For all stories return to STORYLINES INDEX

Prints as 45 A4 pages - words 46645  


CHECK ALL ANCHORS then remove this list
HScuffsandmore (on web)
HSfirstcuffs (on web)
HSsolidcuffs (on web)
HSafterwebpage (on PF)
HSteamwork (on PF)

HSphonesex (on PF)
HSmanacled (on PF)

HSquestions1 (on PF)
HSfirstvideos (on PF)

HSselfapplied (on PF)
HSarrivalsvideo (on PF)
HSbagged (on PF)

HSquestions2 (on PF)

HSdebriefing (on PF)




A sensual adventure story


Jim Stewart
(Previously titled HOUDINI CONNECTIONS)


This is a story about exploring sexual fantasies and erotic alternatives.


It’s a cautionary tale about natural instincts

that nag - and tempt - and won’t go away

even when we try to ignore them.



INTRODUCTION to the hero of our tale
Anthony John Proctor (‘Chunky’ to his mates) had always been a bloke-ish sort of bloke; always taken pride in being “A bit of a lad” as people in his native Lancashire liked to say. Sexually, he had been doing what was expected of any young chap in the Industrial North of England from a very early age - and doing it regularly ever since. Unfortunately, from the start his ideas about sex were limited to opinions picked up along the way from school mates, work mates and by reading the more lurid of the tabloid press - which means all the moral confusion, limited outlook and fear of being different from other blokes, was bred into him.
His married life started earlier than planned due to sexual enthusiasm, and it had been enjoyable as far as it could go in a council flat with paper-thin walls. He soon discovered that bringing up two exuberant youngsters can be stimulating, but kids certainly stunt the parents’ sexual growth. Last year his teenage son opted for an army life and his daughter took off to work in London where she was getting up to God knows what. He didn’t blame either of them. Seventeen years ago he would happily have taken either option, given half a chance. They were good kids and he’d bought them up to relish challenge but at the same time take responsibility for their own actions; a principle he always stood by.

Parental duty done, an amiable separation had now left both he and his wife free to explore their very different unfulfilled needs. She is doing an Open University degree course and managing a Gift Shop in the city centre, he shacked up with a younger woman who has an insatiable sexual appetite but, unfortunately, very little imagination. So after six months together their relationship has settled into something of a rut and he is finding his mind straying into dangerous territory.

This is a story about a man who, at 35, still thinks of himself as being in his prime, but is beginning to suspect he might have missed out somewhere along the line. Erotic alternatives; the sort of things always sneered at or disapproved of by the sort of blokes he’d hung around with all his life, Chunky Proctor is now tempted to explore. Long resisted fantasies seem to be occupying more and more of his ‘thinking time’. But there is nobody in his life he could possibly turn to for either advice or support ... because being the odd man out is a dangerous thing to be among ‘mates’.





The characters in this story live and work in the British Industrial North.

The nearest USA equivalent is any city where one large-scale manufacturing plant
employs most of the male population.







Exploring ‘The Inner Man’.


Life is full of possibilities ... and alternatives ... and choices. That’s what he’d always told his kids.

A J ‘Chunky’ Proctor had never been able to resist a challenge. Even his job was full of calculated risk-taking and potential danger but recently he’d had an uncomfortable feeling growing inside him that he might enjoy somebody else making a few choices for him ... taking control, taking charge. That was the stage the hero of our story had arrived at ... at least in his imagination.

In reality he was still very much in control of his own life; happy to stand his ground and fight rather than step aside. People steered clear of ‘Chunks’ when he was digging his heels in over anything. But today, when he could have used a bit of moral support Sarah had said “You’re on your own, mate! If you want to stick your neck out, you’re the one who might get your dick chopped off or your head flushed down a toilet.” Neither was a realistic possibility but he knew what she meant ... and today he had a feeling that if she’d have said “Don’t do it,” he wouldn’t have ... but she’ll never be a Dominatrix. God knows he’d tried, but she just hasn’t got it in her ... and she’s young ... at least younger than he was feeling this afternoon.

He peered through the windscreen of his clapped-out Fiesta at the drizzle. All the damn streets looked the same in this part of town. What used to be a busy local shopping area was now a ghost of it’s former self. In any English northern industrial city, half a mile from the main centre, clusters of what used to be thriving local shops are mostly boarded up or the home of some minority interest enterprise. Not that sex is a minority interest in Oldham but a Sex Shop today has to be either big and glitzy or a small anonymous ‘Private Shop’, without window display or external advertising.

‘Chunky’ parked his car near a little old fishing tackle shop he used to frequent as a lad. It now looked tired and old. It was two streets away from his destination but even in this remote neighbourhood he didn’t want anybody to spot his car outside a gay sex shop. Not that he was gay, of course ... he wasn’t exactly sure where the shop was. His mates had sniggered over the story in the local rag and ‘Chunky’ had sniggered along with them while making a mental note of the address. Not that he was gay, of course ... but according to the newspaper the shop stocked an impressive range of handcuffs. He’d never owned a pair ... but

Sarah was hopeless at tying knots in spite of all his tuition, and some of the games that turned him on hinged on him surrendering some of his physical power ... and some responsibility. The situation had always attracted him ... “Houdini Stuff” as he liked to think of it ... because it might open up all sorts of possibilities he’d never really explored.

Turning up the tall collar of his rain jacket he walked through the afternoon drizzle, resolutely. Why should he feel nervous? Not much made him feel nervous. He’d always been confident and able to take care of himself ... but the lads at the station would be merciless if word got out that he’d been seen within a mile of the new ‘poof shop’. At least the fishing tackle place would make a cover story. Turning off the main road into a side street that looked like a thousand other Coronation Street-type streets, he soon identified his destination. It was probably once a modest backstreet workshop with a yard and little shop attached. There used to be dozens of them. This one still had its old wooden shutters over the shop window and solid-looking double drive-in doors alongside. No name identified the premises except for a discreet notice on the shuttered window that announced ‘Private Shop. Strictly Adults Only’.

Pulling his collar even higher, he sauntered on past feeling as furtive as he imagined most frequenters of such a store must look. The shop seemed to be closed. What used to be the shop entrance appeared to be as unused as the solid wooden doors to the yard. However, the whole frontage had been repainted recently; dark dark industrial green with, he noticed, a subtle black trim picking out the beading on the Victorian panelled woodwork.

Retracing his steps he saw that the bell by the shop door was illuminated. A modest label admitted ‘The Inner Man’ which was the name mentioned in the newspaper. Below the bell a more obtuse notice insisted in small print ‘Minors prohibited’. Almost involuntarily he took a deep breath before pressing the bell.


Because there was an entry phone speaker he expected a disembodied voice, but a rasping buzzer indicated that the door would open. He pushed forward prepared to enter a murky interior because, according to what he’d read, the shop specialised in S&M and leather and other kinky stuff. The sight that greeted him came as a surprise. A glistening hi-tech perforated metal screen and a dazzling metal trellis formed a small, well lit vestibule allowing only a sense of what was beyond,.

“Hi,” said a friendly young face from behind the security grille, “come inside.” Another electric buzzer opened the inner security gate automatically. “Sorry it’s a bit like Alcatraz ... although some people like that idea? ... but we get a lot of ... what shall I call it ... aggressively curious callers. You look as if you know why you’re here. First visit, yes?”

Chunks nodded guardedly.

“Thought so, I’d have remembered” smiled the likely lad without any hint of a simper. The older man found himself thinking that if he didn’t know this kid worked in a gay shop he’d never have guessed. The sweat pants, trainers and tee shirt would not be out of place in the Health Club the lads at the station use.

“Is there anything I can show you ... or do you just want to browse? Feel free.  I’ll back off and you just ask if there’s anything you want to know ... or see ...” … he shrugged ingenuously “ ... if you don’t see it.”

Receiving no response from his customer, the lad shrugged againScuse me a minute ... something I was doing in the back room.”  He disappeared through an inner door leaving Chunky at a loss to know where to look. The space was smallish but neatly segmented into areas. A few leather items, most of them liberally studded with metal; a rack of magazines that Chunky preferred not to look at too closely; a glass cabinet filled with heavy-looking chrome rings and another with a variety of stainless steel piercing rings and spikes. Chunks’ mind didn’t exactly boggle at the thought of the tit and ball weights but the piercing stuff made his nerves jangle a bit ... and the feather boas in scarlet, purple and white looked out of place wrapped around heavy motorcycle boots. A strange steel chair set solidly before a large mirror engaged his imagination. It was bolted to the hi-tech metal floor and its strange shape intrigued him. A rack of Lurex jock-straps and posing pouches belonged to a world of male strippers and Hen Nights and although the rack of plastic penises and dildos came as no shock, the size of some of them made his sphincter tense slightly.

The overall effect was of orderliness and cleanliness which surprised him. The lighting and security TV monitors, the metal screens and fabric hangings reminded him of a glossy magazine rather than sleaze. Mirror panels of the sort he recognised from IKEA seemed to surround him; the type studded with black dots holding the corners of the panels to the walls.

Remembering why he was there, he looked around for handcuffs. In a corner he saw a cage big enough to contain a good sized dog and above it a rack with not only handcuffs but manacles and shackles in a riot of shapes, configurations and weights.

His heart was beating faster than normal and something was holding him back from even approaching the display. This was more than he’d bargained for, but inside his head something was sending unfamiliar ... no, old familiar signals. Handcuffs had always somehow fascinated him. Perhaps that’s why when a few years ago, having filled out an application form to join the police, he’d settled for the fire service. He’d never made the connection but he’d been fascinated by handcuffs and all sorts of “Houdini stuff” when he was a kid. Manacles and shackles and prison scenes in films seemed to lurk disturbingly in his imagination. The possibilities of arrest, imprisonment ... restraint had resulted in him pushing his luck while an apprentice in a machine shop. Pranks with wire, rope, soldering irons and even adhesives had got him into tight corners and occasional trouble. On the soccer field and pubbing and clubbing, his mates would say “There’s no holding Chunky Proctor” and his stock reply was always the challenge, “Come on, try it you bastards”. Sometimes they did try, which would result in scuffles and tackles and torn clothes. A couple of times he’d been on the verge of buying a pair of handcuffs. The magic shop had had them when he was a kid and he’d been very tempted ... but something usually held him back ... he didn’t know what. But now he had no family budget to consider and, hopefully, he might find a legitimate use for them ... to give Sarah an even chance in their bedroom rough-and-tumbles.

It was difficult for him to keep his mind on handcuffs because so much other metal stuff was hanging there. A brutal-looking iron collar and neat little chrome wrist manacles padded with leather but obviously seriously efficient. His mind reeled at the possibilities ... (giving substance to his recurring fantasies) ... and leg manacles and lockable steel belts with wrist and ankle cuffs attached by sturdy chain. None of the token bondage, tin-plate stuff here. Shit, a solid metal head ... the Man in the Iron Mask! ... Fuck. The rushing sound in his head suddenly made his vision blur. He’d never fainted in his fucking life ... but ... !

“See anything you like?” asked a voice from the doorway.

Anthony John Proctor, Leading Hand in The Brigade with a couple of special citations for bravery, hoped he wasn’t looking too stupid. “Yes,” he said in a voice that sounded higher in pitch than normal. He cleared this throat and added gruffly “A couple of things ...yeh!”

“Metal stuff.” observed the kid.

Er ... yeh ... police equipment ... er ... handcuffs”. The word almost stuck in his throat.

“Right!” enthused the youngster “We had a hell of a rush on them after that newspaper article. Is that where you read about us?”

Chunks nodded, guiltily.

“Talk about locusts. You’d think Oldham had never heard of handcuffs before that. We had to restock twice since then. Are you on the Force?”

“Police? ... no!” said Chunks prepared to be defensive.

“Thought you might be. Quite a few of the local lads have been in ... putting a dent in their credit cards.”

“Police ... buying handcuffs?”

“Why not? We’ve got some pretty exotic stuff here.”

“You’re not fucking kidding” said the older man.

“I mean types of handcuffs; German, American and even Australian police issue. Highly collectible.”

Chunks was trying to get his head around coppers buying non-standard issue handcuffs ... shopping in a gay shop ... giving their credit card details. His mind was still reeling a bit when the next question sent him into a tail spin.

“What are you looking for exactly?”

Er ... er ...” said our hero who’s perception of handcuffs was less clear than it had been ten minutes since.er ... something reasonably simple ... that won’t leave marks.”

“Ah, that narrows the field. Steer clear of most of the swing-through bow models in that case. We don’t sell the cheap crap but even some of the standard issue can cut in a bit, specially if you enjoy a good struggle. Are they to be used on you or a female?”

“Both” lied Chunks, quick as a flash.

“Pity,” said the salesman (person) “the most comfortable are the Hiatt Old Pattern but they aren’t adjustable. They’d fit you fine but she might wriggle out of them ... but that might be fun to watch.”

His hands were sweating as Chunky looked down at his wrists “The ones that would fit me ...?” he hazarded, but his voice trailed off as the kid reached for a businesslike looking pair of traditional cuffs.

“These are the basic ones. They just snap on, but you need to watch out because they can nip the skin. They’re more comfortable behind the back than modern ratchet cuffs. Quick to close and slow to open, this type. The key screws in and pulls back a bolt” the kid enthused as he closed one of the cuffs with a resounding snap onto his own wrist. Immediately, he produced a key and demonstrated the unlocking principle. “You can even do this yourself behind your back” he said as the cuff fell open.

Chunky licked his lips but found nothing to say.

“Not very comfortable to spend the night in, not if they’re on behind your back so you can’t play with yourself” said the young man without a trace of embarrassment. The fact that he was not much older than his own lad made the weird situation even more weird. The kid reached for a similar pair of cuffs that were linked by about a foot of chain rather than close together. “Now these you can sleep in ... if she allows you to sleep”. He put the cuffs into clammy hands. “A lot depends on the games you play.”

Anthony John felt he was blushing scarlet but the salesman had turned and reached out for yet another pair from the wall display. “These cuffs are much chunkier,” the kid prattled on “they’re German. Unnecessarily bulky but the weight feels great and they make a very satisfying noise!” The ratchets of the massive cuff rattled through the spring mechanism a couple of times. “A great sound if you’re blindfolded or have a bag over your head.”

The sheer nonchalance of the youngster was keeping Chunky off balance. This was the sort of kinky stuff he’d only ever read about in magazines ... never discussed it, even with Sarah and certainly not with other blokes. He stared at the cuffs in his hands.

The lad waited, amiably. “Is that the type of thing you had in mind?”  he asked. “They’re pretty well fool-proof if somebody is bad at tying knots. A quick snap and they’re on ... as long as she’s put the key somewhere out of reach in case you grab her.”

Was this kid a mind-reader wondered the older man ... but the handcuffs were being taken out of his hands as the salesman asked “How are they for size?”

Chunky didn’t know or make any move to find out ... and so the kid, quite logically, placed one cuff around one of Chunky’s wrists ... but didn’t close it.

“That seems exactly right. Do you want to close it or shall I?” asked the guy but Chunky made no move. Smiling, the younger man snapped one cuff locked and immediately stepped back, leaving the second cuff dangling by its foot of chain. He held out the key.

“The good thing about these is you can easily lock them on and take them off by yourself if that’s the sort of game you play. There are ways of making the key unavailable for a while ... until a certain time, if you like to play on your own” he said, still holding up the key. “Lot’s of ways, from sealing the key into a cube of ice and having to wait for the ice to melt, to electronic time-lock boxes. There’s some very interesting possibilities. Lock the other cuff on.”

Whether this was meant to be a suggestion or an order Chunks wasn’t sure, but his hand moved to the second cuff.

“Try it behind your back” prompted the salesman, and for some obscure reason the older man did exactly as he was told without hesitation. Fumbling the unfamiliar shape around his wrist in the small of his back, his eyes flickered between the amiable face of the youngster and the various mirror panels in which he could see his black rain jacketed self from different angles.

The snap of the second cuff closing announced the start of a new phase, particularly as the salesman still held the key. Looking in the mirror directly ahead Chunk wished he could see the back and front at the same time.

“Turn around” said the mind-reader swinging a second wall of mirror tiles to an angle so both front and back were visible to the wearer. “Relax! See, they can be quite comfortable. You could struggle or just happily spend the night in them. No damage, even if she decides to sit on your chest or thighs or even if she’s got you embedded inside her. The choice would be hers.”

Luckily for Chunky the kid couldn’t see the massive erection that was causing serious problems inside his mac.


The sudden rasping of the door buzzer threw Chunky into panic. The kid also moved swiftly but confidently. “No need to panic. I’ll get rid of them” he said reassuringly as he swung back the mirrored wall panel to reveal a small changing room. “There’s a seat in there. You can slide your hands down under your bum, sit down and get your feet through the cuffs. That way you can see to unlock the cuffs ... if you want. I’ll get rid of them soon as I can. Here’s the key.” he said and Chunky felt the key pressed into the palm of one manacled hand behind his back.

With that the door closed and the sweating Chunky turned around to find himself staring himself in the face because the cubicle door had mirrors on the inside as well. The shiny black rain jacket that had seemed both practical and trendy when he bought it last month suddenly looked decidedly kinky with his hands pulled back by handcuffs. Handcuffs! thought Leading Hand Proctor and the tip of his erection was making a plainly visible hump in the very bottom edge of his belted coat.

A merry voice from outside the front door identified somebody who was obviously a regular at the store. Another buzzer and two raucous male voices greeted “Robert, precious!!!!” with a stream of girlish endearments that made Chunky hold his breath. Shrill banter and giggles gradually became more muted, and the trapped man began to wonder if his presence was being revealed to the visitors ... two of them by the sound of it. The space he was in had no other exit and the sight of himself trapped and PVC wrapped somehow riveted him to the spot. The rushing in his ears almost drowned out the three voices engaged in earnest conversation but suddenly the security grill clanged closed and departing voices shrilled “Bye, bye, Bobby, darling!” and “Roberta, sweetie, you’re an angel. I’ll say a novena for you!” as the outer door closed and Chunky seemed to breathe for the first time in about three minutes. He stared at himself in the mirrored tiled wall and made no attempt to push past it.

Eventually the door opened and the younger man looked in at him quizzically. “Couple of Drag Queens picking up wigs. Special order. I didn’t encourage them to hang around ... but they’re fun people. Sorry about that. Er ... you ... didn’t open the handcuffs.”

Chunky shook his head dumbly and found it hard to meet the gaze of the likely lad who was standing confidently before him.

You’d better give me back the key then, “ he said evenly, “if you’re not going to use it.”

After a pause Fire Officer Proctor did as he was told. Turning slowly he raised both manacled hands slightly and opened one palm to present the key. He felt it taken from his moist hand, and then two hands closed over the chain, shortening the distance between his wrists and making his chest tight within the PVC jacket. The firm grip on the chain urged him backwards out of the small changing room and the mirror swung closed leaving Chunky looking at himself, arms now forced tighter behind him and a smiling face peering over his shoulder. “These cuffs are quite effective in various positions.” it said “How supple are your shoulders?”  Experimentally the salesman gently guided the two manacled wrists upwards, folding in on themselves until both elbows were bent and hands were reaching up between the shoulder blades. The firm hand gripping the chain somewhere up below his collar gathered a fistful of rain jacket and lifted slightly. Chunky watched the tough fabric of his zipped up and belted jacket strain against his chest as he was lifted almost onto tip-toe. The second controlling hand demonstrated how easy it would be to grip a handful of his thick short hair and exercise considerable control.

These old cuffs had their uses but when it comes to control they’re not a patch on the modern solid cuffs.” The grip had been released and his hands were lowered as Chunky again breathed in and moistened his lips. He felt the key being screwed into one of the cuffs which soon fell open. The salesman stepped back and said “You open the other cuff. Another control factor, of course, is leg-irons. If they’re wearing leg-irons and handcuffed it’s easy to keep someone off balance and there’s less chance of getting kicked in the shins or the balls.”

“You been in the police?” asked Chunky, “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“Oh, I do ... but I haven’t. And our police aren’t allowed to use leg-irons in spite of the need for them sometimes. A lot of injuries could be avoided if they were. German and American police use them as routine if there’s a danger of somebody lashing out ... and there’s a lot of it goes on, believe me. Detainees inviting a bit of police brutality. A few bruises always look good in court. I hope the Police Federation is keeping a list of officers injured because leg-irons aren’t allowed. Something to do with Amnesty International and a few do-gooders who don’t have to deal with the realities of policing. At least the new solid cuffs are a more efficient control device. Do you fancy a beer?”

The unexpected final remark made Chunky look up from the handcuff he had at last managed to unscrew.

“Beer?” he asked?

“Or a Coke or something? Sorry I get a bit steamed up on the subject of leg-irons. Couple of mates of mine have had nasty injuries that could have been avoided if they’d have been allowed decent equipment. Controlling somebody who’s determined to make trouble or out of their skull on drugs is a lot easier with the right cuffs and a pair of leg-irons ... or, of course, a combination iron ... you know, handcuffs attached to ankle cuffs. You’ve probably seen them on TV or in films.”

“Yes,” confirmed Chunky “a few times.”

“And was it ‘Yes’ to a beer?”

Er ... thanks, no. I’m on watch at six ... er, fire service.”

“Ah! ... interesting.”

“Is it? Why?”

“Oh, ... nothing really. So, how about the handcuffs? Do you want me to fill you in on any more info? Sorry, I do tend to ramble on a bit. A lot depends on the Scene or situation that turns you on. Is a woman going to use them on you?”

“I hope so,” said Fire Officer Proctor managing a sort of smile “Like you said, she’s hopeless at tying knots.”

