© Copyright 2018 - Tonya - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; pantyhose; cloth; strips; harness; hogtie; chain; zipties; padlock; gag; keys; roomba; stuck; release; cons; X
Well, here we are again with our intrepid heroine blah blah blah, I did sumpthin stupid. Allllthooough, I could argue that this one isn’t entirely my fault. Mostly. Ya know what, noop, not my fault. You ever have one of those moments that’s 13.3% YAY! And 86.7% you have GOT to be fucking kidding me right now? So yeah, kinda like that.
Sooooo … my mother is a lovely woman, bless her heart, and she is super sneaky with gifting gifts, sometimes. Like the time I got my new place. A two bedroom 1 ½ bath house on nearly two acres an hour outside of medium-ish sized college town. It was nearly perfect, with an almost two car garage, new hardwood floors, granite countertops, all new kitchen appliances in matte black (take that smudgy fingerprints!), super-duper Jacuzzi tub, a walk-in shower big enough for at least three people to, ya know, walk in, tank-less hot water heater, a walk-in closet I could get lost in, shaddup, ceiling fan in every room, seven-day smart thermostat, and a cute little patio with a sliding glass door. All the amenities a girl could ever want, AND a 5-meter x 4-meter storage building just beyond the patio, just in case I need to hide for a little while and de-stress, just for a day or three.
I get to work from home all the/many of the days, with just the occasional monthly meeting or quarterly offsite meet-and-greet I needed to attend. Which was nice because I also have a shiny new ninety-minute commute. I just set up my reports to run and I’m good for the day. I get to data mine in jammies, or not jammies, or hose, or latex, or hose, hell Zentai if I’m in the mood and can still see what I’m doing. Or roughly the bottom half of any of those things if there’s a Skype call that I must attend. Which happens sometimes when people start bitching about the price of airfare, travel in general, or just want to save the bottom line to make their bonus. I’ve even heard rumors that you could tie, or even chain yourself to a chair from about here, -hand at near belly button range- down and still participate in a meeting, but I uhhh … I have only heard such things. I would never, actually … yeah. I did it. Still shaddup. More than once. So easy to do. Legs tied, then tied to the chair, ankles to the left, knees to the right, thighs to the seat, waist to the back of the chair, ice in stocking release timer high above, just out of the shot, ice slowly melting and dripping onto the towel on the floor behind the chair. Everything was laid out in front of me around my laptop. Gag stuff (panties, spongy medical tape, vet wrap, etc) on the left, chest ropes, wrist loops, and ziptie(s) on the right. Do I hurry through the meeting to get stuck and be stuck longer, or am I frustrated and have already gone over allotted time because want to drag the meeting out so I can be tied tighter, but not as long? Tricky. After the call was finished, I closed the laptop, finished myself off and waited on the snips to drop. Oh yeah, just make sure you can see yourself so you have a view of what everyone else can see too. That could get awkward, so fast.
Anywho, I spent the last week or so with my proud and overly helpful family. Dad helped and mom helped, but not at the same time. They don’t really get along anymore, since the whole divorce thing anyway. I don’t really have a ton of friends, just a few really close ones that keep me not dead. They is mah safeties. They is important. Even when a call runs super long, they walk in, and shout when I’m half stuck in a chair/still on said call, and yell “HEY IDIOT, YA D-E-D YET?!?” Hehe. Good people. So back to the momma and the Farger. Dad helped with the heavy lifting, monies, and some of the new fingerprint proof kitchen, Momma was there to help with what she could, for moral support, and her decorating/craftiness. And her sneakiness. That little shit. She made the comment when I first looked at this place that with all this hardwood, and tile in the bathroom and laundry room, I would have a dust bunny farm by the end of the first month. She told me I needed a robot army just to keep it clean for me. And we laughed and laughed. Joke’s on me I guess?
