Story – ‘Attack’

I was so excited! The time had come!!!
It had taken a couple of months for me to put the cash to one side ready for the purchase. But I knew that it would be worth it. All those little sacrifices I’d made to make sure I had the right amount of money saved.
Living in London I’d decided that it was time to take advantage of the wealth of fetish shops on offer. I’d decided that I wouldn’t buy a bit here, a bit there, but jump into it big time.
I’d never bought any fetish clothing before, part because of the shame I felt from my passion for the “fetish” and part because I’d never lived by myself before so I couldn’t really indulge myself in my true passion.
The magazines I’d looked at time and time again during my youth, showing all kinds of male rubber bondage had all excited me, and I new that I wanted to explore this further. I managed to collect quite a collection of magazines and images, and keep them all hidden from my family and subsequent flatmates.
But now that my job had bought me down to London I found myself living on my own with time and money to spare.
I hadn’t worked out what I was going to buy, only that I was going to spend every last bit of the savings on rubber / bondage items. It was to be a momentous day.
The butterflies in my stomach on the tube journey across London were almost intolerable, but the thought of what was to come kept my going. Even though I was in my early twenties, I felt like a school kid going on a day trip.
Entering the shop I’d selected to blow my savings, I had to stop myself from running around the shop grabbing everything from their hangers and trying them on.
The shop assistant was really helpful in here. I’d been in a few times previously and tried a few things on. He’d helped my with the fittings but was used to me walking out of the shop without buying anything. He was in for a real shock today.
I didn’t know where to start.
When the assistant smiled over and asked if he could help me today, I just asked “Is there anything new in?” Quite a calm response for somebody so worked up inside.
A huge smirk crept across the assistants face as he led me over to a rail at the back of the store. “Only this“he said, as he picked up an incredible garment from the rail.
It was the most wonderful straight jacket I had ever seen. It was made out of medium weight black rubber, had straps hanging off every part of it, two crotch straps and even a built on hood.
The overall look of the jacket was incredibly menacing. Such a limp looking item that could hold somebody in inescapable bondage.

Continue reading “Story – ‘Attack’”

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.
Continue reading “Story – ‘My First Experience’”

Story – ‘Jacketed’

My fascination with straight jackets stemmed right back to my childhood. Ever since I had stood, at the age of eleven, watching an escape artist in my local town square being strapped into one, I had found it impossible not to get excited when the word ‘straight jacket’ was mentioned.
The way the jacket trapped the artist, and all those buckles up the back. I was transfixed. Every now and again, the excitement would return as I caught glimpses of escape artists on TV, and reached a high when the film of Houdini was screened on TV. I researched as much as I could, reading about the use of straight jackets to secure ‘mentally disturbed’ and the life of Houdini himself. I longed to have the life of an escape artist, being strapped into the jacket day in day out. I even considered trying to convince my family that I was mad, so that I could be locked up in a padded room wearing my very own jacket twenty-four hours a day.
It was a dream, but nothing more than that. I never told anybody about my fascination. I didn’t think that anybody would understand. I just passed it off as one of those things in life that I would grow out of. I just got on with my life. I still collected as much information as I could, and even found myself collecting pictures of my other fascination, namely motorcycle clothing. This also gave me a great deal of satisfaction. Pictures of leather clad people, shiny wet weather wear all went in my scrapbook. I never tired of looking at them, and they always gave me a hard on every time I looked at them. Can’t explain why, but they just did.

Continue reading “Story – ‘Jacketed’”

Article – ‘#chained’ and how it came about (my first time in real bondage) – the conclusion

I have now been tying, chaining and restraining myself in various ways since my early teens…possibly longer.

All of my early encounters with self bondage were facilitated by the use of whatever I could find in my parents’ house…belts, ties, audio visual cables, old bits of rope…basically, anything I could find which could be used as some sort of improvised restraint.  I started to build up a plastic bag of bondage ‘equipment’ which I kept at the back of the cupboard space under my bed.vlcsnap-error107

And, as soon as I was guaranteed an empty house, I would tie myself up.

It didn’t take long before my self bondage became quite thorough. I would tie my ankles and my knees and thighs. I would wriggle my upper body into a green military belt which would pin my arms to my sides. I would gag and blindfold myself and I would cuff my wrists behind my back with an old pair of metal child’s handcuffs which I owned.

Even though I used child’s cuffs, I soon discovered that if I linked the cuffs directly through each other (which made the chain between them redundant) and then put them around my wrists, my arms would be locked together quite effectively in a manner which was difficult to escape from quickly.

I soon discovered that, if I knelt whilst I was putting on my restraints, behind my back I could connect my cuffed wrists to my tied ankles with a very short length of rope. When I then fell onto my side (or even better, my front) my body would attempt to straighten and I would be pulled into a really tight hogtie.vlcsnap-2011-12-03-09h15m39s45

Of course, I didn’t know that it was called a hogtie…but remember, this was before the days when I could access photos on the internet. It seems that the idea of a hogtie is built into those of us who have thoughts of bondage and restraints.

