The Observer
Some Assistance
After my near-miss experience trapped behind a closed door during a bondage adventure, I had resolved to find someone who could act as a backup in case I ever got stuck again, especially after the miraculous means to finally escape from my self-induced trap. Much as I was addicted to my bondage adventures I didn’t care to prematurely end my life in that endeavor.
The most logical place to start looking was at the monthly meeting of the local BDSM club. I wasn’t a frequent attendee, since my interests only marginally aligned with the regular members. Still, it was safer than running a personal ad online. Even if there wasn’t a full moon, an ad was guaranteed to bring out the mental cases.
The first two meetings were a bust, though I was able to spread the word among those I considered stable and reliable. The third meeting I was introduced to a woman who only gave out her first name, Sally. Scant personal details were common in that type of setting, so I didn’t find it odd. She was a newcomer though she had quickly gained a reputation as someone who did not directly participate, in the physical sense. Her kink, if that was the proper term, was the quiet conversation. The times when one of the members would be tightly bound she would sit with the willing victim, talking and listening to pass the time and ward off boredom. It did seem weird to me, but hey, considering the subject everyone was a little bit on the strange side.
The majority of member comments about her were positive. She never touched anyone, especially the helpless, which was considered to be common courtesy. She didn’t pry about personal details, yet more than a few had mentioned she had a talent for drawing out secrets. The consensus was she must be a mental health therapist, if not a full-fledged psychiatrist.
Somewhat troubling was the gossip that referred to her as “Psycho Sally”, someone who was disturbed but hid it well. I didn’t give the negatives too much credence. There will always be personality clashes in our imperfect world. Even the most outspoken of her critics admitted she never broke the club rules. True, she was secretive, but given the nature of our activities this was understandable. Sexual kinks, a nice euphemism for perversions, weren’t exactly high on society’s list of approved activities. We all relied on the discretion of fellow members to keep our identities confidential.
My Proposal
I met Sally at one of those bondage get-togethers. I rarely went but I happened to be displaying some of my mechanical inventions, in particular the “Rod of Discipline”, which for some reason proved to be quite popular with some of the regulars. Maybe it was the name. She struck up a conversation, asking some highly knowledgeable questions about my design approach. While we talked I discovered she was a first-class expert on all the myriad ways one can exert physical control over the human form. Her knowledge of human physiology spoke of a medical background.
The next meeting I approached Sally during a pause in the activities, when she was sitting by herself. I again introduced myself and asked if I could join her. She graciously pointed to a nearby chair.
Without any of the usual small talk I went right to the heart of the matter. I was committed to self-bondage and wasn’t looking for a partner in that respect. I told her of my close call at getting dangerously stuck, and subsequent revelation that I needed someone to be my emergency backup. What I sought was an observer, present if I ran into another hazardous situation, but otherwise someone who would remain in the background, unobtrusive, watchful but silent.
She asked a few pointed questions. My answers must have been acceptable, for she agreed to my request. She was adamant about there being no emotional attachments, which was fine with me. I wasn’t looking for romance or a romp in bed.
So began my association with Sally. We started out with a few sessions in my basement. True to her promise she either sat in a corner of the room or waited outside in the hallway while I did my thing. I have to admit there were times I felt like a bug being inspected under a microscope, although she never offered any remarks about how I could possibly enjoy flopping around on the floor while draped in chains.
Her presence did encourage me to take more risks. I suppose it was the result of building trust between us. I never reached the point where I needed her intervention, though I pushed the edge more than once. She had a knack for figuring out when I was close to the line, at which point she was always nearby. I always managed to free myself, yet I found myself depending on her more and more even though I hadn’t required her assistance.
After the last session she made some suggestions about being more adventurous. Her arguments were intriguing and caught my full attention. She was right in pointing out I was in a rut. Her idea of a change in location, and an innovative approach to using my favorite restraints, convinced me to give it a try.
Wiser heads would be quick to point out how foolish I was to be so easily influenced by a stranger. Her reticence concerning her history should have raised all kinds of red flags. Perhaps I was caught up in the moment, excited at expanding my horizons and so not thinking clearly. In my defense I had to admit there was something disarming about Sally that made one want to trust her.
The Location
The Ideal Spot
The gate with the “No Trespass Private” sign faded in the rearview mirror. The road ended not much further on. I parked the camper van in a flat spot under the shade of some trees. Steep hills rose all around, keeping out the prying eyes of hikers who ignored the fences. Not that anyone would have a reason to be out here in the wild, far from any public roads.
Sally had made all the arrangements. She knew the land owner, had rented the van for the weekend, and even stocked it up with supplies. The van was spacious, with one bed in the back and a convertible second bed where the dining table was located. That worked out well. I wasn’t looking to share sleeping arrangements with Sally. Sure, she would see me in nothing more than my birthday suit, but she was an adult and not so easily shocked at the sight of a naked body.
I was still a bit self-conscious about using a woman as my backup, but she assured me it would not be a problem. All she asked for, in return for being the figure in the shadows, was an opportunity to talk to me at some point in my adventure. This seemed to be entirely reasonable to me.
There was still a nagging little voice in the back of my head warning about the risks involved in placing so much faith in someone who really was a stranger. I knew nothing about Sally or her background, which should have raised some concerns. Still, she was persuasive. She had valid answers to all my questions. Her one stipulation, the desire to talk to me during my period of bondage, didn’t strike me as worrisome. After all, I’d seen her engage in the same activity at the BDSM club meetings, although she’d never actually talked to me in my adventures up to now.