So after everyone left and I had my shiny new place all to myself for the first time, literally, I started planning. People in stable, healthy relationships (complete myths btw, like the tooth fairy and productive meetings) have a plan for christening every room in a new house. That of course means banging anywhere and everywhere in the new place. Try not to think about that while sitting the dining room table at your friend’s next housewarming party. People like me, weirdos, (almost) have detailed plans for getting helplessly, hopelessly stuck in every room of the house. Actually, probably the kitchen/dining area/living room first. No idea where to start.
A shiny new home offers a shiny new opportunity for a home invasion and things to get all damsel-in-distressy. It’s Saturday late afternoon/early evening, and I’m off until Wednesday. I took the extra day after president’s day to make sure I got unpacked and settled, and the cable guy is coming. Well, satellite, because no cable out here in the boonies. So yeah, I had surprise help and the dishes are put away, beds made, pictures on the wall, food in the pantry, clothes in closets, some of them anyway. I still had to find a few things. Ya know, -whispers- the stuff I hide from everybody. Momma, of course, was amazing. Even my bathrooms are ready to go. It was like moving into a furnished house, but it’s all my stuff. Yay! Oh, and momma, being all decoraty, got me a new bedroom set to go with my new bedroom. Comforter, curtains, pillows, shams, and new sheets. Which made my old sheets expendable. And very useful. For helplessnessing. A queen size sheet set, depending on how much you want to use, the fitted sheet and top sheet will each yield enough strips to effectively detain about 10-15 damsels. Or, approximately one me. I can use about half the fitted sheet and still have plenty left to toss in the big bag of goodies for stucking. The strips will be about five centimeters wide and two meters long. If I use half the fitted sheet I should, should have about 20 of them. And one wider-ish one for my wrist loops. Heavy duty ziptie for a cinch, plus a couple. Always remember to grab spares. You never know. I’ll cut a square out of it about the size of a bandana for stuffing, and then use some packing tape to seal it in. Just a little. Five or six wraps should do. No blindfold or hood until I learn my way around. I’m adventurous, not suicidal. Hmmm, although …. Nah.
Shit. I have exactly zero idea what I’m going to wear. Pro dancer/cheerleader biggest fan follows her home? Librarian leaned on somebody too hard about those overdue books? Dancer disappeared for the competition so the other team wins? Oooo … Realtor robbed/ransomed showing the new home and must find a way out OR just wait to be rescued? Rescued. Shit. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Safety buddy. Duh. Text and email for the new place. Phone has been quiet since momma left. That’s kinda odd. Oh well. What to wear? What to wear? The weather has been crazy and unseasonably warm. Usually I’m in (multiple) layers in Febtober, but the lowest high we’ve had this month has been in the low 60’s. Hell, we’ve broken a few record highs in the last two weeks. Ooooo …. I need hose. Pantyhose. Just pantyhose. Layers maybe. At least on top and bottom, maybe two layers, maybe three. I dunno. Hmmm, I’ll flip a coin, heads for black, tails for tan, and I’ll drop the bottom out of the magic thermostat, prolly 50-55° and then back to 68° for morning. Why so cool for the adventure you ask, because sometimes I want it to be a little chilly so I have to struggle a little to stay warm. It ups the loss of control/helplessness angle. And wearing only pantyhose and torn bedsheets, that could get a bit nipply. No, really. See, told you. Wheirdo.
Texted Islaya: Hey crazy lady. First night alone in the new place. Duh, of course I’m being stupid. I’ll ping you when I’m o-w-t. If you don’t hear from me, uhhh … by the time you get off work you might wanna check on me. Hell, from work you’re halfway here. Front door is locked, slidey door is locked, windows are locked, garage code (six digits) is Dorothy Dietrich’s birthday. (mm-dd-yy) Couldn’t make it easy on you. It’s an easy one. You has the google.
Then copied text into an email and sent it.
The Actual Plan and not the incoherent ramblings of a crazy girl. Also still shaddup.
