Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

The Cage Experiments

by Professor Challenger

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© Copyright 2005 - Professor Challenger - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; cuffs; mask; chast; toys; cage; garage; F/m; D/s; bond; tease; cons; X

Part One

Last night was the most recent of a series of test runs in my newest toy—a new plus ultra of bondage equipment--. After years of desire, I bought a steel standing cage. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of them. They are often referred to as “portable jail cells,” although “portable” is a relative term—it is a heavy item! This one is six feet tall and about 18” inches wide and deep, with the front door divided into three panels for different levels of access. I bought mine from eXrestraints*—very good people to deal with: if you want it, they have it. Their prices are not the cheapest, but I save a couple of hundred dollars by haunting their auctions on eBay--.

But enough plugs. After UPS delivered the two massive packages it came in, I cleared out a corner of my garage, and bolted it together, a very straightforward process. Initially, I set it up on a carpeted platform I also use for my X-frame, as the cage bottom is just bars like the top—it has no “floor.”  After the initial test, I moved the cage onto an old refrigerator dolly I had, with some carpeting on top, which made it very easy to move the cage when desired.

My goal was to recreate a very erotic photograph I have often looked at on the internet: it is by the late, great Tammad Rimilia, one of the pioneering exponents of self-bondage on the Net, and an exponent of chastity belts as well. The photo is on the Neosteel web site ‘rogues gallery’ page, and shows a man locked in a cage of this type. The man can not be identified because the picture is cropped to show him only from the neck down, although he is evidently wearing a collar with a large lock or tag. He is wearing a chastity belt of the Neosteel type, has heavy shackles on his ankles, and similar manacles on his wrists. Strikingly, his hands are manacled through the bars on the outside of the cage door, so that he is attached to the cage, and could not get away even if the cage doors were opened. This model cage has an attachment point in the middle of the floor as well, and it is hard to tell if the shackle chain is linked to it or not, but it appears not in this picture.

The erotic effect of this picture on me was powerful and lasting. The man in the cage was SO screwed! He was not going ANYWHERE! I knew that somehow, sometime, I HAD to do this, too.

The cage itself was the final piece of a puzzle long in the assemblage. Through eBay (love eBay—pity they’re getting uptight about bondage gear) I custom-ordered a set of very versatile heavy cuffs for wrist, ankles and neck, that can be worked up into any number of configurations with padlocks, sections of chain, or spreader bars. For this, I would be using a simple arrangement—ankle cuffs with about eight inches of chain between, and wrist cuffs with about three inches of chain.

Another vendor provided me with a steel bondage mask. There are several of these out there, too, but of course I had to have a custom design—the one often offered is too fierce and spiky looking for a sub, in my opinion. Mine has a very blank faceplate with no mouth opening at all, and very narrow eye slits. It has three purposes—besides the obvious one of having a wonderfully heavy bondage feel, and restricting vision without being a full blindfold, it also robs the wearer of identity—he is a “man in the iron mask”. Since the man in the cage picture had no face, I determined I would be a faceless, nameless captive also.  Third, I have found that almost any gag I can wear comfortably for any period of time, I can also eventually work out of my mouth. The mask fits closely enough that there is no room to expel a gag, yet does not restrict breathing as a hood might.

Someday, I will get a Neosteel chastity belt, but the one I want with all the options would cost substantially more than the cage did--. In the meantime, I have a substitute which is good enough for dungeon play. I have an old leather male “chastity belt” with a locking waist belt and crotch strap. The quotation marks are because the genitals protrude through a hole in the g-string like front and are not covered or restricted, so it is more just a harness, although more substantial than most of the “plug harnesses” you find on the market today. I have modified it by adding three small holes just above the genital opening to accept the locking and guide pins for a CB-2000 chastity cage. I put it on by first getting into the back ring of the CB-2000. Then, I cinch and lock the leather waist belt. I feed my cock and balls through the front of the leather chastity, and the CB-2000 locking pin though its hole. Then, I can fit on the spacers and the CB-2000 main unit and lock. The final step is cinching up and locking the crotch strap in back, and voila!

