A picture is worth a thousand words
That's a saying many people believe ... but, on this site,
pictures are usually there only to introduce a text.


No pictures?


No pictures?


For some people, described action and story detail gets in the way of the action.
But most of the feedback I get is asking for more information.
Often, what such people want is to clarify in their "Mind's Eye" precisely how
something described can actually be achieved.
Alternatively, somebody might challenge whether or not a
described situation could work in real life.

Because most of my stories are based on actual experience,
I can usually supply additional details.
It’s the same with JOHN STRICKLAND'S stories;
he knows all about strait-jackets from both inside and out.

So, how much detail is necessary for the imaginative reader?
Does the author have to specify that a character is tall-and-dark or stocky-and-hairy,
or should you be left to make your own mental choices?
Recently on this site I’ve been recommending readers to physically add or subtract
details to a text so they can make reading it more potent for themselves.


As an example of building on an existing story
a recent discussion with a site visitor prompted me to spend an enjoyably self-stimulating afternoon adding more detail to one of my favourite stories - John Strickland’s Locked in Leather.
In it the author describes the moment when two motorcycle cops suddenly jump the lead character and force him into one of his own strait-jackets. John knows a lot about this sort of situation but made the choice to describe the moment quite briefly in order to get to what happened once they'd got the un-willing Top jacketed.

My enquirer, also a serious strait-jacket game-player, knew from experience just how difficult forced-jacketing can be. Because Locked in Leather is so totally on my wavelength, it’s a text I've already taken liberties with by adding stuff to suit my own personal kinks. The question of just how the two cops might achieve their aim of subduing an experienced and seriously struggling game-player ... was a situation I happily put my mind to.

This resulted in a very stimulating session, visualising every move and counter-move as a leather-clad biker and two tough motorcycle cops struggled together. From personal experience I was able to mentally work my way through possible alternative manoeuvres step-by-step before writing down some workable solutions. That, for me, is a turn-on in itself.
Then, afterwards, my print-out is there as personalised one-handed reading to revisit as often as I want to in the future. Sharing such text is what this site is really about - for those who like that sort of thing

As an illustration of how 'word pictures' can offer a broad canvas or a detailed portrait (and a further erotic self-indulgence) here are different word-versions of the same situations.


John Strickland’s 7400 word story LOCKED IN LEATHER

has appealed to me since I first read it many years ago, so much so that I'd already added another 5000 words to it for my own amusement, and (with the author's consent) posted
my version on this site.
My additions were mainly extra descriptive details but I had also offered an alternative ending to the story.
The situation in brief is, a motorcycle cop stops two leather guys while out on their bike. He discovers that the pillion passenger is hooded and gagged inside his helmet. Later in the story, the cop arrives at the two guy’s flat accompanied by another bike-riding buddy.

Enlarge picture
Drawing by John Strickland

Learning more about the sort of games these two bikers are into, the cops turn the tables on the leather Top and force him into one of his own strait-jackets. Is that enough said? Is it time to get on with WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
Or, in order to appreciate precisely what the cops do and how they do it ... do you first need to know more about the way they look?

In John’s original version
, the motorcycle cop is wearing all leather when he first stops the two bikers:
"He was young, hard-featured and looked great in his black leather jacket. The jacket looked as though it had seen action, worn and shiny, it's zippers glinting in the sunlight. He walked towards us, one hand clutching his gloves. Heavy boots crunched on the gravel at the side of the road.”

This is a story written in the Seventies. Because I also like the tough hi-vis bike jackets police wear today, I indulged my preferences:
“He was young, hard-featured and looked great in his padded black leather breeches, tall bike boots and yellow hi-vis jacket cinched in by a weighty Duty Belt. This was laden with side-handle baton, pouches and bulky solid-centred handcuffs ... kit that had always arrested my imagination. As he walked back to us, heavy boots crunched on the gravel at the side of the road.

John’s two cops arrive at the biker's flat:
"Clomping on the stairs got louder and the cop who’d stopped us earlier came up the stairs, followed by another, also zipped up in a leather jacket. He wore dark glasses despite the dimness in the staircase. He looked dangerous, which made him all the more interesting."