“Well, those cuffs and a pair of leg-irons would even up the odds a bit. I’m not being a pushy salesman but leg-irons would make a practical addition. Open up a lot of possibilities. Depends how good she is with equipment, or how determined. Does she like taking control? Have you done bondage with rope and stuff?”

Er ... no, not really ... er ... no.”

“Oh,” said the Salesman, “I spent the first ten years of my life tying myself up ... before I found somebody to do it for me .. but let’s stick to your situation. Are you a willing ‘victim’ or do you like to put up a struggle? Sorry, I don’t want to embarrass you. Not being nosy ... just that the leg-irons do offer extra control. We’ve got three types; standard American police, the German extra heavy ones and the old fashioned British ... which are, in fact, reproductions made in Spain. They’re not even allowed to make them in Britain nowadays ... but they’re not illegal to import or own. Oh, and there’s a new one! An American company just produced a boot size leg-iron that will fit over a wide boot ... heavy motorcycle ... cowboy type ... or for our kinkier brethren, wellies or waders. Firemen in Britain don’t wear waders, do they. A lot of people are turned on by rubber waders ... and a metal leg-iron big enough to lock around them is proving popular with some of our customers.”

The perspiring fireman looked at the chunky leg-manacles dangling from the salesman’s hand and tried to get back on track by asking, “You say you’ve got the combined hand and ankle cuffs?”.

“Sure! With or without a belly chain ... waist chain?” He replaced the leg-irons and reached for a tangle of chain with wrist and ankle cuffs dangling. “These keep the wrists locked tight to the waist chain. You can also use it with hands in back ... opens up a lot of possibilities!” smiled the salesman demonstrating the position with legs spread wide and hands tight behind his back.

“Shit!” laughed Chunky but it was more of a strangled gasp.

“Deep shit, if you allow yourself to get into this sort of position. You’ve really got to know who you’re dealing with before you allow yourself to get locked into these. Really leaves you wide open.”

The younger man hung the rattling equipment back on the metal display frame leaving the older man even hotter than ever and groping for a hanki, his imagination racing.

“Useful if she’s going to go off to work leaving you to do the housework. Have it finished before she gets back ... or else! As long as she takes the key with her and you don’t cheat and have a spare stashed away. All depends on the sort of games you play and the level of intensity”.

“I never knew it was so complicated” said Chunky picturing himself naked and manacled wondering if and when Sarah would be back. Would he ever allow himself to be put in such a predicament? Could she handle it? Could she ever handle him?  “You’ve had a lot of experience using this sort of stuff?” hazarded Chunky.

“A lot” came the confident reply.

“On women?” risked the older man?

“Some,” said the salesman evenly “but usually teaching them how to handle their men. A lot of the Mistresses, the Professional Dominatrix shop here. They need to know how to take control and keep it. The new police handcuffs are a God-send for that. Like I said, they’re a serious control device.”

He reached for a solid centred handcuff and held it out for inspection. “This little beauty is what all the coppers are carrying now. Bulky on a waist belt but as a control device, it’s a bitch.”

Chunks had seen the strange new device on policeman’s belts and noticed the solid rigid black connector between the two metal loops.

“What do you mean, control device?” he invited.

The younger man shrugged.


“Want to take your jacket off, you’re sweating?”

“No, that’s OK. It’s a cuff they use in street arrests, isn’t it?”

“All the time now and believe me when these are used, you know they’re being used and very soon co-operate. Sure you’re up for this?” asked the kid but it was a rhetorical question. The older man was obviously preparing himself for action. “I’ll do it gently just to give you an idea ... but once somebody gets the knack of putting them on right ... this is something you don’t fight against.”

Closing one end of the solid-looking cuff around the wrist Chunky was offering, the younger man then gripped the cuff by the solid moulded plastic centre and twisted it very very slightly. Chunky immediately allowed his hand and arm to be guided by the surprising pressure the gentle movement exerted.

You can put up a bit of resistance” said a reassuring voice, but as the metallic pressure on his wrist increased Chunky allowed his hand and arm to be twisted slowly down and under and up behind his back.

“Fancy offering a bit more of a struggle?” invited the soothing voice but the irresistible twist of the changing angle of the locked cuff took the heavier man’s mind off serious resistance. Suddenly his face and chest were pushed against a nearby wall and a foot was urging Chunky’s legs further apart. The older man wanted to halt the proceedings but an elbow was now keeping his neck and face against the wall and he was off balance with one wrist clamped painfully up behind his back. His free hand was groping around somewhere up against the wall but as it was gripped by a firm hand, pressure applied to his already locked wrist took his mind off the fact that his free hand was being guided around behind his back to where the waiting ratchet was ready to close. The clicking of the ratchet signalled the end of the painful pressure on his right wrist and he was about to regain his balance when an unexpected foot moved one of his boots and then the other further apart and the continuing pressure on his spine persuaded him to stay put.

“See what I mean, they’re bastards. Even when you really put up a struggle, if the person using the cuffs knows a few simple techniques it evens up the odds no end. I’m just applying the dead-locks. That’s so the cuffs can’t close too tight once they’re locked on. Never use ratchet cuffs unless they have dead-locks.” advised the salesman, “If you roll on them accidentally in bed and haven’t got access to a key it can cause serious nerve damage. Now, they’re dead-locked. Want to put up a bit of a struggle?”

Chunky didn’t want to do any damage so he was embarrassed to exert any force. Suddenly the light-weight young athlete, still with one hand clamped around the centre of the cuffs, had grabbed a fistful of his raincoat collar and was propelling the bigger man across the shop towards the metal grille of the security door. Chunky decided that some resistance was becoming necessary but as he tried to halt the travel across the shop the hand grip between his wrists twisted only slightly and his wrists felt as if they were going to break.

An abrupt reverse of direction and he was being pulled backwards, unable to see where he was going. A sudden stop and he was bending forward over a counter, his wrists pulled high behind him, unable to move. “You could bring her here and I could teach her how to deal with you!” said the younger man into his ear. “She could learn to make you do whatever she wanted you to do ... or do I mean she could make you do all the things you want her to make you do?” urged the voice which now had a tough, questioning edge to it.

Suddenly, another twist and an abrupt pull and the bigger man was travelling blindly backwards again. Swung around unexpectedly, his feet collided with the metal chair which had a high narrow back almost like a small ladder. The strong and usually in-control older man yelped as his wrists were yanked unstoppably high in the air again and he was forced to bend forward. He decided to put up a more determined fight but, off balance, he could only fall back against the chair, his legs now astride it. Suddenly his arms were even higher ... and then being lowered, but now behind the ladder back ... and a downward pressure on his wrists urged him to sit on the seat which was lower than it looked.

“You see,” said the calm voice behind his ear “I’m holding you here with one hand ... one finger almost. A slight twist and I could persuade you to keep still ... or open your mouth ... if I wanted to put a gag in it. Could I?” almost purred the confident voice.

Chunky was about to disagree but a painful twist of the solid handle between his wrists made him yelp ... and a handkerchief wadded into his mouth. It was immediately pulled out again and the kid who no longer looked so lightweight walked around to the front of the chair smiling ... but keeping well out of range of his captive’s feet. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly clean,” he said pocketing the hanki “I just wanted you to know that these cuffs are an efficient control device.”

Chunky sat there getting his breath back. He wriggled his arms and shoulders and wondered if he could stand up and lift his wrists up over the high chair back.

“It’s a useful chair, that” observed the salesman. “I’ve made a couple of different versions. That’s the best so far. Got a few useful refinements ... like the clip to keep your wrists from being lifted back over the top. Try.”

Eager to end the situation before he got in any deeper, Chunky attempted to stand up. He got part way before his wrists came to an abrupt halt. Some sort of hook or clip behind the chair prevented his handcuffed wrists going further up the ladder-style chair back. He braced his feet either side of the seat and had another try. The kid moved forward and stooped to adjust a couple of bars that slid out from under the seat. Chunky looked down to see his ankles now trapped behind these solid bars.

Walking behind the chair the kid applied pressure to the handcuffs and Chunky sank back onto the seat but this time his boots were held either side of the chair, knees well bent. The scrape of metal gave no warning before a hoop of steel circled the captive’s neck bringing his head against the high chair back. “Don’t panic” said the soothing voice, “I’m just demonstrating my handiwork.”

The fresh faced kid walked back into view and stood before the sweating, speechless older man who now had no option but to look straight ahead.

“One thing you should understand about me is that I like solving problems, and making things that work ... and helping people to get more enjoyment out of life, whatever form of enjoyment that is. I’m a very responsible person ... and I’m into restraint and bondage in a big way ... but I never take liberties.” He walked closer to the seated man until his knees were able to press those of the helpless man further apart.

Chunky felt the warmth of contact as the younger man’s knees slowly pressed his own further outwards. Beginning to panic, his crotch being stretched uncomfortably under his mac Chunky was about to object when the younger man reached down between his legs and gripped something under the seat. It was another pair of metal bars that drew out from under the seat and clicked ominously into position, bracing the knees of the captive wide apart. Systematically the younger man then moved the bottom of raincoat open in front revealing the bulge of navy blue drill trousers.

“But I do like to see peopled pushed to their limits ... if they enjoy being pushed”

While speaking he un-belted the shiny black raincoat and opened it’s zip to reveal the obvious hard-on ... “and let’s not pretend you’re not getting a kick out of this.”

With that he moved away and adjusted two hinged panels of mirror so that the seated man could see himself from several angles including his hands cuffed and helpless behind the high metal chair back, his knees braced wide apart by metal and surging crotch vulnerable and accessible.

“I’m not trying to freak you out ... but I get the feeling you don’t know much about the different possibilities open to you. The different games different people play. I get the feeling your lady friend doesn’t know, either. I can recommend a few books, I even wrote one of them ... and you need to decide for yourself how far to let yourself get involved and how fast ... but I think I’m right when I say there are things you want to know and things you’d like to try. Yes or no?” After a pause the voice insisted “Yes or no?”

“Yes” admitted the sweating man.

Stooping down behind his captive the younger man opened the lock of one cuff before standing up. “You can get yourself out of all that. I need a beer even if you don’t.”

With that he left the room.


Our hero sat for a minute looking at himself in the mirrors which seemed to surround him. Seated on the low chair, his knees forced wide apart and high lace-up work-boots locked tight to the floor, neck encircled by steel and PVC coated shoulders pulled back against the metal chair back. Although no longer locked there Chunky kept his wrists together breathlessly. He had so often imagined how it would feel to be helpless ... powerless. Since he could remember he had somehow responded to ‘capture’ situations; wondered how he would deal with it. He always prided himself he could never resist a challenge but this was a matter of maleness not sexuality ... or so he’d always thought ... always convinced himself. He did not get-off-on these fantasies. So why was he so turned-on now? It was the challenge and temporary loss of control … he told himself.

Slowly he brought his free hand to the front and then, trying to see behind him via a mirror, disengaged the handcuff from whatever had prevented his standing up. It seemed to be a simple chain loop and the handcuff, still locked onto one wrist, easily slipped the chain. He inspected the rigid handcuff as he brought it forward, one end still circling one reddened wrist. On his other wrist a bright red mark looked like it would take time to disappear. He lined the rigid cuff up between his two wrists and was almost tempted to re-lock the cuffs together in front. The small key was still in the lock of the open cuff. A slight pressure of his free wrist onto the ratchet and he knew the cuff would swing closed. Could he then open it again? He had the key, but where had he read that once locked, even if you had a key it was impossible for the wearer to open this type of cuff? He was tempted to try.

Looking again into the mirror he watched himself move the key to the other keyhole and unlock the second wrist. The ratchet opened easily but when he tried to put the cuffs down he could not bend forward to reach the ground because his neck was braced back against the chair, his legs immobilised. Rather than drop the cuffs onto the metal floor he decided to slip them into the pocket of his raincoat. Watching in the mirror this was not difficult to do. Once in the pocket he then eased his other hand deep down into the opposite pocket and looked at himself held to the chair by metal bands, hands confined quite firmly inside the tough fabric of his jacket. He thought of strait-jackets and carefully removing his hands from the pockets, crossed his arms across his chest and held them there as if strapped ... watching himself in the tiled mirror walls that seemed to surround him. Suddenly he realised that the young sales assistant must soon return.

Reaching upwards he tried to locate whatever clips held the neck brace rigid. His bulky jacket restricted his arm movements. Slowly he began to realise that he was still almost as much a prisoner as he had been with wrists shackled. He turned his attention to the knee brace, but with neck held back could not reach his knees, much less his ankles. Turning his attention back to the neck band his plight became more threatening, his efforts more determined. Jaw set and eyes fixed on the mirror sections which allowed a view of the back of the chair, he strained for the spring clips he could see quite clearly. If only his arms were longer and elbows would bend more easily inside the thick jacket. His face was wet with sweat. He decided that he could slip the jacket, it was unzipped. Writhing in his seat he had difficulty freeing his shoulders from the stiff fabric. Is this what it feels like to escape from a strait-jacket he wondered as he squirmed as much as his trapped neck, ankles and knees would allow?

After several attempts to pull the jacket clear of his shoulders it slipped down and was soon off his arms, bunched up behind him on the seat. Arms now unencumbered and wearing only a damp sweat-shirt he could reach the neck clips and soon was relieved to feel the metal hoop come free. He inspected the ends and admired the simple ingenuity of the clips. Able to lean forward at last he put the metal neck hoop on the floor and began to explore the telescopic knee brace mechanism. Another easy turn-and-slide movement released the bars. As they slid back under the seat the simplicity of the design impressed him.

Knees free, he was now easily able to release the ankle bars and side them aside to pull his feet free. Standing unsteadily, his knees complaining from the relatively short immobilisation, he took stock of his surroundings and mentally tried to get himself back into some sense of being in control of his situation. Suddenly he realised that since entering this amazing space he had been wrong-footed at every turn. Was it by the young guy or by the implications of the paraphernalia on display or by the surroundings ... or by the unimagined possibilities such a place seemed to offer him.

Breathing more deeply he began to feel more able to be himself again ... to re-take control ... but a passing glance at one of the video monitors suddenly had him totally off balance again. There on the screen sat a guy wearing fire service drill pants and sweat-shirt and work-boots. He seemed to be systematically locking his ankles to a metal chair, then sliding metal rods from under the seat and bracing his knees wide apart. Mesmerised, Fire Officer Proctor watched himself fix his neck to the high metal back of the chair before quickly struggling his way into a heavy PVC jacket. Suddenly his arms were crossed in front of him, then in his pockets. The video recording running backwards burned into his consciousness. He had been filmed throughout that part of his ordeal. How much else?

Unsure whether to burst through the door to the inner room or leave hurriedly, he stood feeling powerless ... and breathless. Suddenly he looked to detect the camera that had filmed him. It was soon evident that the mirrored wall panels, each made up of mirror ‘tiles’ had black diamond-shaped clips about an inch square holding the tile corners. These were big enough to house a micro surveillance camera ... and he quickly located the one directly in front of the chair. Then, with sinking heart he detected several others ... including one inside the changing cubical where he’d stood handcuffed during the drag queens visit.

A smiling face appeared through the inner door carrying an opened bottle, two more beers and a can of Coke. “Don’t worry, I’ll wipe all the tapes I promise ... if you insist. We cover all activity here with surveillance cameras and then scrap them after 24 hours ... unless we get a signed photo release to keep them for archive and demonstration purposes. Seeing how a device works or a strait-jacket straps on (and can sometimes be escaped from) can be very educational as well as hot to watch. What do you think of my chair? Efficient, isn’t it. Sure you won’t join me in a beer ... Coke?”

“Beer” said Fire Officer Proctor firmly.


“My name’s Robert” said the youth. “Do you mind telling me yours? No sweat if you don’t. A lot of our customers prefer to remain anonymous.”

Chunky took a long pull on his bottle and risked “Unless they’re coppers signing credit cards. Do you get them strapped to chairs or whatever?”

“Sometimes” smiled Robert “Quite often. Lot of them can’t resist a challenge ... risk a bit of a roll around. It’s the nature of the beast. The ones who’ve got the bottle to come here may know precisely what attracts them, some are just irresistibly drawn not knowing why ... and making all sort of excuses. Sometimes one will come determined to find something illegal going on. We’ve had a couple of dodgy encounters but the guy who started this business knows enough and knows a few of the right people.

“You don’t own it, then?”

“No! but you could say we’re partners” smiled the younger guy. “Does that worry you? Male lovers? Fuck buddies? Bondage buddies?”

“No,” lied Fire Officer Proctor.

“I won’t bore you with my opinions about gay and straight, tops and bottoms, erotic bondage as distinct from S&M. You can read all that in books if you’ve a mind. My own orientation is physical restraint and challenge, endurance, willing surrender of power, or fighting for power over an equally matched opponent."

“Male opponent?”

“Definitely! And I do get off on it sexually, man-to-man stuff.”

“So you are gay?”

“Bet your ass, as our American friends would say”

“You’re not from this part of the world”

“Citizen of the world ... the bondage world. An exotic animal”

“How old are you?”

“Mind your own fucking business! What’s your name? You never answered my question.”

“AJ will do. Lot of my friends know me as AJ ... but mates at work call me Chunky.” he admitted ruefully.

“Chunky. I like that. Work being fire station. Which one?”

“Does it matter?”

“No ... but I would like to tie you up in your turn-out gear, fireman AJ whoever you are.”

“Why? There’s nothing sexy about a call-out suit, specially when you’re running around lugging fucking hoses, dripping with sweat, shit and spray”

“I think it looks great ... and the struggle and stress, the sweat ... the breathing apparatus and chemical suits. Sealed in, totally cut off from the world.”

“There’s no fun in that, believe me.” said the voice of experience.

“All a matter of taste. I’ve always wanted to try a full turn-out, call-out, whatever you call it suit ... the thick black bulky ones ... specially inside one of those chemical suits ... or in a re-breathing mask and tanks for several hours unable to get out."

“You’d go crazy ... it’s amazing how trapped it makes you feel, I know! You’d soon be screaming to be let out”

“And would you let me out? ... if I asked you not to let me out even if I begged?

“You’re fucking mental!”

“No, just kinky ... fucking kinky” beamed the youngster. “Tell me about your kinks, fireman AJ.”

Chunky seemed to stop short. For perhaps the first time in his life he was prepared to open up ... but suddenly realised that he wasn’t able to put a name to some of the urges and unfocussed fantasies that had culminated in a visit to a Gay Sex Shop. He knew he wasn’t gay ... all his life he’d known he wasn’t gay ... but gay men did seem to get to play the sort of bondage games that fascinated him. He’d bought a few magazines ... and videos, some illegal. Bought them by mail from America and risked them getting stopped at customs. Hard, violent, brutal SM gay porn, mostly. He’d trashed them after watching them once ... but American-style leather and bondage and heavy man-to-man struggle for top ... forced powerlessness ...

“I wish I could read your mind” observed the younger man as he watched the stranger to his world wondering how far he might safely risk a small adventure.

“I think you fucking can!” risked the would-be hero of the moment “I get the feeling you can read me like a fucking book.”

“Fucking book? Perhaps not fucking ... but how far are you prepared to risk that I’ve read you wrong ... or read you right?” asked the youth, looking more serious than Chunky had seen him look since they’d met.

“Risk what?” asked the older man, his throat dry in spite of the beer.

“Nothing heavy. Nothing dangerous. Nothing sexual at least nothing ‘gay!’, but I suspect you might be more turned on than you will be comfortable to admit.”

Firefighter Proctor had experience of walking into a burning building. He was trained to evaluate the risk and recognise the dangers, but at this moment in time he could almost see himself putting his foot deliberately into the noose that would spring the trap that would take him God-knows where. “What have you got in mind?” he heard himself ask.


Robert D. Franks, son of a Lancashire mill worker who emigrated to New Zealand in the Sixties, had worked his way across the Pacific and the USA before returning to what he had been brought up to think of as ‘Home’ at the age of twenty-two. The Industrial North had come as a shock to his system but the time was right. He didn’t need the English college degree his parents hoped for because he’d been born with Lancashire ‘nowse’ and a well focused mind. He had known instinctively what he liked since he was a kid; he liked power ... power over other males. Long ago he had begun to develop ways of taking control and keeping control. His trim figure and boyish charm helped a lot. It gave people confidence.

The chunky, capable man standing across the counter from him did not regard the amiable younger man as a threat. The situation was one young Robert relished: The spider and the fly could be his family crest. The web was strung and unbreakable threads were coiled and waiting ... next door in the inner room.

“Here’s the way I see it,” said Rob tentatively as he opened a second bottle of beer for himself. He offered to share it with his guest but the older man silently declined (he wanted to keep a clear head).

 “One:” continued young Bob “you’re hoping to get your girl friend more interested and more efficient in occasionally taking over physical control and giving you a sexual whirl from time to time. Two: You’ve an instinctive attraction towards some sort of bondage as a pleasurable pastime, maybe had it for a long time but it’s something you’ve resisted ... but you are now ready and willing to explore. Right?” The older man nodded dumbly. “Right ... otherwise why did you come here today? Three:” added the salesman, choosing his words very carefully, “As a result you have the opportunity to either bring her here for me to show her a few tricks of the trade, as I’ve shown them to professional mistresses ... or ... I could introduce you to a few of the alternatives, the options, the possibilities that too many people mistakenly lump together as S’n’M’n’Bondage. There is a whole spectrum of alternatives, some overlapping and some quite quite separate ... but you do need somebody who knows the territory to show you around.” The younger man, having created a tense moment, broke it easily with a reassuring smile. “My motto is ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it ... twice!”