Boom. This girl is getting stucked. And it’s about time. Oh yeah. How am I gonna get out? By uhhh, using the usual method of course. Snips are going to be used to cut the ziptie cinch on my wrists. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Yeah. Too easy. Unless that is later step. Yes. A two-step process? A two-step process. First step is something. Step two cut the ziptie cinch and free my hands. Yeah. Simple hogtie should do the trick. Yeah. That’s the ticket. Start the adventure, hogtied in the master bathroom floor. The farthest point in the house from there is the kitchen counter on the way out to the garage. The shelfy thingy that I put my keys and charger on by the door to the garage. Perfect. Can’t get the snips until the hogtie is cut. Ummm … unlocked. Got it. Chain from my chest harness to my ankles. Padlock right by my hands. Yes. Tight. Plenty of ground to cover to keep me warm. Slidey in hose on the shiny new hardwood floor from the bathroom to the kitchen. Key will fall from the ice in stocking gravity assist release method onto a towel in the middle living room floor right under the ceiling fan. About halfway. A plan. I has one.
I flipped a coin and landed on tails. Tan hose. But how many. It will be kinda chilly, but too many layers and I get roasty. How many is too many. Two pair should be fine. One on top, one on bottom that is. Gonna finish the bedsheet before getting hosed though. Prolly easier to scissor with fingers instead of a semi-useless ph-nub.
Everything is coming together nicely. Bedsheet are cut. Easier to cut than to tear them. Well, actually tearing is kinda easier, but cleanup is a bitch. Little stringy bits of sheet everywhere. If you cut them, you don’t get the stringy bits until after a few uses. Or one washing. Large lingerie washing bags are handy. I have a large one I use to wash rope in the washing machine. Throwing them in the dryer though, that’s only good if you want to roll all your newly clean rope up in one giant knot. Which I have also done. Twice. Meh. Put on a blindfold and untangle the mess. Good practice with a totally random mess. Anywho, wrist loops are as close to perfect as I can get them. The strip I used is a little wider than the others, so it’s super comfy, and when I pull the ziptie all the way tight the fabric snugs up in between my wrists, fully wrapping them together as well as individually, almost in a figure eight pattern, but without the messy numbery bit. The snips will have to cut through all the mess.
Bandana size stuffing piece for stuffing is stuffed and taped in. Ended up with 10 wraps. I bit down on the fabric and wrapped thoroughly, just under my nose to just under my chin. It felt a little more secure than five or six. Hose on. Key is hanging. Snips are on the key peg board hangy thing. Actually they’re on the counter leaning against the thingy. Easy. Peasy. Strips are in the bathroom floor by the tub. Three zipties in the bathroom floor. Always grab more than one, ya know, just in case. Oh yeah, the bathroom. So the bathroom has a tile floor and I might have talked the flooring guy into believing that I was both anemic and my feets were hyper-sensitive due to my peripheral neuropathy. I am/have neither. I’m the picture of health my doctor says (from the neck down). Girls in pantyhose ads in the bathroom are always wearing shoes, pantyhose, and usually that’s it. Why naked/pantyhose/shoes? Because anything that’s not safely in the middle of a tile is a hose ruining bastard. Anywho, a one-meter length of chain with a ring on one end and a tiny luggage padlock and me. I’m in the bathroom floor sitting, staring at all this shit, and wringing my pantyhose hands all evil geniusy. So ready for this to happen.
Here. Weee. Go.
I have 15 strips left after I put several together to make a chest harness. Double wrap above and below my breasts, and another long piece to act as a cinch from the back to go under my arm, around the back of my neck, back under the other arm, looped through the starting point, and tied off at the back of my neck. The chain will be looped around the bit behind my neck, the last knot, pulled through the ring, down around my ankle cinch, and padlocked closed. Creating a very snug hogtie. I can make it as tight as I want. Wiggle room with slack, OR a brutal back arching hogtie with my feet over my hands OR somewhere in the middle. Options. I has them. I always has them. I’m the one tying the knots.