Stakes
The hill faced to the west. The downward slope was gentle, exactly what I was looking for. The ground was firm but not rocky, which should provide a solid foundation for the stakes. I had brought along some long auger style poles, the kind that looked like giant screws, that had to be placed at a precise distance apart. I started in with the first one, twisting it in with the help of a broom handle in the ring atop what looked like a giant wood screw. These were heavy duty stakes, meant to hold down large tents in high winds. They were nearly the length of my lower arm, with the auger running all the way up to a square plate underneath the tie down ring. It was no easy task to screw it all the way down to the ground plate. I yanked on the ring a few times when I finished. It definitely wasn’t going anywhere.
Using a tape measure I paced off the second spot down the slope, being careful to keep the tape in a straight line. In went the second auger stake, all the way to the ground plate. Using my Mark One eyeball estimator I concluded they were in alignment, descending straight down the side of the hill.
The third stake went into the ground between the first two, above the lower anchor point on the hill, about two-thirds the length of my “Rod Of Discipline”. This addition had a special purpose, what I like to think of as “keeping me on the straight and narrow path.” If it worked as planned it would impose a new dimension on restricting my movements.
This was a crazy, stupid idea, but if I pulled it off it would be a memorable experience. If it didn’t work, well, that would be a different kind of experience. At least I would have Sally present to rescue me if it went terribly wrong. Whatever the outcome I was determined to see it through.
This was a complete departure from my usual adventures. First of all I had left the safety of my basement for open skies, thanks in part to Sally’s convincing argument about tearing down inhibitions. The idea of being fully exposed, in all my unclothed glory, did trouble me. Sure, the chance of a stranger showing up in this remote spot was far more than one in a million. That didn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen. People win lotteries when the odds are hundreds of millions to one.
And then there was the truly terrifying prospect of being trapped between those ground stakes. This wasn’t going to be a situation where, worst case, I could crawl up the basement steps and try to make it outside the house so I’d be rescued from an embarrassing but non-fatal misadventure. If I couldn’t free myself from being staked out, and Sally didn’t come to my aid, the hillside would be my final resting place. Someone would eventually find what was left of me, after a few months. By then I’d be another grim statistic.
I went back to the van to retrieve what I called my toolbox, which contained the metallic restraints and keys. I also picked up a cardboard box containing the leather goods. My preparations would be much the same as other occasions. The only major variation would involve my hands.
After shedding my clothes I settled down to taping up my ankles and wrists. The padding with the aluminum foil strips laminated between tape layers was essential to prevent bruising. Next I added the four pairs of shortened leg irons to secure my legs at the ankle. Idly I speculated on how long it would take me to walk back to the highway with my ankles shackled together so closely. While staring at my bare feet the answer became depressingly obvious. My boots wouldn’t fit over the cuffs. Without shoes I doubt I’d last an hour on the gravel road.
One pair of shackles was enough, two was enhanced security, but four pairs were far in excess of what was needed. I didn’t care. I loved the feel of four steel rings tightly securing my ankles in an unbreakable metal embrace.
Over the cuffs I placed the custom security cover. I was justly proud of how well it worked. It completely enclosed the body of all four pairs of cuffs encircling my ankles, covering the keyholes. While it was installed there was no way to open the leg irons. The two halves of the cover were milled from a solid aluminum alloy billet, at considerable expense and machining time. The hinge used a steel pin that was flattened at each end with my hydraulic press. The lock’s internal hasp was also steel. Every time I used it I had to stop and admire my work.
After that I put on the cock cage. The cage and security cover were the two endpoints for one of my nastier designs, the “Rod Of Discipline”, the solid steel rod and outer tube linking a single handcuff locked around the base of the cage to a slot in the ankle cover box. Once in place there was very little slack, meaning I had to keep my legs bent in a precise right angle or suffer a painful admonishment from the most sensitive part of my male anatomy.
After the cuff end was locked around the base of the cock cage, I slid on the outer tube from the far end. Once in place the shroud on the near end of the tube blocked access to the cage cuff so it could not be removed. I screwed on the end cap at the far end of the inner bar, which clamped the outer tube in place.
I wrapped the leather belts around my knees, above and below the kneecaps, to ensure my legs stayed together. A ring attached to both straps, suspended below my knees, would be used to support the heavy weight of the rod and outer tube cover. Before hooking the far end of the bar to my ankles I first inched my way up the slope of the hill until the free end of the rod was above that third, middle stake.
Here’s where I deviated from my usual preparations. Using my hands I guided the rod through the rings of both lower stakes while sliding back down the slope. When the end cap on the rod bumped up against my ankles I quickly mated the rod to the slot in the security cover and secured it with a padlock.
I backed up the slope until the lowest stake bumped up against my ankles. Perfect, I had my legs in my favorite position, but also fixed to the ground. At that point I added the tension chain from my knees down to the rod cover. A little bit of testing proved the dual stakes blocked any side-to-side movement, as well as an attempt to raise my feet. There would be no rolling over on my side without considerable pain. The spacing between the stake rings, above and below my upraised knees, guaranteed my upright legs would stay rooted in place.
Of course I could still shift up and down the hill, albeit not very far. The next step would be to rectify that unwanted bit of freedom.
Isolation
I wouldn’t need a waist belt since my hands were going to be cuffed in front. Nor did I need to pin my elbows, since my arms would be extended over my head. Reluctantly I inserted the gag in my mouth and cinched tight the straps behind my head. Given where I was, the gag wasn’t needed, there was no one to hear me, but as much as I hated it, being rendered incommunicado brought such a delicious feeling of pleasurable frustration I submitted to its cruel abuse time and again.
