Story – ‘My First Experience’

When I was young we lived in a largish village, and we had one of the larger houses. It was on a corner site, with a large garden and an old-fashioned kitchen with a big old range. It was about as far from the local police station as was possible. My father was an easy going type and knew everyone in the village. Our back kitchen was a favorite spot for the coppers to have their meal breaks – it avoided the trek back to the station. And, on a cold winter night at 2 am they knew exactly how to find their way into our kitchen and its welcoming fire! So, when I came home from school of a winter’s evening there was often one of the local coppers in the kitchen enjoying his tea. This was in the days before government cuts when there were a lot more coppers. There is but one in the village nowadays.

I always got on well with them, perhaps because they were on my territory: but I was always a little in awe of them. Although they were friendly they were still, to me, very much figures of authority: and still are. This view was much heightened when I met them in the street. There, in those days, they were authority personified. When they started wearing handcuffs in pouches on public display it made the authority aspect much more real for me. I made several half-hearted attempts to get the coppers in our kitchen to put their cuffs (or ‘bolts’ as they called them) on me – without success. This naturally only increased the attraction.

As I grew up a crowd of we young lads got into the tying-up games, and this lasted with a few of us into our late teens (and beyond!). Ropes, straps, handcuffs and a few minor leather gadgets, even a hood – it was very good fun, but I think the sexual overtones were then a minor consideration and we had to exercise great care. One day in a magazine I saw an article about an escapologist. It had two photos of him in a straitjacket. My heart took a leap. That looked interesting! I couldn’t explain why, it just did. So I went to the library and got out books on Houdini etc and found out as much as I could. Then on TV I saw an act with a straitjacket and my interest was doubled. But, I knew no way to find one, or anyone with one.

By this time the complement of coppers in our village was down to one. He lived in what had been the old police station on the far edge of the village. The administrative offices were closed down, as indeed were the cells. The house was just living accommodation with a low grade sort of interview room with minimum security rating. The old copper was retiring. What did we have instead? What indeed? A handsome, 6 feet tall, 24 year old guy with a perfectly proportioned body, a nicely rounded arse, beautiful blue eyes and a very determined straight jaw line! And, he was a bachelor. Oh joy! This, I think was his first solo posting, and he was a little unsure of how to deal with the locals. He was perfectly correct, but he kept his distance. Did I want to get to know him? Didn’t I just! I spoke to him several times in the street and got a polite but distant and correct response. So did everyone else: and he didn’t seem to frequent the pub or anywhere else one might meet him on a social basis.

Then my sister was to be married. Her fiancé was a computer specialist, degree in computer technology etc, and he worked for the county constabulary at HQ. I was to be chief usher at the wedding. Comes the night of the rehearsal in the parish church: and who was to be the best man! Yes! Our village copper! He had known my brother-in-law to be for years. It was difficult for him not to converse. Good start! Then on the day of the wedding everything was perfect: after the formal bit there was dancing and a well supplied bar. It was here we met again. Cautiously I asked about his girl friend. There wasn’t one. He asked about my ‘lady’ and again there wasn’t one. Neither of us was much into dancing so we stayed drinking together, and became quite friendly. He had a line of jokes, just like those the kids come home from school with. Infantile, I suppose. After several drinks the inhibitions had gone, and not knowing what possessed me I said “You, know, you’re quite mad: we’ll have to buy you a cozy straitjacket for Christmas!” The startling response was “Well, that could be arranged.” I didn’t know what to say, and I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, so he continued….”I can’t understand why you should think of straitjackets, but if you are really interested I might be able to help”. We took it from there, edging our way forwards, with me still in awe of this authority figure.