Speaking of, let’s start with ankles side by side. Find the middle of a strip and lay it across the tops of my feet. Grab the ends and wrap around my ankles until I have just enough left to twist and turn into a cinch. Loop it around once and tie it in front out of the reach of my already somewhat compromised fingers. I can maneuver the knots okay with hose on my hands if I kind of pull the hose snug and not have any loose bits. They almost look like mittens really. A spot for my thumb and the other fingers working together. Pulling the knots tight is easy. Trying to get them undone after they’re tied, after I pull them tight anyway, is nearly impossible. Some of the strips will survive this adventure, some won’t. It’s usually the knots that get them cut off. Fabric bites really nicely against fabric. The strip was grabbing my ankles snugly and didn’t want to move or slide. The sheet almost sticks to the hose. Pretty handy. No slippage helps avoid me accidently finding an easy way out. I hate it when that happens. I repeated the same process below and then above my knees. Each time the sheets laid flat, perfectly and hugged my legs. Oh wow. I’m going to have plenty of these. Maybe I should do my arches. Oooo … I bet it would grip well enough that I could easily do mid shin and mid-thigh without them slipping. Seven strips on my legs. Arches all the way to upper thigh. Seven. That means I only have eight left. Eight. That’s a lot. Unless I do a crotch strip thingy. Nah. Must. Fucus. I’m gonna need it. I’ll take care of that later. But with eight strips left, my upper body is so screwed. Lol OR fake crotch strap thingy. One around my waist, and another one in a crotch strap-ish position, but under my upper thigh strips. And one around my waist I can slide my wrists into. And I have enough strips to tie I off to my chest harness so it won’t slide down. As long as I can reach the padlock I’m golden. Yass.
I pulled my chest loops on over my head and began the snaking process to cinch them up tight. Oh yeah, when I’m making the loops I only put one arm in them. They’re a little bit loose, but when I put both arms in it gets snug, and once it’s cinched, it’s as tight as if someone else tied it, and almost as tight as my super straps when I’m closing them in doors and throwing myself the other way until they tighten and then pop out of the door, or breathing becomes tricky. Oh yeah, can’t forget the chainsy bit. I dropped the ring end of the chain down from the strap around the back of my neck. I wiggled until it slid down and I could reach it with my other hand. I put the other end of the chain through the ring and began to pull. The ring walked itself up my back and came to rest around the strap around the back of my neck. That end wasn’t going anywhere. I got on my knees on the bath mat next to the tub and placed the chain between my feets and around the cinch on my arches, and around the cinch on my ankles. I leaned back and knelt the rest of the way down. If it’s not tight enough, I’m going to be disappointed (pissed really) in myself and half-assing the helpless maiden voyage in the new place. BUT if it’s too tight, I’ll prolly be sore and have to test drive the new Jacuzzi tub. New hot tub test drive huh. Oh no. I’m tied up too tight. Boo-hoo. Poor wittle me. Hahahaahaha.
So I’ve effectively Lt Danned my legs, check. Snuggy snug snug chest harness. Check check. One, two, three zipties. Hmmm … ziptie on the waist loops? Lemme see. I tied my wrist loops off to my straps at the top of my thighs. I slid my wrists down into the waist loops and lined up the ziptie again. I clicked it a few times and reached down and grabbed my wrist loops and started to slip my wrists in and paused again. I pulled the wrist loops up as far as they would go and put the wrist loop ziptie through the waist loop ziptie. I slid one wrist in and another great idea hit me. It would really snug things up if I put the wrist loops under my almost crotch strap too. I knew I grabbed 3 zipties for a reason. I was really happy with myself and my anti-escapist logic that was getting me so amazingly stuck. I pulled on all of the zipties until they all stopped clicking. My wrists were so locked in place. I couldn’t move them down because of the ziptie anchoring them to my waist loops, which were anchored to my waist strap, which was anchored to my chest harness. I couldn’t move them up because my wrist loops were tied to my upper thigh straps. I couldn’t pull them away from my ass because the wrist loops were tucked under my makeshift crotch strap. I shivered at the thought of how totally immobile my hands were. This was going to be so tight.
