© Copyright 2009 - Robin Zero - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbm; cd; cuffs; chain; stuck; true; cons; X
Part I: Reality
When I first wrote this record of my night in captivity, I embellished the truth slightly to make it more gripping. The result read like pure fiction, which was not my goal. The version you are reading now is the unvarnished truth, my best recollection of the chain of events.
It was two in the morning and I had been shackled for seven hours. Reclining on the couch in a red baby-doll nightie, I was totally relaxed. I was helpless, unable to escape, but confident of being free in time for breakfast. As sure as the Sun rises in the morning. There was no point in struggling because there was no escape, and no need to worry since I was certain of release when the time was ripe. No decisions need be made, no actions taken. A delicious languor crept over me. I was snug and safe in my little cocoon, quite self-satisfied.
Knowing that I would have the house to myself this weekend, I had planned to be in bondage for about twelve hours, using handcuffs and chains - not painful but inescapable. I had chosen the family room in the basement for my imprisonment because the layout was ideal. As you enter through the back door, the family room is to your right and a small office on the left. If you walk straight down the hallway, there is a closet on the right with a gas furnace for the central heating, then a bar. A bathroom is at the end of the hallway with an unfinished workshop to its left. The family room is carpeted but the rest of the basement has vinyl flooring or bare concrete. Because the land slopes up towards the front of the house, the only window is in the upper half of the back door. The drape is closed and nobody can see in.
The previous weekend, I had drilled a hole in a stud inside the closet, next to the furnace and a few inches from the floor. A ring-bolt went through the hole with a nut and lockout snugged up with a wrench as tightly as I could manage. I was sure that there was enough light early in the morning to read the numbers on a combination lock attached to the bolt. The window faces East and the corridor is brightly lit soon after sunrise. When I had tried one morning, I could easily read the numbers on the shiny chrome lock. But in the dark, now? In the dark the lock is impossible to open!
On Friday evening, I ran an extension cord from upstairs to power the TV and VCR. knotting it to a built-in cabinet so that I wouldn't be able to pull it towards me and get access to electricity to power a lamp. I turned the television on and tuned it to the Weather Channel so I could double-check the local forecast. With the combination lock, I attached a twenty-foot dog tie-out chain to the ring-bolt, the other end lying by the couch in the family room next to the bondage gear. I put a bondage tape in the VCR and carried the remote control to the couch. I put the keys on the floor in the farthest corner of the workshop, far outside the scope of the dog-chain.
I vividly recall myself going through the final steps ...
I make sure that there is nothing I can reach that I could use to escape. I shut off the power to the basement at the circuit breaker, change into the baby doll nightie upstairs and walk barefoot down to the couch. The glow from the television is enough to show handcuffs, padlocks and an assortment of shining chains. One of the chains is unique, two feet long with a ring at one end; it will link ankles, wrists and waist. The rest are dog choke collars with a ring at each end.
First, a chain around my waist. At the back, it passes through the loop of another which goes between my legs to where one padlock secures all three rings in front. I chain my ankles together with about an inch of slack between them and lock to the handcuffs the ring on the unique two-foot chain. The other end goes through the hasp of the lock at my waist, back through the ring at the cuffs and then is padlocked to my ankles. If I hold the cuffs close to the waist chain, I can almost stand straight but not quite – I have to bend at the waist or knees. If I slide the cuffs down the chain towards my ankles, the chain is pulled through the hasp of the waist lock, shortening the distance from ankles to waist. If I raise my hands to my face, the chain is routed down to my waist, back up to my wrists, then to my ankles so I am curled into a ball.
While I am putting on the chains, the local weather forecast appears on the television. Fair and dry. No change for several days. I am confident there will be enough light for me to see the combination lock in the morning and release myself.
I slowly ratchet the handcuff onto one wrist. It sounds especially menacing tonight. I tighten it until it seems secure. One more click to be sure and I double-lock it with a paper clip. It's impossible to slide off, but not painfully tight. The same for the other wrist.
Next the safety checks. I make absolutely sure that the cuffs can't tighten. I hobble with tiny steps to the closet and spin the combination lock to prove that I can reach it. Back to the couch. I can pick up the phone, the phone has a dial tone, I even have the phone book. I check that I can reach the knob of the back door so if all else fails can go outside and yell for help. No doubt about it: I can't escape during the hours of darkness but I'll be free at dawn. As sure as the sun rises in the morning.
