A Bad Trip

A Bad Trip (Experience) In Self-Bondage

by Hiliary Maria dubh nic Seamus

I was 27 years old when this happened. I was out of the service and was enjoying several months of freedom (back from 'Nam -- after 4 years in the Sea Cadets, 4 years NROTC and 8 years duty in 'Nam) I was in New York City, staying with Phyllis - I knew her from college (she was 3 years ahead of me and also 3 years older - she was 30 at the time). We shared the same ideas and tastes (both of us were into B&D and mild SM, she not only tolerated my "dressing", she improved me). I never would be a Playboy Flower Child Model, but sitting on an ottoman in her living room, looking in the mirror by the door, I saw looking-back at me a perfectly acceptable (and as most who knew me put it - attractive young woman). At this time I still had the slender build of my teens - 6-foot tall and 153#, 38-29-38 and natural hair that reached halfway between my shoulders and my ass. Thanks to "Phil's" help, my make-up was perfect. The micro-dress (white eyelet lace fabric) fitted perfectly.

Phyllis was ready to leave for work - it was 0730 AM and she started at 0830. She was telling me what to prepare for my dinner - she would be at her parents' home until midnight and I shouldn't wait for her, but I should be ready. "But," she added, "Knowing you, you will be binding yourself today. Be warned - If you can't get out and I find you so, you'll remain bound until I decide to release you. Come here, give me a kiss." Our kiss was very much more than friendly or sisterly. Until last night we regularly fucked like a pair of mink. Now her fertile period was starting, and since she was allergic to the pills then available, and she was a nurse, it was decided that a Follett Catheter would be inserted into my urethra and bladder to help control me while she was unable to have sex (Phil was jealous - no one but no one but she would enjoy me while I stayed with her). Since I had mentioned to her that I might do some shopping and clubbing later in the day, she insisted that I be locked into my chastity belt before I finished dressing (I had no male clothes - Phil and I lived like two sisters -- an older sister [Phil] and the younger sister [myself]). The chastity belt was because she planned to be the one to "pop" my cherry on my birthday (I shivered when she shown me the strap-on-dildo harness with the pony-sized dildo she planned to use on me for the event).

My dressing, always a project, began at 0500AM. After bathing and shaving (Phil insists that I always be free of bodily hair - What I can't remove myself she does - remember she is a nurse and used to prepping patients for rectal surgery). This done, on this day she inserted and inflated the catheter, and clipped shut the end so that I wouldn't "dribble"(the catheter went through a hole in my panties and one in the crotch-strap of my chastity belt). After a complete GI colonic, a retention plug in my rectum took care of that need (she has used this before on me - no fun using it, but it did the job). After my gaff, a sanitary pad (she decided that I should also start my "period") and panties, then the chastity belt went on (no cumbersome locks, this was retained by flat and undetectable locks -- securing two waist straps, one buckling over the locking one). Next I came to putting on my bra and breast forms. Then a chemise that barely reached my hips. Strapping my wrists together in front of my body (and my ankles as well) she used a hook in the ceiling (originally installed to support a planter - the plant died - and now I hung from it on occasion) to suspend me so that I was on my tiptoes. Around my waist went the corset and the busk in front was hooked shut. Going behind me she grasped the laces and began to tighten the laces. Since I wore a corset daily, this went fast. In no-time I was laced down to a 25-inch waist. Letting me down, on went my pantyhose and heels (these were Dorsey Pumps with 4-inch heels and ankle straps). Next came my mini-slip -- bodice and 2-inch band of lace, it barely reached my crotch. Over this my mini-dress, barely mid-thigh, short sleeves, princess neckline -- of white eyelet cotton/linen blend. Once zipped in, my hair and makeup were taken care of. This done, Phil told me to sit on the ottoman in the living room and behave myself.

