuccessful. The soft rubber of the ball gag was protected by the heavy leather front piece of my head harness and I could not get past it, all I succeeded in doing was scraping my chin. I abandoned hope of removing my gag and resigned myself to suffering its torturous presence for the duration of my bondage, and perhaps for the rest of my life.

 

I gave up trying to escape; I had run out of ideas. I tried to console myself by getting sexually aroused. I tried rubbing my balls gently against the bed, but the strap around their base made this painful with little compensatory sexual feeling. I tried rhythmically pressing the front shield of my chastity belt against the corner of a drawer, but my penis, firmly trapped its downwards-pointing tube, could not respond. This action did generate a sexual feeling, but it was more like sexual frustration then sexual arousal. I dared not do anything with the butt plug lest it trigger one of the excruciating cramps.

 

My life began to settle into a routine; drinking from the sink, peeing in the toilet, and trying to rest between agonizing cramps. There was little else I could do, my clock radio was out of my reach, so I had no idea what day it was. To relieve the boredom I walked about and went down and up the stairs a few times. But my feet began to hurt and I could not stand for very long. I became careless and fell down twice. The first time was onto my bottom, but somehow I managed to avoid falling back onto my hands and further tightening the handcuffs. The second time I fell partially onto my right side and felt sharp pains as half a dozen nails were driven into my hip. Fortunately it was a glancing blow and I didn't think they penetrated far. But I became very concerned about falling and took to walking about on my knees unless it was necessary for me to stand.

 

I felt desperately hungry and even tried to eat the soap. I managed to get a very small piece past my gag. It didn't taste as bad as I had imagined.

 

The phone rang a few times, and there were even a couple of visitors who rang the front doorbell. I could do nothing about either.

 

The pains continued. I thought the knee pains had been bad, but the periodic intestinal cramps were far worse. They caused my whole body to seize up. I felt I could stand the other pains in my body, but became afraid of these cramps.

 

The only good news was my hands. Apart from an occasional tingling, which I could cure by moving to a new position, circulation was not cut off and I could still move my fingers.

 

I went into a definite physical and mental decline. My response to pain began to lessen and I lost track of the days. I gave up all thought or expectation of escape and lapsed into a kind of pain-filled depression. The days began to blur together and it is difficult for me to remember any specific events

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

One day I was sitting on the toilet, not thinking of anything in particular when I felt a movement. No, not within me; the house was shaking. It was an earthquake! After a few seconds, as the shaking continued, I heard the most wonderful sound of all, the sound of keys hitting the bathroom floor. I bowed my head and thanked God for my deliverance. I waited until the shaking stopped and got up to retrieve my keys. The quake was not a strong one, perhaps a four, but it was strong enough.

 

I lay down and picked up the keys. After a lengthy struggle, for the handcuffs were tight, I managed to get them off. Freeing myself from the rest of my bondage was easy but painful.

 

I discovered that it was Monday. I had been in bondage for over a week. It took me two days to recover sufficiently to fulfill my promise and write this email to you.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

 

The author welcomes comments and may be contacted at: abraXXnk@gmail.com

(Delete the two Xs before sending, they are included as an antispam device)

 

 

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Additional information:

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Details of the chastity belt used in this story can be found here.