Excited as he was by the possibilities, Chunky felt he should enter into negotiation, but the young man cut him short as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Answer a few questions before you ask any” he insisted gently “Have you ever tied yourself up?”

“Couple of times ...when I was a kid” admitted Chunky, uncomfortably.

“Ever been tied up as an adult?”

“Couple of times”.

“Two times ... or more than a ... couple of times?“

“More ... just horsing around ... with mates”.

“By men.”

“Just horsing around”

“Nothing sexual. When you fantasise about being tied up is it by a man or a woman?”

“Woman” said Chunky, careful to meet the younger man’s eye.

“In a sexual situation?”

“Yes” said Chunky wishing he’d accepted the offer of another beer. His throat was very dry.

“What sort of sexual situations?” Robert waited for a reply which didn’t come.

Suddenly he deliberately lightened the mood. “Okay, here’s the situation in a nutshell: You’re not gay. You’re not interested in sex with men. You’d like your girlfriend to do it to you ... but you are not quite sure what it is you want her to do? Therefore I propose that you suggest a time when you’re not due on watch ... say a period of at least two hours (more if you like) when we can discuss a few of the alternatives and kick around a few scenarios. You can try out a couple of pieces of restraint equipment that would make it easier for her, and learn enough for you to show her how to use them.”

“What’s in it for you?” asked Chunky, suddenly not so sure.

"I’m an exhibitionist and a voyeur. I like to show off my know-how, experiment with new pieces of equipment I’ve designed and watch competent, confident men wrestling with problems ... and preferably solving them. I‘m not into humiliation or force ... except the kind of force invited when people like to challenge me. I may be lightweight but I usually manage to get my own way.”

In the silence that followed Robert just waited. “It’s up to you. The offer’s on the table. You’re welcome to go away and think about it. Here’s my number. You can give me a call after you’ve thought it through. Here’s your coat ... which, incidentally, I like and was happy to see you tied-up in. I would be delighted if you could bring along your turn-out suit and boots if you’re allowed to take them out of the fire station. I would relish a ‘go’ in a chemical suit. I like to have things done to me as well as do them to other people. We can discuss the possibility of you showing me how well you’ve learned what I’ve taught you by doing it to me ... or to somebody I provide as a willing ’victim’. There are a lot of options open to you, and let’s face it AJ or ‘Chunky’ whoever you are ... the ball is well and truly in your court.”.


In the weighty silence that followed, Chunky pulled on his coat slowly while he considered his options. He self-consciously flipped up the rain collar as Robert eyed him quizzically, waiting. Embarrassed by his indecision Chunky sunk his hands deep into the tough black coat pockets ... and his face suddenly flushed as he produced the rigid handcuff he’d slipped in there earlier. His stammered confusion of excuses and apologies ... was cut short by the loud rasp of the door bell.

Smiling wickedly Robert walked behind the counter saying “It’s probably the robbery squad to get you. Our security system’s very efficient!” as he flicked a switch and a TV monitor showed a picture of a face in close-up.  A second switch revealed on the same monitor a figure in a battered army combat jacket standing outside the shop door.

“Don’t look so worried! It’s a mate.” grinned the younger man as he pressed the door release. “Come on in, Charlie”  he said into a small microphone.

Chunky walked quickly over to put the cuffs on the counter, and noticed for the first time the elaborate switching panel it concealed; as complicated as a sound and light control board for a Pop Concert .

The newcomer was now in the vestibule and being buzzed through into the shop and Chuky felt trapped. This rough-looking character might have just come off a building site and his manner convinced Chunky that he had.

“Cheers, Rob. What’s cooking? ... or should I say who’s cooking?” He turned to address AJ amiably “Last time I dropped in, this little fucker had some poor sod wrapped from head to foot in cling-film sweating his bollocks off in the back room.”

“He wanted to know what it felt like ... and it’s not the sort of thing you can describe to somebody” explained Robert to Chunky reasonably.

“How long did you keep him in it?” asked Charlie.

“I’ll show you the video sometime. It turned into quite a production. Alan finished up taped to him and the pair of them had quite a fun evening.”

“Is Alan around?” asked the newcomer.

“Out doing an installation.”

“Some lucky bugger getting a dungeon fitted?”

“No, surveillance cameras ... a full security rig for one of those big houses out on the Anlaby Road. Quite a set-up. Seven cameras in the grounds plus two each on the front and back doors ... plus inside and outside the triple garage and a monitoring and recording suite to make your mouth water.”

“Fuck me, he’s come a long way from rigging TV aerials” Charlie confided to AJ. “Al and I started off as scaffold riggers together when we were youngsters but he was always the fucking brainy one.” He turned to Robert. “That fucking electric butt plug he made for me is fucking murder ... but he’s a fucking genius.”

“Have you used it on any of your customers, yet?

“Not got many who are that heavy ... but I’ve tried it on myself ... just so I know what it feels like, you understand ...”

“Yeh sure!” scoffed Robert.

“ ... and Tina’s tried it on me complete with the wired-up cock and ball rings. Talk about the electric fucking circus! Anyway, I only popped in to check if I could bring some stuff over ahead of time for Sunday. There’s four bags of cement and some sand I want to pick up tomorrow.”

AJ’s mind was racing between the image of the electric sex toys and sand and cement but the conversation galloped along ahead of him.#

“The tiles and plumbing stuff is being delivered on Friday” said Robert, “and Alan’s got all the electrical stuff, but what about extra hands?”

“Sammy from the gym and I’ll be seeing Duffy at the TA on Thursday. Jerry’s for definite and Badger. Len’s only game if he can wear full rubber all day. He’s bringing his diving gear and won’t be let out of it until the showers and drainage pump are working down there and all the other stuff’s installed.”

“And Badger?”

“You know Badge. If you’ve got any sort of manacles for him to work in, the heavier the better, he’ll be happy as a pig in shit.”

“There’s all that rubble to carry upstairs.” said Robert looking dubious.

“The van will be in the yard” reasoned Charlie. “About twenty ball breaking trips should shift it out ... he’ll deal with it ... and the sand, cement and breeze blocks to carry down. Is it Okay if I bring some of it in before Sunday?”

“Any time, just dump it in the yard. You’ve got your remote for the big doors.”

“How are they working?” asked Charlie.

“Very smooth. Great to be able to just drive in without getting out to open up”

“Thought I’d bring Len in already suited up and locked into his rubber ... make it a bit more of a scene for him. Perhaps put him into it the night before. Oh, and I’ve asked Jack Davis if he wants to come as well. He enjoys seeing Badge sweat and keeping him moving ... quite the little sergeant major. He’ll probably strip bollock naked, just belt, boots and cap ... and a parade stick, of course.”

“This isn’t going to turn into an orgy.. There’s serious work to get finished.”

“Then you’d better have a Chastity Belt ready to put on me, son, soon as I get here.”

“That can be arranged. You and Alan both ... fucking randy sods! And if you want to get Badger chained up before he gets here, take these.”

Rob started to take from the display a heavy duty iron collar with waist belt, ankle manacles and cuffs all linked together by sturdy chain,

“Great!”,  grinned Charlie, “We’ll be out on the town Saturday night ... he might have to stay in them from Friday at five ‘til after we’re finish here on Sunday.”

“Are you busy Sunday?” Robert suddenly fired the question in the direction of Chunky who once again had the feeling he was drowning. “We need all the extra hands we can get. There’s a cellar under here that’ll turn into a very useful extra playspace. Charlie, this is AJ.”

“Cheers” said Charlie, and then added, “Where have I seen you before?”

The question hit Chunky like a brick. When Charlie had first arrived AJ was worried he’d met him somewhere before, but thought he was just being paranoid. Now his fears were confirmed and this was the last thing he needed. His mind was racing about the Sunday project .. and he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the problem at hand ...

“Proctor!” Charlie suddenly said abruptly. “I know you, you’re young Proctor’s dad. Down at the Territorial Army ‘do’ ... you and your missus. He signed on as a regular, didn’t he. How’s he doing?”

“Fine” said AJ nervously, his cover totally blown.

“I was his sergeant, he’s a good kid. Total masochist when to comes to testing himself.”

“My, my” mused Robert “What a small world. So, do you take after your son? ... or is he a chip of the old block?”

Bilson!” Chunky suddenly announced, desperate to keep his cool, “He .. er, told me a few choice stories about you ... if you’re Sergeant Bilson ... Bilson the bastard.” he risked.

“The very same!” grinned the most feared NCO in the local TA, “Any of that beer left?”

Robert automatically disappeared leaving the two men eyeing one another.

“So, you’re young Gary’s old man. Small fucking world. Do you ... er .. come here often? as they say when there’s nothing else to say”.

“Did Gary ... know that you ... er ... know about this place”.

Sergeant Bilson sucked breath in through his teeth and shook his head. “Oh, strictly off limits. No. I play my games very discreetly ... and my T.A. lads are strictly off limits... and I work on a building site, so it’s more than my fucking life’s worth to let people know where my ..er ...special interests lie. I will .. er ... need to rely on your discretion.”

“No problem” said Chunky, and to his surprise he really meant it.

Robert returned with three cans of beer “How are you for time?” he asked Chunky.

“Okay” he said checking his watch.

“I could give you a guided tour of the building. It’s quite a set-up, although I do say so myself. There’s the cell block” Robert flicked a switch and on one of the TV screens Chunky saw steel barred cells complete with two-tier bunks.

 “The Yard’s great for outdoor games. We’re not overlooked from any angle.” The picture changed again and a walled-in open space appeared. “This place used to be a dairy before the turn of the Century so it was built to be in the shade ... high walls on all sides. They even used to keep a couple of cows actually on the premises so there’s a sort of small barn back there.” Chunky saw a totally empty white space. “Now it’s the wrestling room. Slightly padded floor ... and walls. You can bounce off them quite safely,” added Robert with a grin “can’t you, Charlie?”

“Padded cell!” exclaimed Chunky almost breathlessly.

“No, but we’re planning to rig one up. There’s an old scullery. Just the place. You any good at DIY? We can always use an extra pair of hands. Thick canvas-covered padded walls, floor and door ... a high camera in the ceiling so we can watch the struggling, another in the door to get close-ups of the sweating and straining. I could be wrong but I suspect that A.J. here’s into strait-jackets, Charlie ... or could be”.

“Be my guest” smiled Charlie. “There’s a dozen to chose from next door.”

Chunky looked nervously at the door to the inner room and at the two smiling faces .. and managed a smile before taking a swig from his empty bottle.

“All in good time” said Robert. “Like I said, everybody here takes things at their own pace and nobody gets forced ...”

“... unless that’s what they enjoy .. being forced” added Charlie. “Show him the dairy.”

Robert flicked switches and a high room; that looked like a gymnasium because of wall bars, ceiling bars and hanging ropes but the floor and walls seemed to be covered with what looked like Victorian tiles.

“We left it virtually as was - have to spend money a bit at a time. This is the main photo-studio - and where people can try out equipment”

A virtually black room appeared. There were photographic lights and stuff, but it was what Chunky imagined a modern hi-tech SM playroom would look like. He stared, mesmerised by the succession of shots of the same space from different angles.

Suddenly, as Robert operated a joy-stick, one camera began to pan slowly across a metal grille-covered wall from which all manner of straps were hanging ... and then onto a rack-like table with shackles and a wheel at one end, the purpose of which Chunky could vividly imagine. His mind raced. He had always wondered what being stretched on such a contraption might feel like ... and, as Robert had said, it was probably impossible to describe .. you had to experience it.

“Fucking hell! How many cameras are there in this place?” asked Chunky.

“Alan’s main business is closed circuit TV security installations. Let’s say this little enterprise is subsidised by a bigger commercial interest ... and it’s a way of demonstrating our technical capabilities ... and experimenting with new gizmos.”

Robert continued to switch switches. A camera zoomed into a close-up of a gas mask hanging on a metal hook and the screen suddenly split into four separate pictures of the playroom seen from different angles. “We can watch or record anything that’s going on in any part of the building ... including our apartment upstairs.” A picture of a stylish living space appeared and was soon replaced by a bedroom. “Kinky, huh! We could sell tickets. This is where Alan and I dream up some of our more extreme ideas”

“And fuck like rabbits” added Charlie. “Look, I’ll keep an eye on the store if you want to give him the guided tour” he said, peeling off his battered combat jacket.

Er ... no ... thanks” said Chunky almost too quickly. Painfully aware he was whimping out he added, “I ought to go.”

“You just said you didn’t have to go yet.” observed Robert reasonably.

“OK so I’m whimping out” said Chunky defensively, suspecting that both men already knew that.

“No sweat” said Robert easily. “You move at your own pace ... and only in the direction you want to travel. How’s the massage business going, Charlie?” he asked, suddenly switching the pressure away from AJ. “Charlie here is a qualified sports injury masseur”.

“I was an army P.T.I. for eight years”.

Er ... How long have you been in civvie street?” asked AJ determined to go with the flow.

“Couple of years. Do building work ... and the TA of course ... and some personal training at a gym ... until I can build up the massage side.”

“I keep trying to persuade him to offer SM massage ... pain massage. He really works you over. I think if you fitted straps to your massage table they’d be lining up at your door” smiled Robert.

“Straps is extra!” grinned Charlie “But I do enjoy putting guys through their paces ... and pushing them ... whatever it takes to get them ready to fight back ... and some of them do need strapping down before they get the feeling they’re in over their heads”.

“He’s a demon with a heavy duty vibrator” laughed Robert “Oh, by the way, Charlie, I’ve got that new double-ended dildo you ordered for Tina, ... that’s so she can fuck him and herself at the same time” he explained to A.J. ... who could not believe he was standing here, drinking beer listening to this conversation. But, somehow, it was no different from talking about soccer tactics or listening to the lurid sexual exploits of his work mates whose stories were, he suspected, usually exaggerations if not total fantasy.

Somehow he felt that these two men actually did all the things they said they did.






Three shots at getting things into perspective:


Chunky was feeling slightly punch drunk. Since leaving ‘The Inner Man’ a few days earlier his mind had been in a daze ... or rather, lost in a maze of ideas and possibilities. The combined handcuffs and leg-irons complete with a lockable waist chain he’d bought before leaving had added to the confusion ... but it was his mind he was worried about: It had been blown by what was suddenly on offer.

The manacles had been used a few times; twice while Sarah was at work and he’d experimented on his own and once when he’d shown her how they worked (but not with his hands behind his back). First time he’d tried putting them on himself with hands in front he soon got the knack of closing and reopening them, but he’d had to rinse his underpants through when he’d finished. Second time he decided to try it naked and with his hands behind his back. The surge of excitement mixed with anxiety that the cuffs would jam may have been the cause of his ramrod hard-on, but once locked in them he was at a loss to know what to do next. It was easy to imagine that Sarah had locked them on him ... but his mind couldn’t invent what she might decide to do next. He thought he might have to tell her what she should do next ... at least for the first few times ... but you never know. Had he ever surrendered control totally to her or anybody else?

Young Bob’s mention of the key frozen into an ice cube and being forced to wait to get at it had also triggered his imagination ... and he’d decided he should explore other self-applied restraint possibilities ... just until he got a bit more used to it.

At least Sarah had got the hang of closing and unlocking the manacles ... which promised well for the future ... but the real problem occupying Chunky’s mind was exactly how to handle the other irresistible temptation in his path ... namely, taking young Bob up on his offer of more information or more opportunity to explore.

Luckily he was on duty on the Sunday of the working party in the new cellar, so was able to excuse himself from it. The fact that he could have switched watches and could have been involved created serious conflict in his mind: Could he have handled being part of the ‘Cellar Detail’ as Charlie had called it?; what might have happened?; how would he have got along with the other guys?; did being turned on by the possibilities it offered make him Gay? The fact that he’d spent several hours visualising the situation of the bloke locked into manacles humping sand and cement, the man trapped sweltering inside a diving suit working under the strict watch of a booted and belted but otherwise naked army sergeant. The fact he’d wanked over the imagery had seriously disturbed his peace of mind. In fact his brain had been in a perpetual whirl from the moment he’d decided to visit ‘The Inner Man’.

The term ‘unbalanced’ stuck in his mind as he tried to decide what to do next. As young Bob had reminded him more than once ... the ball was firmly in his court! The final offer before he’d left was that he was welcome to come and talk further, come and familiarise himself with equipment and the facilities, or even sit safely on the sidelines and watch other people doing their own thing. It all seemed like an impossible dream ... and for once in his life Chunky was at a total loss.


The video tape had added to his confusion. Young Bob had given Chunky the tape of himself sitting in the chair “As a token of good faith”. He’d promised to wipe all other video record of Chunky having visited ‘The Inner Man’. Chunky now had the only copy ... but every time he’d watched the tape since, he’d re-lived the entire experience in exhaustive detail. Watching himself sitting there, trapped in the iron chair, wrapped in PVC, handcuffed, struggling ... he’d got off on it.

 Sometimes he’d surprised himself by imagining it was Charlie he was watching bound to the chair by metal straps and bars ... sometimes it was young Bob. One time he’d seen young Bob dressed in regulation fire service suit and boots strapped to the chair with himself also in his working gear standing over the helpless kid ... until Charlie had come in in full army combat gear, assisted by a faceless military figure which could have been Chunkys’ own son, and they’d turned the tables on the two fire-fighters ... and the scene had exploded in a blaze of hand-to-hand combat ending with Chunky and young Bob strapped together and left totally helpless and struggling. Each time he watched the video tape it was only a starting point for his imagination. He was getting worried for his mental stability.

Even his situation at work was threatened: During a quite dangerous call out a few days ago he’d almost lost concentration watching two of his mates strapping one another into breathing equipment over their dripping bulky suits. He’d momentarily imagined himself strapping young Bob into a suit and mask ... perhaps lashing him down to a rescue stretcher ... perhaps hosing him down, helpless in the yard or the old dairy which he’d learned was also a ‘wet space’ fully tiled and with floor drainage ideal for certain games.

Then at work yesterday on a yard exercise at the station a para-medic had been demonstrating a body bag exercise ... and the new tough man-sized PVC bags used for the removal of human remains looked like something he should take and show them at ‘The Inner Man’. He’d imagined himself rolling a helpless man into one of these waterproof bags and leaving him to struggle and sweat ... Charlie, perhaps.

Chunky knew he was hooked. He’d reached a point in his life when anything was possible. It was, he realised, a dangerous time ... but the opportunity to adventure was there for the taking. The ball was very definitely in his court ... but how should he play it?

Sarah had been sceptical, but then he hadn’t told her quite everything ... just that he’d met two guys who play bondage games with their wives ... or partners, rather. She was immediately anxious that Chunky might want to play with other women ... so he could honestly reassure her on that score. For now he just wanted to find out more ... so he could teach her how to do it to him and enjoy doing it. He still wanted to do it with women ... or at least have women do things to him ... but these were the blokes who knew the score ... knew how to handle the equipment.

They could do it to him without him having to explain anything ... A learning experience ... that’s how to look at it. Not get too involved. Pick brains ... learn what’s what ... how things work ... what different people do. He had confidence in young Bob ... could trust him not to take liberties. Not so sure about Charlie and his mates. He’d heard about a couple of the TA training exercises ... when things had really got rough in a prank-ish sort of way ... tough, muddy and challenging ... but his son Gary had enjoyed it all in spite of everything. He’d described the rough-housing to his Dad, glowing with enthusiasm at having not only survived but given as good as he’d got. Chunky’s mind wandered yet again, deciding that his lad had inherited the same need to test himself ... and challenge other people.

All it needed was a phone call to young Bob. Chunky had even worked out how he could have a work suit to take with him on his next visit. Their heavy waterproof suits took a lot of hard knocks and when they got really shitted up and smoked up they were written off. In the stores there were several sets waiting to go to scrap - not difficult for one of the write-offs to just disappear. Word in the right ear. And Sarah would be working during his next off-days ... so no skin off her nose if he spent an afternoon hanging out at ‘The Inner Man’ ... hanging out? Chunky speculated on just what that might involve.

He’d always been able to handle any shit that anybody had ever thrown at him ... but in this case ... what might it involve? Piss and shit figured in some people’s S&M games. In one of the videos he’d bought there’d been a sequence ... he only watched it once. It had revolted him ... but if you allow yourself to get into situations ... you ought to make sure you can get out ... but if you can get out when you choose ... does that defeat the whole object? Surrendering power. “Consensual non-consent” was the phrase he’d learned from two booklets Robert had recommended him to read ... but what the fuck did “Consensual non-consent” really mean?: Agreeing to not have any choice once the game started. The idea made Chunky nervous ... but excited. He’d never been able to resist a challenge. So many alternatives he’d never even thought about let alone imagined himself trying ... allowing them to happen to him ... but some things ... like the rack ... and a strait-jacket ... that full metal helmet. Shit! Nobody could describe what they felt like ... unless you actually tried it ... allowed it to happen ... took the gamble ...

Chunky realised he’d broken out in a cold sweat again ... and his knob was hard inside his gym shorts as he set about peddling another five miles on the exercise bike in the station work-out room. He needed to give it all more thought.



Chunky had never been a bookish sort of bloke and he kept getting bogged down in the two little paperbacks Robert had sold him. Reading them was slow going ... mainly because his mind kept shooting off at tangents ... or he just kept getting turned on by different situations described. In the distant past when he’d bought mucky magazines (as he’d always thought of them) they’d never quite lived up to his expectations. Now, although reading books wasn’t his thing, he could see what Robert meant about widening his horizons. Blowing his mind was a better description.

