4: Andreabound in Jail – Part One

A strange thing has happened to me recently. My awakening to bondage has also been an awakening of my personality. I have started to overcome my natural shyness and this has been reflected in the increasing risks I have been willing to take in my adventures built also in the way I dress and act at work.

The upshot of wearing higher-heels, more make-up and sharper, brighter colored suits with skirts rather than pants to the office was a promotion. There are those who might see this as sexism and rail against it but, frankly I grabbed the offer with both hands. I need the extra money so I can fulfill my longing for a house of my own. A place I could practice my night-time diversions with more space and facilities for play.

You see my woodworking night-classes were paying off. I’m sure it helped being the only female student in the class and so what if I put on my little-girl-lost look from time to time? It’s not my fault the men in the class are all too ready to give me extra attention and help. From them I’ve learned lots of useful stuff; stuff I wouldn’t ever dared to ask about if I’d had to ask a straight question. But a coy, innocent look and a, “that looks really clever, how does it work?” was enough to prompt my classmates into a race to show off all they knew about things mechanical; whether or not the information was relevant to the lesson or not. Perhaps they knew I was playing them, but we all enjoyed the game and I’m sure none of my fellow students guessed the real reason I was so hungry for knowledge.

I had started my class hoping to learn skills I could adapt to make stocks, pillories, a bondage chair and maybe even a rack, in order to live out my medieval fantasies. Trouble is, although my woodworking skills were improving with leaps and bounds, I was still only 110 pounds soaking wet and only 5’2” and thin (well ok, wiry, since we’re being honest here), and my home workshop facilities were somewhat lacking; one of the main reasons I wanted a house of my own. The possibilities of having a basement to play in were alone enough to keep me generating ideas for hours at a time.

Any bondage furniture I built would have to be sturdy so as to provide a totally inescapable experience yet small enough to fit into my small apartment and be invisible to visitors. My skills and facilities weren’t up to that yet so in the end I decided to start simple and build a jail cell in my attic. I quickly realized, however, that even this task was going to be too much for me and I had to rethink my plans. I was determined to build a jail cell, but I just couldn’t work out how to do it in the attic.

I cast about for other options and eventually realized that if I emptied most of the contents of the walk-in closet in my hallway, it would make an ideal jail cell space. Certainly cramped, but this wasn’t meant to be a pleasant experience after all.

Inspired by a facility called ‘the hole’ on a website I visited specializing in long-term incarceration (isolationcell.com), I decided to not use the whole of the closet. So I emptied the closet completely putting many of the lesser used items in the attic and after painting the cell a uniform gray, built a shelf from thick wood at about a height of three feet. I nailed the shelf in place for extra security and placed the remainder of the previously removed items back on top of the shelf. This would be the roof of my prison and would prevent me from standing up straight. The closet was about three and a half feet wide and as deep, so I wouldn’t be able to stretch out at all once I was locked in there. I ripped out the small piece of carpet in the closet; no modern comforts for our damsel. I would have to lie on the hard wooden floor during my incarceration. Once the floorboards were cleared I could fix a plate with attached metal ring near the back wall.

For the front of the cell I made a strong wooden frame and added bars made from thick metal piping with wooden dowels inside the pipes for strengthening. A sturdy hinge on one side and two mortise locks, at the top and bottom of the frame on the other side, completed the door. I fitted the hinge to the side of the closet doorframe far enough back that I could slip a sheet of hardboard in front of the cell door to hide it when not in use. The advantage of this set up is that when not in use the cell would double as a hiding place for all my bondage gear. Anyone opening the closet door would see a shelf full of stuff about three feet high with a boxed-in area underneath the shelf they would assume was hiding pipes or something.

Once the hardboard was removed the cell door could be unlocked and opened outwards to allow a prisoner to be placed in there.

The main problem I faced was how to provide for a fairly lengthy stay in the prison and guarantee release later on. Any release mechanism based on melting ice – my favorite method – wasn’t going to give me long enough to experience the prison properly. I needed something that would lock me in there for at least a day, maybe two, maybe even longer. I thought long and hard about this and was about to give up when I hit upon a workable scheme.

The car park for our apartment block was just outside below my kitchen window. I would feed a length of strong invisible thread through the slightly opened window and attach the end to a random car; one I knew was used often. When the car was driven off the thread would break and release a key.