The leather hood went over my head and down to my neck. I shifted it around to line up the breathing vent with the gag. The pinhole lenses were still screwed in, cutting down my field of view to a tiny window to the outside world. The heavy leather posture collar was the last component in my suite of tools for controlling my head. It completely covered my neck, plus it had an upturned chin rest to keep my head raised and tilted back.
When I laid down on my back I had a clear view of a small section of sky, and that was all. I could raise up on my arms and look around by twisting at the waist, though if I went too far to either side the rod under my legs asserted its inflexibility and put a swift stop to further effort.
I reached into the toolbox and brought out both pairs of high security chain handcuffs. I’d grown to prefer the Australian police design over hinged cuffs. The pin tumbler locks with the top keyway on the cuff body appealed to me. They were easier to open compared to regular cuffs, and the heftier weight served as a reminder they were present. Each pair had a key inserted on one side. The keys were unique, so once I had both pairs locked on my wrists it required two keys to free myself. It was that extra security that convinced me to switch from cuffs with a standard key.
Along with the handcuffs I took out the matching custom-made security covers, plus a length of chain with a ring on one end and at the other end that special oblong bar, called a “Martin Link”, used to fasten security covers in place. One end of the link was attached to the chain with an oversize chain link that wouldn’t pass through the cover slits. A long oval was cut out of the center of the bar. I also had my “linchpin”, an armored high security padlock with a shroud around the hasp to interfere with bolt cutters. It was bulky and heavy, with one of those European pick resistant locks along with a dust-cover over the keyway.
I placed the first set of cuffs on my wrists and slowly tightened the bows. There was something about the click of the ratchet that sounded so final. From experience I knew just where to stop. I turned the key to double-lock position, removed it and double-locked the other side. A quick tug verified the cuffs were in good working order. I dropped the key back into the toolbox.
It was simple to add the security covers one at a time when working from the front. All I had to do was hold it over the top of the cuffs and push down. It easily slid into place, covering the keyways and fixing the cuff bodies in an inward pointing alignment. I repeated the same procedure with the second pair of cuffs and cover. The second key followed the first back into the toolbox. The bend in the covers tended to force my hands closer together. An added advantage was the inward slant was more comfortable since it aligned with the angle of my outstretched arms.
Without the locking bar through the slits the security covers can easily be pushed up and off. Luckily getting the bar started from the back is easier with my hands in front. As soon as I could pull through the bar end I picked up the ring end of the chain and threaded it through the oval cutout. I pulled through all the chain. The covers weren’t going to come off now.
I raised my arms high over my head. The cuffs combined with the covers would keep my hands pointed in one direction, toward that upper stake. Exactly what I wanted, fingers that could only reach forward, but not far enough to be of use. I was nearing the finish.
From now on I’d have to work by touch. I opened the hasp of my armored lock and hooked the hasp around the oval opening of the bar, pushing aside the chain but leaving it in place. I left the lock open for one more addition. Lying down on my back I extended my arms as far as I could reach, above my head. Feeling around in the grass with my hands I found the ends of the length of twine that led up to the remaining stake, above my head and out of reach of my hands.
One end of the twine I tied to the ring on the chain. Slowly I pulled on the other end of the string. I heard the rattle of the chain as it passed through the ring on the stake. When I felt the ring touch my outstretched fingers again, I immediately jammed the ring into the open hasp of my armored padlock and snapped it shut. The loose end of the twine I threaded through the padlock key top and tied a couple of knots before I removed the key from the lock. I dare not lose that key. If I dropped it the string would lead me to recover my means of release.
If I had measured the spacing of the stakes correctly I would have little slack in the chain that kept me stretched out. I tried to lift up my arms to test what freedom I had left. I didn’t get far. The chain jerked against the stake, forcing me back down to the ground. I had gotten it right on the first try.
I grabbed the chain and pulled with all my strength. Nothing. Considering how deep I’d planted the auger in those stakes that wasn’t a surprise. Could I gain a little more slack by straightening my legs? The answer was a quick and resounding no, unless I was willing to accept some nasty damage to my male organ.
I congratulated myself on my success. There I was, staked out on a hillside in the middle of nowhere, neatly wrapped up into an easily controlled package thanks to some expertly applied restraints. My options were reduced to lying on my back and staring up at the sky, at least until my endurance gave out.
I always set myself to some task to liven up my bondage adventures. Most of the time it involved crawling across the floor in my basement. This time my task was to lie still. It certainly presented no immediate difficulties, since I had little choice but to enjoy the quite limited view of the passing clouds in the sky while staked out on the side of a hill. My predicament wasn’t far removed from being lashed to a medieval rack, except there was no windlass to slowly pull me apart.
The true task was a test of my endurance. My stopwatch, actually my mobile phone, was in the shirt pocket of my folded pile of clothing, off to one side. I had set the timer to beep at two hours, which was my goal. I would have enough time to free myself before the sun set and I was left in the dark.
Sally had remained in the van, giving me the privacy I sought when placing myself in restraints. I appreciated the space to enjoy the fruits of my efforts. I was mindful of her agreement, where she would talk to me at some point while I was confined to my present position. She was aware of my two-hour time limit, though I had set no specific time for her to visit me.
I closed my eyes to concentrate on the sounds around me. There was the breeze, and bird calls in the distance. When I opened my eyes all I could see was a tiny patch of blue sky, with the occasional cloud drifting by. Underneath I felt the cool earth pressing against me. From above the sun beamed down at me. There was a good chance I’d wind up with a suntan if the clouds burned off.
