Foxies Self-Bondage Misadventure [F]

[Foxies]

A friend has asked me to post about a true self-bondage misadventure that I mentioned in an earlier post describing my first bondage experiences. http://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=2290

To be honest I am quite ambivalent about doing this. There are two negatives that go with it. The first is that I will expose myself to ridicule at the stupid thing I did that almost resulted in the loss of my life. The story will probably attract a lot of posts telling me what I did wrong with possible ways to prevent such things happening again. I have seen such types of articles before and the sad thing is some of the recommendations offered could be quite dangerous in themselves, with some innocent falsely believing that if such recommendations were followed then safety would be assured. Toro Poo!

Besides I admit I am not anxious to read them. Nobody likes to read about their own idiocy anyway and I am certainly no exception in that regard. It would also be relatively pointless to go into the horrible things that were going on in my life at that time which probably had a lot to do with my careless approach to safety.

A second negative is that by describing the stupid thing I did, I could conceivably give someone else (bad) ideas and I would hate to think that my account resulted in any harm to anyone else. That indeed would be awful.

However, as with all negatives, there could be a positive. Some wise people might conceivably learn that even when you take precautions (as I did) things can still go badly wrong. Just as in other parts of life, disasters tend to happen not because of a single failure, but because several small things going wrong at the same time can conspire to make a bad situation far worse. So, if my sad story makes someone else think twice before doing something which at first seems safe but is actuality pretty stupid, then perhaps my account will do some good.

So onward and damn the torpedoes which will doubtless come my way.

I was about twenty-eight years old at the time of this misadventure, apparently doing incredibly well in my career, if you ignore the dark forces at work that had been gathering over my head for quite some time. Despite career successes I was considerably depressed, suffering from massive insomnia and quite despondent about my none professional future. I was alone and in such a state that I was avoiding social contact with the rest of humanity. My only pleasures were my self and my love of self-bondage; something I had been doing for nigh on fourteen years. It had gotten so bad that in any free time I had, when not actively engaged in tying myself up, I was thinking of other ways to get a “bondage high”. This is not a good way to live.

On this particular early summer evening I decided to use a scenario that I had previously “enjoyed” on two other separate occasions. It is possible I was lulled into a false sense of security because the other experiences had gone so flawlessly. Another contributory factor was that I had been tying myself up for a long time with never the slightest problem and I might add that it was really my single source of fun. I suppose I was supremely (over) confident in my own intelligence and ability to do self-bondage safely. These are not great combinations when involved in potentially dangerous situations. Of course, it is easy to look back and check off all the things I did that were sheer stupidity.

After shackling my ankles with leather cuffs and padlocking a short chain between them, I placed a full-face harness ball gag in my mouth and strapped it firmly in place. Next, I put a hooded rain coat on backwards with the hood up over the gag. I tied the tapes of the hood tightly behind my head so that it was very snug and would not possibly fall off or become loose. This had a lovely claustrophobic effect, limiting somewhat the air I had access to, (please do not write and tell me how stupid this was), as well as blind folding myself and quite significantly muffling my hearing. In a way it was a sort of simple form of anoxic sensory deprivation, guaranteed to increase the high I knew I would achieve. I could of course breathe and provided I did not exert myself too much, I knew I could get all the oxygen I would need to “enjoy” myself.

The coat itself was an old coat I had modified previously by sewing it shut. To get it on I had to pull it over my head threading my arms up through the sleeves like putting on a long sweater. The coat had a nice belt which I buckled snugly in front which added a nice bondage feel and, in any case, prevented the coat’s removal when my hands were fastened behind my back. Over the coat’s belt I padlocked a steel chain leaving about four feet as a free end. My hands were free but I carried a pair of serviceable handcuffs from my toy collection leaving the keys at the doorstep of my kitchen that led to my back garden. I should mention that these were ratchet style handcuffs and since I was intending to put them on later when I wouldn’t have access to the keys that double locked them, I had taken precautions to wrap a part of the ratchet with tape so that once closed, even if I sat on my wrists, I would not be able to close them any further where they would have been liable to damage my circulation or the skin of my wrists.

It was already dark as I hopped down the steps and then with great care, I managed to lean against a guide rope I had previously strung at waist height from the kitchen door. I then hopped down the garden path about forty feet or so, using the washing line as my guide to the washing line post at the bottom of my garden. Once at the post, I looped the free end of my waist chain around the post with a padlock and deliberately dropped the key at the foot of the post. I then cuffed my wrists behind me with the handcuffs, vaguely pleased at the ingenuity I had shown in coming up with a way to fasten them without double locking them and yet still protecting my wrists.

I was thus locked to the post by four feet of chain to my waist, my wrists secured behind me and my ankles shackled together. I planned my later escape by using the key I had dropped at the base of the post and trace my way back up the garden path to my handcuff keys outside my kitchen door. However, I had a back-up safety key to my leash stashed in the pocket of my rain coat. This latter key would be a struggle to get to with my wrists cuffed behind my back but I had practised successfully several times with this backwards rain coat and was confident I could do it again.

As a final safety measure, I had parked a set of bolt cutters against a bush I knew I could reach even though leashed to the post. I had even practised previously that I could get the bolt cutters onto my leash chain even with my hands behind me and sit on the handle to cut through the chain which wasn’t that thick anyway.

Earlier I had inserted a small vibe with batteries that I knew would last about two hours. It was dark but I was blindfolded anyway so it didn’t matter. The previous two times I had done this I had no need of the spare key or bolt cutters because I had had no difficulty in finding the main key and releasing myself after two hours of fun.