In my version:
"Clomping on the concrete stairs got louder and the cop who’d stopped us during our ride earlier came into view. He was still wearing his hi-viz yellow jacket, leather breeches, boots and heavily laden waist-belt but had taken off his crash helmet and gloves. Behind him came another guy, obviously a copper but he was wearing a black leather jacket that was a real attention-grabber. Styled like a Barbour or Belstaff it was belted and had four front patch pockets. It had police insignia on the shoulders and breast pocket and he also had a fully loaded Duty Belt strapped over it. It looked great, particularly the bulky handcuffs in their pouch on his belt. I’d seen photos of such police jackets but thought they were no longer current issue. This second cop had also taken off his helmet and was wearing dark glasses despite the dimness in the staircase. He looked quite menacing, which made him all the more interesting.
A hundred and ten extra words - not necessary to the story, but they paint the sort of picture I like to visualise. Also, when the action hots up, two different jackets help when describing who is doing what.

John’s cops get the strait-jacket onto the leather-clad biker (320 words):
" … and that’s when it all happened.
The cops grabbed me from behind. Suddenly I was jerked backwards, a leather-covered arm vice-like around my throat. I shouted out, the grip tightened, his leg forced its way between mine. Our leather creaked and chaffed together. Almost simultaneously, he’d got my left arm twisted up behind my back, he obviously knew how to overpower someone. I reached up with my free hand to try and get his choking arm off my throat, but his colleague was active, too. He was in front of me, grabbing my free wrist.

As the other nearly broke my arm and neck, he started to shove my right arm down the sleeve of the strait-jacket. As he held that arm in place, the cop behind me brought my twisted arm round to the front and, despite my struggle, found it disappearing into the depths of the strait-jacket’s other sleeve.

They had me face down on the floor, kneeling on me, the jacket closing over my leathers, tighter and tighter with every strap they were buckling shut. I nearly came in my leather jeans as they pulled the wide crotch strap between my legs and strapped it tight.

“Stand up, leather-boy!” one said as they both hoisted me to my feet, pulling on the straps of the jacket.
“What the fuck’s going on,” I protested, my voice almost a croak after the headlock he’d had on me.
The high collar jerked shut as two more straps were fastened.
“No, please!” I said ineffectually, but they expertly crossed my arms; their experience and training as cops proving its worth.
“Please, no!” I gasped as my arms were strapped around me.
“No!” I shouted as they wrenched the sleeves even tighter together. I heard the prong of the buckle snap into place. A jerk as they pulled a loose end through a retaining loop.

Firstly as a total self indulgence, and then later because somebody asked for more details of exactly how it could be achieved, the forced strait-jacketing description became 1750 words instead of the original 320.
You’re either into that sort of detail or you aren’t.
If you are - the step-by-step description reads ...

Version as in LOCKED IN LEATHER REVISITED on this site ...

… and that’s when it all happened.
Grabbed from behind, a leather-covered arm was suddenly around my neck. I shouted out, which caused his grip to tighten his strangle-hold, the crook of his arm forcing my chin upwards to effectively clamp my mouth closed. His knee pushed its way between my legs from behind. Our leathers creaked and chaffed together as I was forced back tighter against the cop’s leather jacket. Almost simultaneously, he somehow got an arm over and around my right elbow, dragging it backwards. His hand found my wrist, and strong fingers twisted it up behind me. In spite of my determined struggling, my arm was wrenched higher. This guy obviously was well-practiced in such moves. I know, because I’m well practiced at that sort of thing - but he’d taken me by surprise.

I grabbed up with my free hand to try and drag his choking arm off my throat, but his colleague was active, too. Now in front of me holding the strait-jacket ready, almost in slow-motion he reached out and using only two fingers and a thumb, applied a seriously efficient twist-grip to my free hand. I knew the technique and knew how painfully disabling it could be - and it soon was!