Sally was right; I did need a change. Once more I yanked on the chain holding down my hands. The stake didn’t budge. This was far more pleasurable than crawling up and down the basement hallway. I was about as helpless as one person could impose without risking being trapped. As long as I had that key in my hand I could relax and not worry about the unexpected.
Trust
The Last Resort
“This is quite a picture. You should post it on the Internet.”
The voice tore me away from my reverie. Discovered! I felt a panic attack coming on before I recognized the voice. It was Sally, my travelling companion and last resort backup. I opened my eyes to see her looking down at me, a bemused expression on her face.
Sally was but one mystery after another. She was attractive, age indeterminate but perhaps in her thirties. She was short, under five feet tall, and always wore some kind of simple dress. She projected a first impression of a farm girl, just arrived in the big city. That impression didn’t last past the start of a conversation. She was exceptionally intelligent and well-educated, on a variety of subjects. That included the countless ways one could exert physical control over another. Or in my case, potentially hand myself over to the whim of someone I barely knew.
“Looking down the hill from the van Sally could see you were finished. She didn’t want to distract you while you went through your preparations. Sally can tell you value privacy when preparing for your, what do you call it, your ‘adventure’? Compliments on your thorough groundwork.” She gave me a quick smile at the obvious pun.
For some as yet unexplained reason whenever I was restrained Sally would switch to that odd speech pattern, speaking in the third person and stressing certain words. She refused to discuss the reason why, so I had to accept it was merely some quirk in her personality.
She disappeared from my limited sight. I heard her walking around me, stopping several times. When she reappeared she nodded in approval. “Seeing your rod in action clears up some confusion on Sally’s part about that third stake. The slightest deviation from the position imposed on your legs, and it turns into the strictest of disciplinarians. Staking the rod to the ground must take away whatever slack was built in to the original concept. Clever the way you spaced the two stakes for the way they hold you in a fixed, immovable position.” She glanced toward his upraised knees. “Sally hopes you aren’t prone to leg cramps. Trussed up like that the agony would be unendurable.”
“I don’t have leg cramps,” I told her. Or tried to, what came out was random noise. I’d forgotten about the gag. Given present circumstances we were not going to have a two-way conversation.
“Sorry, Sally can’t understand you. Oh, is it that gag of yours? In case you weren’t sure, it blocks any kind of intelligible speech. If you want to tell Sally something, you’ll have to put more work into defeating it.”
She walked over to stand next to the toolbox. I could see her high over me, her eyes sweeping up and down my prone body. She was short, but compared to my current position she was a giant. Sally began to shake her head. “You missed an important detail. You can’t be conscious of the full depth of your vulnerable state until it’s fixed.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. She vanished when I heard her rummaging in the toolbox. “Ahh, this should do.” When she stood back up there was an old pair of diagonal wire cutters in one hand. I vaguely remembered using them when I experimented with zip ties.
She disappeared again. I cursed the pinhole lenses and how they blocked so much of my eyesight. I heard a snip somewhere above my head. Then the unimaginable happened. Sally jerked the padlock key out of my hand before I could react.
I started shouting “no, stop” to little effect. Even if she had understood me I doubt it would have made a difference. I heard her toss the key, my only means of freeing myself, and the cutters into the toolbox. The sound of the lid being slammed shut, and the two latches being closed, was unmistakable. Once more she reappeared, staring down at me with a frown.
“That’s much better. In Sally’s professional opinion, you need some alone time to fully appreciate the shift in power. Sally will be back later to check on you. This toolbox and your clothes go back in the van so you won’t have any distractions.”
She crouched down next to my head. “Focus on what you feel, now that you’ve lost control of your situation.” She grabbed the chain running from my wrists to the stake, jerking it several times. “It won’t let go. From now on you will respond to what Sally decides is best for you. Don’t worry, Sally is here to help.”
She picked up my clothes and the toolbox. I heard her steps receding into the distance. Her parting words, about help, did not reassure me. My screams to stop, come back and release me went unheard. I was well and truly trapped. Sure, I still had my last resort. The only catch was I had no idea when, or even if, she would release me.
The Last Vestige
For the first time on one of my adventures, panic began to wash over me. I was not getting out of this self-bondage trap on my own. I managed to quell the rising fear, although that didn’t change the fact I was terrified. I wrapped both hands around the chain binding me to the stake. I started to take a deep breath before remembering the gag would block it. With every ounce of strength I pulled on the chain.
I might as well have been trying to pull a loaded coal train barehanded. All the keys were gone, though without the one to my linchpin padlock the rest were immaterial. My only hope was Sally. Would she come back? If she drove off, who would ever find me? Wild animals? I didn’t relish becoming coyote food.
Then the odd way she had spoken came back to me. Up to now I hadn’t paid much attention to it. That might have been a mistake. In retrospect she was very much an enigma. Were those “Psycho Sally” innuendos based on a grain of truth? I picked a great time to find out, I told myself.
I was getting hungry and thirsty. At this early stage it was purely mental, so better not to think about it. All I had to do was stand up, take off the posture collar, remove the hood, and loosen the gag straps to get it out of my mouth. Then I could walk up to the van and fix supper. If I wished really hard, all the locks would magically spring open, the handcuffs would fall off, my ankles would be released, and on and on. Maybe Tinkerbell would sprinkle some pixie dust on me and I could fly up to the van.