One of the perks of my new position in the office was that I could work from home occasionally if I chose. I thought I could get ahead with my work, and plan to work from home at the end of one week giving me a couple of days to enjoy my stay in jail and a weekend to recover from my experience.

There were a few more items I needed for my adventure. Some of these I could only find on-line so I ordered them and went shopping for the rest. A couple of metal doggy bowls, a metal pail and the equipment needed for my release mechanism, I found at the local mall.

Eventually, the items I ordered turned up; the first, a steel chastity belt. I know I already have a leather one but I could just about slip a finger under the edge of it and the leather itself was thin enough that I could rub myself to satisfaction. I needed to be absolutely sure that I was completely denied pleasure and besides, it was soo shiny! The other items arrived a day or so later. A full set of authentic-looking steel restraints including manacles for my wrists, ankles and a collar for my neck all loosely connected with thick chains. I know, I know, this stuff was really expensive and I was supposed to be saving for my new house but I figured I needed some decent gear and I would start saving properly next month.

I’d also picked up a large Hessian sack at the mall’s garden center. This was to be my attire for the adventure. I cut it to fit loosely on me and found a suitable piece of old rope to tie round my waist. The neck hole I cut deliberately big so that the sack was always in danger of falling off my shoulders and the bottom I cut short so that the sack only just covered my modesty.

Finally the day came for my sentence to be served out and I had got so far ahead with my work that I only had a couple of hours to do on the Thursday morning. I put my laptop away and prepared for my time in jail.

Andreabound in Jail – Part Two

Removing the hardboard cover, I opened the jail door and emptied the bondage gear stored there into my bedroom. I filled the dog bowls, one with water and one with thin gruel and placed them in one corner of my cell. The other corner would be the toilet area and I placed the metal pail there. I also threw in an old lumpy pillow I had owned since college days; my one concession to comfort. I’d painted the back of the hardboard cover to look like an old stone wall, the sort that might be found in a dungeon, and placed it against the wall of the hallway opposite my cell door. The drapes were drawn in most of the rooms and I left doors just slightly open. That meant the hallway, which didn’t have a window, would be in semi-darkness during the day and almost black at night.

No matter how well a release mechanism is tested there is always a possibility of failure, so I ‘phoned Simon, my ex boyfriend and asked him to come round on Sunday night. This would be my very last resort as I really didn’t want to spend more than a couple of days in bondage and I certainly didn’t want him to find me locked up in my own jail cell. By then I should have been free for a couple of days at least and we could just go out for a drink and catch up on old times. He knew the code for the front door as he’d helped me move in and I told him to use the spare key under the mat if I didn’t answer the doorbell.

This scenario was relatively simple to enact. All I had to do was dress in my one-piece sackcloth, set up the release system, climb into the cell, lock on my chains and throw the keys to the door and my restraints down the hall way out of reach.

As the apartment is mostly full of commuters, and therefore most of the cars in the car park were used nearly every weekday that I needed to change the odds a little. Otherwise my stay in the cell was likely to be too short lived. I decided to run two threads out of the window and attach each to a different auto, meaning both would have to be driven off before the key would be released. The release was simple and consisted of connecting the threads to a key ring that couldn’t be pulled through a eyebolt I had screwed into the top of the doorframe above my prison cell. As the first car drove away its thread would break but the other would remain intact. As the second car drove away though, the key ring would fall to the floor leaving the keys within reach of the bars.

Checking the release mechanism one last time and, happy it was as foolproof as I could make it, I crawled into my cell and started to fasten my restraints. I had chosen simple steel loops that each had a hinge at one side and a hasp for a padlock at the other. Each manacle also had a ring where the connecting chains were attached. Rather than use padlocks, I had bought short bolts with matching nuts to make my captivity seem more permanent. I closed the metal cuffs over my extremities, sealing them one-by-one by threading the bolts through the hasps and using an Allen wrench to tighten them. Without use of the wrench these weren’t coming off.

The cuffs were already connected to one another; a short chain ran between the ankle cuffs and another shorter one between the wrists. Another chain ran between the ankles and front of the collar, joining the wrist chain on its journey. To this ensemble I added my heaviest chain using my two largest padlocks to connect one end to my collar and the other to the ring fixed in the floor. The chain was just long enough to allow me to reach through the bars with my hands but not allow me to put my face up to the cell door. This meant all I could se from my cell was the wall painted on the hardboard surrounded by a deepening gloom.

