Bondage Diary

Subject: Submission?

Hey helpless, I love your web site about self bondage. It has been both an education and a source of fun for me, and I hope you keep up the good work. I started keeping a bondage diary a few months ago, when I really got into it. Here is the first entry, which you are more than welcome to use if you wish. If you do prefer to use it, I would like to remain anonymous. I do receive email correspondance at this address regularly, and I am the sole author of this. Thanks!


I don’t know why, but my decision to buy my first real pair of handcuffs was not something I spent a lot of time thinking about. I had the toy ‘cuffs for a few years - and had a lot of fun with them, but there was always the knowledge that one good tug would break the swivel. Looking at the handcuffs in the army surplus brought quite a rush of excitement to my head. I could immediately see the differences between the real thing and the $5 imitations. The Smith and Wesson M-100 were my ‘cuffs of choice; lovingly crafted in white carbon steel with two keys, and presented in a lightly oiled paper to keep them from rusting. I picked them up and immedaitely noticed a difference in weight. These cuffs were the real thing; every square millimetre exuded strength and purpose. The edges had a rounded feel to them, and I imagined they would be more comfortable than the toys I was used to. Fifty nine dollars later, I left the army surplus with the cuffs in a brown paper bag. I played with the cuffs for about an hour, acquanting myself with the keys, keyholes, double lock mechanism, and general feel of the cuffs. They were heavier than the toys, and they were also quite a bit thicker. But the rounded edges and overall quality of construction made them feel more comfortable. The ratchet mechanism was also a lot finer than I used used to, with increments for tightening that made it a lot easier to fit the cuffs securely and comfortably. Being without a trusting partnet whom I could have lock me up for a trial run, I decided the best way to give my cuffs an inaugural run was to wear them for a period of time, in some manner that would prevent me from simply unlocking them for a period of time. Self bondage, in other words. I didn’t have any keys frozen in ice, and I didn’t want the hassle of elaborate time release mechanisms - yet - so I decided the best thing to do would be to wear them publicly. Privately, rather, but in a semi-public place where I couldn’t unlock myself without revealing my bound situation. For some reason, the thought of being bound at the wrists with institutional devices is an aphrodesiac for me. I have always thought it would be neat to be locked in a jail cell, wearing only my underwear and a pair of handcuffs. Tonight would play out one small part of that - being led in my street clothes to the place of incarceration. My Calvin Klein underwear is about the closest thing I have to sexy, so I put them on, and a pair of inconspicuous Levi’s jeans. Up top, a plain white T-shirt and a loose sports jacket finished my ensemble. My plan was to sling the jacket over my shoulders, with my hands tucked inside. I often wear a jacket like this when I’m in a hurry and too impatient to put my arms in the sleeves. I waited until 11:30 pm on a Sunday night. I live about a kilometre from a park which is usually poorly lit at night, and decided this would give me time to think about my actions, consider any possible altercations, and chicken out. I placed one handcuff key on my front porch (next to a post, almost impossible to see if you weren’t looking for it), and one in my wallet on my dresser just in case. I put the cuffs in one back pocket, and a house key in the other. Walking to the park with handcuffs - real police handcuffs - made me feel dangerous. What if a cop stopped me on my walk, and decided to pat me down? How would I explain a pair of keyless handcuffs? One thing that made me feel comfortable was the relative quietness of these cuffs. Every mechanical surface on these cuffs were machined to a fine tolerance, and the only sound they made was the soft clinging of the two chain links between the swivels. Or what if I fell, and was hurt badly enough to require attention? How would I explain my handcuffed state? Woudl they take me to the local prison, thinking I was an escaped convict? The park was dark, and I reached into my pocket with a quickening heartbeat. The cuffs reflected the light perfectly; this allowed me to make sure that I put them on with the keyholes facing my hands. I hadn’t tried removing them with the keyholes facing my elbows, and I wasn’t about to experiment now. I locked the first cuff on my left wrist, and felt my heart beating even faster. I made sure my jacket was adjusted correctly, and brought the second cuff to my right wrist. My wrists were now connected by a chain that wouldn’t allow them more than an inch of separation, which brought a feeling of self consciousness I hadn’t anticipated before. It is one thing to lock yourself up in your bedroom; it’s another thing to do it in a public park where you risk all sorts of unanticipated accidents. I walked a bit faster now, and inadvertantly tugged at my bound wrists - partly with excitement, and partly with the regret of not being able to turn back. The street I planned on walking back on was dark - very dark - and I knew I could relax a bit more. I let my hands dangle outside my jacket for a bit, while I looked down at the steel handcuffs which had me mercilessly bound. I slowed my pace to a more natural speed and continued down the street. Now I know how a prisoner feels, walking towards their ultimate destination without any choice in the matter. The key to these cuffs was at home, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do with them on. I had them tight enough that there wasn’t a hope I could get them off without the key - and the lock mechanism looked far too good for any sort of picking. My only mobile limbs were my legs, carrying me without question to my ultimate destination. Now, if only there was a way to get leg irons on without anyone knowing ... ... I had a hard time finding a position for my hands that was comfortable. The chain on these 'cuffs held my wrists closer than the toys. With my hands in front, the only comfortable position I could hold for any period of time was simply to cross my wrists - making me look quite unnatural. In fact, I thought at one point that I must look like a handcuffed criminal with a jacket slung over. It didn't take me all that long to get home; I wasn't running, but I wasn't keeping a leisurely pace, either. The key was sitting out front where I had left it. Taking the cuffs off was not as easy as before; the keyhole on my new cuffs was much smaller than the cheapies, and my wrists were a bit sweaty (and swollen) by this point. I decided I would wear my cuffs one notch looser next time. I wasn't in the door five minutes before I was putting ice cube trays full of frozen string in the freezer, preparing for something a little more long term ...

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