The cage itself required no modifications except that I fastened a U-bolt around the center bar of the cage “floor” to make an attachment point, which did not exist on this version.

I had agreed with my Mistress that I would experiment with the cage for meditation this evening. As usual, my Mistress is my ‘release’—both very reliable but delightfully uncertain--. Being sure she had the necessary keys, we agreed that, once I was in the cage, she would come out and check on me to be sure I was OK, and then turn off the garage lights and go back in for such time as she felt appropriate before coming to give me the keys so I could release myself. Since I knew she had a writing project in hand, I knew if she got on a roll it might be some time—on the other hand, since we share a bed, I knew she wouldn’t forget and go to bed without me--.

Prior tests had established that getting into bondage gear after getting into the cage was difficult—I am broad-shouldered and it doesn’t leave much maneuvering room—so I determined to get into as much of the gear as possible beforehand. I took off all my clothes except for some sandals (despite repeated sweepings, the garage floor remains gritty) and lubed and inserted my large butt plug.  Controlling my excitement, worked my way into the first ring of the CB-2000, and cinched the waist belt as tightly as I could stand. I then interleaved the leather chastity and the CB-2000 and locked that on. I then pulled the leather crotch strap well up between my buttocks, and locked that as well. Next, I carefully, locked on the heavy shackles. I inserted a leather gag of the tongue-depressor type and buckled it snugly, and then carefully fit the “iron mask” over my head and padlocked the collar of it around my neck.  I locked one manacle on my left wrist, and taking the remaining padlock in hand, began the shuffle off to my dungeon. I gave my Mistress the “thumbs up” sign on my way out, and she wished me luck.

Our garage is detached, so I made my way to the side door (which I could leave locked behind me) and cautiously stepped out onto our driveway, which is in view of the street. Listening and peering through the restricted vision let me know there was no one about (it was about 8:30pm on a weeknight) and I hastened as best I could to the side entrance of the garage. A useful note: very heavy shackles affect your walking more than just the restriction of the chain would indicate. A heavy cuff pressing on your Achilles tendon hampers walking all by itself, and, your ability to balance yourself is also affected, so caution is called for. 

I got into the garage and to the cage with no other trouble. Despite the fact that daytime temperatures outside had only been in the high 70’s, the garage had been warmed by the sun and was a good bit warmer inside, so I quickly worked up a slick sweat. 

I stepped up into the cage, which was placed in the very corner of the garage, so that only the front with doors and what would be my right side faced out. I stepped up into the cage, and turned to face the doors. I carefully crouched down, slipped off my sandals, and used the waiting padlock to lock the center of my ankle chain to the floor of the cage. Since the keys to all the locks were inside with my Mistress, I would now remain a prisoner here until she came for me without more, but of course I was going for more. I stood up, and one by one pulled the three doors shut and fastened each one with its separate lock, enclosing me securely and inescapably within the steel confines of the cage.

The only failure in this experiment came at this point: I had brought along a pair of tweezer type nipple clips, which I knew would have to be applied at this stage if at all, since they tend to work loose if I am moving. These are about the only type I can tolerate for more than a minute, since my nipples are very small and soft. Unfortunately, given the slipperiness of my sweat, and the total lack of downward vision enforced by the mask, I could not get them to stay on.  (There’s no doubt about it—if my Mistress lets me, I HAVE to get my nipples pierced—there’s so much erotic potential.)  So I gave up after several tries and finished cuffing my wrists. I thrust them out through the bars of the top cage door, and padlocked on the right cuff.  The chain went around a vertical bar, so I could barely pull one or the other hand back inside the cage at a time, and above the horizontal bar of the cage door, so my hands were held at about the same level as my shoulders. This was not as onerous as it might be, since I was able to rest my forearms on the crossbar.