I love my new place. And my new bathroom. And my new floor. I’m going to love my new tub sooo much when I’m finished with this because I am going to be so sore. Wow. I leaned against the tub and slowly started sliding to the floor to begin my journey to step 1 of my release. And I kinda didn’t want to get there too quickly. I was really enjoying how deliciously constricted I was. A giant super hug. It was about them I heard the first boom of thunder. Yay! New place. Uber stuck. Breaking in the new tub later. And a storm to sleep through tonight. I love love love it here!! The closer I got to the floor, the tighter my makeshift hogtie became. My feet didn’t leave my ass. It took me a moment but I figured out why. So when I sat back down on my heels, pulled the chain snug and clicked the padlock closed. That was all okay. But when I tied my wrist loops off to the tops of my thighs, I doubled the loops and made sure to make it nice and tight. In the process I oopsed and looped the strap around the chain too. Tight. Tight enough that it won’t slide from link to link. So when I slid down into the floor, I didn’t have what little slack I allowed myself, because instead of the chain connecting the chest harness at the back of my neck in a straight line to my ankles and arches, it was connecting my ankles and arches, to my upper thigh straps and then connecting them to the back of my chest harness.
My heels were basically attached to my ass, pinning my wrists in between them, that is if the straps around and through my wrists weren’t doing that already. I’m not going to say my back was arched, like it would be in some punishingly (literally) tight hogtie you see on one of the dirty sexy sites, but I can’t flatten out on the floor from shoulders to knees either. Shoulders OR knees are off the ground. Pick one. As tight as it was, -le heavy sigh- the self-bondage gods were still smiling on me. Okay, smirking, whatever. I could poke the padlock with my fingers. That part had lined up perfectly. Which was a really good thing too. I could not, under any circumstances, move my wrists. At. All. They are now a part of my ass. Can’t move them up. Can’t move them down. And then split them with the fake crotch strap. I think the only thing that would make this tighter is if my elbows were closer together. I should work that out. Maybe another set of loops like my waist loops for my wrists, but looped around my arms between my shoulders and elbows. I could set up a cinch for those loops to the cinch around the back of my neck to pull the elbow loops tighter, and up. That would pull them closer together and wouldn’t compromise the tightness of the rest of my chest harness and friends. Yeah, because this isn’t going to be tricky enough to get out of. I rocked from side to side, testing my level of movement. Or the lack of movement. If my ankles were tied to my wrists I would have more leverage and be able to move forward a little easier. With my legs tied to, well, my legs at this point and my hands and arms totally immobile I had to kind of sideways inchworm myself along the tile floor to move very much. At the rate I’m moving, Islaya may get here about the same time I get out. Geezus. I am gonna hot tub so hard later.
Also on my to do list is to figure what the hell that noise is. It sounds like a vacuum cleaner in the dining room. Oh shit. Oh shit! OH SHIT! Did momma come back and start cleaning? Again? I am so fucked. Please don’t let it be her. Please don’t let it be her. Please don’t let it be her. For some insane reason I was inching my way towards the noise, instead of going back to the bathroom I finally made it out of and shutting the door with my face. If I did that, I would be stuck in that bathroom until Islaya saved me. I finally made it out of the bedroom and into the hallway. And immediately went from dangerously curious to giddy. I mean like, I squeeeeed. As much as one can squeeeee with a mouthful of bandana sized sheet completely sealed in by 10 wraps of packing tape.
Uhhhh, Roomba I think. Little guy about the size of my work laptop, but round and twice as tall. Sounded much bigger from the bedroom. Well, hardwood floors and echoing down the hallway prolly made him sound bigger. He was so cute. And noisy. Damn he is loud. Oh my god he’s coming over here. He hit the wall next to me and went the other way. Come back! I want to pet you. He bounced around a little bit and ran into a wall here and there. Almost like it was mapping the floor plan out. I laid there, mostly contented that my floors would be more clean than when momma left. I’m going to call her from my hot tub of doom later. A glass of wine and thank you momma call. Perfect. Wait, now where are you going? He made his way into the living room and I tried to follow as best as I could. I was racing a Roomba, and losing. Part of me wasn’t surprised. And part of me was embarrassed. I was losing a race to the mutant offspring of a hoover and a hubcap.