The one written by a ‘kinky’ suburban married couple who’d explored and experimented together fired his imagination and his envy **(See back cover for info on ‘We Love S&M’). He was very tempted to show it to Sarah, but hadn’t so far. The husband and wife who wrote it took risks and discovered things together ... lucky them! She took a lot of the initiative and although her husband was stronger and tough she developed ways of making him knuckle under. Perfect! Chunky could relate to that. The book also had some quite complicated information about erotic bondage games not being the same as the more traditional submissive-dominant images. Bitch Goddesses and grovelling sex slaves had never been his cup of tea. Meeting a practical and efficient ‘Mistress’ had always been a delicious dream ... during his seventeen year marriage ... but he’d been a relatively faithful husband and responsible father.

The other book about men who got a kick out of getting tied up ... but mainly by other men rather than women ... gave him a lot to think about. (See back cover for info on ‘So I Like To Get Tied-up ... So What!!?’)  Most of the man-to-man rough stuff described wasn’t even sexual but several different hot situations were described ... and he wondered if the action had actually got sexual, but the book just didn’t mention it. It turned him on but ... but ...

Reading the two little books certainly identified more questions than they offered answers. Young Robert had commented that some of the information would act as a useful starting point for their future ‘sessions’ ... and Chunky hadn’t been quite sure what that might mean. One thing Chunky did know now ... he knew how much less he knew than he thought he knew. He wasn’t even sure if the word sex meant what he’d always thought it meant ... shagging, bonking, screwing, ploughing, fucking seemed to be only a part of what the two books about S&M and Bondage talked about. Sexual game-playing was suddenly much more complicated ... at least much more varied than he ever realised before ... and that was exciting.

“Information rather than pure titillation” was how one of the books was described. OK there was a lot he wasn’t turned on by in them, but there were some challenging questions ... and some of the alternatives were scary ... but nice scary. To suddenly turn a page and find a formal “Slave Contract”, prepared for one person to sign when surrendering themselves to be controlled totally by another for an agreed period. You could cross out or add things you would allow or not allow ... but once it was signed ... how legally binding was it, Chunky wondered? The headings and categories, the descriptions of various punishments which might or might not be involved in a session offered limitless possibilities.

Then there was the short list of different ‘scenarios’ a professional Dominatrix was prepared to act out. The list of stock alternatives was an eye-opener for Chunky.









Chunky had spent a lot of time deciding which categories did anything for him ... or he might be prepared to gamble on ... and what other categories he might add to the list. Some months ago, soon after he and his wife had split up, he’d bought a copy of the glossy magazine ‘Directory of Dominatrix International’ which he’d picked up in an ordinary local newspaper shop in Manchester. Loads of pictures of professional women who offered a variety of services in different countries. Great fantasy fodder and one handed reading. Each photo/advert showed their dungeon space and listed their ‘specialities’. Some of the women were glamorous, but most looked tough as nails ... and not totally appetising ... at least not to Chunky.

Thinking back on it, even the very occasional bit-on-the-side in Chunkys’ life (or any Professional ‘Mistress’ he’d decided to treat himself to in a rash moment) had rarely been cut out to deal with his desire to put up a struggle. Over the years he’d found that even with women willing to take control, it was usually possible for him to find a way out of any tight corner. However much he wanted to totally surrender control he had always managed, by physical strength, charm or appeals for sympathy to worm his way back into control of the situation. Why was it that the women who might be skilled enough to take and keep control never seemed to come his way ... or had he always avoided becoming involved with such women.

All the new information Chunky now had, proved one thing ... A.J. Proctor was not sure precisely where he was ‘at’ at this moment in his life. Questions needed to be answered. He knew he had to phone Robert and go back to ‘The Inner Man’. He’d known that from the moment the door closed behind him. It was all a case of on what terms rather than when. He knew he had to make the phone call and it was now almost a week since. After the coming weekend he had a four day off-watch ... ideal time ... he should pick up the phone.#



Robert was just finishing editing a bit of hot bondage video footage when the phone rang, so Alan picked it up.

“The Inner Man – good afternoon. No, sorry this isn’t Robert. Who’s wants him?” Alan flicked the Hold button. “AJ – or Chunky?”

Robert made a thumbs up sign “Make an excuse – get his number. Tell him I’ll phone him back in five minutes – but get his number!!”

“Hello, sorry. Robert is here but he’s with a customer. Can he call you back? Are you at home? No, he’d prefer to call you ... if you don’t mind him having your number. OK. Between five and ten minutes” Alan put down the phone and wrote.

“Did you get it?” asked Robert. Alan nodded. “Great!” said Robert.

Alan smiled. “I bet he’s the sexy fireman?”

Robert nodded enthusiastically and grinned.

“He’s straight,” said Alan “ What do you have in your perverted little mind?” he asked approaching his young lover and looking over his shoulder at the elaborate bondage scene he was lining up on the video editor.

“I haven’t decided yet ... and I’m going to tread pretty carefully ... and play it by ear ... but I think there’ll be a lot of possibilities for all of us ... you included.”

The lovers smiled


(Five minutes later) “AJ? Yes, it’s Robert. Glad you called. Hoped you would. How were the manacles? Had a chance to try them out I hope.” He listened and smiled. “Well ... that’s a start, I suppose. ... Sure, I told you; any time. When did you have in mind? ... Next Tuesday’s fine. ... Yes, just to chat ... or try out a few things. No ... no ... no sweat. You call the shots. So, next Tuesday, what sort of time, approximately? ... OK, you’re on. I’ll be here – and afternoons are usually quiet. How long will you have? ... Couple of hours should be fine - for an introductory tour. What time does Sarah get home? ... Then be here for two then you won’t have to rush to get home. Incidentally, how did she react to the manacles? ... u’huh ... u’huh ... u’huh. Chicken! So she hasn’t had her wicked way with you locked into them and helpless yet?” Robert laughed and continued “Are you off duty today? ... oh, until tomorrow morning. Well then, why not give her a shot at being in control tonight!” Again he listened and smiled. “What a wussie! OK, next Tuesday at two for definite. Have fun! Cheers.”


(Five minutes later) “AJ ... Robert again. I’ve been thinking. Excuse me for butting into your business but how does this sound? You’re not on duty until early tomorrow morning, right? It’s four o’clock now and Sarah gets home by six. Is that pretty reliable? - I mean, she doesn’t occasionally stop out for a drink with the girls or do some shopping unexpectedly? ... OK. Now listen to your uncle Bob. You’ve worked out how to lock yourself into the combination irons with your hands together behind your back - yes? How would she react if she came home and found you naked and locked into them - you not having access to the keys? Think about it. How would she deal with it? What might she do if she knew you’d put yourself into that position deliberately to give her the upper hand? I’m going to ring off now and call you back in ten minutes.” He’d hung up before Chunky could find anything to say.


(Ten minutes later) “Me again. Are you totally freaked? It’s just that I like that sort of mind game ... the idea of putting people in a predicament and seeing how they deal with it. Think you could handle it? It’s called a Mind Fuck, Chunky - or to be more polite a Head Trip. There’s a chapter on it in one of the books you took. So, are you up for a little risk-taking?  ... No, I’m very much not joking! You told me you like a challenge. This is a challenge. Do you want to  ... ... ...

... AJ ... AJ ... AJ calm down! Either you’re up for it or you’re not. It’s just a suggestion. Either you put the phone down and switch the telly back on and watch Jackanory or you get your act together and give Sarah a sexy surprise of some sort when she gets home from work. Have you ever really put all the cards on the table when playing with her? So? ... Hello ... Hello ... Talk to me AJ! Are you there?  ... yes ... yes ... well the details are totally up to you. ...

OK, how if I outline a scenario - then whether you do it or not is entirely up to you. ... No, I don’t think you’ll need a pencil and paper.

First - make sure the bedroom’s nice and tidy.

Strip off - oh, first of all, what sort of flat or house is it? ... Right, like the ones in this street, small terrace. So you’ve got a back door - so make sure it’s locked. Don’t want any friendly neighbours or mates walking in unannounced.

Strip off and put the clothes away - make sure the bed’s nice and tidy.

Er - I think you should lock yourself into the manacles downstairs.                     Getting back up the stairs with your ankles locked close together may be a bit of a struggle but she should have fun encouraging you to make it to the bedroom. You don’t own an electric cattle prod, do you? ... Only joking, only joking!

Anyway, picture yourself naked and struggling to lock yourself into the combination; first the waist chain padlocked on with the cuffs positioned in back. Then lock on the ankles (don’t forget to set the dead-locks) then one wrist behind your back, and set the dead-lock so it can’t close any tighter.

Now comes the good bit. Put both keys somewhere that will be out of your reach when you’ve locked the second wrist tight to the back of your waist. ... On top of a tall bookcase or high shelf - you’ll find somewhere - but make sure it will be well out of your reach.  Then close the second handcuff - not too tight because you can’t dead-lock it without access to a key. So, close it tight enough so that you can’t wriggle out of it but not too tight, because you’ll be in it and totally helpless for at least two hours before she gets home - if she comes home! Do you think you could handle that? Does the idea turn you on? ... I’m waiting ... I’m waiting, AJ.

Robert listened placidly to AJ’s rambling confusion of excuses why he shouldn’t risk it and questions about how to organise it. After a while he cut in “Look - why don’t I put the phone down and call you back in ten minutes. If you think you can handle it - make a list of any points you want to ask me before you start”. Robert put down the phone, smiled at Alan and switched off the tape recorder.


(Ten minutes later) “OK, are you up for it? ... I thought you might. You can never resist a challenge, right. So, what fine details do you need to cover? – and are you sure Sarah will be able to deal with it? ... Good for her - good for you! So - any questions or suggestions? ...Yes, that’s an alternative. Yes. you could get ready upstairs and leave a note for her downstairs if you’d prefer. A note’s certainly a good idea. I just like the picture of you naked and trapped downstairs not being able to sit or stand comfortably waiting for the sound of her key in the lock and her seeing you straight away.

Yes, there are some risks involved but I think the chance of the house catching fire is quite slim - and you could always call the fire brigade. Next question? ... Well, if the doorbell rings, you don’t have to answer it. I guess if it’s a burglar checking if your out and he breaks in because you don’t (can’t) answer the door you’d be in an embarrassing situation but otherwise I think two hours is a risk you can take.

What else? ... Oh, you did read the books! Yes, having some sort of back-up plan when you’re playing on your own is important. Anytime somebody’s left alone and - ‘incapacitated’. Good point. Er - does your phone have a re-dial button? ... OK, after I hang up punch in my number and then put the phone down. Then, if you panic or get into trouble you only have to push re-dial and you can alert me ... well ... knock the receiver off with your nose!!

Tell you another thing - if you have a spare key for the back door - you could leave it somewhere where I could find it in case of a serious emergency - but I think it’s a gamble worth taking. Are you up for it? ... I thought you might be! Great.

Anything else? ... a gag? Why? Do you sometimes gag yourself when you play on your own? ... Not often - but you have. ... Yeh, yeh, just to know how it feels - right! How long for? ... Well, in that case better not. Might be a bit too intense. Perhaps another time, though.

... No ... no, it was a very interesting suggestion. ... Well, OK if you think you could handle it - but you don’t know how well you can deal with a gag over a longer period. ... Was it a gag you bought or did you just improvise before? ... Duct tape! That’s serious stuff - very sticky  - I usually recommend Athletics’ tape as a better option ...well, if you’ve used duct tape on yourself before – and you have some in the house ... Well, it’s up to you - but you will need to gag yourself first before starting the process of closing the manacles - and then have to deal with it until Sarah gets home; unable to change your mind if you’ve put it all on properly? Two hours - perhaps even more - not quite knowing. Could you handle being gagged waiting for her to walk in the door - and perhaps having to stay gagged for however long she decides to keep you gagged after she gets home? ... Well it seems I was right about you, you perverted masochist sod.

How? ... Didn’t I give you a copy of the ‘Information Sheets’ about Gags? It describes a few different ways of wrapping the tape ... Sorry, I thought I’d given you a set **(For Information Sheet pack see back cover).  OK then - so IF - you decide to take the gamble, here’s what I suggest – nice big knot in the centre of a rolled handkerchief – knot in the mouth, handkerchief tied around in back – then duct tape over it – although if you’ve got any athletic tape it’s kinder on the skin. ... Yes, of course if you’ve decided to risk it you want it to stay put! I should have guessed that! So - do you know how to wrap a strip of tape under your chin and up both cheeks first so it stops the jaw opening? Otherwise it’s possible to work lose the main wrapping around the mouth and head - and, like you say, you want it to be really efficient ... oh, at least three times across your mouth and round behind your head. ...You’re really getting into this, aren’t you! So, as long as you don’t have any nasal problems - the ball’s in your court – or in your mouth. That’s another alternative we’ll talk about sometime in the future – unless you happen to have a squash ball handy ... OK, stick with the knotted handkerchief. You might wet the knot slightly. It’ll get soggy but it stops the mouth getting dry at the start. Well – it’ll be very intense, Chunky. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather try the manacles and the situation without the gag, first time round? ...

OK ... OK ... If you think she’d prefer you in a position not to be able to make suggestions. If you really think she could handle it – and enjoy it – and pull out a few stops? ... Well, you know her. But in that case I think the note you leave becomes more important. Give her a clear go-ahead – make sure she knows that whatever choices she makes you won’t criticise when it’s over. That’s important. Also, put in the note where the keys are – so she needn’t un-gag you if she wants to unlock anything. You might also put in the note that the re-dial button will call for help if she needs any ... no, seriously ... put in the note that in case of emergency phone this number. ...

Yes, AJ ... yes, AJ ... yes, AJ I understand ... Yes, it’s pretty extreme ... but you’re the one who has to make the final decision. Of course you’ll survive it! You may regret it the minute you close the second handcuff and can’t back out ... but that’s the main thrill for people like you and me, Chunky ... trust me ... we’ve got a lot in common. I think you’ll love every minute ... the question is ... will she? ...

OK so go to it! I’ll enjoy thinking about you helplessly manacled - and maybe gagged ... either downstairs or up. And, AJ ... if you’re going to do it ... don’t cheat on yourself. Do it for real - keys well out of reach. Let her know that the ball is in her court - and that whatever liberties she decides to take with you ... you won’t take revenge ... except in the nicest possible way.

Any further questions ... OK ... good luck ... I hope it works out. Oh, nearly forgot ... Give me the street address ... just in case ... thanks. Oh!, do you have an answering machine? Leave it switched on ... and in your note tell Sarah to listen through the messages. That could be important. Have fun ... and I’ll see you next Tuesday. Looking forward to it.”

Robert wrote down AJ’s address and put the kettle on.


(An hour later) AJ’s recorded message told Robert that he wasn’t able to get to the phone. ”Hello. Hello. Is there anybody there? AJ Proctor are you there? This is your evil genius calling. Pick up the phone if you are able.” Robert waited as he and Alan listened “OK, so if my gut instinct is right you are there but in no position to do anything, let alone pick up the phone. Congratulations. I hope you’re downstairs and can hear this, rather than upstairs waiting to be ravaged. I just wondered if you remembered to lock the back door. If so, I hope you left the key under the mat ... and you don’t get any unwanted intruders. I was very tempted to phone Charlie and tell him to pop round before six and give you a little scare ... or a thrill ... but would I do that? Of course I wouldn’t ... at least not until I know you better.

"I also toyed with the idea of calling the police and telling them I’d seen somebody breaking into your house ... or perhaps the fire brigade. That would be hysterical! Imagine how you and your mates would react if you were called to an incident only to find a naked guy gagged and shackled in his own living room. Think about it!”

He deliberately left a pause for dramatic effect ... but in the silence the recording machine cut out automatically.


(Immediate re-dial) “Me again. This call is really for Sarah. Chunky, I trust that in your note you told her to listen to the messages. Hello Sarah, you don’t know me but I’m a friend. I hope you enjoy the present I’ve organised for you. Feel free to make the most of the opportunity. Don’t let him bully or threaten you even if he’s gagged as well as being helpless. Make sure he knows that I’m on your side and if he gives you any grief, after the event you can tell me and I’ll make sure he regrets being mean to you.

One more thing. I know he’s on duty early tomorrow but one way to make sure he’s relatively docile once you let him loose ... why not make sure he cums at least five times. Count ‘em Chunky ... five times. I bet you can do it, Sarah. He’s probably already dribbled away a lot of energy waiting for you to get home but I know you can easily get him excited a couple of times ... but from six o’clock at night to six in the morning is a long time ... and I think you could find the challenge as exciting as Chunky would find it. So, go to it, Lady ... milk him dry.

Oh, one further thing. Would you just press re-dial and tell me you’re home safe and the situation is in hand. I won’t pick up the phone so we won’t have to chat ... but, if I don’t hear from you before six thirty tonight I’ll have to send somebody round.”

Robert put down the phone and settled back to enjoy the situation in his ‘Mind’s Eye’.


When the phone rang in the shop at five thirty Robert and Alan looked at each other but let the answering machine take the call. “The Inner Man - how can I help you? Leave your number and your question and somebody will get back to you” the recorded message recited.

A pause followed and then Chunky’s voice asked tentatively “Robert ... are you there? It’s er, Chunky ... Chunky Proctor. Are you there?”

As Robert reached for the phone Alan signalled him not to pick it up. After another pause the voice continued “I blew it - didn’t go through with it - nearly did ... but ... well, it’s complicated but ... not easy to explain but ... not sure how to ...”

Robert reached for the phone. “This is Robert. Are you still on for Tuesday afternoon?”

“Oh ... er ... “ said Chunky, “yes, if that’s OK with you”

“Fine. No problem. You can tell me about it then ... if you want to. Any chance of bringing your turn-out suit and boots? I’d like to get some pictures of a tied-up fireman. Don’t worry about your face showing, there are gas masks here. You up for that?”

Er ... yes” stammered our hero, “we’re not supposed to take them out of the station but I’ll see what I can do. Helmet as well?”

“See what you can do?” said Robert smiling at his lover “Two o’clock sharp!” he said and abruptly plonked down the phone.

A.J. Proctor stood like a statue with the receiver still in his hand. Suddenly he put it down, looked at the clock ... and made one final check that he’d mopped up all the cum stains off the living-room carpet and from around the fireplace.





Photo Opportunities


Four days on and four days off was the usual routine but for Chunky the last four working days had turned into six. Best way to get his own heavy work-suit out of the Station was to volunteer as an emergency relief fire-fighter at another local station that was short handed for a couple of days. Thus his kit went with him.

Usually Chunks enjoyed standing in with an unfamiliar team but on this occasion, although there’d been a couple of quite challenging ‘shouts’, his mind remained otherwise occupied. His failure to go through with the event with the manacles and Sarah ... and his inability to discuss it with her ... and his concern over what his second visit to ‘The Inner Man’ might involve; all this kept him somehow off balance.

Now, after six consecutive days on watch he had only the next two ‘Rest Days’ ahead. Rest Days! ... he was on his way (bulky grip in hand) heading for the anonymous green door and ... who knows what! Two hours tops Robert had said. Two hours - take a few pictures tied up in his gear. That’s all. Shit, who was he kidding. There was a lot he needed to know - about the different sorts of games - about what some of the things felt like - like strait-jackets - and locked-on metal helmets - and letting somebody else take control. The Sarah thing bothered him - she was such a doll. Great to be with - but not the one who could ... not the one to ... she liked Chunky because he always took control ...

He turned into the street and checked his watch. It was warm for October and was raining slightly. He’d chosen not to wear his black rain coat - opting for nondescript casual fleece jacket and jeans. After checking his watch again he rang the bell right on the dot of two o’clock. Without any talk-back from the door phone, the buzzer rasped and released the latch.

Inside the metal-barred security cubicle that separated the entrance door from the rest of the store Chunky stood uncertainly. The inner gate did not swing open and there was no one in sight. He felt caged already - and his heart seemed to speed up.

Suddenly Robert appeared, smiling and pressed the buzzer to open the inner door.

“Good. You’re well on time. How’s life?” Chunks shrugged mutely. Robert nodded towards the bulging canvas grip. “Looks like you’ve brought some goodies. Excellent. Thought it might be a nice ice-breaker to just do some photos of you tied up in your work gear. Nothing extreme. Nothing sexual. Nothing particularly intense, positionwise. How’s that sound?”

“Fine” said Chunks but it came out slightly breathless.

“Give us a bit of time to talk and you look around at some alternatives ... find out a bit more about where you’re at ... and where you might like to explore? Yes?”

“Yes” said Chunky determinedly but his mind also registered that the metal chair had gone from the shop floor - he wondered where it was.

“But for starters the suit and some moody shots of a fire-fighter dealing with a few challenges. You like challenges”.

Chunky managed a smile and a nod but nothing more.

“I like pictures of slightly intense, stressful tied-up positions, but I’ll go easy on you” smiled Robert, going behind the counter and looking for some notes he’d prepared.

“I can handle stressful positions” said Chunky, determined not to put any limits on the experience.

“Good man” smiled Robert “Let’s just play it by ear. Usually I like to have somebody else do the tying so I can just concentrate on grabbing shots of the actual process as well as the end results. But for starters today I thought we’d be better on our own. Give us more chance to talk. Alan’s around to keep an eye on the store so we won’t be disturbed. I’ve set up a couple of alternatives in the back room. That’s the main photo studio. Oh, you haven’t been through there yet, have you?”

Chunky shook his head and licked his dry lips.

Most of the equipment in there’s packed back against the walls so I can get some clear shots full length - but I’d like to do some with you on the floor trussed and wriggling around. Is that OK?”

This time our Hero nodded willingly but still found nothing he needed to say.