Having done all I could, I pondered my position. All the keys needed to free me were inside the house, which I was locked out of. I was solidly locked inside a small steel cage, far too heavy for me to shift anywhere in my present state, even if there were anywhere to move it to, which there was not. I was masked and gagged, hands cuffed and locked to the bars, ankles shackled and locked to the cage bottom, “chastised” and plugged. A very nice predicament. Of course I could not touch myself anywhere, but I tried some pelvic thrusting against the belt. Nothing happened as far as my genitals were concerned, but tightening my buttocks made the tightly-strapped-in plug move within me. While being able to mildly ass-fuck myself was interesting, I decided to give it a rest for the time being. 

After several minutes, my Mistress came in to check on my progress and safety. She glanced me over approvingly, saying that I was quite artistic. (One of the fantasies that goes along with the cage is being gotten up like this and used as a conversation piece at a party or event. This will never happen, since we are very private about our perversions, but it’s fun to think about.) She reached through the bars and caressed me, including such skin of my penis and scrotum as were touchable through the CB, which made me feel the constriction of the chastity very keenly indeed!

She asked if there was anything she could do for me. I pointed to the nipple clips, the chain of which I had stuck into my waist belt. She also tried to affix them, but, given the slipperiness of my skin and the awkwardness of trying to work between the bars she soon gave up as well. She took the useless clips away with her, and as she left, turned off the lights. Remarking that she found the interior of the garage uncomfortably close, she left the side door open!

This was an additional titillation: although we live in a secure neighborhood, the possibility of some prowler happening by couldn’t be entirely discounted—I wonder what a garage burglar might think or do if he found me? Would he just run away, or cheerfully tip me a wink as he helped himself to my lawn mower? What we do have in our area was wild life, and raccoons and other creatures had gotten into our garage more than once—what would I do if I found some animal snuffling around my feet? Realistically, one expects that the powerful smell of sweaty man would probably warn off most beasts, but at this point, fantasy was my focus.

There I was, no more than a caged beast myself, caged in the darkened garage, the only thing visible the dim play of exterior lights reflected on the far wall. I had no face, no voice, no sex. I couldn’t really move my feet at all, just enough to shift my weight a bit and ease my muscles occasionally. I could have twiddled my thumbs, but that’s all my hands were good for. I centered myself, letting myself sink gradually into “subspace”. I suppose a normal man would have found my situation immediately torturous. After all, besides my enforced position, the heavy shackles pinched my ankles. My ass was distended by the invading plug, and any shift of position reminded me of it. My genitals strained against their unyielding binding. My waist was restricted by the tight belt such that a deep breath was beyond me. The mask weighed on my head, and there was no way for me to ease the tickles of sweat and hair inside it. But in subspace we find the mysterious alchemy that transmutes a cacophony of minor irritations into a harmony of erotic sensation. 

I began to feel a bit light-headed, but re-centered and controlled my breathing. Fainting or collapsing as I was was not an option! Thus, I was in a trancelike state of awareness when I heard stealthy footsteps approaching in the darkness.  I recognized my Mistress’s step and was not alarmed, although when she attacked me with her fingernails through bars, had I not been restrained, the sheer power of the stimulus would have put me through the roof! I groaned and growled as she teased and tormented my exposed thighs, buttocks, flanks and chest, not forgetting to remind my captured genitals of the heat of her touch. Having thoroughly aroused the beast within the cage, she casually wished me good night and retreated into the house! 

Words could not express the state I now found myself in. I moaned and writhed in the cage, unable to either overcome the strictures of my bondage, or to settle back to a state of calm. 

(I should note here that, in my continued hazardous practice of ‘working without a net,’ there was no way for me to signal my Mistress that I wanted to be released, had I done so. We have a “baby monitor” but found it didn’t really work from the garage to the house. My more radical proposal for a safety was vetoed by my Mistress—putting one of the garage door remote controls on the cage floor where I could activate it with a toe. Using it would certainly alert her of trouble, but it would also open the main garage door and activate interior and exterior lights, exposing me to any passers by--.)

My arousal and frustration was just wearing off when Mistress reappeared, turning on the lights and handing me keys to my cuffs and the cage. She stood by to watch me escape, saying that, after all, if I had dropped the keys outside the cage, I would have been out of luck, which was certainly true!

