Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Straitjacket Selfbondage 3

by Philber

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© Copyright 2010 - Philber - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; straitjacket; legsack; hood; hogtie; caught; F/m; bond; mast; true; cons; X

continued from part 2

Part 3

There I was, on my quest for the perfect straightjacket self-bondage. I had managed to put it on, in a way that I could not get out of, except with outside elements. I had put on a legsack and connected it to my straightjacket. I had managed to get into a self-hogtie. But I had still gotten out, so I was looking for even more... Except that I knew full well that I had already gone (see part 2) to the very limit of what was potentially terminally dangerous: tieing myself up beyond any possibility of getting free.

So I was facing a dilemma: on the one hand, I wanted to demonstrate -and enjoy- that the method I had devised (remember the two «improvements» mentioned at the end of part 2?) was inescapable, and, on the other, I decided that, in order to go any further, I needed a safety exit, in the form of my partner whom I would arrange to come later...

So, how to make it so that I couldn't possibly get out? Well, the answer lies in fixing me to the bed. If I could not get to the door, I couldn't apply my release mthod, and it would be game over, there and then. But, in order to make double sure that I could struggle all I wanted but not get free, I set up two devices rather than just one, which I prepared on the bed so that I could use them once I needed them.

First, I put on my legsack, then my straightjacket, the same way as before. Then, before I completed my hogtie, I put the ankles part of the legsack through a loop I had prepared, and which was loosely connected to straps to both sides of the bed. That way, once I completed the hogtie, this loop would prevent me from moving any further than it would let me, and certainly from getting off the bed.

But, for the self-bondage fanatic, enough is never enough, so I had a more daring implement. Not only did I need mobility to achieve freedom, but also my eyes and teeth to see what I was doing, and take hold of the strap. The best way to remove that was with a leather hood. So I took a large hood, and laid it on the bed, wide open. But there was a twist: the laces had been connected to a rope tied to a foot of the bed, so that, once I would put my head inside the hood, moving my head away would tighten the laces and fix the hood on my head, thus robbing me of sight, of my mouth, and of much of my hearing.

Now any person who has played self-bondage with a hood knows that this is potentially dangerous. If it is not put on properly or if it becomes displaced during the struggle, breathing can be impaired, leading to potentially fatal consequences. So I had rehearsed that part three times, finding out how best to wiggle my head inside the hood until it was well positioned, and then how to move my head away so that the pull on the laces didn't dislodge the hood. The best way, so I found, was to use a mouth gag fixed to the hood. Taking the gag in my mouth really helped position the hood where it should be before I started pulling on the laces. And only once that was well under control did I go ahead with the Full Monty.

So there I was, hogtied in my straightjacket and sleepsack, tied on the bed by the loop around my legs, and crawling as best I could to get my head inside the hood. Needless to say, it was a lot less easy to do in my predicament than when I had rehearsed with my hands and body free. But I was determined, and, after some long minutes, I felt that my position inside the hood was now correct, and I started crawling away from the bed's headboard, which pulled on the laces.

The way to do it is to try and pull with your head pointing away from the anchoring point, so that the tension is on the laces rather than on the body of the hood, which might then get displaced. As I did it, and I felt the laces tighten the hood around my face, I could not help but fear that I had gotten in above my head, and that trouble might occur. Of course, I could not properly tighten the laces the way a person would have done it, as I couldn't take the slack out, and I couldn't knot the laces either. But I soon discovered that, with the friction of the laces on the keepers, even without tension on the laces, they didn't loosen up, and I was well and truly hooded, blindfolded and gagged.

So I touched the very core of my contradictory need. I had achieved what I wanted. I had one by one eliminated every avenue of escape. Unless I had forgotten something, I would not be able to get out of the predicament which I had tried so hard to craft for myself, so I should have felt «good». I should have been able to enjoy the bondage, the feedom to fight it for all I was worth, the reality of it, rather than a contrived setup with a partner. Yet what I felt was the need to get out, the instinct to use some kind of safeword, so that I could somehow escape the madness of what I had done.

Because, yes, I had a plan B. Or so I hoped. The plan B was that my partner had agreed to come, and been given the keys to enter my apartment, where she would find me, or so the plan was, all strapped up on the bed. Except that now that I was hooded, I could not see what time it was and how long it would be before my partner arrived. If she did, in fact, arrive. She might decide that she had better things to do, or that remaining longer in bondage would teach me a proper lesson, or that a longer session was in fact what I secretly craved....

So not only would I have to deal with being bound, immobilized, blinfolded and gagged for many hours, but I would have the added fear of not knowing what was going to happen, if indeed anything was going to happen.