Are these manacles too restrictive for overnight? I don't think so; I've slept for hours in bondage almost this stringent. I can sit quite comfortably on the couch. Standing, I have a choice of two subservient positions: curtsy (knees bent, back upright) or bow (bent forward at the waist with my knees straight). Sitting against the wall, I can straighten my knees. I can even touch my nose, though my knees almost reach my ears when I bring the cuffs that high. A choice of several positions, none really comfortable but not painful either.
I reach for the padlock to attach my ankles to the long chain. The moment of truth. Do I really want to do this? I will be tethered here, unable to reach the keys until I can see the combination lock at daybreak. There may be some dangerous flaw, something I've forgotten. On the other hand, the plan seems so perfect that it's a shame not to carry it through. I won't have another chance to do this for months and I've gone to so much trouble to prepare ...
Before I can change my mind ... CLICK! A brief twinge of fear, then a feeling almost of relief. It's out of my hands now. I'm a helpless prisoner, the keys inaccessible, my jailer immune to seduction. I rattle my chains softly, breathing fast and shallow. The adventure begins!
The evening passes pleasurably. I watch the bondage video, the flickering light from the TV allowing me to glimpse myself in a mirror I had propped against the wall. The spaghetti straps keep slipping from my shoulders. To lift them back up I have to curl into a ball, pulling the chain through the waist lock and creating delightful vibrations in the crotch chain. I reach orgasm more than once.
At two in the morning, I turn off the TV. I'm feeling relaxed and ready for sleep but I'm thirsty and need to pee. I hobble to the bathroom. It's pitch-dark but I don't bother to go back to turn the TV on again. It would give only a meager light here anyhow. I run into the first hitch: I can't turn the tap on. My hands don't reach, the round Lucite handle is too stiff to turn with my nose and I don't want to use my teeth in case I leave leave marks in the plastic.
I can quench my thirst from the bath tap instead but before I tackle that I need to pee. Something else I didn't plan right: the toilet lid is down. There isn't enough room to open it from the side and, standing in front, I can't reach the lid with my hands. If I bend at the waist my hands are too high, if bend my knees I can't stand close enough.
Kneeling sideways, I can get my elbow under the seat. I could lift the seat together with the lid all the way up, but then I'd have to balance on the edge of the porcelain bowl to pee. It would be too easy to fall in and soak the back of the baby doll. I might even get wedged in the toilet, unable to lift myself out. I feel quite helpless, struggling to do this simple task, and begin to appreciate that my bondage is more restrictive than it seemed when I was relaxed on the couch.
I could pee in the bath but I'd probably splash myself so I need to find a way to lift the toilet lid. I sit on my heels to give my hands some slack, throw the lid up as high as I can and, after several attempts, catch it with my shoulder and push it the rest of the way with my face. I pull my panties down as far as the crotch chain permits, sit down and take a very long pee, carefully holding panties and chain out of the stream. What a relief!
Next: into the bath for a drink. I sit on the edge, facing the foot of the bath with my back against the wall and lift my feet over the rim, careful to keep my balance. Kneeling in the bath, I turn on the cold tap very slowly. Then I back away on my knees and bend forward to put my mouth under the trickle. After quenching my thirst, I try to move forward to shut off the flow but lose my balance and fall forward, hitting my head. I'm not stunned but the bath is wet and slippery. By the time I get to my knees the front of the baby doll is soaked.
I turn off the water and go to sit on the side of the bath to get out. As I lower myself, my feet slip on the wet porcelain. I sit down hard on the edge of the bath and start to overbalance, my back sliding slowly across the wall. With my legs extended, I can almost recover but I'm tilting too far to the side. I try to grab the edge of the bath with my hands but there is no slack in the chain. It's hard to orient myself in the darkness and I teeter for an instant, then slowly overbalance, landing on my shoulder and rolling over so I'm face-down on the floor with my thighs resting on the edge of the bath. I panic briefly. I can't reach the floor with my hands. I feel trapped - half in the bath, half out - but gravity helps my frantic wriggling and my legs fall to the floor.
Now I'm on my stomach with my knees bent and the taut chain from my ankles running through my crotch to the waist chain in front. There is no slack between the handcuffs and the waist chain. To get to my feet, I must first reach a kneeling position but I'm as helpless as a turtle upside-down. I struggle over onto my back and try to do a sit-up but I can't straighten my legs enough. Perhaps my fear of being trapped by the toilet wasn't so far-fetched after all. How can I get back to the couch?
I lie on my back for a few moments, savoring my helplessness and trying to choose the best approach. I could wriggle along on my back like an inchworm all the way to the couch or try to push myself to my knees against the bathroom wall. It's spring and the central heating hasn't been needed for weeks but the cool air pools down here. Lying on the concrete slab in a damp nightie, I start to feel cold. Time to move! I wriggle on my back to the wall, turn to the side and walk my shoulder and forehead up the wall, pushing with my feet. Twice I slip and fall but finally I reach a kneeling position. I crawl to the towel rail, dry myself as best I can, stand and hobble back to the couch.