Time passes slowly when one is pinned to the ground, unable to move. After what seemed like hours I noticed the sun began to go down. I could see stars appearing in the darkening sky. Did the coyotes come out at night? Of course not, the mountain lions had chased them all away. I tried to shake my head to clear that line of thought, but the posture collar prevented it. I yelled in despair of surviving the night, my hands clenched in fists of rage at what I’d done to myself.
How long had I been there on the side of that hill? Where was Sally? The gag made it impossible to call for help. What was she doing, up there in the camper van? What if she had decided to take a nap, where did that leave me? I hadn’t heard the motor start up, so she must still be up there, somewhere.
I heard footsteps coming near. It must be her, finally coming back to let me go. After all, the prey never hears the mountain lion until it pounces. The beam of a flashlight swept over my face, dazzling me.
“Oh good, you’re still here. Sally was concerned you might have decided to wander off on your own.”
And just how was I supposed to “wander off”, while being bound in chains and anchored to the side of a hill? And I was to somehow accomplish this in the moonless dark of night, unable to even see my hand in front of my face? If not for the gag I’d have delivered a nasty, sarcastic remark.
She played the flashlight over me, no doubt checking for spots where the wolves had started in on a free meal. She disappeared from my limited sight, though I was able to hear her footsteps as she walked around me.
“Sally would love to hear what’s going on in your mind right now. It’s unfortunate that you decided on the gag, otherwise you could be telling her all about it.” She paused, as if lost in thought. “Perhaps it’s better you did use the gag after all. Sally thinks you might be begging to be freed if you could speak. This way Sally can talk and you can listen.”
She crouched down, staring into my eyes. In an icy cold tone of voice, out of character for her, she summarized my state of affairs in a few words. “After all, it’s not like you can do anything about it, is there? Sally is in control now.”
I was in no position to argue. Just that quick her demeanor had changed. At that moment I recalled the small matter that Sally had never actually released me our past evenings together. Now she had gone from the passive observer to the active, and, I had to add, dominant participant. She certainly had my undivided attention.
In Due Time
The area was suddenly flooded with light. That must be the battery-powered lantern. I could tell Sally was making a circuit around me by the way the light was shifting. Near my feet she stopped, placed a hand on my knees, and began rocking them back and forth.
She stopped when I began screaming in pain. Somehow that made it through the gag with little loss in meaning. “A taste of discipline?” Sally asked. “The way you can hold your legs in this position for hours on end, by your own choice, Sally has never seen anything like it before.”
She held up the light to get a better look. “It seems to Sally your basic idea is very creative, with the triangular shape, but overall it lacks weight. The stack of cuffs on your ankles is a start, but inadequate.” She ran her fingers down my leg, from knee to ankle. “Here, you need some kind of apparatus where you could stack those round weights used by weight lifters. Start with the 10 kilo ones, then move up to 20kg once you’re ready.”
20 kilograms? That was close to 45 pounds of extra deadweight, and high on my legs, throwing off my center of balance. I might as well drag around a boat anchor. Why hadn’t I thought of it?
“Your gag is perfect, don’t lose it. The hood works well in dehumanizing you by hiding your face. Sally doesn’t approve of the pinhole lenses for your eyes though.” Suddenly the light went out when she held her hands over the lenses. “You should switch to a hood with no eye sockets. A blindfold is essential in denying information to a prisoner. The less you know, the more intense what little you can pick up matters to you.”
The manner in which she stressed that “prisoner” sent a chill down my spine. It was cold, detached, lacking in any emotion. I went from a companion to a thing, an inconsequential object. She was either a sociopath or, worst of all for me, a certifiable psychopath. Either way, I was in serious trouble.
She placed a foot on the center of the posture collar. “A good choice, but again not enough. Sally watched the way you sat up, bending forward at the waist. A thoracic back brace will put an end to that. Your hips can bend, but that’s all. The rest of your body must be fixed. No more rolling over on your side. Flat on your back, or flat on your stomach, that’s all.”
What she described was one step away from a full body cast. I’d never attempt what she suggested on my own. With help, maybe, but I might as well be staked out on the side of a hill. Oh wait, I was already there.
I wiggled my fingers, hoping she’d take it as a hint I was ready to call it a night. It was easier to list what wasn’t aching, plus I had developed a killer thirst.
“Oh, Sally didn’t forget your hands. That’s always been your limitation, hasn’t it? You know, the police have come up with some innovative ideas on hand and finger control of prisoners. Nothing worse than a handcuffed suspect drawing the officer’s pistol because he was able to reach the holster. There are nylon mitts that slide over the hands, and are held on by cuffs or zip ties. Total loss of manual dexterity; your hands are reduced to stumps. But Sally is drifting off topic. Given your requirements, your solution is adequate.”
My solution? What did she mean? Just put the padlock key in those fingers so I can get started with unwinding my captivity. I continued with the wiggling. Surely what I was asking was obvious?
No it wasn’t. The thumbcuffs were on and closing before I realized what she meant by “my solution.” I tried to jerk away, a silly attempt since she was in complete physical control. Not only were my thumbs clamped into that hellish device, but Sally had slipped the thumbcuff body between the chains running up to the stake. The padlock key wouldn’t do me any good now.
Even worse, she had put them on backwards, with the keyhole facing away from my fingers. I was in a world of hurt, figuratively and literally. I couldn’t get the thumbcuffs off, even if I had a key. And without the use of all my fingers I couldn’t get the key into the armored padlock. No matter how bad things are, it can always get a tiny bit worse.