I was now locked up until my release mechanism said otherwise. Of course the way I had set it up I had no way of knowing how long that would be. But it was extremely unlikely to be more than two days. More likely one day. Maybe, even less.

So here I was, still undeterred by my spell in the oubliette. This time at least I hadn’t been doing anything in public that I shouldn’t have, but it had probably been a mistake to be rude to the magistrate on my release. Instead of giving me a warning about future behavior before letting me go, he ordered that I be taken straight back down to the dungeon. I didn’t like the gleam in his eye and I knew he had yet more indignities in mind for me. I was trouble as far as he was concerned and he was going to make sure I paid for it. My destiny was to be punished over and over as an example to the rest of our community of the price for straying from the puritan morals the magistrate had sworn to protect from corruption by wayward women like me.

Before being taken to the magistrate I had been scrubbed clean of the stink I had acquired moldering in the Oubliette, my dirty clothes had been burnt and I was given this old rag to wear. Now of course I was thrown into the cells without a chance to go home and change into my only other set of clothing. I felt miserable but consoled myself with the thought that at least I would be able to pleasure myself in here without interruption. Unfortunately, the magistrate had thought of that too and I had only been in my cell a few minutes when a guard marched in, roughly pulled up my dress and fastened on the chastity belt I was now wearing. I grunted with frustration and tried with all my might to slip a finger between a leg and the band of unyielding metal encasing my most delicate areas, but there was obviously going to be no satisfaction any time soon. Damn that magistrate and his over-zealous guards!

I’d really done it this time. Here I was locked up in an inescapable cell for God knows how long, my neck chained to the floor and with heavy steel manacles bolted onto my ankles and wrists. The chains between my restraints would keep me from stretching out, not that I had room to lie flat in here anyway.

There was no way to tell the time other than the approaching gloom of sunset and the lightening of dawn. Between those events, time was going to pass very slowly. I wasn’t particularly strictly restrained, so nothing to pull against to work up a heat. And with nothing to do; no TV, no books, no company and, worse, no computer, nothing to look at except the walls and my chains. I couldn’t even touch myself to bring relief – believe me I had tried very hard to do this since I locked the door but this chastity belt was most effective.

I had turned the air up to max and the apartment was starting to cool down. At this time of year without the heating on it would get cold at night and with the conditioner running full blast I was going to be freezing soon. Just like a real cell I’d figured.

It was finally dark and lying there on the bare floor with my other senses at full alert, I could hear every noise in the neighborhood. I heard the front door close with a bang and waited to see if any of the cars on the apartment’s car park drove off. I heard a car start and wondered if it was one of those I had chosen to help with my release. Even if it were, I wouldn’t know until the second car took off.

The noises quieted after a while and apart from a distant TV blaring I could tell most people were going to bed. I tried to get comfortable on the floor again and was glad for millionth time that I had the pillow for my head. Unfortunately, after spending all of an afternoon and evening cramped up in this tight space, I was feeling somewhat restless and sleep eluded me. I would drift off into a light daze, daydreaming of all the future bondages I would put myself into, only to be rudely awakened by one of the cuffs digging into me somewhere. In fact it seemed impossible to find a position where I was comfortable and I desperately needed to stretch out and ease the aches in my joints.

I had to settle for the least uncomfortable position and it seemed as soon as I drifted off to sleep my cramped body would move to seek relief and I would end up lying on a cuff or chain and wake up again. In the end I slept little and dawn found me tired, disheveled, cramped, desperate for sexual relief and wanting out very badly.

Unsurprisingly, no one had moved a car during the night so I was still captive here. Well it was early yet and maybe later this morning I could get free. Meanwhile I had to pee. Badly. I hadn’t actually tried using the pail yet. Or in fact going to the bathroom whilst wearing the belt. It said on the instructions that it would allow the wearer to pee but I hadn’t tried it out so after gulping sown some water from the dog bowl, I knelt up and got myself up into a crouching position over the pail. It mostly worked and a thin stream of pee made it into the bucket. The rest however, ran down the inside of my legs and puddle on the floor. Gross! I wished I’d thought of this and brought something with me to mop up but all I had was my sackcloth dress and the pillow and I needed those too much. I would just have to try and avoid the mess when I lay down again.