I heard the keys for my now ridiculous and poorly planned hogtie release fall just ahead in the middle of the living room. Yay! I can get out and play with my new little shiny in my new big shiny. I must learn all of the things. It was about that time the Roomba bounced off the end table leg and headed back into the middle of the room. Pretty sure at some point it will find the towel. No big deal. It will bounce off and go around just as it has everything else. Only it didn’t quite go like that. It hit the wall and came right back at the towel. Reached the edge of it and didn’t even pause for a second. Went right over it. Off road style. I got to the towel and the keys were gone. So I started chasing the thieving little shit while unintelligibly screaming horrible things about the little mutant’s mother the whole time with my now seemingly over stuffed and over taped mouth. I think he could hear me because he came right at me. Bounced off my feet and shot off the other direction. I was trying to roll so I could get my hands on it, but someone had very thoroughly tied them to my ass. Even the fingers I managed to get on him slid right off. Because pantyhose hands. And I was moving my hands and arms back and forth and the hose on my hands had become more and more snug as I moved around. The strips weren’t any tighter, but the hose slid up my arms, not back down. The wraps above my wrists didn’t allow any slack back down to my hands.
I rolled back over and saw him bounce off the wall one more time and head for the kitchen. There were two keys on that keychain and other than the spare set, which I think was with my other spares, and my backup set, in the tote with the rest of my playthings. That tote was either in the garage, or in the spare bedroom/playroom. Maybe. I honestly had no idea. Dad had carried boxes in and asked too many questions. “This one sounds like it has pirate treasure in it. Is that what’s sliding back and forth in the bottom of this tote. Spanish doubloons? Prolly cursed though huh? Make me turn into a dead ghost in the moonlight kinda thing?”
Ummm … no. Father dearest, those are loose chains, locks, and keys that were, past tense, were, in another sealed container in that larger container. I use those locks, chains, and other items in that tote to restrain myself. And that’s only the hardware. There are at least three other totes that contain elements of my self-inflicted demise. Why you ask? Because I wanna do it. And I’m very good at it. Judging by my current predicament, I’m too good at it. I have pics of Fetlife of me, laying on a table, in a hogtie with my wrists and ankles hoisted upwards, attached overhead, and also suspended in a chair. Tied, and tied to the chair. All by my lonesome. Just a photog there to make sure at least someone believed me. I even had to get out on my own. Asshole wouldn’t help. Because I told asshole not to help.
While I’m reminiscing and waxing philosophical the thieving little shit has re-entered the room. And is headed right for me. This time, I will be ready … annnnddddd he’s gone. Made a hard left and vanished underneath futony fake couch thingy. I looked under it and saw what I can only assume is his house. A little charging station that my mother no doubt hid back there behind/between the end table and the futon/couch. So I started calling him. And he wouldn’t come. Shittiest. Pet. Ever. Just sat there. Little light blinking at me. With step 1 of my release process in his belly. Keeping me super stuck until, uhhh … Dafuq are my clocks? So it’s dark. Its stormy/rainy. I have no idea what time it is or how to even begin to attempt to find a way out. Garage entry from the kitchen is closed and out of the question. Can’t open a door from the floor. Spare bedroom door is open, and across the hall from the master bedroom. But if the totes made it into the closet, and the closet door is closed I’m back to the same problem as the garage. Even open sesame is off the table if I can’t speak.