But, for now, I was facing the prospect of remaining alone for 24 hours, something I had never done. I had a choice. Because I had tied myself up, I was not nearly as tightly immobilized as if someone had done it to me. If that had been the case, I would not even have tried fighting my bonds, because I would have known that getting free on my own was not an option. So my only option would have been to pass the time as best I could. But not being tied as tightly, I could either decide that remaining like this for 24 hours was trying enough, and that I shouldn't waste my energy  attempting to get free. Or I could try to find a way out, and shorten the the exercise. The risk, of course, would be that my attempts would exhaust me, or worse, that I could find myself in an unexpected predicament caused by my struggles. What if, for example, I slipped off the bed, only to be «caught» by the laces tightening my hood?

I decided that this risk was too great, and began to relax on the bed, grateful that my bondage wasn't too tight so that I could find a comfortable position. Soon, I felt sleep coming on, for which I was grateful, as it would help pass the long, the very long time that lay ahead.

I woke up with a start. As is always the case when I am in bondage, it took me a few seconds to gather my bearings and remember why and how I am tied up. But there was something else, or rather somebody else there. I could feel hands on my hood. I instantly freaked out. I knew that there was no way that I could have slept 24h, so what the hell was happening? Who was this person. I tried to move out of the way, and to speak. But I was tied and gagged, and that proved impossible.

In order to overcome my struggles, the person simply pushed me onto my back and sat on top of me. Not only was there nothing I could do to shake him/her off, but it pressed my arms into my chest, and breathing became an issue. I stopped struggling, and felt the person tightening the laces on my hood. Within seconds, the hood was now like a vice over my head, and the gag sat deeper in my mouth.

I was thinking that nobody other than my partner could have entered the apartment without breaking into it, and that nobody else would have, if finding a person bound from head to toe in leather by  his own hands, started by re-tightening the hood laces. So it had to be my partner. But how, and why? I tried to ask her, but the gag made my efforts completely unintelligible.

Once she was done with my hood and confident that I could not see or speak, and not hear much, she proceeded, seated as she was on my back, to tighten the straps on my straightjacket. Starting from the neck and working her way down, she tightened each strap until there was no slack whatsoever. Then she took the arm strap, and pulled it tight, but not overmuch. I was surprised. That is until she pulled on the pinion straps, and by then my arms were totally immobilized. By now I had relaxed; I knew that it had to be my partner. She hadn't given me any sign by which I could recognize her, but who else would choose that course of action and be so experienced with a straightjacket?

So I wasn't surprised when she continued the general tightening of all my bonds, the straps connecting the straightjacket to the legsack, both front and back, the hogtie strap, which she made very tight. She then added ropes to the D-rings on my shoulders, and tied them to D-rings on my knees, bringing me into a sort of ball tie. My status had, within 3 minutes, gone from inescapably bound, but relatively comfortably, to very tightly, almost punishingly immobilized.

But it seems that even that was not enough for the lady. Another rope went to the ring on the portion of the hood covering the top of my head. This rope was soon connected to rings on my ankles, and pulled tight. The ball-tie was complete, and the tension on my neck decidedly unconfortable, as was my breathing, constricted not only by the tight straps, but also by the folded-over posture.

By then, I was totally helpless, and also clueless. Why had she come now rather than tomorrow? Why had she tied me up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey? And , more importantly, what was she about to do, as she continued to ignore the grunts with which I sought to communicate with her?

Then I understood. She started to open the top of my legsack. She undid the waist belt, and then peeled it open. That didn't remove it completely, as it was strapped and buckled to my straightjacket, simply some 10-12 inches of my body, from the bottom of my straightjacket to mid-thigh, were now bare, including my penis, which she obviously sought.

Now my partner knows that I am at my most excited when I am not only tied up, but totally immobilized. When I can't move at all, the feeling of her hand on my penis or my balls gives me a real feeling of being «raped», because I can do nothing to escape the intruder.

Except that, this time, I did nothing to even try to escape the intruder. The surprise occurrence of my partner, the fright it caused, and the total bondage I was in had caused a raging hard-on, so her ministrations were most welcome. What was unusual was that, normally, she loves to tease me for what feels like endless spells, when she turns me on, then on, then off again, leaving me on edge, but never letting me cum. But today, no teasing, no frustrating, no playing. She meant business and I was headed straight for an orgasm, almost as if she were in a hurry.

And so, of course, hard as I was, and rape-stimulated very ably by my partner, I orgasmed in record time. Now, like many males, an orgasm removes any level of lust for a while, and she knows very well that I do not like at all remaining tied up after cumming. So I confidently expected her to untie me.