I spent most of the morning sitting with my back to the wall, leaning against it for some small relief, listening to some of the cars starting up and waiting in vain for the key to fall. But sitting up made the collar seem heavy, mostly because of the heavy chain I had attached to it. I tried holding the chain in a hand to relieve some of the pressure but it wasn’t really long enough and eventually my hand would grow tired.

So around what I assumed was midday I had to lie down again. The puddle of pee hadn’t dried completely so I had to position myself rather awkwardly to avoid lying in it. And I need to go again. This wasn’t going to be funny. If I needed to pee before the last mess had time to dry out my cell was eventually going to be underwater.

This time I did better and less pee went on the floor. It was definitely starting to smell bad in here though. Just like a real dungeon, I figured. Nice idea, but not so hot in reality.

Andreabound in Jail – Part Three

So the day went. And the next night. And the next day. I was getting really worried now. I had taken a gamble on the drivers but didn’t expect to be here this long and I really didn’t want to be discovered like this by Simon. He would never let me live it down and would certainly tell all his friends, some of whom were my friends too. Worse than that my water was running out; I hadn’t planned on being in here this long.

I reached for the cell doors for the zillionth time and gave them what I knew would be a futile shake; not even a slight movement. I examined my bonds, also for the zillionth time. Nothing had changed; they still weren’t coming off without the proper tool. I felt like screaming, maybe that would bring someone but that would have to be a last resort. Better that Simon should find me than a complete stranger or, worse, one of the neighbors.

Even though it was daytime now it was still freezing in here and I regretted being so bold with the temperature control. I had to keep pulling my sack-dress back onto my shoulders to try and keep my neck warm and the dress was otherwise too short to provide any real cover. The cuffs, being made of metal, were like blocks of ice and I had to keep shifting them about my wrists and ankles. At least the chastity belt had a rubber lining protecting me from the worst of the cold metal there but there wasn’t much I could do about the band of icy-cold metal at my neck and had to just bear it. The air-con thing had been an afterthought but was turning out to be the hardest part of the affair to endure.

Saturday night. At least I thought it was. Somewhere I seemed to have lost sense of time. No, I was sure it was Saturday. I had already drunk the last of the water earlier that day and had one last pee adding to the growing puddle of increasing smelliness. I hadn’t slept properly since Wednesday night and I was in a real state and I thought with a giggle that at least without a fresh supply of water I wouldn’t be adding to my watery discomfort. Why was I giggling? Was this the first sign of my mind going? I had even given up getting my hopes up every time I heard the front door shut. It seemed as if my chosen drivers just weren’t going to collaborate in my escape plans.

I knew that at the very worst I had another twenty-four hours to go before Simon was here to let me out. Even knowing my incarceration had a definite end in sight though didn’t seem to matter any more. I wondered what it must be like to be locked up without knowing when you would be released, if ever. I guess you would eventually sink into some kind of acceptance and a routine would establish itself. Ay least even those locked up in solitary confinement had mealtimes to look forward to. I’d had no human contact for over three days; a long time for me. And without the normal distractions of TV, etc., this was proving to be a serious ordeal. I hadn’t banked on the experience getting so inside my head; perhaps I was losing it.

Eventually I fell into another restless sleep and woke to find myself, thirsty with nothing to drink, hungry with nothing to eat and somehow worse, lying in a pool of pee with nothing to dry myself. During the night I had obviously rolled into the puddle; my dress was soaked, my pillow was damp, and my hair was wet, matted and stuck to my face. I was so cold all I could do was sit shivering, with my arms wrapped around me as best I could, and cry. I felt so miserable and cursed myself for starting this crazy adventure. I had wanted to experience the worst of prison life and I had got my wish. Why had I expected it to be fun? People aren’t locked away for their own enjoyment. And worse, I still had an itch I couldn’t scratch. If only I could have pushed a finger past my chastity belt at least I would have had a distraction from the deprivation but even that was denied me. The belt was an integral part of the scenario but I hadn’t planned on wearing it for so long and it had started to rub me sore since I first wet it with my pee.