Hmmm … I wonder if I could program Siri to understand “Hey Siri” when I’m gagged. Rambly crazy thoughts. Speaking of rambly crazy thoughts, I wonder if the totes are in the storage building. Through the locked sliding glass door I can’t open. Outside. In the rain. A step up into the building that I would hesitate to hop up into. Barefoot. (Hahaha that’s not really a thing. In hose of course, because duh) so stocking feet. Yeah, they might as well be on Mars. I’m not getting my semi-useless little nubs on them. Bedroom it is. The rest of the options seem laughable at best. Eventually you will come out. Eventually. I headed back down the hallway trying to think happy thoughts. And then the lights went out. And then super noisy thunder again. When you were a kid did you ever play the game where you guess how close the lighting is by how long it takes between the flash and the thunder? So the next flash and boom, judging by the flashy light, the way the house shook, and the fact I might have peed a little, it was somewhere between my pointy little head and the start of my robot army I’m going to use to take over the world. Ya know, right after I get this little problem taken care of.
I got to the corner of the bedroom door and when the lightning flashed I saw the end of the Hollywood frame sticking out passed the end of the mattress. If, IF I could get one or two of the strips hooked on that I might be able to rip them. They still feel like they’re laying pretty flat. They haven’t started to bite or cut in. Arches, ankles, or upper thighs would be first try. Chest harness after that. I’d be working completely blind, behind me and probably no hands to help either. They were as useless as I was. I made it to the edge of the bed and found the end of the frame with my hands. Actually, my feet were close enough, I might be able to help guide my efforts a little after all. I tried to hook the edge of the frame on my arch cinch, but it was snug and I couldn’t get under it. The same thing happened when I tried to sneak it under my ankle loops or cinch. No loopholes there either. Good job by you. It’s amazing how unbelievably thoroughly I manage to fuck myself each and every time I do this. Honestly, I really do take pride in my work. A new level of “this is how they’re going to find my body” stuck. Pretty sure Giga is gonna have them put that on my tombstone.
I think I’m going to start a movie or something the next time I adventure. It is so quiet in here. Oh yeah. No power. Hehe. What if I tried to hook my hogtie chain on the frame and throw myself the other direction? Would it accomplish anything? Let’s find out. Best case, strips rip and I’m considerably more free than I was when I squirmed in here. Worst case, nothing happens. Here we go. I hooked the chain at the edge of the upper thigh wrap and rethought it. I’d get more leverage if I hooked it after if came out from under the thigh wrap. That way I would get maximum effort on a pull and hopefully do something other than ruin more hose. I hate ruining hose. I can’t throw them away. It hurts me to do it. I cut out the gusset and they turn into shirts. And as they get more worn out they become mitteny, and then finger holes, and then I just start cutting off the ends and still cut a small hole for thumbies. Much better for typing stuff, like now.
So I threw myself as hard as I could away from the bed. And the bed moved. I mean I heard it, saw it, and felt it move. The strips didn’t rip. And now I had a new problem. My really great idea complete with best and worst case scenario, didn’t account for the chain hogtie thingy getting a little bit caught and wedged under the edge of the Hollywood frame. There’s a little edge there, just about the right size for a small-ish link of chain to hook onto, and not wanna come off. I moved the bed. Yay! Now I was a part of it. Boo! I got a little bit mad, and grabbed at my toes and pulled them down as hard as I could and slowly started to slide the strip off my arches. It hurt, not gonna lie. My en pointe days are over, but after that, it felt like they made a comeback. It gave me enough slack to maneuver my fingers around and find where the chain was stuck, and it wasn’t stuck, just dropped into a crack that I couldn’t get it out of unless I knew how it was stuck.
Once I figure that out, I was no longer part of the bed. And I had a little slack in my ankle strips. Let’s try to get at that cinch again. Or, divide and conquer. One layer of the strip at a time. I separated the strips on the side of my ankle and tried to slip it over the frame. By now the hose on my hands were shredded and I could use my fingers again and started a gentle sawing motion on the strip. I got about halfway through it and it snapped. The loops were doubled up and cinched, so I calmed my encased and well framed tits, and started on another layer. It took me repeating this process four more times, but I got the strips off my ankles.