Sally held the lantern close to my face, or the hood covering it. I could make out a scowl. “You must learn the rules of playing the role of victim. Do as you're told, naturally, but there are others. One is never ask to be released, or how much longer a session will last. That is information you don’t need to know. When? In due time the key will turn in the lock, and no sooner. You broke that rule. Sally recognized your hand waving signal. As punishment your little adventure will be extended.
“If you didn’t already know, Sally is a mental illness therapist. This seems like a good time to discuss some of your issues. Remember, Sally is here to help you.”
Was she kidding? I tried to express my discontent in the strongest possible terms, including the rare vulgar expletive or two. None of it made it through the gag, though I got the impression she sensed my mood. Once more she repeated that “help” comment. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was sure I didn’t want to find out.
She knelt down next to me. “You have doubts. That’s understandable. Try to put your anger aside and analyze what exactly happened when Sally took the key, and the last vestige of your freedom, from your hand. For the first time you had to rely on someone else to liberate you from your bonds. The goal you’ve pursued in vain for so long was finally thrust upon you.
“Sally deprived you of your ability to direct your fate. She walked away without an explanation, leaving you all alone. Trapped, helpless, abandoned and confused, without a clue to when Sally would return, doesn’t that make for the perfect nightmare scenario? Abandon all hope, ye who trust in Sally. Is that what ran through your head? Did Sally betray you, or did she open your eyes?”
She had a certain manner when speaking that was impossible to ignore. Maybe it was the way she stressed certain words, forcing me to focus on them. Without the gag I’d be interrupting her constantly, arguing she was wrong. Forced to listen in silence, and I certainly couldn’t walk away in disgust, I was faced with the uncomfortable realization she might be right.
I did have trust issues. Although part of an engineering design team, I mostly worked alone, interacting with the other members only at meetings. I got away with it because I was very talented at what I did, mechanical engineering. Management tolerated my eccentricities in exchange for profitable success in commercial products.
In my private life there had been women, not many, and few lasted beyond a couple of dates. I had never revealed my bondage adventures to anyone before Sally. She was a special case. We shared a common interest, she wasn’t shocked by my secret history, and best of all there was no emotional commitment from either of us. She wasn’t my type, and I’m sure I didn’t fit her ideal masculine image, whatever that might be.
She had seen me in action before today’s outing. At first I was self-conscious about her watching from the corner of the room, but as she put it, her role was one of “clinical detachment”. Why she liked to watch, well, maybe she had a streak of the voyeur.
It had been her idea to try some “field time”, rather than continue flopping around in pointless crawling between rooms. Trade movement for immobilization, the stuffy confines of a basement for wide open spaces, experience public exhibition without the risk of being discovered, all arguments that caught my attention. Best of all, I could go to new extremes now I had a backup to save me from excessive zeal, or the unforeseen disaster.
“You resent the way Sally was so abrupt. You were not consulted, you had no say once the key in your hand was gone. Sally can treat you with contempt, and all you can do is lie there and accept it. Sally hopes you will come to appreciate that’s exactly what you needed. You defy Sally when you should be open to her insight.
“Your phone timer did go off, but of course you couldn’t hear it in the van. Two hours, is that all the time you set as your goal? Sally is disappointed in you. This is another reason you must have an extended time out, to reconsider your bad attitude, both toward Sally and the way you underestimate yourself. You will discover when it is out of your hands you can tolerate a condition such as this one for far longer than you imagine.”
Time Out
Way to go, piss off your only hope for release. That “extended” sounded ominous. My poor thumbs would be dead, blackened flesh if Sally left the thumbcuffs on much longer. She was right about one thing. She had all the power, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
I felt her hands on mine, and then the thumbcuffs were gone. I grunted in pain as the blood rushed back into my poor, tortured fingers. “Sally hopes you have learned a lesson. From now on, do as you are told. You will lie here, on your back, quietly, without any struggling or shouting. You will wait, patiently, for Sally to return. You will do this because Sally demands this effort from you. Failure will be punished. Concentrate on your instructions. Trust in Sally.”
I heard her stand up. The light from the lantern faded as she walked away. Once more I was left in the dark. Was there a moon tonight? I couldn’t remember.
I had no trouble remembering Sally’s orders. For all I knew she was sitting close by, waiting to pounce on me the moment I disobeyed. Or she might have gone back to the van for the night, leaving me to spend the rest of the evening staring up at the stars in the sky.
Trust in Sally, but how could I? And if I didn’t, then I had no hope of surviving this experience. I felt like the drowning man, desperately clinging to a sliver of driftwood. “Do as you are told” was that sliver. No matter what it took I had to keep still. That was the goal for my “time out” as Sally called it.
The Conversation
“Wake up. It’s time for our conversation.”
Hard to believe but I’d dozed off despite my condition. There was light from the lantern, not that I could see anything else. A couple of quick tugs verified I was still staked out on the ground.
“Sally will remind you of our agreement. Of course it will be one-sided, but that is to Sally’s satisfaction. The beauty of a captive audience is that no one will walk out.” For that last sentence she leaned over so I could see her profile, outlined by the lantern placed behind her back.
I had forgotten about that initial meeting and her odd request. Up to now she’d always remained silent, in the background. She was right about one thing. In the literal sense of the word, I was her captive audience.
To my surprise she unscrewed and removed the pinhole lenses on my hood. I watched as she stood up, shifted the lantern to a point above my head, refolded her blanket next to me, and knelt at my side. I could see her clearly. I also noticed the toolbox with the keys was nowhere in sight.