The other commonality with almost all of my early bondage (and also now) was crotch ropes and shorts. For me, it was essential to be wearing a tight pair of silky P.E. or football/rugby shorts when I was tied up…and there would need to be crotch ropes pulled tightly between my buttocks and either side of my crotch.

I’ll come onto my interest in shorts another time…but the shorts were, and still are, an essential item to making my bondage enjoyable. And I really did enjoy all my sessions where I was able to restrain myself in various different and interesting ways. I’ve enjoyed self bondage for all of my adult life…and I’ve enjoyed sharing the outcomes of my self bondage experiences with anyone on the internet interested enough to find and watch my videos.

And so, in my current situation, where I’m already properly chained up hand and foot, ballgagged and hooded, wearing shiny sports gear with slightly too small black Umbro football shorts, at the hands of my captor (someone who I had never met before in my life) with no hope of freeing myself, I’m wondering why I’m not enjoying myself more.

I was seated in a bondage chair. My wrists had been manacled behind me and behind the back rest, my legs had been pulled wide apart and my ankles has been chained to the front legs of the chair…and my upper body had just been pinned to the back rest with a four metre long length of chain.bb10

My captor had decided that he wouldn’t put all the restraints on me at the start of the session. He was going to slowly escalate my chain bondage over the period of my captivity. However, my body had already decided that it wasn’t happy with the un-natural position it was being kept in…and my brain was coming to the same conclusion.

A steel collar was locked around my neck. It was my steel collar. I had bought it only a few weeks before. I’d worn it several times at home. I loved the feel and the weight of the cold steel when locked around my neck…and it was a tight fit…almost flush to the circumference of my neck. I had asked for it to be used as part of my ‘captivity’. Continue reading “Article – ‘#chained’ and how it came about (my first time in real bondage) – the conclusion”

Article – ‘#chained’ and how it came about (my first time in real bondage) – Part 2

‘I had never been tied or chained by anyone in my life’.

That’s what I said in the first part of this article. Thinking about it, that’s not, strictly speaking, true.

I used to be a Boy Scout…and everyone knows what happens there. A ‘rite of passage’ at scout camp was being staked out…spreadeagled on the ground like an X with wrists and ankles tied to large wooden tent pegs which had been hammered into the ground. I had been staked out.


I also used to play tie up games with my best mate through our mid to late teenage years. I used to enjoy being tied up but I also used to enjoy tying him up. See attached photo…identity of my mate obscured for obvious reasons…

But I had never been in a situation where I had put myself in the hands of someone who I had never met in my life and allowed him to cuff me hand and foot and chain me to a wall…and as I lay on my belly in my shiny black football kit, hooded and ballgagged,  with my captor pulling my wrists and ankles up into a hogtie position, I was seriously wondering if I’d made a huge mistake.

But, of course, I hadn’t. There should never have been any doubt in my mind. There was, because this was my first time in this situation, but there shouldn’t have been.

My captor released me. And then he hugged me…gently, but firmly. And I nearly cried. I’m not sure why. It may have been the relief of being released. It may have been that the realisation that my trust had not been betrayed. It may have been because, generally, I’m not a huggy person and I’m not quite sure how to cope. Nevertheless, I nearly cried. But I didn’t.

I’ve made that whole situation sound like a bit of an ordeal. Perhaps it was. However, in terms of bondage and captivity…and discomfort…and ultimately, pain…a far greater ordeal was now to follow.

Continue reading “Article – ‘#chained’ and how it came about (my first time in real bondage) – Part 2”

Article – ‘#chained’ and how it came about (my first time in real bondage)

I’ve never been in real bondage before. For the majority of my life, I’ve practised and enjoyed (and become quite accomplished at) self-bondage. However, I’ve always fantasised after the real thing. Here’s the true story (from my point of view) of how ‘The Prisoner’ finally became the genuine article…


I lay face down on the cold, hard floor. I felt my right wrist grabbed firmly and a cuff locked in place around it. My other wrist was quickly pulled up behind me and cuffed in place. My wrists were now chained together and nestled in the small of my book.

I was taking a hell of a risk. If my judgment was bad, I was now heading into a tremendously dangerous situation. I had no back-up plan and no-one knew where I was.


I couldn’t see my captor. A thick neoprene hood had been placed over my head. It had only two small nose holes and a larger mouth hole which was the perfect size for the large red ballgag which was now firmly strapped into my mouth.

My ankles were pulled up towards my wrists and cuffs were placed around them. My wrists and ankles were now cuffed and chained together. I was hogchained. The chain connecting my wrists and ankles was longish…but not so long as I could fully straighten my body out.