It is now about 0730 AM. Well, after finishing dressing me, Phil left me to my devices. Having planned to do just what she had warned me about, I decided to get things ready for after dinner. Going into my bedroom, I opened my and pulled my "toy chest" out of the closet. Opening the trunk, I took out of it a number of items; some, like a sponge soaking in a jar of a strong brine solution (there was a 1/4-inch layer of undissolved salt on the bottom of the jar) were prepared much earlier. Others were gloves - "little white wrist-length gloves", over the wrist (to mid-forearm straight dress "coat gloves", over-the-elbow "formal gloves" with their 3-button opening on the wrist, and my secret treasure -- a pair of leather "5-button wrist to-the-shoulder opera-length gloves" with the straps above the elbow (inside the glove) and below the armpit (above the bicep - top of glove folds over to hide the strap) which would prevent the glove from fall-in. Also I took out of the trunk some large bundles of 3/16-inch sash cord, a pair of Hyatt-styled Leg Irons where the hobble was reduced to 1-link, a special homemade harness, a leather collar, a discipline helmet with only a set of breathing holes, 2 lengths of sheeting strips, and a bunch of padlocks. Putting the trunk back into the closet, I took the items I had removed into the living room and put them on the cushions on the floor where the couch normally was (this couch was suspended from the ceiling and rings in the floor accepted snaps on the ends of chains from the couch so that tit wouldn't sway. Since we didn't use the couch very often, it was pulled-up to the ceiling (14-foot ceilings - this was an old building) and the rings in the floor were perfect for my purposes. Making sure the locks were all open, and putting one length of sheeting strip into a pan of water to soak, I made some phone calls.

It is now about 0830 AM. No luck. Dave, who I counted-on to squire me around was dissed from our last date when I refused to "put-out" for him (He didn't, and to this day doesn't know that I am not a girl), and refused. Everyone else was at work or going to work. Nothing to watch on TV and I didn't want to go shopping alone, much less clubbing; and a single woman in an adult bookstore was fair prey -- much less the risks involved if the police conducted one of their raids. I was caught in one once, and Phyllis told me that the next time I would have to have my day in court -- the cops didn't believe that I wasn't hooking -- lucky Phyllis's dad (an attorney - and a good friend of the Mayor and Governor) got there and sprung me before they had me strip and a matron do a cavity search me. With nothing else to do, I decided to test my idea and see if I could escape from the harness I had made.

As usual, for me to think of such an idea was to put it into action - only my habit of not thinking ahead was to cost me dearly. Taking the brine jar to the kitchen, I took the sponge out, squeezed most of the brine out of the sponge and packed it into my mouth. Taking the sheeting strip (2-inches by 6-feet) out of the pan of water, I squeezed it until it was just damp. Centering it between my teeth, I tightly wrapped it around my head, under my hair and between my teeth and knotted it behind my head.

Taking the dry strip (3-inches by 12-feet) I did the same. One or two attempts proved that I couldn't be heard - I could barely hear myself make a squeak through the gag. Going-back into the living room, I sat down on the cushions and started doing a tie on myself. First, I placed the ankle-cuffs on my ankles, securely locking them. Then I took a bundle of sash cord, doubled it and thoroughly bound and cinched the insteps of my feet. Then I used the remainder of the bundle to bind and cinch my ankles.

Then came my knees - the cords tightly secured above the calves and above the knees - both sets of loops were individually cinched and then jointly cinched and knotted. Then I did 1-inch bands of cinched binding at mid-thigh (just above the hem of my dress) and a final 1-inch binding at my crotch (tops of my thighs -- 1-inch below my crotch). I had two bundles of sash cord left. Slipping my dress up to my breasts and using pins to hold it there, I doubled the remaining cord and looped both around my toes and crisscrossed my feet and legs with it until I couldn't flex my feet or legs. I tied the ends off at my chastity belt.