While the man behind me nearly dislocated one arm while at the same time throttling me with his elbow, my other arm was relentlessly twisted against the joint and straightened in preparation for being forced towards the waiting sleeve of the strait-jacket. I know from experience that forcing an unwilling arm into the sleeve of a strait-jacket is not easy. Even while putting up what fight I could, I was conscious of this guy’s skill. He knew his stuff. While his one hand forced my wrist down the sleeve his other hand lifted the jacket, easing it’s passage downwards. A sudden swift change-over released the nerve-deadening grip on my wrist and allowed his two hands to yank the jacket higher which plunged my arm deeper into the horsehide tube. Almost immediately, I felt a hand from outside the sleeve grip my wrist through the thick leather to prevent me pulling back out again. Using his elbow, pressure was also applied behind my elbow to give him an unshakable arm-lock. With his feet planted firmly astride bracing me back against his partner, I knew that my arm might break if I continued to struggle. His determined face broke into a grin as his eyes held mine.
Then with a nod, he signalled the other cop to begin the next move.

From behind me, the leather elbow still clamped around my neck tightened until I could see nothing but the ceiling, but I soon felt my twisted arm behind me being dragged downwards into another deftly sustained arm-lock. Ruthless fingers forced my wrist back against it’s joint in an agonising grip.
I could not see it but knew my hand was heading for the waiting arm-hole of the jacket.
My feet lurched but otherwise there was nothing I could do to stop the second wrist entering the sleeve-hole. On cue, my numb wrist was released and, a sudden upward jerk of the jacket sent my arm plunging deep down into the second sleeve. The thick leather of my bike jacket sleeves fitted snugly inside the heavy hide - both arms now imprisoned by the jacket ... the jacket which I had been so careful to design to be indestructible.

At this point, the tableaux of three bodies in such close entanglement would make a spectacular sculpture - or a drawing by a skilful bondage artist. Me in the heaviest bike leathers that Joe Langlitz could supply, clamped back against a leather-clad cop while his equally determined buddy pressed his bulky hi-vis chest close against mine. Sandwiched between us, the thick horsehide of the strait-jacket was now almost up against my chin. My arms were no longer being held. They were suddenly free to flail around unchecked … but, because the cop in front pressed close against me effectively clamping me back against his partner, my arms were separated on either side of his bulky body so could do no real damage. Not only the thick leather of my bike jacket inside the double layer horsehide strait-jacket sleeves … my elbows and hands had now reached the points where the sleeves of the jacket had additional patches of leather on the outside. These I had specially asked for when ordering it … for extra security. The combined thicknesses now made it almost impossible for me to bend my arms. The two cops just stood motionless, their bodies clamped close in front and behind me, enjoying the situation - allowing me to do my worst. Daring me to do more.

Three pairs of bike boots, one pair lurching around while two pairs stood rock solid. Three pairs of leather legs pressing against one another as my feet and knees attempted to do damage. But tough police issue boots and padded leather knees and thighs were impervious. They just stood, allowing me to arrive at the knowledge that they had total control and knew how to keep it. With one cop breathing close to my ear, his bulk a rock-solid wall behind me, the other pressed in closer against my chest while smiling into my face. A confident team, used to working together ... they waited for my struggling to subside ... waited for me to accept that I was totally in their power.
It was a moment of impotence such as I had never before experienced.

Almost in slow motion, these skilful operators now moved into the next phase.
The clamping elbow around my neck was removed to achieve a sudden yank at the strait-jacket from behind, bring it up onto my shoulders. This movement shot my imprisoned arms even deeper into the end-less sleeves where each hand was now sandwiched between specially placed patches of smooth rigid leather.
These were there because my friend Sam is a defiant Houdini if given half a chance - and this jacket had on many occasions defeated his most determined (sometimes desperate) efforts. This fact forced itself into my reeling mind at this moment ... but the train of thought was broken because, expertly (using minimum energy) between them they began to manoeuvre me first to my knees and then face down onto the floor at the side of the bed.