I'm drowsy and don't expect any trouble falling asleep despite a couple of bruises and a damp nightie. I try to doze off in my usual position, lying on my left side, but my weight forces my left elbow close to the waist lock, placing the handcuffs about eight inches away from it. This shortens the distance between ankles and waist by sixteen inches so my knees are sharply bent. I can't move my ankles far enough apart to separate my knees and the knee bones press together painfully. If I lie on my back instead, my knees slip down so there is tension on the ankle chains. Finally, after half an hour of fidgeting, I find that I'm fairly comfortable if I hang my feet over the armrest of the couch and let my elbows rest on my belly with my hands over my crotch. I drop off to sleep.
I wake suddenly a couple of hours later. My elbows have slipped down and put tension on the cuffs. There are red indentations on my wrists and my hands are numb. I'm too cold to doze off again but the sun rises in an hour anyhow. The fun part is over and now I'm just watching the clock until daylight. I turn on the television - nothing but Saturday morning cartoons and CNN. Bored, I start to think about how I could do this better.
The basic bondage is restrictive with a titillating degree of freedom - perhaps the only change I need is to shorten the chain to my ankles by a few links. As an experiment, I loop one of the spare padlocks through the chain so it's about three inches shorter, then try kneeling and standing to find the limits of my motion. Just this minor reduction in length feels much more severe. I reach for the lock. Shall I snap it shut? It's for only an hour more, after all. I'm tempted, but decide against it.
Perhaps I shouldn't alter the bondage next time but instead hide the keys in the shed at the bottom of the garden. I couldn't get loose from the chain until daylight and, for fear of being seen, would have to wait until it was dark again before wriggling across the lawn to get the keys.
Or I could try an entirely new scenario. Tonight, with the baby doll nightie and bondage that left me limited freedom of movement, I felt like a sex slave awaiting her master. Next time, I could be a prisoner in the power of the jailer, naked but for a leather collar, my bondage more severe. Perhaps a hogtie with a shorter tether that would force me to spend the night on the hard, cold floor. In total darkness, perhaps.
By seven o'clock, it's become quite light. “Enough of planning my next escapade”, I tell myself, “It's time to wrap this one up”. I hobble round to the closet and kneel down but find that it's still too dark to read the numbers on the lock. Back to the couch. I don't want another wasted trek as my ankles are sore where the chains rub so I wait several minutes for extra light before I try again. Still no luck! Back to the couch to wait some more, back to the lock ...
By eight o'clock, I realize that there's something wrong. I could see the numbers much earlier than this in my test. I can't reach the drape over the back door with my hands so I push it aside with my nose and cautiously peer out. It's cloudy! I can't see a hint of the sun. Now what do I do? I find the Weather Channel on the TV - no mention of cloud. The forecast is just like yesterday's – fair and dry . This must be a local effect, low coastal cloud perhaps. Who knows when it will lift?
I can't escape! I start to panic and I'm overwhelmed by a tsunami of an orgasm. When it's over, I force myself to calm down and think logically about my options. The most obvious approach is to get more light. I try to open the drape. I have to pull it with my teeth, it tastes dusty, I want to spit but my mouth is too dry. I'm trying to slide the drape along the rod but instead I pull the rod off its brackets and the whole thing falls to the floor. The corridor is much brighter now but, back at the lock, I still can't read the numbers.
I realize that the mirror I was admiring my reflection in last night could be positioned to reflect the daylight towards the lock. It's glass with a wood frame, heavy and unwieldy. I doubt I could lift it back up if I put it flat on the floor so I have to keep it balanced upright while I drag it. The chain between my wrists and ankles is painfully taut as I grasp the top of the mirror and I'm glad I resisted the impulse to shorten it. It's hard to keep my balance and the shackles bruise my wrists and ankles. I inch the awkward load down the corridor, afraid that I'll fall, break the glass and cut myself. I lean the mirror against the wall opposite the closet and turn it so the light from the window is reflected onto the combination lock.
I sit next to the mirror for a few moments with my back against the wall, sliding the cuffs higher on my wrists and wriggling my cramped fingers. I can see that now, with the drape down and the mirror in place, the closet seems brighter than during the test last week with a cloudless sky. I am almost reluctant to end the adventure but after a few minutes I crawl over to the lock. Only to find that I can't read the numbers even with the extra light!