With reasonable speed I managed to undo my manacles, open the cage doors, and unlock the shackles from the cage floor. I grabbed my sandals, knowing I was going to have to wash anyway, and hobbled after my Mistress as she left me to follow her. 

Once inside the house, I relieved myself of the shackles, which were by now becoming uncomfortable (trying to walk in them is worse than standing still), and caught my Mistress in a rapturous hug. She laughed at being so embraced by this still faceless, voiceless, sexless figure, and directed me upstairs where the remaining keys, the shower, and eventual relief all awaited.   

Part Two

Since acquiring the cage, the months that followed saw progressively more elaborate iterations of bondage associated with the cage. I did in fact get my nipples pierced, and found a twelve-gauge straight barbell holding a stirrup to be most comfortable and useful. (Note: I also have septum and Prince Albert piercings, which I recommend to anyone seriously into bondage, as the possibilities are endless. I wear a bullet-style keeper in the septum for every-day, and it is undetectable.) 

For one of my most elaborate exercises, I had made some minor additions to the cage. I hung a six-foot chain from the top of the cage at the rear, which made a convenient series of attachment points. I also hung a shorter chain from the top front edge, and made additional attachment points in the doors and sides by the simple expedient of  tightening on small c-clamps, which hold tightly enough for my purposes. When I settle on a permanent configuration I will install some eyebolts--.

On a particular warm evening, I had modified my heavy cuffs by adding one-foot spreader bars between the ankles and the wrists. The shackle was locked to the floor of the cage, and the manacle hung from the short chain in front so that it hung just above the bottom of the top door. This was mainly for keeping it handy, although it did add some additional restriction.  I also had hung my steel mask from the top center of the cage so that it hung from a convenient height. Again, this was intended mainly for ease in getting into it, but there were desirable secondary effects to be described.  I had an open padlock ready hanging on the back chain, and I had used the c-clamps to attach three rubber bands holding light spring clips to the front of the cage, two chest high and one at groin level.

I prepared myself by putting on my chastity arrangement as previously described, and slipped on pants, shirt and sandals. I went out to the garage accompanied by my Mistress, since I would need her help with the final wrist cuff. (For more elaborate scenarios, we have arrived at a sort of “assisted self-bondage”. I design the set-ups and get myself into as much as I can. My Mistress supervises to see that I am safe, and completes any touches I can’t finish myself.)  

At the cage, I stripped and handed my clothes to her. I got in, squatted down, and padlocked my ankles into the shackles. As before, the keys were in the house at this time, so I was a prisoner at this point, but of course we went on.

I pulled the lower door closed and padlocked it. Then I gingerly stood up, and closed and locked the middle and upper doors, enclosing myself within the cage. I reached behind myself and hooked the chain padlock into the back of my chastity belt at a taut level.  I had tied a loop of cord through my Prince Albert ring to be sure I could get at it through the end slit of the CB-2000, and pulled the ring down so that I could attach the spring-clip to the lower rubber band.

I had draped my leather plug gag through the collar of the mask, and I now took that in hand and applied it snugly, then eased the mask over my head and locked it closed. Only a few more steps.

Next to last, I hooked the clips from the chest-level rubber bands to the stirrups in my nipples. These were the kind of bands that are about six inches long unstretched, and gave a gentle pressure out and down, which intensified somewhat when I raised my arms to thrust my wrists out through the upper door and into the manacles. I closed the padlock on my right wrist, and then put my left one into place as my Mistress closed and locked the final cuff. She looked me up and down, expressed admiration of my inventiveness, and gave me a few teasing strokes through the bars, then gathered up my clothes and left. As she departed, she turned off the garage lights and left the door ajar as we had in the past.

This left me to stew, a more helpless captive than ever before, but capable of substantial self-teasing.  The chain behind me pulled my chastity belt taut and forced the butt plug I was wearing into me. If I rocked back to ease that pressure, the rubber band in front applied a surprising amount of tension to my penis, even though it was restrained in the CB-2000.  Pushing my hips forward to relax the rubber band of course increased pressure on the butt plug. Any shrugging of my shoulders or movement of my arms or upper body caused the upper rubber bands to tug on my nipples. Further, the rope holding the steel mask to the top of the cage restricted my ability to even turn my head, or look down as much as the mask ever let me.  I writhed and struggled as much as the steel, leather and rubber would let me—not much, frankly—testing my bonds.  

