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 trussed and gasping for breath.