I realize that my test missed a crucial factor: I was not shackled. I could bend down close to the lock and hold it at an angle so the numbers caught the light. Now the bondage makes it much harder to see the lock. I'm kneeling with hardly any slack in the chain to the cuffs, the lock is in the shadow of my body and I'm looking at it from further away. Perhaps I wouldn't be able to see the numbers even with the sun shining.
Can I can see the numbers better lying down? I spin the lock to clear it. There isn't enough room in the closet to lie down so I crawl out and fall to the floor. Ooof! Not very gentle. I struggle onto my back, turn around painfully and wriggle into the closet head-first. I was right! By craning my neck, I can just barely make out the numbers. I can't be absolutely certain whether I'm seeing a 3 or an 8, but if I turn the lock to the next number, I should be able to distinguish 4 from 9. All I have to do is keep track as I turn the dial. I must get up again to reach the lock so I wriggle out into the corridor and walk my head and shoulder up the wall the wall. Four tries before I'm kneeling again. Crawl into the closet, turn the lock slightly, crawl out, fall down, turn round, wriggle back in, read the number, realize that I'd mistaken 6 for 8 the time before, start over.
After half an hour of this, I'm no closer to opening the lock and I'm tiring, finding it harder and harder to get up. Despite the cold, panic is making me sweat. My forehead is slippery and it's hard to gain enough purchase on the wall. Sometimes I lose my balance and fall as I try to reach a kneeling position. The tie-out chain clutters the area and my knees hurt from crawling over the links. I'm bruised from falling down. My shoulder and head feel raw from rubbing against the wall when I push myself up.
This is definitely not working. The sun is getting too high to shine down the corridor even if the cloud burns off and, although I can see the lock better when I am lying down, I can't read the numbers well enough to open it .
So now what? I can use my safety - I can telephone someone. I pick up the phone and listen. The dial tone is reassuring. I've got the whole directory to choose from. Who should I pick? Certainly not anyone I work with. Perhaps the girl who lives with her mother next door, though I'm not sure how she'd react.
Only eight hours before, I had felt relaxed. I try to tell myself that nothing has really changed, that my situation is just as before, that I will figure out a way to escape. But the room that felt cozy lit by the flickering television looks bleak in daylight. I feel exposed with the drape down - anyone could walk into the back yard, look in through the window and see me. I'm thirsty but feel too stiff and bruised to climb into the shower again to drink. My ankles, knees and wrists are throbbing and I'm starting to feel hungry. Even the belly and crotch chains have started to pinch. The cold is soaking into my bones. The nightie slips off my shoulder again but I don't have the energy to pull it up.
I visualize myself going through another twenty-four hours chained like this in the forlorn hope that Sunday sunrise will grant me escape. How will I feel at dusk, a prisoner, shackled and starving in the deepening gloom. How will I feel at dawn, after a day and a half in chains, if I still can't free myself? I'm half-convinced that, even with a cloudless dawn, the drape down and added illumination from the mirror, there still won't be enough light to overcome the handicap of working in my own shadow. I feel that it makes no sense to go through another twenty hours of this torture before admitting that I can't escape; I might as well phone for help now. All I have to do is unlock the back door and phone the girl next door, telling her to bring a flashlight with her and walk in.
It should work out fine. She'd see me sitting on the sofa, gasp, then giggle. She'd ask how I came to be chained up and, when I told her I did it myself, ask how long I'd been like this, how I planned to release myself and why the plan had failed. I'd explain, then ask for her flashlight so I could see the combination lock. It's hard for me to predict what she'd do next. Perhaps she'd just shrug and say something like "I had a cousin who used to do this kind of thing. I'll leave the flashlight and if you don't bring it back in an hour I'll come back to check that you're okay." Or perhaps she'll say: "You've been like that long enough. You just sit there and I'll bring you the keys." She'd come back smiling and jingling the keys to show me that she'd found them, then toss them on the sofa next to me and leave.
But she might freak out when she sees me and scream for help, bringing the neighbors running. And even if she releases me without any fuss, she might tell her mother or my room-mates about it later.
I can't bring myself to admit defeat and take the final, irreversible step of calling her. As soon as I decide not to call for help right away, I calm down. I devise a plan; not a very good plan but better than nothing. I will just break the next twenty hours into light and dark segments. I've been captive for fifteen hours. I think I can get though eight hours of daylight, which I shall spend trying to escape. If I'm still stuck, at dusk, I 'll decide whether to phone for help or try to last until Sunday morning. If there is not enough light for me to open the combination lock at sunrise on Sunday, I'll create another plan.