Ignoring the fiery bite of the tight cord (Phyllis and I were going to go out tomorrow, it was Sunday - it would be warm and I knew I would be wearing heavy hose to cover the rope burns) I used a lock to secure one end of the chain to my ankle cuffs and in a redundant mood also locking the cuffs together.

Now I picked-up the harness (Phyllis hasn't seen this item). Pulling it over my head, I then unpinned my dress, allowing the skirt to fall where it wanted (I AM NO LADY WHEN I PLAY BONDAGE GAMES) and secured the harness. First I snugly laced shut a 3-inch collar of thin deerskin. Hanging from the back of this was a 4-inch wide strap. In the front hung a 1-inch wide strap running from collar to my waist.. Riveted to the straps were 4 straps, each one was 2-inches wide -- one that would go around my torso above my breasts, one below my breasts, one just below my ribs and one around my waist. I quickly buckled the straps, slipping a small "poodle" lock through the tongue in each buckle. This harness fitted tight - in fact, the waist was so snug that I knew that my waist had been reduced to 24-inches. The locks secured, I looked in the mirror.

With the black straps of the harness contrasting to my white dress, pantyhose, heels, etc., the effect was something else. My packed mouth and the distressed look in my face caused by the extremely tight gag also helped. Except for my free hands I looked like the classical damsel in distress.

Now I picked-up the earplugs, fat foam cylinders, compressed them and put them into my ear canals. Over them went plugs of swimmers ear wax then a fat pad of cotton wool. It worked. I couldn't hear the radio that was quietly playing. Satisfied, I put on my gloves. First went on the "little white" gloves of wrist length. Next, I smoothed on the mid-forearm gloves over the wrist length gloves. Next came the "over-the-elbow" formal gloves - I had some slight trouble with the wrist buttons, but a button hook make short work of this problem. Taking the discipline helmet, I adjusted the laces so that it was open as much as possible. Taking a final look in the mirror, admiring the damsel in distress that I saw looking back at me, I slid the helmet over my head, closing my eyes as I did so and felt the eye pads slip into place over my eyes. After insuring that the nose holes were properly placed (1-inch lengths of 1/4-inch tubing slid up into my nostrils as the helmet slid into place), I laced-up the helmet. Once done, I knotted the laces and cut-off the excess.

Then I tossed the knife away to make freeing myself harder. Once done, the helmet fitted like a second skin, except for my mouth. The pressures the tightly laced helmet placed on the gag and my jaw were something else. Feeling around, I located the zipper and zipped-shut the helmet over the laces and buckled-shut the attached collar. Now feeling around on the cushions, I located the other collar. This was a rigid collar of stiff leather, double thickness and 5-inches high on the sides and back with a cut-out for the chin, and it had double locking straps 1-inch wide Riveted to it. Sliding the loops on the collar through the slots in the straps I closed the collar around my neck, covering the collar, zipper and lacing of the helmet. I located by feel the lock I wanted, not a "poodle" lock, but an honest bike padlock with a 6-inch long hasp. I slid the hasp of the lock through the loops but didn't lock it. Then I secured the straps on the helmet across my eyes and gag, further increasing the pressure on them, and locked them with "poodle" locks. Until I used the keys to release myself from the helmet, it was on to stay. At this time I also secured the end of the other length of chain to my collar between the two sets of straps on the collar, passing the bike lock through the end link, and then secured the lock.

Feeling around, I located the opera gloves. They slid easily onto my arms (the silk lining saw to that). It was a problem with the 5 buttons on each wrist, and even the button hook was little help since I couldn't see what I was doing, but eventually I secured the buttons and buckled snugly the straps on each glove above the elbow (inside the glove) and above the bicep (outside of the glove, but the top 3-inches folds-down covering the strap). My main problem was my dress sleeves. They were the short, mid-bicep puff sleeves that tightly buttoned at the base of the puff, but finally I managed to undo the buttons enough to slip the top of the gloves under each sleeve and then rebut toned each sleeve.