So, for the first two hours, I enjoyed myself reaching several moments of pure bliss and relaxed in the weird freedom from the real world that self-bondage enthusiasts often experience. Even after the batteries ran dry, I lay there on the dry grass at the foot of the post and it felt wonderful. I could almost feel the stars twinkling above me as my everyday stresses, problems and frustration just melted away.

After probably another hour I began to get stiff and I started to hunt for the key at the base of the post. But after thirty minutes I realised it wasn’t there and started to worry. I then struggled in my coat to get to the spare key in my pocket and as I was doing that, I felt my foot kick the bolt cutters and I assumed they went flying far out of reach. Eventually I got to my coat pocket only to find that when my hand went all the way to the bottom there was no key. I could barely believe this and I struggled hard in vain to search for a key that simply wasn’t there.

Suddenly my panic knew no bounds. I hyper ventilated but rebreathing my own carbon dioxide only increased my respiration rate and I passed out. It was probably only a few minutes later I came to with a huge headache and my panic returned. I desperately searched the ground for the key I had dropped. I tried my other coat pocket. I struggled to get out of the coat but I had belted it on too firm and the tapes tying the hood up around the back of my neck were out of reach.

I passed out again and thus began a cycle of hunting for keys (and the bolt cutters), panic and losing consciousness. I became very disoriented and scared. I remember swing around endlessly on the chain, searching and scrabbling for any feel of the key. I stretched out in every direction with my feet trying to sense the bolt cutters and rapidly became convinced I had kicked them out of reach.

I passed out several times and I knew time was passing by. Eventually I felt the sun on my coat and became desperately hot, yet every time I struggled, I ran out of oxygen. Gradually it sank in that I was helpless and that no help was coming and I began to accept my fate. The panic died out though I was sad; pretty sure that my end was coming. I knew I couldn’t struggle much more, became thirsty and I lost interest. I think I slept quite a bit too.

I was gradually becoming aware that I was uncomfortable laying on my arms with my arms behind my back and whichever arm I lay on would cramp periodically and so I would slowly roll over. Suddenly I felt something strange beneath one of my fingers and became puzzled in my groggy state. I explored it a bit lackadaisically and gradually it percolated through my addled brain that it was the key!

I was so far gone by then I hardly thought about it. I knew I had to do something and it must have taken me forever to unlock myself from the post. Even then I was too weak to get to my feet to hop up the path and wound up crawling back to my house and again I think I passed out at least once. Eventually I made it to the kitchen steps and the keys to my handcuffs and it took me a while to get them off. It was such a relief to get my coat off and gag. It was mid-day and I went to my bed and fell asleep. Later that evening I almost tripped in my bedroom when I tried to walk and realised my ankles were still hobbled.

Later I retraced my steps and found the spare key on the garden path. It had somehow come out of my coat pocket as I had hopped down the path and possibly because of my hood, I hadn’t heard it fall. I also realised that the main key, the one I had most relied on, had hit a part of the concrete at the base of the post when I had dropped it and it had bounced into a flower bed. It was only pure luck that when I must have rolled over at one point on my leash that my fingers accidentally found it. The bolt cutters had merely fallen down from the bush I had them leaning against and in retrospect I might have felt them with my toes if I had kicked my shoes off!

But the whole experience terrified me and I put my toys away in a spare bedroom and decided I was done with self-bondage for a while. It was only a couple of months later I got together with Angela who was at that time my next-door neighbour and soon after we got together, my need for bondage became satisfied by her. I have never done any self-bondage since. I suppose it is irony that the woman who only two months later was to become my lover and partner for over thirty years, had been in absolute ignorance of my condition only sixty feet away.

My only hope in recounting this story is that my readers should know how truly dangerous self-bondage can be. Just as all security devices can fail or be defeated, all self-bondage release mechanism can fail. Yes, ice cubes always do melt (unless it is so cold and the heater fails) but even then, keys have fallen out of reach, or slipped out of fingers beyond recovery. The wrong ice cubes have been taken from the fridge so that when they melted either they were the wrong keys (presumably meant for another game) or there were no keys at all!

Gravity always pulls something down, unless some unanticipated friction is stronger. Phones or mobiles needed to call help have failed or their batteries unexpectedly ran out, timers failed and expected friends didn’t show up in time.

Basically, the world is chaotic and randomness is everywhere and even the most careful and smartest human beings have their off days.

Of course, the need for self-bondage will always be there and the urge … the addiction if you like, can always overwhelm one’s natural caution. For those who have no access to a bondage partner, I feel total sympathy. I was there for such a long time myself. And thus, perhaps the best self-bondage strategy is to spend the effort instead on finding that loving and trust worthy partner. I wish all my readers the happiness that a true and faithful bondage partner can provide. Thank you Angela.

Foxies

[MaxRoper]

Thanks for telling your story. It's more likely to be a cautionary tale than an instigator of trouble . You're to be commended for sharing your mistakes.

Most of all, I'm so glad you found an accepting partner. That's truly priceless.

[TightsBound]

Thank you so much for sharing this deeply personal and frightening experience. I’m glad that it all worked out in the end, both meeting your partner and sharing this cautionary tale with us.

You write very well, with great attention to detail. I hope we will get to read about more of your self bondage adventures and maybe with your partner.

Thank you again!

[Deleted User 76]

Great story , it's good that everything is finished well, I hope I can read more of your stories in the future

[Dpsiic]

Great post Foxie, and a lesson for us all who practice self bondage. Glad you came out of it ok and now have a partner to play with.