As is often the case after an orgasm, I was feeling empty and, this time, disappointed with the turn of events. I had made elaborate preparations for a 24h self-bondage, and it had come to naught. I had a raging hard-on, but my orgasm had been brought about much too quickly. I had every intention to tell my partner that she had messed things up. To tell her, that is, but only once she had fully released me. Criticizing a partner when still tied up would not be a very clever course of action.

So I confidently expected to feel her hands on the laces of the hood. I kept silent, though, because I know that she doesn't like to feel like she is told what to do by a person she has under her full control.

But, instead of her hands undoing my hood, I felt her hands ministering to my penis again. Really, nothing was going as expected today!!! Fairly soon due to her intense and able stimulation, I was hard again, and with the same feeling of dispassionate, professional servicing, I exploded into a second orgasm. On the one hand, very satisfying, and on the other, the tingling feeling that she had an agenda here, an ulterior motive. Well, I would soon find out when she relased me, wouldn't I. Because now I was well and truly spent, and had no more lust for bondage games, and wouldn't for hours...

So it was with relief that I felt her undo the rope connecting the top of my hood to my ankles. Not only was it the most restricting and uncomfortable tie, it also spelled out my forthcoming freedom. After this one, she unbound my torso from my knees. I was no longer in a ball-tie, but in a «mere» tight hog-tie.

Then she rolled me onto my belly, the normal position in which she could best unstrap my straightjacket and legsack. But then, I felt her hands doing something unexpected, as though she were wrapping me into something!!! I felt extra tightness across my shoulders, my torso, my belly, and then heard despite the hood, the caracteristic sound of velcro... what the hell?

I understood. She was putting my transport jacket on top of my straightjacket. She knew that this added restriction made my immobility all the greater. It didn't add an extra degree of inescapability, as was already totally achieved with my straightjacket-legsack combination, especially when tied that tightly, but it prevented me from moving my arms at all. It also made my breathing more difficult because of the extra pressure on my chest.

I tried to resist, to protest, to signal that this was not what I wanted, but the same dispassionate and efficient hands with which she had made me cum also got their way with the binding. Soon, I was cocooned inside the transport jacket.

Suddenly she was off my back, and I waited for what her next step would be. I tried to turn over to face where I thought she was standing, and that made me realize how tightly tied I was. I had absolutely no movement in my arms, my legs were welded together inside the legsack and bent backwards by the hog-tie, and the weight and stiffness of all the leather and canvas binding me up made any wriggling, twisting of flexing very difficult. Plus, I couldn't struggle hard without exhausting my limited air supply, and my bondage and hood restricted my breathing and made me sweat profusely.

So I waited for her next step. But, nothing. I strained to see hear or feel something, but without result. It lasted minutes. I grunted, tried to move around, tried to establish contact. Where was she? What was she doing? What game was she playing with me? Not knowing any of this heightens the feeling of bondage and helplessness considerably, and I had never felt so helpless.

There I was with my partner playing with me totally outside any blueprint or agreement. I was bound with a tightness and thoroughness that she only used for a few minutes' tie-and-tease before releasing me. Which wasn't the case now, because, after two orgasms, I wasn't in the mood, yet she gave no indication of getting me out of my bonds.

Then I understood. I told her to come tomorrow and set me free from my 24-hour, inescapable straightjacket hogtie, and she had agreed. That is what she was about to do. I hadn't actually forbidden her from coming earlier, so she hadn't broken any rules or agreement. If she came tomorrow at the agreed time, she could smile sweetly at me, and ask why I thought she hadn't kept to our agreement? Did I reproach her for having made my bondage more inescapable, which is after all the bondage addict's unending quest? Or for having introduced uncertainty into the session, which I have stated time and again is a major turn-on for me? Or for having given me two orgasms, hardly considered a hardship?

The other side of the coin, of course, was that I was tied much tighter than I had ever been for a long period like 24 hours. In particular, a tight hood, a hog-tie, my transport jacket on top of my straightjacket were all hard to endure beyond a couple of hours, so the three of them for 24 hours formed a prospect that filled me with dread. Similarly, restricted breathing is already trying after an hour or two, so 24h ? But what made the largest difference were two factors. First, I had no idea what might -or not- be happening for the next full day. When she might show up or not. I had not heard her come in this time, courtesy of the thick leather covering my ears, and maybe she was already out again without my hearing her, or maybe she was 2 feet away, laughing silently at my obvious state of disarray. And lastly, though I should have been in bondage heaven, because she had milked me twice, I had no desire to be bound. The ultimate irony was that I had put in so much effort to get to exactly where I was, and should have been in paradise. But it was going to be hell...


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