Finding all secure,  I began to settle into subspace, meditating on the patches of dim exterior light on the far wall that were all that I could see,  slowly twisting in my bonds to tease myself sensuously, and keeping half an ear on the sound of distant traffic and neighbors coming and going in their own garages and back yards. Could any of them ever suspect what was happening a few yards away? The garage door was open—what if a prowler or burglar were to come in? What would he think? What would he do? There was certainly nothing I could do—I was totally helpless and defenseless. Would such a person abuse me? Flee in confusion? Or tip me a nod as he helped himself to my lawn mower?

Such speculations leaped to mind as I heard a stealthy footfall, which I quickly recognized as that of my Mistress.  She did not speak, but approached me quietly in the darkness, stood only breathing for a moment, then reached through the bars and caressed me. My moan of response evidently told her all she needed to know, as she then went to work in earnest, alternating caresses with stokes of various sharp implements worn on her fingers, and the occasional playful pluck of a rubber band. Zing! 

By the time she got done working on me, two hours had passed since I got into the cage, and I was more than ready to be let out. One of the items I had been teased with was the key ring, and Mistress unlocked the wrist she had originally locked up, and then stood by as I worked my way loose.  The keys to the mask had been left inside, as were my clothes, so I had to follow her into the house blinkered and naked but for the chastity belt to get entirely free.  Since it was late, a long shower and bed followed.

“Pure” self-bondage in the cage.

A couple of weeks later, I decided to take another tack, and try a much simpler session in the cage. My Mistress would be working all day, so I would be totally on my own. For this session, I had prepared my Timecuffs (see, “The Timecuff Experiment”) with a filling of water that should have been good for an hour and a half to two hours. About 10AM I went into the garage, and locked one end of the Timecuffs to the ceiling of the cage. I stripped and got into the cage, and locked it. I had with me a pair of standard handcuffs, my key ring, and a length of cord. I tied the cord through the key ring, and tied the cord to the center door of the cage, so the keys could not fall out of reach. I put the keys on the cage floor, locked on the standard handcuffs in front of myself, and then locked the dangling Timecuff around the chain of the handcuffs.

My hands were thus held at about the level of my neck. I was otherwise completely naked, and had not added any other elaborations with which to amuse myself. I have to say, that I found this very simple bondage situation very boring, but then, being a prisoner is boring isn’t it? I concentrated on achieving a meditative state, and effort that was eventually hindered by my tendency to fiddle with the Timecuff plug and the minor irritation of having cold water slowly drip over my hands.

After what seemed to me to be more than an hour and a half, with the Timecuffs not near defrosted enough for escape, I began to worry. There was no doubt that eventually the ice would completely melt, freeing me, but when? My Mistress would be home by 4PM, and I would be in for it, and not in a pleasant S&M way, if she caught me playing by myself and getting stuck. I began considering my situation. 

The key ring was tied to the cage door by a cord. The cord reached the cage floor with ample slack.  I was able, after a couple of tries, to take the cord in the toes of one foot, and, squatting down, to drape it over the bent knee of my other leg. Then, I carefully lifted the knee up to my chest, and, with the slack that had grown in the partially melted Timecuffs, grasp the cord in my hands and reel in the keys. I blessed the martial arts practice that preserved my flexibility and the fact that I hadn’t decided to wear shackles. Otherwise, I would have had to have a bit longer wait.

I freed myself, dressed and went inside, finding that indeed it was past noon. I left the Timecuffs dangling and checked back periodically between other errands, to find that the cuffs had come apart about 2PM, almost twice as long as anticipated. At this point I don’t really know if I mismeasured the amount of water used (most likely possibility) or if the slight temperature differential from the house to the garage made that much difference, or if something about the vertical as opposed to horizontal position of the cuffs made a difference. Oh, well—at least that gives an excuse for—further experiments!



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