By now, my common sense was screaming to me "STOP NOW!!! GET YOURSELF OUT OF THIS BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!!!" I was too stubborn. I started, I'll finish it. Lying on my side, I located the free end of the chain on my collar. I slid it through the ring at the head-end of the cushions, and then wiggled up toward the ring, tightening the chain until I was stretched as tight as was possible. I felt-around for the remaining padlock, found it and slid it through the link of chain at the ring and the ring and locked-it. Reaching behind my back, I located the purpose of this harness. (Here I have to digress. Located on the back strap, just below my shoulder blades is a loop of leather parallel to the strap. Through this I wound a series of 12-inch wide loops of heavy -3/16-inch thick - wall thickness - latex tubing -- a total of eight loops which I knotted the ends tightly together. Just at my waist, below the bottom of the strap, on the waist strap, I had riveted a pair of handcuffs which I had modified. I had cut the chain that connected the cuffs together and welded the cuffs to the ends of a 5-inch long by 1/2-inch thick steel rod that had been passed through three steel eyes (lock hasps riveted to the belt) which made it irremovable. With an effort, I managed to flex and bend both arms enough to get my hands to the wrists into the rubber hose loops. Working one arm at a time, I moved them by inches at a time down in-to the loops, keeping my arms tensed apart to stretch and spread the loops. Eventually I reached the bulge of my forearms, the point of no return. Here, I took a breather. I cupped my hands together and pressing out with my arms at the same time dipped one shoulder - it worked - the bands of tubing slid-over the elbow on that side. Doing the same with the other arm, I found I had reached my goal - both elbows were tightly pressed together, and I began to have doubts of freeing myself - even if my wrists were not secured, there was no way I would be able to pull my arms out of the embrace of the loops of rubber hosing. Imagining how I must look, I chuckled to myself at the sight I would present to an onlooker - Except for my wrists, I am totally and inescapably bound, with a discipline helmet tightly secured over my head. Due to the struggles with my elbow bindings, my skirt had ridden-up around my waist. Deciding to continue as the "damsel-in-distress" I didn't adjust it to cover me. I decided to finish myself off. I located the cuffs, managed to get my wrists into each and rolled-onto my back. With a "click" they were shut - too tight as it became quickly obvious as I felt the cuffs bite through 4 pairs of gloves. I was able to ignore the bite of the cord on my legs, but not that of the cuffs on my wrists, and since I had to flex my elbows - the cuffs were too high to allow my arms to remain straight, the loops of rubber hose around my elbows hurt very much. "Still," as I thought to myself, "give it a chance. Thank goodness for the cushions, otherwise..."

"THE CUSHIONS!!" I shrieked to myself all of a sudden. Before starting I was supposed to move the cushions so I would have room to move around. No wonder it was hard to turn - no slack in the chains because of the cushions I was laying on. The attempts I made to try to move the cushions were futile. The dense foam pads slid-into burlap covers that were laced through rings on the sides of the covers to rings on the sheet of plywood that formed the seat of the sofa. Unable to move them, my body was bent into an arc from just above my knees to the tops of my shoulders. In spite of that, the discovery I next made was the ultimate. Feeling around to free myself - now I was getting scared - I couldn't find the keys. I tried to think of where they should be - in spite of the cushions I should be able to reach them, after all, they were on the cushion next to me... or were they? I thought back, then I panicked -- I HAD LEFT THE KEYS ON THE SINK IN THE KITCHEN!!

I struggled and fought my bonds until I was soaked to the skin. By now, the cords, tubes and cuffs were beyond hurting. I was being flayed alive, the chastity belt also added to the fun. It was rubbing saddle sores. In fact, I was beginning to lose feeling in my arms and legs - the restricted circulation was making everything feel fuzzy. I also discovered why a discipline helmet was so named - as I become heated from struggling, the sweat gathered inside the helmet, and combined with the tight fit of the leather across my face, made the helmet very uncomfortable.