“So why don’t you take your gear through. It’s a sort of cloakroom, anti-room. You can get changed in there - no security cameras switched on so nobody will spy on you. Just put the full kit on, whatever you’ve brought with you. I’ll be in in a minute”.

Chunks headed for the door lugging the bulging beat-up canvas bag, his jeans felt tight and the fleece jacket suddenly very hot.

“You didn’t wear your PVC rain jacket. Pity, I wouldn’t mind a few shots of you trussed up in that. Never mind. Some other time”.

As Chunky was about to disappear through the door to the inner space, Robert added “There’s a toilet in there. Once we start, it may take time to get free if you want to piss”

Again Chunky nodded and was about to exit when Robert thought of something else.

“Oh, by the way, just humour me and don’t wear anything under your suit. It won’t show but I’ll know your naked under it”.

Chunky looked at him and swallowed quite hard, but still found nothing to say before backing out through the door.

Robert smiled to himself and picked up the intercom phone to buzz Alan.


The small space was neatly arranged with a seat and a couple of hooks for clothes and on one side a hand basin and toilet cubicle. Chunky imagined it was a space where customers could try on gear - or prepare before entering the inner sanctum - which was dark on the other side of a curtain. He peered through but then wondered if, in fact, the security cameras were live.

Pulling himself together he got on with the task at hand. He’d let himself in for this so was determined to get to grips with it. He stripped his jacket over his head and kicked off the shoes he’d chosen to wear rather than boots. Next he humped the bag onto the padded seat and dragged out the heavy black with reflective silver stripes jacket and pants ... and he wondered if they would tear the hooks off the wall when he hung them up. The helmet and boots left the bag empty except for a towel and change of underwear which he’d packed in case of emergency.

Now the real challenge began. Naked under his call-out suit! That would be a first. In fact, he’d considered it a couple of times but never done it. Decidedly kinky he’d decided. This Robert had a knack of reading his mind it seemed. What the hell - his jeans and socks came off in one. Another quick look to see if any surveillance camera was evident and he stripped off his underpants and quickly pulled on his work suit trousers. The unfamiliar inside of the trousers were not as rough as he’d imagined they might be ... but his mind was on pulling his slightly damp tee shirt off and getting his suit jacket on before any hidden camera could savour the sight of his nakedness. His back and arms tingled as the loose jacket settled against his skin.

In his haste he’d forgotten to pull the braces onto his shoulders and the pants were slipping down and he couldn’t get the braces on without taking the jacket off again. Damn! Don’t panic! Calm down! He breathed deeply and slid the jacket onto the floor, hitched up the braces and dragged the heavy jacket back on, closing the front snaps and Velcro in the official manner. Next he felt the need to hitch up the jacket to tighten the trouser waist because without slacks on underneath they felt very loose.

He’d brought thick socks with him ... but if he was naked under the suit ... he might as well be naked all the way. The boots without socks would feel very strange ... but strange was the order of the day. The boots were the rubber, steel capped ones. At home he did a have a pair of the old knee-high leather fire-fighter boots, but thought the current issue rubber version would look better in the photos. He pushed the bag off the seat and sat to slip into the boots and his jacket felt bulky without a belt. He should haven’t brought an outer webbing belt; the piece of kit they often used to hang tools on when working. The boots felt strangely big without socks - but it wasn’t as if he’d be walking far or climbing any ladders.

Suddenly the sound of somebody approaching made him stand up. An amiable looking guy wearing tee shirt, sweats and trainers appeared through the curtain.

“Hi, you must be Chunky. I’m Alan.”

He held out a hand, apparently ignoring the incongruous sight of a naked man wearing a fire-fighters call-out suit and boots. They shook hands, Chunky rather self-consciously.

“Robert’s been looking forward to getting some pictures of that gear of yours” he said before continuing his way into the shop.

Chunky wondered whether to follow - he was ready except for closing the neck fastening and putting on the helmet. As he moved to look in the mirror the unfamiliar feel of the suit from inside reminded him that this was going to be something of a new experience.

Robert appeared, list in hand. “Alan tells me you’re kitted up. Great! Looks fine. No belt - do you usually wear a belt?” Chunky shook his head but Robert was already disappearing through the curtain and soon switching on lights. Chunky followed, feeling that he was about the step off the edge of a cliff.


The space looked like a photographic studio today, most of the SM paraphernalia tucked away. Lights and a clutter of metal scaffolding on a black ceiling . Black curtains were drawn across certain wall areas and some were mirrored;  a small stack of metal grille panels leaned against one wall, and a low metal cage made of the same grille-work stood in one corner. In the centre of the smallish room a couple of sturdy scaffold poles fixed floor to ceiling had holes bored in them that obviously could have things attached to them. ‘Things!’ thought Chunky.

Robert was busying himself with two cameras and moving a few lights as Chunky stood self-consciously aware of himself in several mirrors. The suit gave no hint that he was naked underneath but Chunks was wildly conscious of the fact. His dick rubbed against the inside of his pants - but in the mirror it was only obvious when he turned sideways.

“Right then” said Robert briskly “I guess you prefer not to have your face showing. That high collar looks good. Did you bring a mask?”

“No” admitted Chunky.

“No sweat! - I’ll rephrase that - No problem - probably a lot of sweat! Do you have any difficulty wearing a mask for a period of time?” Chunky shook his head but before he could elaborate Robert continued “Did you bring a helmet?”

Chunky had left it in the dressing space ... he moved quickly to fetch it. As he returned and was about to put it on he saw that Robert was holding a sort of gasmask; one that had no straps but a latex backing that would enclosed the whole head. His heart took a leap.

“This OK?”, asked Robert.

“Great” replied Chunky, finding his full voice at last. He took it and pulled it on, his fingers finding his way around the back zip before Robert had a chance to help him with it. With the safety helmet dangling by it’s strap from one elbow the fire-fighter showed how used he was to kitting himself out while wearing his bulky gear. He needed to stretch the latex quite tight before he got the zip started and as it closed down behind his neck he felt the solid rubber mask pulled tight against his face ... and he sensed that no amount of heavy action would dislodge it. The latex neck was also snug enough to fit well inside his coat collar, sealing the join as he tugged his coat collar higher and tighter. Chunky then settled his safety helmet above the wide-visored face mask and deftly tightened the chin strap. He felt ready for action - but suddenly remembered something and pulled plastic coated work gloves from his coat pocket and held them up for Robert’s approval.

“What I want is a feeling of authenticity” said the younger man.

Chunky nodded pulling on the gloves and once again adjusting the face mask as much as the tight latex back would allow. He then said something incomprehensible into his mask.

“What?” asked Robert.

“I said ...” enunciated Chunky from behind the wall of rubber and coat collar “This - mask - is not - exactly - authentic!”

“Wear it for now - we’ll talk about alternatives after the first few shots. Now, I want to do a few with manacles then some with rope. OK?”#

Chunky gave the thumbs-up as he was used to doing when masked-up and working. But secretly he was grateful for the protection of the mask that hid his flushed face, and the bulky suit that somewhat masked the tingling if not shaking he felt in his arms and legs.

Robert set to work with manacles as Chunky just stood. Handcuffs in front, solid weighty ones that fitted easily over the thickish gloves and showed up well against the dark tough fabric suit. The leg-irons Robert had chosen were the big ones specially made to fit around wide-ankled boots. Chunky could not see down that far but felt the rubber tighten against his tense ankles. Soon as the second lock clicked shut and was dead-locked he moved his feet to feel how far they would separate. Not far!.

Robert picked up the camera and chose a position.

“Look at your wrists not the camera for this one” he said and Chunky did as he was told. The camera whirred. “Now try and work out if you can get at the key-hole”.

Chunky automatically followed instructions wondering how, even with a key in those gloves it would be a struggle.

“There’s a seat behind you. Back onto it and inspect the leg-irons”.

It seemed a logical thing to do. As he sat, Chunks pulled the jacket waist tighter so he could see past it to where his rubber boots were clamped and wrinkled by the metal ratchets.

The camera whirred a few more times as Chunky tried to evaluate the manacles and consciously offer a few photo opportunities.

“Great” said Robert putting down the camera. He moved towards the seated fire-fighter and a metal clip clicked first around the leg-iron chain and then the link between the handcuffs, fixing them together.

Before Chunky was fully aware of the increased restraint Robert was back behind the camera moving in for close shots of the gloved hands anchored to the manacled rubber boots. He changed the angle to get the face mask in shot with the hands and feet. These pictures would be hot, thought Robert - what a pity he hadn’t got a video operator in with him - but he knew Alan was busy in the shop area panning and zooming a couple of remote controlled cameras that covered the studio. Alan knew a lot about surveillance systems and CCTV.

While Chunky’s attention was still on his predicament Robert asked him if he could stand up. He could as long as he remained bent almost double with his feet close together. More shots and clicks then Robert was again walking towards him to unclip the link. He also had with him what turned out to be the end of a winch rope. Having unclipped the ankles, the rope was attached to the centre of the cuffs and Robert was walking away. A roving electric control switch soon caused a winch in the ceiling to spring into life and the rope between Chunky’s wrists was suddenly shortening upwards. Robert was back on camera and as the rope continued to shorten slowly, Chunky first let his wrists rise but then moved closer under the pulley, leaving himself a bit more slack - but this gradually got taken up by the unstoppable electric winch. As the manacled hands were hauled past his masked head and helmet he thought, ‘Shit! He’s not going to hang me by my wrists!’ As the position became more intense he started to pull down more determinedly. The bulk of his jacket and the feel inside his pants intensified as his manacled boots shifted to retain solid ground.

The body language was dynamic as the fire-fighter was slowly stretched to full limit - before the winch stopped winding. Relieved, but suddenly aware of the stressful position, Chunky noticed that Robert was still snapping shots from various angles. He came in close, shooting almost into the visor - then low from floor level capturing shots of the boots as, almost on tip-toe, Chunky fought to keep the weight off his wrists.

Robert somehow found a free hand to suddenly push Chunky quite violently, making him swing, lose and regain his balance in the cumbersome boots, The winch was lowering before Chunky realised it, which again forced him to re-balance ... and Robert was still snapping. The hook only lowered a foot before stopping again, and with hands now almost level with his mask, Chunky explored his less stressful but off-balance position. He eventually tried rubbing the mask aside ... but it was rock solid ... as was his knob.

Robert walked towards him standing grinning into the visor. “You OK?”

Chunky nodded dumbly as Robert unclipped the rope. “Good man. Just a few more shots in handcuffs and then you can have a breather if you want”. Disappearing from view for a moment Robert was suddenly threading a strap between Chunky’s elbows behind him and the manacled wrists tightened across the front of the jacket, pulling it tight into the waist. Robert re-appeared heading for the camera. “What does that feel like?” he asked as he took aim.

Chunky hunched his shoulders and tested the arm pinions for strength. This only tightened the wrist manacles. Wrenching his wrists from side to side experimentally, achieved nothing ... but Robert was getting some excellent shots of the tugging and straining of the folds in the tough jacket and even the expression in the eyes behind the visor - where the perspiration was building up. A drip on the end of his nose distracted Chunky for a moment and suddenly Robert was walking towards him with a cuff key. A flash of disappointment crossed Chunky’s mind - was it over?

Robert smiled into his visor as he unlocked one wrist.

“OK?” he asked and the Chunk admitted that he was. The one still locked cuff was then guided around behind the bulky suit and Robert held it there, waiting. Chunky moved his unlocked wrist to behind him where he felt the second cuff re-locked, leaving his hands cuffed but his elbows feeling rather loose. This suddenly changed dramatically as Robert cinched the elbow strap as tight as it would go. In the mirror ahead of him Chunky saw his chest almost burst the fastening down the front of the jacket as his elbows were dragged together. Robert didn’t reappear so Chunky thought there would be no picture - but a chain was being passed around his waist and a lock clicked behind him with the jacket now tightened against his naked waist under the bulk of jacket and pants.

“That looks a bit neater” said Robert going back to his camera

It felt fantastic, thought Chunky as he spread his legs as far as the leg-irons would allow and watched the mirror through the rapidly steaming up visor. He gave Robert some alternative positions by tensing against the pinioned elbows and shifting his boots to try and find any sort of slack.

“Turn round” ordered Robert and Chunky turned, discovering that with tethered ankles this was not achieved in one movement. Several shots recorded the process and ate up the sight of manacled boots, then the manacled wrists and strapped elbows complete with a chain belt padlocked tightly around the bulky suit. Robert knew there was more to come. The hanging rope was re-attached between the handcuffs before Chunky knew what was happening behind him, and Robert was back at his camera before the rope started to rise taking Chunky wrists with it.

Panic swept over the now profusely sweating fire-fighter. His naked body was sensitive to the extra pressure as his strapped arms were dragged higher behind him and his body bent forward. Unless he spread his legs he would fall - but the chain between the ankles only reminded him of the limits. His wrists were hurting and all he could see was the floor through a fog of steam inside the helmet ... and a drip of sweat dropped down onto the visor - but the winch had stopped and he was still on his feet - just.

The camera was having a field day and Robert was turning the tortured figure under the rope so, with an effort, Chunky could see himself in the mirror, bent almost double with Robert (camera and all) reflected in the mirror standing close behind him still taking pictures directly into the mirror. That will be a great shot thought Chunky - and so did Robert - and so did Alan - and so did another guy who had arrived in the shop by special invitation.


The rope was off and the arms unstrapped and handcuffs unlocked ... but the chain belt and leg-irons stayed on. Robert indicated that the gas mask was about to come off. He fiddled with the fire helmet strap while Chunky stood sweating. When it was off, the smooth rubber-covered head glistened in the lights as Robert unzipped the tough latex that clamped the gasmask so firmly in place. Cold air flooded in and Chunky’s sweating face remained somewhat expressionless until he had gulped some air.

“OK?” asked Robert.


“Want some water?” The bottle was there.

“Yeah!” said Chunky and drank, watching himself in the mirror as a towel was handed to him. Robert had obviously done sessions like this many times before.

“Want a rest or carry on?” he was asked and Chunky didn’t want to sound unwilling - or too eager - in fact he didn’t want to be asked, he wanted to be told.

“Carry on” he said.

Robert had finished mopping out the inside of the gasmask. “Mask back on”. It was an instruction rather than a question ... and Chunky complied, disappearing once again into the welcome anonymity where he could relish the new sensations that were keeping his dick hard and tight against the trousers under the bulky jacket ... so no embarrassment there.

As Chunky zipped the gasmask back into place and tightened the collar of his jacket, Robert had drawn back a black drape and exposed a panel of sturdy metal grid. Chunky was not aware of this until Robert gently guided him back against it. The chain between his ankles was attached to it before he even knew it was there. Then from behind the metal grid another chain was threaded through and around his neck and locked somewhere out of sight. Even with hands free he was totally helpless. The picture he saw in the mirror did not make him want otherwise. He trusted Robert knew that the hands must be secured soon.

But it was the chain already around his waist that next moved ... tightening against the metal wall, fixing his body immovably, the jacket waist cinching even tighter - and the end of his knob pushing harder against the inside of his pants. Another chain was threading through the grille at chest height, but this needed Robert to come round from behind and press himself against Chunky’s front, grinning into his visor as he connected the chest chain and tightened it up around his armpits only inches from the chain that circled the high collar of his suit. Another padlock clicked shut.

“This will look hot” beamed Robert as he disappeared behind the immobilised figure who could only stare at himself (or whoever was behind that mask and suit he was looking at) chained to that metal wall.

One wrist was taken gently but firmly and something clicked snugly around it. The wrist was then hauled sideways and attached to the frame somewhere level with his crotch but away from his body. The second wrist was soon shackled and anchored on the other side of the frame and Robert stood back to view his handiwork through the camera.

“Give me a bit of movement” he ordered and Chunky thought ‘You must be fucking joking’ but was surprised to find how much writhing was possible. This kept the camera busy for what seemed minutes - but Robert was already preparing his next move.

“You can still move elbows and knees! Soon sort that” he said with relish and set to work with more chain until Chunky felt the steel begin to bed itself into his upper arms and above his knees. “Struggle again.” commanded the enthusiast behind the camera and the enthusiasm spurred Chunky to explore his intensified restraint.

“Go for it” demanded Robert “Try and wreck the wall!”

Chunky could never resist a challenge - and he put his back into it - plus his powerful thighs - and efficiently chained wrists and elbows - but nothing was going to give unless he tore the metal grille off whatever was holding it, in which case he’d be flat on his face under several hundredweight of metal. Nothing was going to give - but he continued his efforts for the camera - and just for the hell of it.

Robert, satisfied with the shots he’d got and knowing the video cameras were still recording, walked towards the chained figure slowly. He took a couple of provocative shots of the steamed-up visor and then slowly and deliberately moved aside the jacket below the waist and touched the head of the protruding cock - just to make sure it was well defined inside the rough pants - and then took a few close-ups. He then smiled up at the perspiring and now distinctly nervous Chunky and said “No liberties - but I’m glad you’re turned on. I’m just going to check that Alan’s OK. Do you want me to let you loose - or spend a bit of time like that?”

Chunky looked him in the eye but was in no mood for making decisions.

“Nod if you want me to let you loose”.

Chunky did not nod - and eventually shook his head slowly from side to side.

“Good enough.” said Robert with not too much of a smile before walking across the studio and out into the shop.

Fire-fighter Proctor heard the door close and returned his gaze to the chained figure standing opposite him, his well worn and smoke-smelling call-out suit crunched and crumpled against the latticework of chains threaded through the flat metal grille panel, his chunky rubber boots firmly shackled and the wide-visored mask and black bald-looking latex head glowing in the lights. He was glad the fire helmet had not been put back on. The smooth tightly rubber covered head glistened ... and the heat was beginning to build up.


When Chunky slowly came back from the limbo he’d drifted into, the fact that he was chained rigid at ankles, knees, waist, chest, neck, elbows and wrists with an inescapable gasmask enclosing his head and padded protective suit shutting out the air from his naked body ... washed over him like a tide of sensations. Robert was peering into the visor rather anxiously. Chunky managed a sort of smile - and Robert grinned back.

“OK beautiful dreamer - you ready to come out now?”

Rather than take off the gasmask first Robert sensed that to gradually and gently unlock the various chains and allow some movement back into the body was the right thing. Instinctively Robert knew what the Right Thing was in all such situations. Years ago, even before he had had a chance to put a lot of his ideas into practice, he’d known what to do ... by instinct.

Chunky was returning gradually to the real world, having been given the chance to experience things he’d only dreamed about. This kid knew his stuff - and Chunks felt privileged - numb and shaky - and unsure of what might happen next - but privileged. He seemed to be smiling to himself. Through the fogged-up visor the younger man recognised the ‘Bondage smile’ and knew enough to let him enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

As the last chains fell away Robert was there to support but not impose himself as Chunky walked a few steps - and was reminded that his boots were still manacled together and his thick protective suit still chained around his waist. He sat, although he could not feel the seat - and as the solid rubber hood, now so tight around his head, was unzipped and the gasmask fell away, he almost regretted the loss of pressure and his removal from it’s steamy interior. He sat smiling - and Robert smiled back at him. The dream sequence seemed to be continuing.

A bottle of water and a towel were offered and accepted but the mood was not broken. Even though Robert, leaning close to him, was asking if he had had enough and was ready to come out, the question came from far away and the answer was a foregone conclusion. Robert was not surprised to see the shake of the head. In fact the younger man was already checking the locked steel shackles that had been clamped separately around each cuff of the suit during the previous sequence. They were doing their job ... making the suit and gloves impossible to remove and providing anchor points for any future attachments. A similar lockable neck shackle was produced as if by magic to make sure the collar would neither open or allow air into the sweltering interior of the suit. Chunky accepted it without question - and was pleased that the waist chain and ankle manacles remained to guarantee the imprisonment was total.#

And so Chunky sat, waiting for whatever might happen next, still in a sort of daze. Robert knew the wheels were in motion elsewhere for the next phase of the game to proceed according to plan. He also knew that Chunky would be disappointed if it didn’t.

“I think it’s time for a gentle session of questions and answers” he suggested quietly. “Feel up to that?” His question received the nod he expected and so he urged the cloud-walking guy to rise and walk. Chunky was only vaguely aware of the upright metal ladder that he was backed up against. He was interested by the plastic cable ties being used to cinch first one elbow and then the other to the sides of the ladder, followed by more to cinch his wrists. Swiftly and simply the thread-through plastic bands circled his limbs. Next the knees and ankles, although they might have been longer ties Chunky reasoned distantly as both above and below each knee was circled tight and then high on his thighs - dangerously close to his crotch - but Chunky was not concerned. Then, interestingly, some sort of pillow was placed behind his head before his collar shackle was similarly attached to a convenient rung of the ‘ladder’.

Suitable for a fire-fighter to be tied to a ladder he reasoned to himself. He’d helped tie a Brigade probationer to a ladder as part of a Fire Station initiation on several occasions. Now here he was, efficiently and inescapably lashed to a ladder by an expert. Somebody who ‘knew the ropes’ ... and he was going to learn a lot. Chunky was vaguely disappointed that Robert was not taking photographs of the process. But the younger man knew he was on camera doing the tying. Alan, as usual, was participating at the CCTV control panel.

The neck to ankle lashing complete, Robert stepped aside and released a rope that allowed the ladder to gently hinge down into a horizontal position on top of a metal table. It was not drowsiness but a sense of calm that came from having no control over (or responsibility for) what happened next that allowed Chunky to go with the flow. He was lying on his back totally immobilised and so had no responsibility for anything. He felt ... calm.