So now, according to the plan, I'm supposed to think constructively about getting free. What can I use to help release myself? I'd moved everything I thought could be an escape tool outside the radius of my chain but I might have overlooked something. The mirror, the phone book, the unused locks and chains might be useful. What else was there? I need something to help me open the lock, remove the ring-bolt from the stud or break the chain. I crawl around to the bar and look on the shelves beneath it. The top shelf holds bar mats, glasses, trays. I lie down to take a look at the bottom shelf. Nothing there but three dusty Christmas votive candles at the back, wick and wax in a glass jar. Useless because I'd removed the matches from the shelf yesterday.
Think! Is there any way I can light a candle? Hopeless - no matches, no electricity. But wait - as the room cooled I'd noticed a hint of warmth from the furnace. I struggle to my knees, crawl to the furnace and peer through the vent in the front panel. Yes! A blue flame - I'd forgotten to turn off the pilot light at the end of winter. Crawl back to the bar. I can't reach the candles - I need a tool to get the tool. That problem is easy to solve. I crawl painfully to the back door for the curtain rod I'd pulled down. When I get there, I take a short break sitting against the wall while I think about how to make sure this works. It's a luxury to straighten out my knees. I glance at the clock - it's almost ten, more than fourteen hours since I clicked the final lock. In eight hours, the light will start to fade, a depressing thought. Better get moving! Crawl back to the bar with the curtain rod, lie down and maneuver the closest candle out. Back to my knees. Careful! If I fall and break the glass I could be badly cut. Pick up the candle, crawl to the closet, put it down. I have to take the upper panel off the furnace, then the lower. I stand up and stretch my hands as high as I can but I can't reach the hand grip. The sheet-metal panel has a sharp edge and I move my bare feet back in case I drop it, lift the panel off by putting my fingertips in the vents and carefully lower it to the floor. The lower panel proves much easier. I bend down and peer into the furnace. The flame, the marvelous flame! Only one hurdle now: how do I get the flame from the pilot light to the candle? Easy! The phone book is a tool, too. I tear a page out and roll it into a tight spill.
Almost there, now! Think before the final step! What can go wrong? I'm in shackles and I'm playing with fire. Could I burn the house down? Probably not, there's nothing inflammable in the closet. Will the nightie burst into flame? I don't think so but, to be absolutely safe, I should wet it down. The prospect of struggling into the shower again is daunting, though, so I just roll the top up out of the way.
Could I accidentally put the pilot light out? All too easily! I can't see what I'm doing when I poke the spill into the furnace because the chains won't let my hands and head near the opening at the same time. Snuffing the flame would be disastrous, so I start with the spill well clear of the flame and move it closer with glacial speed. Suddenly, a bright orange light flares up. It's lit! I bring it out, the flame is too fierce, I hold the spill upwards until it dwindles, then apply it to the wick. The candle lights immediately. I point the spill upward until the flame dies, then discard it in the furnace.
The combination lock opens at the first try. I gather up the tether chain and crawl to the workshop door. I drop the chain in an untidy pile and, dragging it behind me, crawl across the pitch-dark workshop in the direction of the corner where I left the keys. A few minutes later, I'm free. A glorious relief! I turn off the pilot light and replace the furnace covers. I put the drape back up so nobody can look in and see the bondage gear lying around, climb upstairs to bed and fall asleep at once
I wake at four in the afternoon, shower and heat up soup in the microwave. As I eat, I review the previous night. My plan had failed in two ways. First, I had been certain that escape was impossible during the night but I could have escaped at any time just by lighting a candle. Second, I had been confident that my freedom would be granted at sunrise but daylight didn't let me open the lock.
When I try this escapade again, I can easily avoid these mistakes. The first problem is already fixed – the pilot light is out. The second is solved if I feed the tie-out chain through the ring-bolt and make a large loop so the combination lock is out in the corridor, easier to see and work on.
Anyhow, the escapade had worked out fine. I had believed that I was trapped until the sun rose so I'd experienced for hours that strange, delicious feeling of relaxation that results from total helplessness. I'd had hours of bondage spiced with occasional panic. It ended with a well-executed escape. I didn't fail under pressure - instead of phoning for help, I found a way to release myself. Also, the basic bondage scheme was effective - if the pilot hadn't been lit I'd still be a captive, trying to decide whether to call for help or wait for daylight on Sunday morning. Looked at it from this point of view, my adventure was a success. What prisoner could expect a better scenario? Helpless servitude, then panic followed by determination and finally hard-earned freedom.
I can't help wondering, though, what would have happened if the pilot had been cold. I imagine myself peering through the vent in the front panel of the furnace and seeing no flame ...