And also, **SPOILER ALERT** I didn’t die. I am, however, still pretty stuck. Legs still tied everywhere except my arches and ankles. Hands still a semi-permanent part of my ass. Arms were quickly going to sleep, because the pulling of the hogtie chain pulled on the chest harness cinch and make everything chest harness related tighter. Basically I pulled straight down from the top, and when I tensed up, my arms got closer together and I arched my back and my shoulders got closer together too. Everything got tighter. And now all that pulling, combined with me now standing, wobbly, but standing, was making blood flow a bit tricky. I hopped/penguin walked/just plain hurried to the kitchen and found my snips right where I left them. Right where I couldn’t reach them with my hands tied to my ass. They were just barely below the kitchen counter. I turned around and got up on my toes, and they were more sore than I thought they were. I used my nose to knock the snips over. And they fell. Like I wanted them to fall. Just the wrong way. Shit.
Hands were quickly dying. I had limited options. With my hands fading fast the last thing I wanted to do was grab a sharp knife. Sure, it would have gone through the strips and ziptie like butter, but I still have the scar from the last time I did that. And spent the night in the hospital under evaluation because I have a 5 centimeter scar on my left wrist from cutting myself out. Hands were going dead, like they were now, and I just cut the ziptie, with a serrated knife, that went through the ziptie with a little pop, and then opened my wrist right up. I started getting myself untied and I was slinging something around and it was dripping off my fingers. It was blood. I turned the lights on to examine my ignorance, and when I bent my hand back to try and see if I had damaged a vein, all kinds of stuff tried to crawl out of the hole. It was so cartoonishly surreal. If it hadn’t been I would have passed out and probably died, still mostly stuck with a partially slit wrist. Instead, I calmly folded and placed a handkerchief over the hole and wrapped and tied a bandana over that, (never let anyone tell you that gag accessories aren’t useful for all manner of things) changed out of my play clothes, and drove myself to the ER, where I stayed the night.
Speaking of staying the night. Kitchen shears. Momma to the rescue again. I hate cutting chicken and I get that from my momma. We found a way to cheat. Scissors in the kitchen. And now, add escapey useful to that list of things there’re good for. They were in a drawer, which I can just get into with butthands. Hehe. Butthands. So many moving parts to cut. Fuck it, I’ll get more sheets. I have new ones for the spare bedroom too. So I’ll have plenty more to destroy. There’s also dollar stores and such and the cheap ass sheets they have there. Super handy in a pinch. I have hands that aren’t stuck to my ass anymore. Now I just need to find my phone, and a drink, and some lights that aren’t somewhat deadly and strobey. Oh yeah, still gagged. Shit. Chicken skissors to the rescue. I’ve been gagged so long I can smell and taste soggy dryer sheets. Yuck. Is it too late or too early for wine? It’s Sunday morning. I think. Eh, I’ll make it work.
I finished cutting the rest of my strips off and found my emergency candles, fake candles (LED), and flashlight. I lit the candles and placed them throughout the path I just followed through the house. I found my phone and it was still quiet. And it was nowhere near as late as I thought it was. Only about 8:20. I went to email to see if there was anything new hiding there and it said that it couldn’t get mail. Then I noticed the no service icon in the top left corner. This just keeps getting better. I checked my text messages and the message I sent to Islaya errored out and didn’t get delivered. Soooo that was a close one. If I couldn’t have gotten out, I would have been here until the cable (satellite) guy showed up in a few days. Wait, he/she can’t get in either.
Even though I had the illusion of safety, it clearly wasn’t safe. From now on, I wait for a reply. I hadn’t opened the wine yet, and I need to see if the problem was going to be fixed soon, or if I was going to be stuck in the dark ages for a few days. No power and no phone. Back to the days of reading by candlelight. Or, I could throw on some clothes, brave the yucky weather, run to the bar, and talk to Islaya there and maybe have a celebratory “yay I didn’t die” glass of wine. Or vodka. Or Long Island. Prolly a better celebratory beverage than a glass of wine. Unless it’s one of the glasses that fits down into a bottle of wine and you drink that “glass”. Then maybe. Okay, so rainy yuck, and a half hour trip to civilization, or at least until I can get a signal and call her. Grrrr, I fucked up. But I want to go again. But I need to be safe about it. Stupid adulting.