Robert smiled down on him and his voice seemed to come from further away than the shining eyes Chunky looked up into. “Question and answers.” said Robert, “Prompt answers without hesitation. Honest - immediate answers - which will be easier if there’s no eye contact. You OK with a blindfold?”

Chunky nodded as much as whatever immobilised his neck would allow. He remembered the feeling when he came round from an anaesthetic sometime long in the past. Peace - calm - no anxiety. Confidence that everything was going to be OK ... and if it wasn’t there was nothing he could do about it. Some sort of soft but effective blindfold settled into place - but the reassuring voice kept talking.

“OK buddy - a few questions - and I want immediate answers. Easy at first but they may get more difficult. Can you see any light?”


“None whatsoever?”


“Good - so ... name?


“Full name?”

“Anthony James Proctor”


“Thirty four - five.”



“But married”


“We’re talking facts here! Height?”

“Five eleven”


“Fourteen ten - eight - thereabouts”

“Do you have any physical disabilities - weaknesses?”


“No dodgy shoulder or knee”


“OK. False teeth?”


“Capped teeth?”

Er ... two.”

“Contact lenses?”



“Nothing I can’t deal with”

“Sinus or breathing problems”


“I’m assuming no heart or other medical conditions”


“Ever been hung upside-down? - by your ankles?”


“So you don’t know if you could deal with it.”


“But you liked to get tied up?”


“And tie other people up?”

“ ... yes”


Robert looked down at the immobilised and blindfolded man on the ladder that was now horizontal at table height and then repositioned himself at the end of the ladder immediately above Chunky’s head as he continued gently ... leaning close to his face

“I need to know a lot more about you Proctor if we’re both going to get the most out of knowing each other ... do you agree?”


“A lot of things ... private things ... scary things. This isn’t psychoanalysis, just knowing what pushes your buttons. Off the top of your head - quick answer - what turns you on?”

After a hesitation the answer came “A lot of things”.

“Name three”.

“Being tied up ... somebody else taking control ... not knowing what’s going to happen next”.

“Good start - so, now more details. Define it better!” Robert insisted ... “Somebody else taking control and doing what?”


“Not whatever! Do you want to be flogged? Do you want to be tattooed against your will? Do you want all your hair shaved off?” ...be fucked by a donkey?”


“No!! Of course you don’t ... so not ‘whatever’. You need to know your own mind ... so I can have something to work with. So ... let’s define some territories. Make a wish list. (He waited) Make a wish A.J. Any wish?” After another pause Robert took Chunky’s ear-lobes between his thumbs and fingers and began to squeeze. “Do you enjoy pain, Proctor?”

“No!” came the emphatic reply.

“Do you want me to force you to call me ‘Sir’? asked the younger man continuing the pressure. “I think I could ... given time.”

“No!” Chunky wrenched his head, trying to evade the thumbs.

“Of course you don’t and that’s not what I want either ... but I do need to know where we go from here. Perhaps the easiest way is for you to sit you down with a list of all the bondage and SM alternatives anybody can think of - I call it my Quiz List - and on it you tick or cross the ones you might like to explore or include in little experiments - just for you to get the feel of them. It’s a long list - and nobody’s into everything - but as a menu to chose from - my Quiz List is like a catalogue of ingredients - you can make a lot of different recipes from them - all a matter of taste - or selection for a particular occasion. Pick and Mix you might call it - like going to the toy cupboard and just choosing two or three items - and building a game around them - depending who the players are or, in some cases, how long you’ve got. Like now for instance, we agreed two hours and more than an hour’s gone. I could demonstrate to you how easily I can control somebody however determined they are to resist - how I could strip you out of that suit like it or not. Strip you naked or wrestle you into a strait-jacket - against all resistance - do you believe that? Do you believe I could do that?”.

Having allowed the flow of information to swirl around his brain Chunky was brought up abruptly by being asked for a response.

“ ... er ... one to one?. Er ... I don’t know. Could you?”

 “It’s something you could put on your wish list to try - to find out. Then there’s the physical endurance bondage challenge ... it’s described in one of the books I gave you to read ... forty-eight hours in different forms of severe restraint, no arguments and no backing out once the formal agreement is signed ... The Contract. Intense stuff. I gave you those books so you’d start to recognise the different territories. If you took me up on the offer of forty-eight hours of my time and my energy with a little help from my friends ... what sort of scenarios would you opt for? Think big and think wild - I’m not looking for an immediate answer, but these are the games we play.

Robert looked up at the closed circuit camera and winked. “And I think you could also be useful as a member of the team when we’re cooking up a scenario that is somebody else’s special fantasy. Between us we make it happen; bringing together the different elements - we become who the storyline needs us to be. Some other time I’ll give you some outlines of situations we’ve made happen - and a few that people have submitted - and they’ll happen unexpectedly perhaps when the people who submitted them have forgotten all about their flight of fantasy - they’ll suddenly find it happening unstoppably. Or I might just strap you to a chair in front of a TV monitor and run a few tapes of the ‘predicaments’ we’ve rigged for people - hoops we’ve jumped them through ... Are you still awake, Proctor - or are you dreaming?”

“I think I’m dreaming” said the prone figure.

“Well, time’s a’wasteing and I still know bugger all about what you like and what you don’t - so after today’s session you will be required to fill out a long questionnaire, which asks very personal, intimate details - but for now ... quick fire answers to a few questions - no hesitations. Have you ever indulged yourself in genital bondage?”


“Did you do it to yourself or did somebody else do it?


“Has anybody ever give you an enema?”


“Catheter - ever had one up you?”

“Once - in hospital”

“Did a man or a woman put it in?”

Er - man”

“Did you enjoy it?”


“Would you have enjoyed it more if a woman had done it to you?”

“I was in no mood to enjoy it? I had a ruptured spleen”

“As part of a bondage scene a catheter means it can go on for a lot longer - and both psychologically and physically it’s a great control element. Would you rule that out as part of a physical restraint scenario?.

Er ... no”

“And genital bondage?”

“If I was in no position to argue”.

Robert again looked up at the CCTV camera and indicated for it to zoom in ...before placing one hand on Chunky’s knee which was immobilised by thick plastic cable ties both above and below it ... and having squeezed it, began slowly to run his hand from the knee up to massage the inside of a thigh before travelling up onto the tough fabric that covered the cock of the prone man.

Chunky’s relaxed and confident idyll had come to a sudden end. He’d gone tense and doubts were crowding in on him ... and his predicament had suddenly flashed into a different context as the hand began to massage his rapidly wilting dick. He felt betrayed, but Roberts voice cut through his turmoil.

”Concentrate your mind on your predicament here A.J. ... and things that turn you-on ... or turn you off?. Are you turned on, A.J?”


“Did you cum inside your suit during the past hour?” Silence “I can find out,” warned the youth.

“Yes” admitted Chunky.

“Good!“ The hand continued to massage the helpless man’s dick. “Maybe you’ll shoot several times more before I let you out of that suit.” The hand stopped massaging but remained resting lightly on the now limp dick. “You’re in it for another hour - that’s what we agreed - yes?”

“Yes” admitted Chunky and in that moment he decided he could survive anything that came at him in that time..

“Locked in that suit - and I know how to retain control. Just a few more questions in this first phase. How do you deal with butt plugs?”  Silence. “Have you ever tried one?”, insisted the voice.

“Couple of times - on my own”.

There was a pause before the next question came ... “Why?”


“Why try a butt plug on yourself?”

“Because - I wondered what it would feel like” He licked his lips because he’d never admitted this to anybody. “I fantasised about a woman tying me down and forcing a dildo up my arse - to let me know what it feels like when I stick my nob into a woman”.

“Into a woman?” Robert verified.

“Yes!” insisted the older man.

Robert considered his next question very carefully “If a woman tied you down, strapped on a dildo and fucked you....” the cock beneath his hand had sprung to life “ ... a woman with a ten inch plastic dildo Roger-ing you violently and you tied down and unable to stop or even argue?” ... he clamped his hand over the helpless guys mouth and kept massaging the surging cock. “A woman - would she be dressed in leather - or rubber - or a nurse in white ...?”

Robert continued to squeeze the now rampant cock “ ... and you tied down and gagged ... and totally helpless ...” The whole immobilised body was suddenly convulsing within the confines of the suit and plastic ties. Muffled cries escaped although trapped under the experienced hand that remained clamped over his mouth, as Chunky struggled to thrash his head from side to side. His body arched and bucked, rattling the ladder as a CCTV camera zoomed silently in on the event.

Robert removed his hand from the crotch and then slowly released the gasping mouth. “Fucking hell” breathed the prone man.

“Time for another break, A.J.” said Robert gently “ ... but I don’t think I should let you up just yet. Give you a calm down period. Do you want to try a gag for a while?”

A.J. shook his head, not vehemently but grateful for being given the choice.

“OK” said the youth “Not this time - but some other time perhaps - yes?”

“Yes” admitted Chunky before his mind subsided inside the darkness of the blindfold.

Robert looked at his watch and went to see if the other member of the team had arrived, and the next phase of the game was being setting up.


It was the first time Chunky had ever woken up in full restraint. Sometimes in the past when he’d tied himself up he’d managed to nod off, but of course the self-applied bondage always had to be escapable - but this time, having drifted off, he came to ... suddenly aware of his total inability to do anything - except call out. ‘Damn’ why did he turn down the gag - then his situation would have been more intense. But the restraint was real enough - and total except he could move his head from side to side on the leather pillow - yes, it was leather. Through the thickly padded suit he could feel the ladder - and he wondered how long before it became a problem. As he continued to lie there (what else could he do - as he wasn’t going to call out) he found that his mind accepted that he was there until somebody let him up - and unless he pulled the plug on the whole experience he had no influence over what might happen next.

‘Is this Pink Cloud?’ he wondered. If it is, it’s fucking uncomfortable.

Perhaps his attempts to get a bit more comfortable attracted attention, because suddenly there was somebody approaching. A couple of snips and one arm was loose. More snips and his neck and other arm. Then his legs were free and an unseen hand was urging him to sit up. Cautiously he sat up and swung his legs off the ladder. He sat for a moment.

“Take the blindfold off in your own time - I’ve turned the lights down a bit”.

Cautiously Chunky’s boots felt for the floor. His ankles were still circled by metal and chained together. He felt his wrists with gloved hands and knew the suit was still locked shut. He pulled at the blindfold that came away easily, but his eyes closed against the light - which was, in fact, quite dim.

He blinked at the smiling Robert.

How’ya doin’?” the kid said as he handed him a beer “Or would you rather have water?”

Chunky took the beer and continued to look directly into the sparkling eyes.

“You little cunt he said with more humour than threat - and then he took a long pull at the beer.

“Hardly that. So, an hour and a half gone” observed the younger man “You agreed two. Are you up for more - or have you had enough?”

“I’ll survive” smiled the man who could never resist a challenge. He looked again at the wrist manacles and the chain that was still around his waist. “Do I stay in this suit?”

“Oh I think so - but what I had in mind for the next lot of pictures might take longer that the agreed time”

“How much longer?”

“Depends. I’m not going to keep you here against your will ... not this time around, anyway”

“Not until you know me better?” joked Chunky.

“Precisely,” he nodded. “Do you need to be home by the time Sarah finishes work?”

“No, I ... er ... told her I might be busy this evening” admitted Chunky, a bit embarrassed.

“Did you, indeed! Then the next little scenario I’ve laid on needn’t be rushed. I thought we could use a change of scene - and I did want to show you around a bit - and we could get some pictures in another space.”

“The cellar - Is it finished?” asked Chunky.

“Up and running - already christened ... but there are other spaces I know you’d like to see - but for the photo shoot, er .... are you any good at tying?”

“Yes,” said Chunky without any hesitation or modesty “Why?”.

“Well now, I was hoping you would say that ... but you don’t get out of the suit ... and the shackles stay on ... we can’t have you running around loose. Finish your beer”.

As Robert turned away to a wall cupboard Chunky got down from the ladder which he now saw was an integral part of a low cage, and hinged to stand upright or lie flat or be removed when not in use. As he finished his beer Robert approached with a short chain.

“It’s just a house rule that, when transporting ‘detainees’ from place to place, they remain restrained.

Chunky good-humouredly indicated that his wrists were already separately shackled. Robert clipped one end of the chain he was holding to one shackle and then attached the other about a foot further along the chain ... which left another nine inches dangling untidily.

“Put your hands behind your neck” instructed Robert, and Chunky co-operated.

The lose end of chain was soon fastened across the front of his collar forming a circle of chain around his throat, the hands hanging on either side of his neck and he was not able to lower them.

“Neat” observed Chunky.

“Simple and efficient” countered Robert. “I won’t bother to link your waist chain to the ankle manacles as a control hobble. I think you will be interested to accompany me and see what’s been going on outside.”

“Outside” echoed Chunky, suddenly not so sure.

But Robert had turned and headed back through the changing room leaving the older man to follow - which he did as quickly as the chain between his ankles would allow.


Rather than re-entering the shop, Robert opened a side door that lead out into a small enclosed yard. The door was already swinging closed behind him and Chunky only reached it in the nick of time, holding it open with his elbow, not having the use of his hands. He edged his way through the door and into the yard.

A small closed van and a well-preserved army land rover were parked on the old cobbles, and there were low buildings all with bricked-up windows on two sides and a higher building completed the enclosed square. Chunky immediately recognised the potential of this open air but not overlooked space - including the two sturdy wooden posts set away from one corner of the yard, a useful-looking horizontal hitching post-like metal arrangement and at least two surveillance cameras. His mind raced, but Robert was disappearing, not down the small flight of brick stairs as he had hoped, but into a substantial old two story building that must have been built for industrial use of some sort.

With hands locked to his shoulders and his over-sized boots manacled a foot apart, Chunks felt self-conscious as he trod cautiously on the uneven cobbles. He was conscious of watching his step ... Watch his step! He had already walked into the lion’s den - but he quickly followed after Robert.

Chunky recognised the Victorian tiles of the old dairy. The cool bright space had been adapted imaginatively: high bricked-up windows were now covered with mirrors and the lighting was subdued; sleek but functional overhead system of metal bars, lights and pulleys (and at least two CCTV cameras) offered the same sort of facilities as the indoor studio and the tiled walls and floor with several inset drains promised different opportunities. Apart from, in one corner, some neat chrome wall racks it was not quite an empty space because ... close to the far wall a figure stood spread-eagled between two metal posts. Chunky’s heart leapt as he recognised the dull yellow of an American fire-fighter’s waterproofs complete with rubber hip boots with day-glow stripes and toe caps (steel toe-caps, he had no doubt). The mask under the authentic-looking safety helmet looked strangely dense - the visor had been blacked out. He moved towards the figure as if drawn by a magnet.

He inspected the tethered wrists, the hands were covered with rigid-looking horse-hide mitts that disappeared inside the bulky cuffs of the over-coat, where neat wrist shackles locked the mitts, while in addition serving as anchor-points to string up the arms. Chunky realised that his own wrists were locked into identical manacles currently attaching his uselessly hanging gloved hands on either side of his neck. He turned to Robert who beamed.

“Thought you might like that. Rigged it up specially for you. Don’t worry, the mask is blacked out and he’s gagged underneath it”.

“How long’s he been here?”

“Not as long as he would like -- but trust me he’s happy as a pig in shit ... but you may come as a bit of a surprise to him. He wasn’t expecting a stranger - were you Larry?” the young man shouted at the rubberised all-over mask under the exotic looking American safety helmet. The immobilised figure stared back blindly and mutely as Chunky continued to drink in the sight before him.

Larry, this is A.J.” Robert continued talking into the cheek of the mask. “Say Hello to A.J.” he continued loudly, but the figure remained impassive. “He’s come to play with you - in the nicest possible way”.

Robert turned to Chunky and prepared to unlock the chain around his neck “But ... let me tell you about Larry, A.J” Robert explained, “He’s mean - and if given half a chance will take control and then watch out. I wouldn’t trust him an inch. He’ll grab at any opportunity you give him - so, I’d like to get some pictures of you releasing him from this spread-eagle and repositioning him somewhere else. Are you up for that?” asked the youth as he released Chunky’s wrists (but leaving the single locked shackles that circled each cuff making the thick work gloves impossible to remove).

“I’m off to get the cameras - there’s some gear hanging on the rack over there” announced Robert leaving the two soon-to-be adversaries face to face. Chunky’s heart was racing. He checked first the cuffs of the spread-eagled man and then stooped to inspect the ankles. He had always envied the American fire-fighters their rubber hip boots and always wanted a pair. He ran a firm hand slowly up them from ankle to thigh - and then explored the canvas pants that disappeared under the waders. These intrigued him; were they oilskin or waxed waterproof. His hand felt the surface exposed above the waders ... and then slid between the spread legs of the helpless man - who suddenly bucked fiercely within the limits of his chains. Being only attached at wrists and ankles the body movement was considerable ... but Chunky held his ground and, grabbing a fistful of jacket, kept his other hand firmly under the stranger’s crotch, pressing against him with his full bodyweight to stop the violent bucking. It must have been painful on the guy’s hands shackled as they were to the top of the wide frame. Having demonstrated his control, Chunky smiled into the sightless face and proceeded to grope the sizeable cock. “Don’t like that, huh? Good!” he said continuing to massage harder. “Let’s hear just how much noise you can make, chummy” and with that he suddenly squeezed.

A muffled roar penetrated the mask. “Gagged are we?” hissed the newly liberated Chunky Proctor. “How gagged? - very gagged or only slightly gagged? Let me hear you, matey”. Again a vicious twist of the cock and balls produced thrashing and something resembling a scream.

“I think we can live with that noise level” said Chunky, surprising even himself.

But Robert was returning, so Chunky turned his attention to the wall rack and cupboard that contained a useful range of ropes and chains and straps. The ceiling had winches and a couple of hanging bars, there were wall bars and several useful looking floor fixing points. High-level mirrors gave the place a light airy feeling, but there was also a mirrored section of wall, Chunky was please to see.

“I think,” said Robert, “ some good shots of one fire-fighter untying and re-tying another is what’s needed. I think Larry could survive a quite stressful position - if you could dream one up - and manage to get him there. I leave it to you, A.J. Consider me a fly on the wall ... but if you get yourself into difficulties or leave yourself open ... I’m not here to help ... just record the action. OK? You up for that?

Chunky shrugged and considered his options. His suit and gloves were cumbersome but he was used to working in them. The suit felt strangely loose because of no clothes under it and his booted feet were more in contact with the floor than usual and chained together - but he would enjoy the challenge. Robert was already filming - this time with a video camera. Chunky realised his face would be visible in these shots - but somehow he didn’t care - there was a challenge to meet. This guy was well secured in a quite stressful position - so where should he take him next?

Suddenly working quickly, Chunky selected a short but heavy piece of rope and, returning behind his quarry, circled the rope around the guy’s chest from behind in a smooth move. Robert knew that he could keep his video coverage in close-up because the two remote-control cameras were recording long-shots from different angles; Alan panning and zooming skilfully as he watched the monitors in the shop.

A low kick-stool, useful for reaching high shelves in a kitchen, was standing near the cupboard. This Chunky moved cautiously with his (chained) feet in the hope of standing on it behind his victim to reach the wrists shackled high on the frame. But first the rope that circled the yellow oilskin covered chest was attached to a hook hanging from a chain and pulley directly above the spread-eagled figure. Finding the winch control, the rope soon began to tighten until it was almost under the armpits below the victim’s raised arms.

Taking his time, Chunky selected what he needed from the wall rack and turned his attention to the kick-stool and wrist manacles. He was used to the bulkiness of his jacket, but working with his hands high was an extra challenge, so he risked the precariousness of the low stool. Before releasing the clips that held each wrist aloft and wide apart, he first threaded a piece of rope through the anchor point on each. This would give him total control of a wrist as he separately released and repositioned it.

Robert moved in close to capture the process on video, but keeping far enough back in case Larry pulled one of his familiar tricks. The experienced prisoner, as soon as he sensed one wrist being released, grabbed for a chance to make life difficult for whoever this stranger was.

The camera shifted quickly to witness the moment as Chunky determinedly dragged the flailing arm down and, after a slight struggle, twist it up behind the wildly bucking back. There, the rope was soon made off well out of harms way to the central pulley chain above the violently thrashing head. It was a neat arrangement. Releasing and twisting the second mitted hand high up behind the now furious captive and tying it off was easier and more fun for Chunky.

Next, as an experiment, Chunky winched the chest rope higher. Because it was now trapped under the bent arms, the tightening rope took full body weight, supporting the body but putting no extra strain on the hands, helpless between the shoulder-blades.

Robert carefully recorded this ingenious and stressful position, because now the still wide-spread feet were almost winched off the ground by the upward pull of the chest rope, but still anchored to the floor. From behind, Chunky smiled and stooped down to explore the insides of the now straining canvas covered legs inside the hip boots, rubbing his hands over them and bringing his head forward through his victim’s legs, the back of his neck pressing upwards under his captive’s crotch ... causing the tethered boots to leave the floor temporarily.

“Is that stressed enough for you?” he asked into the camera. and Robert panned the camera up the writhing body.

Chunky stood up and walked away as fast as his hobbled ankles would allow, and returned with chain, a padlock and more rope. First he added a waist-chain just like the one still locked around his own waist. The heavy yellow oilskin jacket creaked and bundled up very satisfyingly as the chain was pulled as tight as he could get it before pad-locking it.