There was nothing to do but wait in misery until Simon turned up. So I sat and lay for the rest of the day, listening half-heartedly to the noises outside as people did Sunday kinds of things like washing cars and cutting lawns. At last the sounds died down and that meant evening and therefore release couldn’t be far away.

Sitting in a stupor, my thoughts just wandering in circles, I was suddenly brought to my senses by the ringing of the telephone. Who would be ringing me at this time? Not the usual time for my parents’ weekly checkup on my state of health. It could be one of my friends ringing to see if I was up for a night out somewhere. If only! What if was Simon ‘phoning to say he couldn’t’ make it? No that was unthinkable. He wouldn’t let me down like that. He could be a shit at times but he was always reliable, and punctual.

But as the darkness encroached, I began to realize with a deepening terror that he wasn’t going to show tonight. I left it as long as I could and then decided I would have to shout for help. Hopefully I could raise the alarm and one of the neighbors would hear me and break in. I had a sudden thought. What would I do if I heard someone shouting for help in the middle of the night? I’d call the police rather than go and look for myself. What if the neighbors did the same? No I would have to leave it until morning, when there was less chance of someone thinking the situation was dangerous and therefore more likely to come and knock on the door, at which point I could tell them about the key under the mat.

So I sat all night with my back against the wall feeling sorry for myself and waiting for the eternal night to end and for the sun to rise. At least sat like this I could stretch my legs almost fully out by poking my feet through the bars. Small comfort, but right now any small comfort meant the world to me.

At some point I must have fallen to sleep as I woke up to find myself lying on my side with my numb foot stuck through the bars of the cell. I cried with pain as I tried to massage life back into my foot and it was then I realized my mouth was so dry that I couldn’t even speak. I determined to call for help there and then before everyone left for work – if it wasn’t already too late. Before I could change my mind and chicken out, I opened my mouth and shouted for all I was worth. Unfortunately all that came out was a dry squeak. I had completely lost my voice. The more I tried to shout the drier my mouth and throat became. I could make a noise but it wasn’t intelligible and certain wouldn’t be heard outside my apartment. I started to really worry now.

My release mechanism had failed, my backup had let me down and I had gone past the point where I could get help from any other source. Would I die here? Serving out a somewhat short life sentence in this homemade cell? I thought of the shame this would bring on my family when the police finally broke in, alerted by the neighbors curious as to the source of the increasing stench of a rotting body next door.

No it couldn’t end like this; I wouldn’t let it. I put my hand down to lift myself up for one last shout and as my hand felt the last of the now drying puddle I realized that I could use this to wet my throat and restore my voice. The very thought of drinking my own urine though, made me feel sick. Worse, I would have to get on all fours and lap it off the floor like a dog. I had never felt so degraded in my life as in the few minutes I sat there working up the nerve to save my life. In the end I knew there was no choice and I closed my eyes, bent down and stuck out my tongue.

Just then I heard the front door to the apartment block slam closed and I started thinking that even in my hesitation I had lost my last chance for freedom. What if that was the last person here and everyone was now at work?

I licked as fast and as hard as I could; fighting back the nausea. Then, forcing myself to swallow the rancid liquid to relieve the dryness in my throat, I shouted for all I was worth. Too late! I heard a car door slam and the sound of an engine starting. I collapsed on the floor, beaten and in despair. I would have cried if I’d had any tears left. I just lay there shaking uncontrollably with fear, and anger, and frustration. Dimly, I heard the car pull away and as it did I also heard the most beautiful sound ever; the sound of my keys hitting the floor in front of the cage door.

Not daring to believe my reversal of fortune I looked gingerly round and saw them lying there. On the hallway carpet, just waiting for me to take them in my grasping fingers and free myself.

Half-an-hour and several drinks later I felt well enough to phone work and tell them I wouldn’t be in today. I must have sounded genuinely hoarse because my manager didn’t hesitate to say ok and for me to get straight back to bed. If only he knew!

I took him up on his advice anyway and after a long bath, I feel into bed for a well-earned sleep. One I had been denied for four and a half days.

Listening to my phone message later it seemed that Simon had been unavoidably detained – probably by another woman, I thought wryly. Anyway, there is a moral from this tale. I learned never to trust other people for my release. I would work on developing more reliable mechanical methods to time my bondage sessions from now on.

23.05.07