Ultimately it was arranged I should go to his home during the next week. When I arrived he was dressed casually in jeans and a white, tight, tee shirt. He took me through the house to the old cell block; and there laid out on a table in one of the cells was an obviously well-used canvas straitjacket. The first time I had ever seen one for real. It was fascinating. Straps, and buckles in profusion and heavy looking re-inforcements everywhere. The material was densely woven and very hard, yet bendable. I wasn’t sure what to do next, when he said „Well take your shirt off”. He was back in authority mode, his blue eyes quite steely and determined. I didn’t dare do otherwise, and before I could think ‘what next’ there were my arms in the long sleeves with the back straps being done up. They were sliders, rather than straps with holes, so the adjustment could be nicely regulated. He fastened the straps from the neck down, loosely, then the straps under the crotch, taking great care to avoid the hard I had on by now. Then I was made to cross my arms and the straps were done up round the back. After that he went down the backstraps again, tightening them a little. Then, for the first time he called me by name and said “Well, get out of it, then”. I said I couldn’t. I think it was the thrill of being in it at all, but more, because I had that odd feeling of being under another man’s control. I half resented it. No, I didn’t, I rather liked it. I didn’t know how to work it all out. Then he was very close to me, his lips very close to mine and breathing hard. He gently massaged my hard and looked at me so kindly. Then changing quickly he barked at me ‘Get out of it, then.’ So I struggled and heaved and pulled: and I did get a little slack. Then he started to show me- to show me how to get more slack. To press my elbows on the edge of the table and to twist and to pull, gently. With his guidance I did get out of that jacket. I thought it was a magnificent achievement. His response was to say it was no more than a run of the mill jacket that anyone could get out of. I took no notice. I just couldn’t wait to get back in it. He obliged and, once more, I did get it off. I was enjoying this. The process of having it put on, and put on by him, was really stimulating. It came, I think partly from submitting to another man, especially someone like him, and partly from having him so near me. Then I asked for a third try. He looked a little doubtful and seemed to be reluctant. He asked was I sure? (I learned afterwards that this was only to make me more eager.) Sure, I was sure. I had the taste for this! So once again the jacket was applied. However, this time when he tightened the backstraps, he really tightened them. Not so they were painful but the previously comforting hug had gone. A firm and rather threatening restriction replaced it. The same was true of the crotch strap, and in fastening that he had gently stroked my hard to the point of my getting very excited. Then I tried to get out. Disaster. I couldn’t! What had happened? Slight panic. He was comforting and yet commanding, telling me the best place to panic, if I was to panic, was in a straitjacket: I couldn’t hurt myself there. That was one of the purposes they had originally been designed for. He hugged me, kissed me and calmed me. But I still couldn’t get out. Then, he told me why. This time he had slipped the straps restraining my arms under one of the backstraps, and no way would it come either up or down. I was stuck. Did I like it, he asked. Well, I was in two minds. I hated the idea that I had been tricked and had failed at the third attempt, but really I did enjoy being unable to get out and being at his complete command. So I said “Yes, I did enjoy it”. “Well” said he, “I have another jacket, not a run of the mill jacket, but a good solid secure straitjacket: and another time I will put it on you.” Naturally I wanted to try it then. He refused quite firmly saying that when he put it on me he would have me exactly where he wanted me.

He knew his business. My anticipation ran riot, I could not get my mind off it. I have a vivid imagination, and it ran away with me. Waiting the four days till the next appointment was torment.