This achieved, Chunky hitched up his own cumbersome pants and knelt to attend to the still spread wide and not quite off the ground feet. Again he attached a rope to each ankle shackle separately before releasing either. Sightless, the victim did not know what was going to happen until too late. The first ankle rope, already threaded through the back of the waist chain yanked the first foot upwards bending the knee without warning. The victim, now suspended by the chest and with one foot still tethered sideways and the other leg hauled back and upwards, roared with rage inside his mask. When the second foot left the ground the trussed bundle just hung there for a moment, boots twisted upwards and arms twisted backwards and upwards. Then the body began to jerk and jolt helplessly, the full bodyweight now hanging from the thick rope loop around the heavily padded jacket. Chunky gave his victim a hearty push before turning and giving a grin directly into the camera. The expertly trussed oilskin and rubber-booted bundle continued to swing and twist and then began to revolve slowly ... as three cameras recorded the development.

Pleased with himself Chunky clanked his way back to the wall cupboard where he had seen a towel. He mopped some sweat from his face and rubbed his short hair while looking to Robert for approval ... but Robert was occupied filming the ingenious predicament as the seething, suffering bundle continued to revolve.

“You want to take a break?” the sweating fireman asked Robert and then loudly into Larry’s rubber-covered ear asked “You want to take a break?”. He gripped two fistfuls of the tough yellow jacket and pulled it towards him. “I asked you a question, Buddy! Let me hear something from you?” Muffled cursing from within brought a smile from both Chunky and Robert.

Having switched off the camera Robert asked “Do you get a bigger kick out of tying than being tied?”

“I think it’s just the American gear that got to me. It’s great - where did it come from? It’s authentic - and used - I can smell the smoke - you can never get rid of it!”

“There’s a British company imports it - new or used stuff - they also sell your sort of suit. Pukka stuff - used”

“Yeah? - I wouldn’t mind owning my own set - but these are great” said Chunky, his hands roaming over the trussed figure.

Wanna give him another change of position?” asked Robert.

“OK - any preferences?”

“Do your worst - our Larry enjoys stressful positions.”

“Then he shall have one” said Chunky setting to work.

As the camera lined up for a low shot of the dangling figure, Fire-fighter Proctor hitched up his pants and spread his feet as far apart as his manacled boots would allow. In this heroic stance he slowly winched down the revolving figure until the bent knees were just touching the tiled floor. Winching further the trussed body began to tilt, balancing lightly on the rubber covered knee-caps. A few more inches and the bodyweight was sagging heavily to one side. A playful push sent the body falling to tilt helplessly in the opposite direction. A quick press of the electric winch control allowed the body to subside gently to the floor with the twisted figure lying face down, ankles tethered to the waist chain, arms attached above the back of the neck but attached only to the winch rope ... so they were now not as tight as they had been previously.

Roberts’ camera was alert to this possible danger point and watched in close-up as the bulky, rubber booted British Fireman knelt to untie and re-tie the American hip boots together although still attached to the back of the waist chain - and the leather-mitted hands missed a chance to lash out ... before Chunky noticed the slack in the rope. He calmly guided / dragged the two reluctant hands and roped them to the ankles. Just for good measure this fierce hog-tie was then re-connected to the hanging winch rope and the line tightened just enough to pull wrists and ankles slightly upwards.

As Robert filmed enthusiastically, crawling around the floor, Chunky sat on the kick-stool and admired his handiwork ... but after what seemed to him to be quite a long time just drinking in the sight of the struggling figure, he asked “How’d you think he’s coping in there?”

“Don’t know - not a position I’ve ever found myself in.” observed Robert.

“Me neither” said Chunky,

“How do you think you would deal with it?” speculated Robert.

The two men looked at each other steadily.

“Don’t know.” responded Chunky, knowing where this conversation was leading. “Like you said ... you can’t really imagine what something like that feels like ... until you’ve tried it.

Wanna try it now?” There was a pause “Shots of the two of you, both tied the same would look hot”.

“If that’s what you’d like ... sure.”

“If that’s what I’d like?! Yes. that’s what I’d like” decided Robert emphatically.


Chunky promptly hobbled away towards the cupboard again and returned with two lengths of the thinner rope and a thicker piece like the one around Larry’s chest.

“I think we’re going to find we have a lot in common, you and I” smiled Robert as he put down the camera. “Hands behind your back”.

Chunky obliged and an efficient rope square lashing soon rendered him helpless.

“Kneel down” ordered the younger man, and Chunky knelt cautiously, aware of the chain between his manacled ankles.

“There is another blacked-out mask if your game.” offered Robert.

“Game for anything, that’s me” joked the man who had for years resisted imagining situations of this sort. Robert looked at him quizzically and, having replaced the leg-irons with another neat piece of rope lashing, walked away to the wall cupboard while Chunky knelt looking at the painfully hog-tied other ‘victim’, wondering what it would feel like and whether he could deal with it - and how long he might get left in it.

When Robert returned with the mask he also carried a padded mouth cover and strap.

“He’s gagged under his helmet. Can you deal with that?” Chunky licked his lips and nodded determinedly. It was only then that he saw the sort of gag it was.

“Open up” said Robert as a substantial black plastic mouth stuffer shaped like the head of a penis approached Chunky’s open mouth.

‘This is no time to chicken out’ Chunky told himself silently as his lips received the stumpy veined head of a penis. He watched his own eyes in the mirror as Robert stood behind him securing the strap, Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Usually I advise against having a gag under a full helmet ... but a zip-closed is quicker to get off than laces. How’s that feel?” Chunky’s eyes bulged at him for a moment before his head gave a solemn nod. “Sure you’re OK?” confirmed Robert. Again Chunky nodded very deliberately.

The trussed figure on the floor stirred suddenly and booted ankles began to jerk violently against the waist chain. This was followed by determined struggling against the rope that held the bodyweight up on the winch rope.. Chunky suddenly desperately needed to say something ... and Robert whipped the gag out with surprising speed.

“Is he OK?” said Chunky, concerned.

“I think you will find he’s deliciously OK” said Robert. “We have a pre-agreed, very easy to read signal if there’s a real problem. Three measured grunts or three distinct nods of the head. Only use it if you want the game to stop. There lies the danger ... If you use the signal the game will stop immediately - but it won’t start again - not that session anyway. He’s just enjoying the luxury of a good self-indulgent struggle. So ... remember that, three grunts or nods and you’re out ... but only if it’s a serious problem. Agreed?”

“Oh ... OK. Agreed.” agreed Chunky, wondering in what circumstances he might ever be forced to use the ‘let out’ signal.

Robert was holding the gag up in front of his face “OK?” he was asking again “under a blacked out helmet.

“If he can deal with it so can I” determined Chunky, rashly.

“That’s the spirit” cooed Robert as he pushed the gag home, strapped it tightly and proceeded to encase Chunky’s head with inescapable rubber.

By the time Robert had circled Chunky’s chest with the thicker rope in preparation for suspension ... and lashed his already roped ankles to his already roped wrists, another figure had silently entered the room. As Robert helped his now not quite so confident victim from a kneeling position onto his face Alan had taken up the video camera and was filming the process. A second winch was lowered - about six feet away from where Larry lay. The hook was attached to Chunky’s connected wrists and ankles and tightened very gently skywards.

Chunky felt the rope pull his weight half off the floor. The plug in his mouth, the effort of breathing inside the mask, his naked skin inside the suit (including a very sticky crotch but once again stiff dick) ... all sent unfamiliar messages to his brain. It was too late to wonder why the fuck he’d thought this would be fun - but he intended to survive it. After all it was the position he’d put the other bloke into. Had that been a deliberate invitation? Is that how it works? Well, that’s worth remembering for the next time - and there would be a next time. He already knew this. Trying to imagine what his contorted body must look like from outside ... remembering how his yellow-clad counterpart had looked - Chunky settled in to savour the sensation of being totally, for the second time in one day, without responsibility for or power over what was to happen next.


And what was to happen next was to live on for years in the minds of all those involved ... plus the many who later saw the video. Robert had planned well, and Alan had managed to whistle up the ideal person to handle the next event. While Robert tightened the winch pulling Larry a little further off the floor and Alan filmed the process, another figure silently entered the tiled room. He was already dressed for action, being totally encased in a full shining black commercial diver’s dry suit, booted and with neck and wrist seals tight shut.

As the two trussed figures shifted, almost floating face-down but with some weight still on the floor, the three figures swiftly prepared the necessary equipment. Two pairs of rubber boots ensured that Robert and Alan would not get wet feet once the water started to fly. A substantial hosepipe was rolled out from it’s special rack by the black-suited figure as both cameras were made ready.

At a give signal a surprisingly strong jet of water hit first one and then the second trussed figure, causing them to twist and swing. Robert deftly adjusted a lamp so the spray bouncing off the charcoal suited fire-fighter and his yellow clad American counterpart glittered and splashed. The rubber covered hose operator gleefully moved into shot as he dowsed the couple who reacted violently within their bonds as they lay/hung/swung hog-tied and partially suspended face down with water thudding onto and running off them.

Then reducing the flow, the suitably protected rubberman stooped to un-hitch first one and then the other fireman from their winch ropes ... before hosing them both down again at full pressure as they adjusted to their new positions, now free enough to roll around hog-tied on the wet and slippery floor.

Next, having turned the water off, the diver knelt firmly on Chunky’s shoulders and released the rope that connected ankles to wrists. Chunky, relieved from his stressful position but still bound hand and foot, sightless and gagged, thrashed around on the wet tiles as the diver also released Larry’s ankles. In a pre-planned development, Alan now stepped in, the rubber thigh-high waders he’d chosen equipping him for the developments ... and with Robert still filming plus two CCTV cameras also recording (in the capable hands of whoever was currently ‘minding the store’) two chest ropes around two dripping figures were quickly re-attached to two winches and both were soon being remorselessly dragged upright.

The water was soon on again and Robert, flushed with excitement was getting shots of cascades of water bouncing off the two now standing but part-suspended bound figures. Hose still spurting, the diver’s boot set first one and then the other figure swinging violently. Because their ankles were tied, the two ‘victims’ lost and regained their footing on the slippery floor as the jet of water and well aimed prodding kept them off balance.

As an impromptu extension of the scene, Alan signalled that he should take over the hose so the totally rubber-clad guy could be free to harass the two suspended figures and at the same time be a target for the jet of water. This inspired new ideas and a rope soon tied the two trussed figures back to back, suspended jointly because the two winch ropes were now dragged together. Upper arms on each side were roped as water splashed and bounced, directed by enthusiastic Alan. The happy rubberman knelt and, in a chaos of struggling and drenchings, released and re-tied ankles one to the other, the two men suddenly connected to and dependent upon each other if they were to retain a footing on firm ground.

The water suddenly off, Alan and the dripping diver used floor fixings to drag the ankles until the two men stood back-to-back, both with legs spread wide and jointly supported by the winch rope. Alan placed himself before Larry and jabbed him a couple of times in the gut. This pushed him hard back against Chunky suddenly, throwing them both off balance, Having regained the footing the diver found Chunkys’ rigid cock through his thick pants and grated the end of his knob against the tough fabric. His violent squirming immediately transmitted through to his yellow-clad alter ego.

The exhilaration subsided and three pairs of eyes decided that a final phase would be for the two victims to be left alone to experience their predicament for a while and perhaps find their own solution to their problem. Ankles were released from floor fixings leaving the two back-to-back men a slight independence, but the winch rope that still held them upright, lashed at the elbows, was lowered enough that the trussed pair might perhaps sit or kneel even though still attached to the winch and each other. A few knots were partially untied to allow some chance of escape if they, sightless and gagged could co-operate to work out a solution in their mute blindness.

Then, in a voice loud enough for the masked men to hear, Alan asked them, individually, if either had any problem with the gag or breathing, to which each man indicated ‘No problem’.

He explained to them that the remote cameras were still running and there would be no further help without a ‘danger’ signal of three nods by either of them - in which case the one who didn’t nod had ‘won’. So, the new game was for them to, between them, find a way out of their predicament, however long it took ... there would be no outside help.. The keys to the metal manacles that locked both suits in place were upstairs - but getting free of one another must be a joint effort.

With that, there was a general exit and silence fell in the echoing damp darkness of their two masks.


Chunk’s head ... was somewhere else. His response to the question about the gag and his breathing being OK had been a spontaneous defence against the experience ending ... but the experience, he suddenly realised, was happening to somebody else. His head ... his brain had become detached from his physical body.

In the darkness, the pressure gripping his entire skull, the smell of rubber and sweat, the sound in his ears of his own laboured breathing ... laboured because the pressure of the gag pad and strap on the outside of his cheeks was matched by the pressure of the massive bung that filled his mouth and made his jaw virtually immovable. Thank God there was an air hole through the gag. He sucked in the warm damp air from inside his gasmask. His tongue struggled within the unfamiliar confines to deal with saliva that built up and dribbled away beyond his control into the darkness of the rubber head-prison. The encasement was so total the rest of his body was somewhere ... other than where his brain was dealing with the sensations that were not going to overwhelm him (he had decided that) but he remained centred within this little sphere of ... senses.

When the gag and blacked-out mask had first gone on, his body was ready to deal with the insistent sensations; the padded suit against his skin, the newly roped wrists and ankles inside gloves and boots, the challenging hog-tie and unfamiliar but survivable tensions of the partial suspension. Trapped in this sensual web, the water had come as a welcome distraction. He was used to water hitting the outside of his padded suit, but as his brain tried to read the signs he felt and heard, he realised that the brain had stopped trying to visualise. It had withdrawn to concentrate on his enclosed scalp and unusable mouth and eyes. His brain, this centre for all his senses, was still able to hear his breathing and smell the pungent odours ... but beyond this, his memories of images seen or imagined seemed somehow ... what? ... separate from what he was feeling.

This was a state of mind he had perhaps sometimes ... sensed, that ‘bondage’ could achieve, even before he had experienced it. Was this a moment in life he had been aiming for instinctively. Was it a memory of the womb - that sounds like crap, but it’s a way he’d read it described - and now he knew what they meant. He was in limbo ... a warm, damp, dark, physically confined limbo ... with some sort of limited consciousness within this dark but red-hazed other world. Why slightly red? Was it the blood pressurised in his temples and the arteries of his neck. He stopped thinking to listen to the pumping - the thudding as his blood forced it’s way past the unusual pressure all over his scalp. Only his head. Only his head was ... aware.

How long these complicated and new-to-him thoughts engaged him he had no way of knowing ... but an insistent tugging at his finger-ends brought him to a consciousness that someone, somewhere was doing ... something. One of his gloves! One of his gloves was being ... gripped. It was being jerked. It was being tugged. He tried to concentrate, formulate a picture in his otherwise occupied brain.

In the darkness he dragged his mind from it’s reverie. The cuff, the locked cuff of some far away sleeve of some half-remembered suit was feeling something - the knitted cuff of his glove was moving reluctantly, grating his wrist. His glove was being forced out from under the retaining band of metal and ... he remembered (before the darkness) his wrists had been roped together ... under the rope and single metal shackle, one glove was ... moving.

His distant fingers began to sense the glove ... sliding and suddenly coldness and wetness. He knew the feel of his call-out suit ... it was very wet ... and what else was there? Oilskin ... and was it leather? An urgent prodding at his fingers intruded into his isolated headspace.

As if somebody had switched on a light he could visualise two fire-fighters, one dark the other dull yellow,  lashed bicep to bicep, back to back standing with legs spread and heads imprisoned. He was back from wherever he’d been. One of his hands was now gloveless and leather mitts urgently prodded his fingers. He gripped a leather mitt end with his thumb and finger - gave an experimental tug. The mitt removed itself and from above his hand he felt the rope-lashed wrists of the man fixed to him, move closer to his fingers. Chunky (his predicament suddenly a clear picture in his mind) became the man he used to be. His exposed fingers again squeezed the hand of the man who had freed his fingers, it was a signal - a ‘thank you’. The wet rope that circled the leather mitts was easier to reach than his own ... but he could perhaps first pull off his own second glove to better tackle the knots embedded into wet oilskin. This took a struggle but his other glove eventually escaped from underneath it’s metal shackle.

Now, in spite of his wrists being tied together, he attacked the ropes above the heavy leather mitts wondering as he did if anything would release the rigid mitts from under those shackles as he remembered them. The knots were not too complicated but blind and breathing with difficulty Chunky fought to concentrate his minds-eye. At last his slightly numb fingers felt the oilskin wrists separate. Mitted hands stayed to clasp his own fingers in a gesture of thanks or congratulations but, of course, the battle was far from over.

It took two gloveless hands pulling downwards and the wearer of the mitts co-ordinating the upward pull to free first one hand and then, as their mutual excitement grew, the second reluctant mitt was dragged clear and fell away. Four unseen wet hands grasped one another. The flats of palms greeted one another in triumph. Chunky’s wrists were still roped but it would be an easy task now to unrope them.

Fingers picked at the lashings, feeling for knots. It wasn’t so simple. The bulk of the oilskin jacket and limited arm movement between them made it slow going. Suddenly the hands removed themselves and Chunky felt the dragging of an oilskin sleeve between them as an elbow bent and newly released fingers began tugging at the rope that joined their biceps together. In his mind’s eye he watched the lashed together bodies squirm. He felt the straining to reach between the two backs to release at least one elbow to make it easier to un-rope his wrists. Chunky collaborated to help the severely restricted arm get closer to the bicep. He felt the warmth as the two upper backs writhed and pressed together. Even through his thick suit he felt the two different fabrics rub. He heard the surfaces dragged against one another together ... and he could feel the warmth. Then he felt the binding loosen and suddenly they could move apart ... at least on one side.

In the darkness he now felt an eager hand reach between them to tackle the remaining roped pair of biceps. He felt a sudden broader movement as his ‘partner’ decide to turn and bring them almost face to face so he could work in front rather than behind his back. It was easier. Smart move! The second elbow lashing fell away and they stood separate. Oilskin arms hugged him in triumph, a long, firm, warm hug ... and then he heard movement and waited for his wrists to be untied.

He heard what sounded like the chest rope being removed from around oilskin and felt the winch rope around his own chest slacken as the two linked winch ropes were separated ‘Good move’ he thought as the unseen figure was now free to help him ... but then, like a hollow echo he heard inside his head Robert’s remark “If he gets half a chance he’ll take control and then watch out. I wouldn’t trust him an inch.” Chunky backed off slightly, but now he heard the winch motor start and his jacket began to bunch up under his armpits, his still bound wrists keeping the chest rope in place as it shortened upwards slowly.

In blind fury he lashed out with a steel-toed rubber boot ... and the action caused him to swing off balance, and his second boot left the slippery floor ... but he didn’t fall. The winch rope was not high enough to lift him clear of the floor yet but he swung with bent knees before regaining his footing. Unable to see anything, it was not a simple task for Larry to use one of the discarded ropes to circle Chunky’s knees. Bucking and struggling he fought the grip in spite of the increasing pull of the winch. He felt his legs clamped against something solid ... and decided it was Larry’s chest - he must be kneeling. Was this bastard still masked or could he see, damn him? Chunky fought to kick into the mass that was hugging his legs - but all too soon his feet were leaving the floor.

Could he drop-kick? ... no he couldn’t. A violent push sent him spinning and he was swinging ... aimlessly. In the darkness he felt arms encircle his boots and there more rope lashed around and between. In spite of a serious tussle the ankles were soon as fixed as his knees. Shit! The winch stopped ... Chunky dangled and seethed ... there was nothing more he could do.

A dangerous silence developed and Chunky’s ears began to tune in to pick up whatever sounds might penetrate his mask. He controlled his breathing to hear better. A zipper opened - Larry’s mask! Fuck, had this guy done the chest rope and both leg ropes blind? ... including the winch control ... or was there somebody else there helping him?

Again he listened, breathless after the struggle. Oilskin creaked and rustled away into the distance and returned. An unfamiliar voice said loudly for his benefit “Oh, this water tastes great. Shall I tip some down your neck? No, I don’t think I shall come near you yet, you might lash out with your big black boots. But you look great there, mate. Bob told me you were bringing that suit. It looks fucking great just hanging there dripping. Did you know you were still dripping? None of the water got into my suit ... how about yours? I might have a look in a minute. Strip it off you. Strip you naked and have my wicked way with you!”

Chunky sensed a movement but had no way of knowing from which direction it was coming. His feet were suddenly dragged backwards in mid-air, and held him hanging at an angle. He didn’t swing back because his feet had been tied-off to some distant anchor point. Chunky again bucked and jolted his knees and hips to test the tethering rope. It held ... he would have been surprised if it hadn’t. He just hung there ... at an uncomfortable angle ... knowing that he had no decisions to make. Was this really what he wanted?! Is this what he’d fantasised about? Whichever way, he was in no position to argue or complain. He could nod his head three times. It might be tempting to test the signal to find out if it really worked or would just be ignored. He decided not to risk it.

The next sounds he heard were difficult to interpret: A door had opened; somebody coming in? Somebody going out? Silence! Was he alone?... but he guessed the cameras were still running ... so Chunky trashed and jerked within the limits. If it was still a fucking photo session he’d give them their money’s worth. The rope around his chest was cutting into the padded jacket and his lashed wrists were useless. By twisting his stressful body angle, he could be lying slightly on his back like in a hammock or with his chest downwards, which was not easy on his back. He worked out that his ankles must be tethered to something about three feet off the floor ... a wall bar, he concluded dispassionately. With an effort he switched back to the hammock position ... and suddenly he was alert to more sounds.