“First of all, Sally would like to say she admires you for what you’ve done to yourself. It takes great courage to deliberately enter such a helpless state. You are many times stronger than a small woman like Sally, yet here you are, subject to Sally’s whim, unable to bring that strength to bear in resisting me. Sally must confess she would never willingly place herself in such a state.”
I had to bite my tongue, in the figurative sense since the gag was in the way. There had been nothing deliberate or willing about it. She had grabbed that crucial key from my hand, sealing my fate. She was right about one point; I was all too aware of my fate teetering upon the capricious nature, the whim as she put it, of the woman next to me.
She leaned forward, very close to my hooded face, staring into my eyes. “Sally sees the spark of defiance. Many times Sally has seen that same glow in the eyes of other men…at first.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. Just who was Sally and what did she do for a living? For the first time it hit me, the realization I might not walk away from this. Oh sure, I had laughed it off with the jokes about coyotes and mountain lions. That changed; the real predator this night was at my side.
I could clearly see her blue eyes boring into mine. Such was her power that I couldn’t look away. “Do you feel it?” she asked.
She placed her hands to either side of my head. “It starts with the seed of uncertainty. Has the game become something more?”
“Doubt sprouts from that tiny seed. Events take on a new interpretation. Why did Sally agree to help you? Suddenly you doubt her motives. All that advice now forms a different pattern, of subtle influences to deliver you to this final resting place, on the side of a hill.”
“And finally the sprout breaks free into the world, showing itself as pure fear, the culmination of uncertainties and doubts. Not the cheap thrill of a roller coaster, but the paralyzing terror that comes when hope dies.”
This was not what I wanted to hear. It sounded more like a eulogy than casual conversation. At that moment I was convinced I would not survive the night. There was so much more I had hoped to achieve. Instead, it would all end on a hillside, one more grim statistic of a bondage misadventure gone wrong. Naturally there would be no evidence Sally had ever been here. The key that would have freed me would be found, just beyond my grasp.
I struggled against my bonds in a forlorn, desperate attempt to somehow escape my chains. It was pointless; I had planned too well, selected only the best tools, chosen stakes that would not yield to my meager strength.
“Sally so enjoys the last minutes, the drowning man clutching at straws. There’s nothing you can do except wait for the inevitable. Sally will be here to keep you company. Your,” she paused, “transition will be easier with a companion by your side. It is a shame you will have no final words. Hmmm, maybe something can be done about that. After all, Sally is here to help you.”
Help me? Sure, but not in any manner I would welcome. I heard the latches on the toolbox pop open. Of course she had to bring it back, to set the stage for a coroner’s verdict of misadventure. I couldn’t see what she was doing, though from the sound she was looking for something.
“Here it is! Now, if you can hold still…” I felt her lift up my head. What was she doing? Then there was a soft click and the posture collar came off. The hood quickly followed, leaving only the gag in place. I could see her clearly in the light of the lantern. “Sally prefers to see your face rather than a featureless mask.”
“Please, let me go,” I pleaded. The gag thoroughly garbled my begging.
Sally frowned. She must have figured out what I was trying to say. “Sally is becoming impatient with your failure to learn simple courtesy. You will not ask to be released. Sally will not warn you again.”
From out of nowhere she produced a plastic bag, which went over my head. Suddenly I was gasping for air, fighting to breath. I was close to passing out when she pulled the bag off.
“Sally will remove your gag. You will speak in a respectful manner, and above all you will not beg to be rescued. If you do not follow Sally’s instructions there will be consequences. If Sally tells you to be quiet you will immediately stop talking until you have permission to speak. Sally will not tolerate insults or coarse language.”
She reached behind my head and unfastened the straps holding the gag in place. When she pulled it off my face it reminded me of an octopus, with its tentacles clamped onto my head. “There, isn’t that much better? Sally will give her permission for you to talk. Think carefully about what you wish to say.”
I had plenty to say, none of it in line with her rules. I was in no position to provoke her, especially if I had any chance of persuading her to let me go. It was an effort not to shout when I asked, “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
I saw the expression of surprise on her face. “Do? Sally hasn’t done anything. You were the one who put on the chains, the cuffs, and locked yourself into the stakes in the ground. Sally is here as an observer and nothing more.” She held up the key to the padlock that held my outstretched arms in place, the linchpin to my captivity. “You dropped the key. As your backup I’m keeping it safe.”
“You snatched it from…” I halted before completing the accusation. I had to think this out. Maybe she really believed what she said. If I challenged her delusions she might walk away, and take my only chance to live with her. “I did lose the key. I need your help to recover it.”
She shook her head. “Sally is reluctant to interfere with your meticulous preparations. This must be important to you. Sally doesn’t want to spoil your fun. Besides, you made a pact with Sally, remember? You promised to provide Sally with a conversation while you were under, umm, shall we say duress? The key can wait. Sally is looking forward to a proper dialog, rather than a one-sided lecture.”
Tête-à-tête
I needed to remain on Sally’s good side, whatever it took. My salvation rested in the key in her hand, and the toolbox with the rest of the keys, lying open next to her. “You’re right, that was our agreement. Where would you like to begin?” Keep her talking, I told myself.
She actually smiled. “Sally is so pleased with your cooperation. What is it that compels you to place yourself in a state of extreme weakness? It seems to Sally that subjecting yourself to being so vulnerable is quite out of character. Can you reveal to Sally your thinking, what goes on in your mind?”
The smile had vanished, replaced with an intense, piercing gaze picking out the most subtle of nuances in my own face. My adversary, for that was the best description as long as she left me a prisoner, was a shrewd woman who would easily spot an attempt to deceive her. I had no doubt her reaction would be swift and unpleasant. She had the power to hurt me in any number of ways.