On the appointed day I went to Dave’s house (that was his name). I had walked rather than taking the bike because it was a nice autumnal evening. When he opened the door he was in shirt sleeves, but in police uniform. He explained he was on call, but there was little likelihood of his having to go out. So we went through the house to the old cell block at the back, and this time into a different cell. It was larger than the other and had devices from the ceiling and walls. There on a side table was a mammoth-looking black leather straitjacket. He picked it up to show me. It was heavy! The straps were thick, the buckles large and everywhere was re-inforced. It was intimidating! What I particularly noted was that each buckle had further along the strap another back-up buckle to support it. So that the strap was put through the first buckle, where the pressure was applied and then the leading end of the strap went through another buckle as security. Then it could be padlocked in place. This was serious stuff. I was made to strip off naked this time. The jacket was placed on my arms and pulled into place. By this time I had such a hard on it was almost painful. He did up the backstraps and the crotch straps. The collar was not a mandarin stand up version, but was almost conical and about six inches deep. It had three small straps at the back to keep it in place. Then he went to the top again and really tightened the backstraps, putting the straps through the double buckle and padlocking them. That way, he told me, only he, with the keys, could let me out of the jacket, which incidentally was used for punishment purposes in some high security prisons overseas. A harness like I had never seen was passed over my head. It was secured under my crotch, round my waist and over my shoulders. I later learned it was a suspension harness. It was drawn tight. If there had ever been any chance of getting the jacket off before, with this leather harness over the top of the straitjacket, it would be impossible. Then my arms were secured, the sleeves passing through loops under my armpits and being secured and padlocked at the back. At the front my wrists were secured by a strap which passed round both of them, and that strap was padlocked. Then straps were fitted round my biceps and my arms pinioned behind me. I could barely move. Would he help me to get out of this, I wondered. No, he wouldn’t. He told me that the jacket was a proven high security device and there was no recorded escape from such a model. I was attached to a bar and the suspension harness did its work drawing me up straight but with my feet still on the ground. It was not comfortable, but the feeling of the sheer inescapability and of his close presence was thrilling. He came very close and teasingly kissed me. I so wanted to come, and nearly did. Then he produced a very solid looking hood. I had not had much experience with hoods; this one was on in a flash, and was tightly laced and the collar done up. It was dark, warm and leathery inside. After this he went round the back of me again. I was not sure at that time what he was up to, but it proved eventually that the jacket had lacing loops down the back, and he was threading through these loops some stout cord. Gently but firmly the jacket was drawn even tighter down the back. Where the straps pulled it tight in four or five places, the lacing pulled it tight down the whole length. It was so confining and it heightened the feeling that no way was I going to get out of this! He was stroking my thigh and hugging me gently, making re-assuring noises when I heard the crunch of tires on the drive. I thought he might have invited other friends along; but they were not the friends I thought. They were his police colleagues, on duty.

There had been a fire some way up the road, and arson was suspected: he was needed to man a road block. I could hear them telling him to be quick and put on his jacket and come at once. I panicked a bit: wouldn’t he make some excuse and come and release me? Then I realized what a lengthy task that would be. He had no alternative, and he went! There was I in a disused cell; no one knew where I was, exactly. Two of my mates knew I was with Dave, and were they to come looking and found him out of the house, they would assume I was with him. I could not move: I had no experience of long term bondage, I didn’t know if I could cope, and I had the most tremendous hard on. How long would he be? Would the job run into his next ordinary eight hour shift? Boy was I in a state. I struggled and pulled: no movement. I didn’t shout, I knew no one would hear, and even if they did, I was padlocked into the hood and jacket securely. My mind ran away with me. All the fantasies of being in a straitjacket helped: they were certainly being acted out. Then I just became calm and resigned. It was amazingly relaxing and restful. I was not in pain, true I couldn’t move, but that was a comfort in a way. There was absolutely nothing I could do but wait. And wait I did, for over three hours. For me that was a marathon. For the first time I learned what yielding up meant, and I learned that not being in control could be a form of relaxation and enjoyment.

Yes, he did come back eventually: and it was he who was in a state by then. There had been no opportunity to get away from the job, and in any event he had no transport having gone in the police car that called for him. But amazingly he didn’t release me straight away! I was so anxious to be let out, but he insisted I had a drink and he went away to make some tea! This he fed to me via a hospital type feeder, like a baby teapot. And when I had drunk the tea he explained that it was better for me in the circumstances, to be released gradually. He started stroking my thighs again and caressing my head through the leather of the hood. I was startled to find how sensuous this was. He stroked my hard and really worked expertly on it until I had the most gigantic orgasm and ejection.

Only then was I gradually released. To my horror he put a metal collar with a chain on me! By then it was about 12.45 am and he suggested I stay the night. He led me to the bedroom by the chain and collar; I was put in leg irons attached to the metal frame of the bed. My collar was removed and I was put into handcuffs with about a 15 inch chain between them. But I couldn’t sleep. He was next to me smelling of man. He was remorseful about the circumstances and was being so kind instead of his authoritative self. He hugged me and comforted me but I tossed and turned. Eventually he got up: I felt guilty for disturbing him. He came back with the great black straitjacket, and gave it to me. Like a babe with its security/comfort blanket, I hugged it and ‘buried’ myself in it and slept soundly for the rest of the night. Thus it was that Dave and I started a relationship that lasted for many years. In those days the world was not so enlightened and certain of the village were horrified; but I knew plenty who were very envious. And I did eventually get to try the police type handcuffs. Often.

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