As one cop knelt down, the knees of his padded leather breeches moved in to clamp in on either side of my head like a vice, which not only held me there but allowed the owner of the knees free use of his hands to assist his buddy in systematically closing the various straps and buckles behind my back. I felt my bike leathers compressing as the outer jacket got tighter and tighter with every wrench of a strap, each being connected in sequence. A well synchronised team, four hands well coordinated, I had time to notice as one by one buckles were yanked closed. When somebody groped between my leather-covered legs I tried to kick out, but discovered that the other cop was kneeling astride my legs. These were immediately immobilised as efficiently as was my head and neck while the wide single crotch strap was pulled through and jerked mischievously tight. I nearly came in my leather pants as my senses were overwhelmed. The crotch strap was jerked even tighter as the prong was forced through the tightest hole the solidly welded buckle could be dragged to.

Simultaneously, the vice-like pressure of leather on the sides of my head was released and I felt the other cop step off my legs. My ears were ringing but I was again aware of their close co-operation ... and, obviously, they had more than a passing familiarity with the process of strapping somebody into a strait-jacket. These men had had practice! Where and why, I wondered ... but, due to an abrupt movement, I had no time to dwell on this intriguing possibility.

“On your feet, leather-man!” said a voice, as two pairs of hands hauled me to my feet by the straps of the jacket.
“What the fuck are you … ” I protested.
“Shut to fuck up - sir!” growled the leather cop. “We’ve not finished yet!”
With that he jerked the high collar of the strait-jacket up at the front and began to explore how it wrapped around the neck ... twice. I had invented this unique design, deliberately to imprison the neck in a double layer of soft-but-thick leather. On top of this snug wrapping, two tough leather straps circled the neck side-by-side. When buckled the combined thin and thick leathers formed a neck brace which prevented virtually all movement of the head (while not pressing dangerously on the Adam’s Apple). I stood helplessly as, between them, they worked out how to wrap and strap it. They not only got it right, but strapped it super-tight while at the same time leaving me just enough space to breathe.

As they worked, their closeness to me, both breathing quite heavily, distracted me from realising that my arms inside the jacket sleeves still were not yet anchored - but I missed the opportunity. Two pairs of determined hands now took an arm each and confidently set about the task of immobilising me completely. My feeble attempts at resistance were short-lived.

“No, please!” I squawked ineffectually inside the rigid throat wrappings as the two cops determinedly dragged my arms across my chest. The ends of the long sleeves were soon through retaining loops at either side of the jacket waist. Two special high-security double buckle sleeve-ends were easily connected at the back.
“Please, no!” I gasped as the systematic process of wrapping my arms progressively tighter across my rib-cage forced air was out of my lungs.
“Nnn - agh!” I yelped as one pair of hands expertly forced my elbows tighter together in front while others wrenched the tough sleeve-ends closer and yet closer together behind me. They knew tricks I’d learned during years of playing around with strait-jackets, eliminating any possibility of stolen slack. My feet practically left the floor as a final wrench caused the sturdy prongs of first one and then the second heavy-duty buckle to snap into place behind me. Two final jerks confirmed that loose strap-ends were being neatly tidied away into their retaining loops.
This detail signalled the end of any hopes for me. I stood tr
ussed and gasping for breath.

Enlarge photo

The reader who challenged my earlier description of forcing an experienced game-player into a strait-jacket is, himself, an active game-player. He and his regular play-partner have a lot of experience of competitive control/counter-control action. So, he not only asked for more details - but went on to try the routine for himself. I’m still waiting for the photographs! Perhaps he failed in his attempt and finished up in the jacket himself - because I know for a fact that his partner is also very skilled.

Enlarge photo

More about 'word pictures' is currently buried in different pages now grouped together under this heading. Visualisation and Theatre of the Mind’s Eye are two topics conveniently brought together with different ideas for mentally Gettting closer to your fantasies. Also, changing texts to suit your own needs is listed in the same index - which will, I hope, provoke as much feedback as I got from gathering together all the different pages about CALLUM BUCHANAN.

Have fun exploring

Jim Stewart October 2008


Back to STORYLINES via