In addition, the gag and helmet combination was a mistake. As the wet strip of cloth dried, it shrunk, and was beginning to push the sponge further into my mouth. Then I remembered the headlines for the past several weeks - several girls and young women had been found dead in their apartments -- bound and strangled -- the thoughts of someone breaking-in and finding me like this arose.

"What if they decided to kill me because the chastity belt and helmet made it impossible for me to service them with a fuck or a blow job? What if they managed to remove the chastity belt and discovered that I am not a girl, but a man? On second thought, no problem there - after all, THIS IS NEW YORK!!! GREENWICH VILLAGE, CHRISTOPHER STREET, MARBLE ARCH PARK, etc. No, a crossdressed male would still be a common fuck (as could and still can be found by the truck terminals). But still, the chastity belt had a mesh of chain mail between the layers of the waist band and the crotch strap - "no key, no pee" as Phyllis put it when we bought it. And few men, no matter how horny they were, would risk a forced blow job. I had plenty to worry about. Also, what if the landlord's handyman came to do some work? 'He does have a key, but he comes by appointment - still, there's emergencies to worry about' I thought to myself. A fire - the Fire Department, the Police, the Press!!! It was too-much. I resumed my struggles - suddenly I felt myself stifling - I couldn't breathe - there was a buzzing sensation and a hammering in my head. Then Nothing.

I'm back. All still is dark. The pain was gone - only numbness in my limbs. The brine gag was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. No wonder the Ancient Romans would pack a rebellious slave's mouth with salt and then gag them and after a day let them see water. If I were that slave, I would rush to the cross for a drink of water. I knew I was in trouble. The swelling of my arms and legs would cause the loss of feeling. The sponge packed in my mouth was partially in my throat making it hard to breathe - not bad enough to gag me, but I knew that any more struggling might cause it to silk back further - but as the cutting sensation from the drying cloth strip told me, I might not have to struggle - for the cloth was still shrinking - pushing against the sponge. Also, the helmet wasn't helping. Even if I hadn't plugged my ears, the leather over my ears would still hinder my hearing. Also, the leather of the helmet was trapping my sweat against my skin, making me feel hotter and sweatier than I really was. The tubes in my nose were next to the worst - the holes in them are only 3/16-inch in diameter, OK for long, gentle breathing. Disaster for panicked, struggling breathing. The worse were my collars. Not enough to strangle, but close -- I fought to force myself to stay calm, relax, lower my blood pressure. It was a cycle - I relaxed, then I panicked. Every time I came down, I was worse off than before. How long this went on, I couldn't tell. I almost panicked when I feel something touch my thigh (by now my dress had slid-up so high that under my back my fingertips could feel the hem of the skirt. Breezes from the open window told me that the top of my dress was in even worse dishabille). I stop struggling when the fingers tapped a 1-2-3 1-2-3 tempo on my leg - Phil's signal to me when I am unable to hear, telling me that she is taking charge. I relaxed.

OK - Phil was home. She kept her word. I had bound myself on Saturday, and it was now One AM Tuesday Morning - she kept me bound for two more days. Only now did I really begin to pay. Without removing the helmet, she removed my harness, dress and chemise. She put the layered gloves to good use - she bound my wrists together in front of me and then suspended me from the rings holding the sofa against the ceiling, with my legs pulled apart and spread wide. She than took a belt and spent, it seems, hours using it on every inch of my back, sides, inner legs and front.

After the flogging (that's what it was) I was cut-down. The collar and helmet were removed and I was allowed to free myself as well as I could. Phyllis than told me to bathe and then stand by the foot posts of our bed. That night, and for the next month I spent my nights with my wrists bound behind my back and the bed post, my body and ankles bound to the post, suspended with my feet off the floor, supported only by my bonds, gagged and blindfolded.

Eventually the rope burns faded - but the memories and trauma didn't.