“I’m not sure I can explain it,” I began. “Perhaps it’s a way of testing myself, facing adversity without panic, remaining calm while I extricated myself from being trapped. My compulsion, as you call it, must always begin with rendering my legs useless, a deadweight that is more of a hindrance than help. And there must be handcuffs on my wrists. I think it is the association with being in police custody, denied my basic liberty. As much as possible I must be deprived of the means to resist or escape. That’s why I use the gag, the hood, the posture collar. It blocks my senses so that I can only rely on touch. I try to push as close to the edge as possible, constantly increasing the difficulty I must overcome to achieve my release.”
“That’s why you sought out Sally?”
“Yes, if I kept on going, I was sure to make a mistake, leaving me without a way to extricate myself. It finally happened, when I dropped the single key that would free my hands.” Maybe if I pretended to go along with Sally’s version she would fulfill her part as my backup and give me the key.
She sat back and stared at me. “Do you really think Sally is so stupid as to not see through your charade? You didn’t drop the key. Sally took it from your hand, deliberately. Why? Because Sally can, and you couldn’t stop her.” She rose up and leaned over me again. “You trusted Sally, and she betrayed your faith in her.”
She dangled the key in front of me. “So close, yet so far away. Sally has no intention of giving you this key. You were a fool to trust her. Sally doesn’t really care why you do this to yourself, only that you are powerless to avoid the inevitable fate of anyone who places their trust in Psycho Sally. Oh yes, she’s heard the name many times. Sally doesn’t mind; after all, it’s true.”
She might be insane, but she wasn’t living in a fantasy world. My last tenuous hope of getting out of this alive vanished in an instant. “You won’t get away with this,” I snapped back at her in anger. “The police will track you down, sooner or later.”
She started laughing. “Is that the best you can do? There will be no trace of Sally. Do you think you are the first?”
Oh great, I hooked up with a serial killer. I grabbed the chain holding me down and jerked on it, more in frustration that any hope of breaking free. I stared up at the starlit sky. The moon was rising, a full moon by the looks of it. Yeah, it was true; a full moon brings out all the lunatics. “Why don’t you just put me out of my misery? Are you the type who likes to see the bug squirm before you crush the life out of it??
She shook her head. “Whatever do you mean? Must Sally remind you she is here only to watch, not to interfere? This is your moment to enjoy to the fullest. Sally is here only to help you.”
Enjoy? That wasn’t the word that came to mind. Regret, maybe, at not being more careful about Sally. “I thought you were here to be my backup, in case I trapped myself. If you meant what you said, then why don’t you give me the key?”
She started laughing again. “A nice try, but Sally has already pointed out you should never have placed your trust in her, especially to act as your rescuer.” She laid the key on my chest. “There you go! Sally has met her obligation; you have the key. The rest is up to you.”
Salvation
For what seemed like hours Sally sat at my side, in silence. There wasn’t much to say. Sometime in the night I’d slip away while she kept me company. The cold was already getting to me. My bent legs were in agony, not that I could do anything about it. A dull ache in my strained shoulders was beginning to wear on me as well. Tears ran down my cheeks. I raised up my head to look around. There was Sally, bathed in the bright moonlight, staring at me.
At some point I must have fallen asleep. I woke when Sally pressed something into the palm of my right hand. I clenched it tight with my loose fingers, feeling out the shape. No question, it was the padlock key.
“Sally keeps her promises, even if you don’t trust her. You have your key, so go ahead and free your hands from the stake. Don’t be too long. Sally is going to fix some pork chops for a late dinner.” With those parting words she rose and headed up the hill toward the camper.
With the greatest of care I maneuvered that key between right-hand thumb and forefinger. I grabbed the body of the padlock in my left hand and used the thumb to push open the dustcover. Unless it was open all the way the key wouldn’t go in. For once my first try was a success. I turned the key and was ecstatic to hear the hasp pop open.
As fast as possible I pulled on the end of the chain that ran up to the stake holding me down. I was ecstatic when I heard the chain clear the stake ring. I raised my arms over my head and brought them down in front. At that point I was able to sit up.
How long had I been stretched out, flat on my back? I had no way to tell. Sally had taken the lantern, but the moon was bright.
The next step was to get rid of the security covers over my nice, shiny new high security handcuffs. They were still held in place by that flat retaining bar, with the chain running through the oval cutout in front. Working mostly by feel I began feeding the chain through the bar opening.
Once the retaining bar was free to be removed the security covers practically fell off. My wrists were still cuffed together but I could twist them around, giving my hands what felt like unlimited freedom. Of course that was far from reality. Simple chain handcuffs, especially when doubled up, are effective restraints.
Leaning forward I folded my hands and rested them just below my knees. The toolbox was in reach. Hopefully Sally hadn’t removed the keys as part of some cruel joke. When my shoulders had recovered I reached over and began searching the toolbox for the handcuff keys, mostly by touch.
All the keys were there. Without the impediment of the handcuffs, in short order I had freed myself from my Rod Of Discipline, removed the cuffs on my ankles and stretched out my cramped legs. My clothes were neatly folded in a pile within reach.
I carefully packed away all the restraints in the toolbox. Standing up I could see the lights in the camper window. The smell of cooking made my stomach rumble. I started up the hill, debating how I would confront Sally. It was ironic I never felt more alive now than at any time in the past. I was angry, although a voice was whispering to me that I should thank Sally for an experience I would never forget.