The cuffs gripped my wrists and ankles. It wasn’t painful…but I could feel the metal gently cutting into my flesh.

I lay on my front contemplating my situation. I listened for any sound around me…any sign that my captor was still present. Nothing.

Basically, if I had made a bad choice in being here…I was now totally screwed. And yet, I was tremendously aroused. I realised that if I didn’t do something soon, I would cum, there and then, into by shiny black Umbro football shorts.

I rolled over onto my left side. The desire to cum was still there but it eased as my genitals were released from their crushed location between my body and the hard floor.


I began to explore the chains and cuffs behind my back. As I tugged on them, I quickly realised that I was also attached to a chain which was shackled to the wall. So any thoughts I had of possibly escaping by wriggling across the stone floor were firmly put to rest. I wasn’t going anywhere.

And yet, I had known all along that this exact set of restraints were going to be used on me. I had agreed it all online with my captor.

Continue reading “Article – ‘#chained’ and how it came about (my first time in real bondage)”

Story – ‘Tom Daley – Kidnap Victim’ Part 2


Tom Daley lay face down in his cold metal coffin like prison. He had given up struggling. There was no possibility of escape. Duct tape kept his limbs securely bound and straps locked him to the inside of the casket in which he was being kept prisoner. He wore only his tight blue training speedo.

Tom could move his head from side to side but that was the only movement which his restraints would allow.

Tom lay still and concentrated on breathing through his nostrils. He was unable to take in air through his mouth. It had been stuffed with one of his speedos and the layers of duct which had been wrapped around his head held it firmly in place. The speedo tasted of chlorine.  It had been taken straight from his training bag and had not been washed.

His balls ached. Because he was lying full length and face down on the hard metal base of his tiny prison, they were being crushed between his body and the firm, cold surface. He wriggled as best as he could to achieve some sort of comfort but his restraints held him tight.

Tom waited. He was scared. The urge to panic remained but he worked hard to control it. There was no point in struggling. He focussed on conserving his energy. If the chance to escape came he needed to be ready.
Continue reading “Story – ‘Tom Daley – Kidnap Victim’ Part 2”

Story – ‘Tom Daley – Kidnap Victim’


Tom Daley hung in chains. He was naked apart from the tight, blue speedo which he had worn whilst he had been training at his pool.

His wrists were shackled and held somewhere high above his head. His arms were pulled painfully tight. His shoulder muscles complained as they supported the weight of his entire body. His feet dangled inches above a cold, concrete, dirty floor.

He could barely make a sound. Another of his training speedos had been stuffed in his mouth and was held in place with several layers of duct tape which had been wrapped several times over his mouth and around his head.

A camera flash repeatedly dazzled him as the harsh, unblinking eye of a camera repeatedly took his photo.

Somewhere behind the camera, Tom could just about make out the figure of one of his kidnappers. He was muscular and wore tight black leather jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket…he also wore a black gas mask. His face was hidden other than the dim suggestion of eyes seen through the circular eye pieces…
Continue reading “Story – ‘Tom Daley – Kidnap Victim’”

Story – ‘A Day in Hell’

Here’s a classic story from…


the moment i walked into Mark’s den i could tell i was in for much more than i had bargained for. between the den and the study was a large, open, double-sized entry way cut into the wall. i immediately noticed that four big, heavy eye-hooks had been screwed into it’s frame at each of the four corners. there were four lengths of heavy clothesline running through each of the loops in these eyehooks. four thick leather straps hung from one end of each of these ropes. the ropes were threaded through the hoops and then fed to winches which had been installed into the top and bottom at the midpoints of the doorframe. the straps nearest the floor were fed to the bottom winch and conversely, the straps near the ceiling to the top winch.
Continue reading “Story – ‘A Day in Hell’”

Story – ‘The Three Rooms’

They came for him at 3 o’clock Friday morning. He awoke instantly, eyes wide and staring, to the sound of the front door being broken down. Within a couple of seconds he realised what was happening, and leapt out of bed. By the time he was halfway to the door they were coming up the stairs. He cursed and spun round, looking for a way out, but there was nowhere to run. All he could think of was to hide behind the door. He didn’t even make it that far. Four policemen burst into the room, grabbed him and pinned him down onto his bed, their black, shiny uniforms cold against his bare skin.

One of the policeman sounded as if he was running the show. “Anthony James Beresford, you are charged with theft under section two of the Electronic Data Act 2002. You do not need to say anything, but anything you do say will be entered into your record and reproduced in any trial or inquiry bearing on this charge. Bag him up.”

Within seconds Tony’s wrists were handcuffed behind his back, the regulation hood dropped over his head and the drawstring pulled tight. Thus completely helpless, and naked, he was marched down the stairs, out of the flat and into the waiting police car.
Continue reading “Story – ‘The Three Rooms’”