Metal? - Wheels? “Getting uncomfortable?” asked the voice. “You were experimenting with stressful positions earlier. You did a good job on me, but you’ll discover that what goes around, comes around in this place. You stretch my back and I’ll stretch yours, you might say! But now, I think you’re going to appreciate this ... not a lot ... but with a little good luck I can soon make you more comfortable ... just for a little while.”  With that the winch sprang into life and Chunky’s buttocks started to descend slowly while his ankles stayed tethered off to one side. He thought he would end up sitting on the floor, but with a little scuffling around he felt something move beneath him before he reached floor level. Was it a chair or stool? His whole body sprang into action again - but a hand grabbed the neck shackle from behind a high metal chair back and Chunky wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m making you comfortable!” insisted the firm voice reasonably but Chunky decided that a bit more fight was in order. “Sit fucking still!” the voice insisted as his wrists were jerked roughly downwards. There was obviously space in the back of the chair for manacled or roped hands to fit through. Chunky felt his wrists fixed to something below seat level. “Now, just to give you a sporting chance I’m going to tell you that I’m going to untie your feet next ... because I like to see you struggle blindly ... and the camera guys like to see you struggle ... and Charlie likes to see you struggle. He told me. He’s got plans for you. Here goes with the feet. Go for it!”

And with that Chunky felt his feet released from whatever had been tethering them and he was ready to kick out at anything that moved ... but from behind the chair far away from his feet ... something was being passed low around his waist and was soon pulling him back firmly into the seat. A strap, identified Chunky. This was followed by a strap around each bicep fixing them immovably to the sides of the chair back and forcing his bound wrists uncomfortably apart. More movement behind him and he felt his wrists being loosened. “Don’t want you uncomfortable” said the commentator as the right wrist was pulled sideways and quickly strapped to the chair directly below his elbow. This left the other wrist free, except that it was already strapped at the elbow so could reach nothing ... and so waited for the inevitable. A firm hand took hold of it ... and it did not resist. “There’s a good boy” cooed the voice as the second wrist was strapped. “No point in inviting trouble - unless you enjoy a bit of trouble. After what you did to me when you first got to me ... expect trouble, Chunky - or A.J. Oh, I’ve been well briefed. I know how to freak you out.”

A hand landed heavily on Chunky’s crotch. His legs, although bound at knee and ankle, were free to kick out ... but the hand came from behind the chair. “Sickening, isn’t it, when all the cards are stacked against you - so, just sit back and take it like a man ... Chunky old mate ... new mate ... playmate”. The knees were un-roped and pulled apart to strap them to the sides of the seat, followed by ankles that put up no further struggle. “Good! Okay ... now where do we go from here?” questioned the guy who Chunky now thought of as his Controller ... and suddenly the seat tilted backwards.


Like a porter’s trolley, the chair had wheels that only touched the ground when it was tilted back, and behind the chair there were grip handles. Chunky felt himself trundled forwards, and after a slight hesitation at the door, cobbles jarred the padded seat. Without this, Chunks would not have known he was out of doors because his suit and boots and mask still totally sealed him in. Only un-gloved hands felt the October air.

“Now which way shall we go?” teased the pusher of the chair “In which direction shall I push you? I hear you want to be pushed, Chunky-baby. So ... to our left we have the wrestling room. Padded floor and walls. Lot’s of fun and testing goes on in there. Or ... straight ahead, the cell block. I could wheel you right into a steel cage and if necessary chain you down ... or hang you up. You already have nice neat shackles at neck and each wrist and around your waist. Easy to add ankle shackles to match and, if necessary, another one around your scrotum. Nothing like the ball-sack for anchoring a man down ... or up. An unslippable circle of steal around your scrotum? How’s that sound?” A heavy hand again fell on his crotch and squeezed ... and Chunky just sat there. What else could he do?

After this token demonstration, the voice continued but the chair didn’t move. “What will be the padded cell one day, isn’t ready yet ... but young Bob has developed a neat way of getting somebody into a strait-jacket without there being a fucking thing they can do to stop it. He maybe a lightweight but it doesn’t matter how much of a fight you put up, he’s worked out a way to get you there, like it or not. Believe me, I know from experienced! He used me to practice on - and once he gets you there, you stay there until he decides to let you free. Another nice alternative is to load you into a van and whisk you off to some un-named destination. Great psychological trip ... being taken somewhere ... who knows where. Maybe out into the countryside ... maybe a cellar somewhere, never to be seen again”. The chair began to move again but stopped suddenly. “But, of course, we’ve got the new cellar here. Once down there nobody would hear you even if you weren’t gagged. I like to hear a bit of unbridled yelling. I guess I could get the chair down the steps ... might be a bit of a bumpy ride ... and you’re in any position to argue at present! ... are you? Are you!!” insisted the voice. A sudden whack across the rubber-covered head resounded inside Chunky’s mask, making him bite down on the bung with his aching jaw. “Answer me when I’m talking to you, fucker!! You are in no position to argue ... but you can communicate - can’t you!?” Chunky hesitated for a moment before giving a single nod (as far as his anchored collar would permit). “Yes! Exactly! So, are you ready to give the three nod signal yet? ... so you can get let out?”

Chunky sat motionless. Another whack across the head made Chunky nervous and frustrated rather than angry, but he remained motionless. The hand grabbed his crotch viciously. “Answer me, dammit! The choice is yours - out now or stay in for at least another two hours. Nod for get out, shake for stay in”. Although he desperately needed a drink and was beginning to feel the need to piss ... another consideration took priority in Chunky’s mind ... and a controlled shake of the head opted for the experience to continue uninterrupted.

Larry smiled up at the CCTV camera directly in front of them in the floodlit yard as he began to wheel the chair to the door of the main building. There Robert joined them and Chunky was back in the Photo Studio. As Larry positioned the chair in front of the mirror, Robert fetched a towel and motioned Larry to leave.

Alone behind the chair Robert gently unzipped the mask and as he eased it loose from where it had become almost glued to Chunky’s head, he simultaneously slid it forward and covered the face and eyes with the towel.  In the continued sightless state Chunky heard Robert’s voice as the towel mopped his face. “Welcome home. Back where you started. Another two hours you agreed to! ... you’re certainly a glutton for punishment. Welcome to the club. Now, I’m going to put another mask on you, but something less intense. With or without the gag still in, the choice is yours - two more hours?” Robert felt the hesitation. “You don’t have to prove anything to anybody ... you’ve already proved enough. I thought an hour strapped to the chair and watch some video footage. Give you a better idea of the sort of alternatives on offer. No questions. No talk. Watch some video then who knows what ... before a bit of supper. OK?” The head under the towel nodded as Robert made sure there was no eye contact. “Gagged or no gag? Nod for gag out, shake for gag stays in”.

Leading Hand Proctor fought to retain some sense of reality. He certainly could use a drink but ... what the hell. This might be a once in a lifetime experience ... but he hoped not. As the head shook deliberately from side to side Robert said brightly “Don’t go away” and, leaving the towel draped over the head, walked away to fetch another face mask. When the towel eventually slid away and Chunky adjusted his eyes to the first light he’d seen for who knows how long, he was disappointed to see that the mask being fitted over his head was made of a sort of mesh. The cool air burned on his forehead and nose but, of course his cheeks were still covered with the padded mouth cover that held the gag in place. Chunky mused on the fact that although still dribbling and his jaw ached like fuck, he had adjusted to it better than he’d expected. By this time his eyes had got used to the light, and what he could see in the mirror surprised him. He clearly saw the seated figure in the metal chair (Not the chair he’d experienced on his first visit to the store) but the suited and strapped person was totally anonymous. The black mesh of the hood that allowed him to see out so freely, from the outside looked dense even under the bright photographic lights. (Were there cameras still running, he wondered?).

Chunky watched as Robert finished lacing the back of the hood and tucking it neatly down inside his jacket’s high collar. He remembered Roberts’ words about gags under a laced-up hood - but the zip across the mouth would allow the gag out quickly in an emergency, he reasoned. ‘I’m learning’ he mused dispassionately as he drank in the sight before him. The metal shackle glistened against the dark fabric of his collar. The straps at elbows and wrists, waist, knees and ankles were brown so they all stood out well for the photos, Chunky assessed. Robert walked away and came back holding something that in the mirror Chunky could not identify. Because his neck was firmly fastened to the high chair back he could not turn his head to look more closely. Was it an enema bag?!

Robert smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said “I just thought you might need a drink. It’s clean water, slightly iced. This nozzle fits neatly into the breathing hole in your gag, and at the turn of this small tap ... the water flows down out of the bag.”

With that he demonstrated the procedure and soon a refreshing trickle of water entered Chunky’s mouth. As Robert raised the bag higher the water flowed quicker into his immobilised mouth ... and his throat began to convulse trying to deal with it ... and failed. He began to choke and Robert deftly reduced the flow. As Chunky recovered from the first shock, he felt the chair tip backwards slightly and the swallowing became easier ... and he realised that Robert was demonstrating his total control of the situation.

Putting the bag aside, Robert mopped around the mouth of the hood and remarked amiably “Of course it could have been piss ... your own piss, of course, because that’s safe, healthwise. Or I could force feed a couple of litres of nice fresh water into you. Fill you to bursting point and wait for it to come out the other end. But a catheter, once in place makes it impossible for you to control the flow from inside but ... at the turn of a little tap ... it could be controlled from the outside. Or alternatively,” he continued watching Chunky in the mirror, “I could connect your catheterised cock to your mouth tube ... having first filled you up ... and just let nature take it’s course. It’s called recycling. It’s a fun game to watch ... waiting until the flow is impossible to stop. It’s one of those games that people hesitate to leave un-checked on the questionnaire when they first fill it out. I always advise people not to rule too much out when they first see the form. You may not relish the idea ... but do you really want to totally rule out the possibility. There’s a ‘Maybe - if the time is ripe’ category. I look forward to seeing your questionnaire when you’ve had a bit more time to consider the possibilities. That’s why I thought to sit you down and let you watch a few of the ‘experiments’ other people have enjoyed ... survived ... asked for.”

With that he walked to a TV monitor on a trolley (which had not been there during the previous session, Chunky noted) - and re-positioned it for him to watch comfortably.

‘A captive audience’ thought Chunky, somewhat absently. How could he feel so relaxed in this wildly improbable situation? He must be fucking mad .. or had he died and gone to heaven? Whichever, he was in no position to argue ... or go anywhere ... and certainly nothing was going to make him nod three times.

The screen flickered into life and Robert walked towards the door, where he adjusted the lighting so that there were dark shadows but the featureless figure strapped to the metal chair was brilliantly illuminated as he sat before the mirror and TV screen and the show began.






There was no introductory caption ... and no sound as far as he could tell. Black and white. Somebody dressed in leather ... motorcycle leather; heavy pants and jacket and boots ... and a leather head mask, tight fitting ... standing lashed to a metal grille ... the one Chunky had stood chained to earlier, he thought. As the figure stood there motionless on the screen the immobilised seated figure in real life began to take in more details. Same familiar immobilisation; fixed at neck, chest, waist, upper arms, wrists, thighs, above the knee, below the knee and ankles ... legs well spread. Dispassionately, Chunky couldn’t imagine a more thorough configuration. Only this time it was rope not chain. The white rope showed up well against the dark leather.

Just when he started to wonder if it was a still photo he was watching, a knee moved. Not much could move. Chunky saw how the rope pressed into the thick leather (armour padded motorcycle stuff) so the rope sank in noticeably. ‘I bet it’s hot in there’ the voice of experience told Chunky as his own situation trapped in the padded waterproof call-out suit re-entered his consciousness.

He looked away from the motionless figure in the video to the mirror where the equally anonymous bundle sat strapped to the metal chair. Chunky felt a sense of kinship. He knew how it felt.

On the screen a tentative flexing of the leather torso produced a creak and as the arm flexed within it’s tight lashing Chunky knew there was sound. The pelvis began to twist tentatively inside the waist and thigh bindings. Chunky noticed for the first time that ropes passed tightly down the crotch area and between the legs from two angles, making a central bulge, a black mass the shape of a jockstrap. ‘Fucking hell’ thought Chunky, ‘I bet that’s tight!’ as he continued to watch the almost motionless but creaking figure.

The camera made no movement. Unlike watching regular TV and films where changes of angle and camera movement produced the effect of action ... the stillness of the camera emphasised the stillness of the figure ... immobilised ... helplessly ... fixed.

Chunky found himself wishing the motorcyclist would put up a bit more of a struggle ... and as if to encourage this he suddenly struggled in his chair. In the mirror he saw the seated figure’s head move and his shoulders twist very slightly, but nothing else. The legs and arms remained immobilised. Even when Chunky intensified his struggles he watched the anonymous-looking seated figure stir only very slightly ... and the movement subsided as Chunky felt his energy drain away.

After what seemed like a long stillness the leather-clad figure flexed a knee tentatively ... and suddenly a roped wrist strained towards the knee and hooked two fingers under the knee rope. The effect was dramatic after the long stillness. The immobilised body was writhing against the metal frame. The fingers tugged at the knee binding and dragged some slack down from the thigh roping and up from below the knee. It was so minimal but so intensely dramatic to watch. High drama in the context of almost total immobility of both camera and subject.

The fingers were encased in leather Chunky realised, and the visual memory of his own gloved hand when roped back-to-back with Larry came vividly back into his mind. He watched the leather-clad torso scrunch sideways, encouraging more slack onto the left side of the body as fingers blindly felt for a knot. Chunky could see that the knot was higher on the thigh, and wanted to shout a word of warning to the writhing figure ... ‘Feel higher!! You’re nearly there!’ But the gag in Chunky’s mouth reminded him that he was totally powerless ... and this was a video he was watching but it had become very real to him. Was he losing touch with reality? Yes, he was ... had! Chunky reminded himself he was a prisoner in an alien world ... the old rules didn’t apply ... and his blood raced.

The static camera frustratingly refused to move ... or pan ... or tilt or zoom as the virtually immobilised figure gave up the struggle. The slight slack in the rope near the left knee seemed to melt back into the elaborate lashings and all the ropes soon looked as tight as ever. But Chunky watched the sightless, mouthless leather encased head and he could have sworn he could read it’s thoughts. He was attuned ... tuning in. The leather-man was taking stock. Considering alternatives. Subtle body language told Chunky that a new plan was afoot. In turn the left boot and then knee and then thigh and then crotch ... flexed imperceptibly. Then the same on the right ... exploring. The right elbow stirred then wrist ... same on the left ... suddenly a few powerful jerks forward of the chest brought extra tightening to the upper arms. More slack in the body ... resulted in less in the arms.

Chunky was mentally inside the leather suit considering the options; tighten the chest, loosen the arm ... tighten the left side ... perhaps loosen the right. He felt excitement. In his mind he transmitted information to the leather-clad figure.

‘It’s a video, you cunt!’ he told himself ... but realised he was experiencing what he seldom got from watching TV. Robert and his passion for video tapes was suddenly making sense to Chunky. He relaxed back into the seat he was already strapped tightly into ... but was now watching the show with a professional interest. There was probably a live camera or two trained on him in his chair. There was probably several hours of video footage of Chunks since he arrived there today. He would let Robert have that tape back ... the one of him handcuffed to the chair in the shop on his first visit. It was good footage ... especially with the black PVC jacket.

Suddenly his attention was back on the TV screen. The leather-clad left hand was straining sideways. The whole body was writhing within it’s roped limits. The plan was working; a lot of slack had appeared above the left wrist and around the elbow. The result of this was serious tightening of the torso and right arm ... but a knot at the side of the body was only inches away from the struggling fingers. This was high drama in Chunky’s new world of skilful wrapping, strapping, chaining and tying.

He held his breath as the upper arm rope slid to below the elbow, which allowed the elbow to escape sideways, which in turn relaxed the waist ropes. The crotch lashings still looked as if they would strangle the thigh and the cock strained in increased tightness ... Disaster ... the wrist rope had remained tight and the opposite hand was too far away to help ease the visible slack down to the wrist where it was needed. Chunky realised he was holding his breath. The featureless head ... was thinking ... reconsidering it’s options. Chunky could see it. The left hand flipped suddenly ... and a thumb nearly but not quite hooked itself into the slack. It missed ... and a general shimmying of the whole body almost wrecked the progress that had been made, sucking back the slack.

Chunky realised he was sweating ... and he was not doing anything. The standing figure made another stab at hooking some slack into the wrist rope. At the third try it succeeded. Methodically and without undue struggle the thumb now pulled slack into one of the two ropes that circled the gloved wrist. Not enough slack!!

‘The glove! The glove!! Dump the glove!!!’ willed Chunky. He watched the hand begin to flick ... being careful not to tighten the one slightly loosened wrist rope. The weight of the thick glove began to slide it off the hand. It took time!  A long time. With obvious sensitivity and technical skill the escapee coaxed the glove down the hand and from under the wrist ropes. Chunky watched the painfully slow process ... and, after a lot of patient work, the glove fell away. Without the thickness of the glove, the wrist ropes were now slack. The hand and arm were soon eased free from the tangle of slackened ropes.

Such a little victory but Chunky mentally applauded the skill and determination. Virtually motionless TV. To some people, Chunky guessed, this would be like watching paint dry ... but to him it was riveting.

Sightlessly, the still elaborately lashed figure explored the roping at the neck with his one free arm ... and then the crotch ... and the opposite arm. ‘Go for the neck!’ willed Chunky and again the standing figure was of the same mind. Unfortunately, the knot of the single rope that wrapped twice around the leather collar and the metal grille was not only out of reach but out of sight ... somewhere behind the grille ... so plan ‘B’ looked like being to explore the waist and the by now painful crotch bindings. It took a struggle and some (for Chunky to watch) interesting gyrations ... and as the waist and crotch roping loosened and sagged down around the knees elation was in the air.

With the neck still tied, total escape was not exactly in sight ... sight! ... the one free hand could perhaps unlace the hood! Two minds with but a single thought!

A.J. was suddenly aware he was making the right choices. He looked forward to learning more about ‘escapes’. He was certainly getting a lesson in determination, perseverance and clear thinking. Skilful fingers were working on the hood laces. He saw the tightly clinging leather second skin ease loose on the face and eventually peel forward. The sweating fireman almost tasted the fresh air ... his own gag dribbled but he didn’t care. The face that emerged red and perspiring was not one he had seen before ... but the smile he recognised as the same he had felt earlier. ‘The Bondage Smile’.

Now the process he watched was more methodical. Knots could be seen if not reached immediately. More tightness here, some serious strain ... a lot of frustration ... a few rest periods as aching fingers tired. But ... more strain more gain! The chest rope connected to the arm rope, the arm rope connected to the wrist rope. The second glove shed, dropped with a thud. Two arms now grabbed at the neck rope and pulled one wrap dangerously tight to loosen the second and drag the knot within reach of ungloved fingers. The knot was picked undone.

Another smile of triumph directly into the camera before the Leatherman bent forward to tackle the spread ankles. First one knee and foot eased free and then the other ... and then a cautious movement away from the metal screen ... followed by a wide and satisfied grin.

Chunky could have cheered had it not been for the soggy plastic bung that filled his mouth behind the padded leather cheeks of the near enough sound-proof pad. The screen went suddenly white. The fireman half expected the adverts to come on ... Commercial Break. He could murder an ice cream like at the interval in the cinema in the old days. The old days ... he was lost in time. He was strapped to a chair and he could see himself strapped to a chair ... but another image had appeared on the screen and his attention swung away from consciousness of his own predicament. What new shared experience had Robert chosen for him?#


A bloke in army cammos was looking self-consciously at the camera. This was no actor. He looked like a Squaddie, a roughish weather-beaten face and the army gear was obviously well used. The camera tilted down to look at beat-up high combat boots and then drifted back up to the slightly anxious but otherwise determined face. He was sorting some equipment and arranging it in readiness on the table top.

Chunky watched as he selected an assortment of straps and padlocks and laid them methodically on a stretcher-like table top. Standing behind it he indicated for the camera, ankle straps already fixed to the surface and knee straps either side of a padded board that ran the length of the table but not the complete width. Metal grille bars showed down each side of the table; obviously designed for lashing to or strapping to. Chunky thought it looked like a great board for bondage. In close-up, hands checked over the waiting straps and padlocks ... the key from each was removed methodically and put into a little plastic envelope ... and this was suddenly thrown towards the camera.  What was going on, Chunky wondered as he watched, fascinated?

The camera was following the army type as he reviewed other equipment laid out and ready. A rugged-looking face mask or hood lay on the table with separate eye and mouth covers next to it. Not the usual sleek, soft sort of hood; thickish natural tan leather looked oiled and stained and well used ... a serious piece of equipment ... hand made, thought Chunky. Close to it lay ... something else ... a pair of boxers gum shields. The camera was following the lining up of this inventory. Changes of camera angle made Chunky suddenly aware that at least two cameras were going to cover the event. He congratulated himself ... because he was beginning to recognise the procedures.

The guy now seemed ready to start. He picked up a wide leather belt and fitted it over his army waist belt, buckling it tight. There were solid ‘D’ rings at either side and when it was buckled, the camera was shown that a padlock was being fitted to lock it on. The camera zoomed in on the closing lock. Next, the demonstrator began to buckle wide leather wrist restraints carefully onto himself over each cuff of his cammo jacket.  He made sure they were snug and couldn’t be slipped out of. A small padlock was added to each. Chunky knew he was watching a meticulous and well-planned ritual. Next, a matching wide leather collar was taken up ... but, change of plan, this was laid down again alongside the row of waiting padlocks on the table-top ... three more small and quite a few substantial larger ones ... at least ten Chunky counted before the camera cut away to a curiously shaped strap wider at one end than the other and about eight inches long.

Unbuttoning the flies of his cammo pants Chunky watched dispassionately as the guy hauled out a sizeable cock. The camera zoomed in for a close-up as hands manoeuvred the strap around the top of the ball-sack and then somehow threaded it into itself until the wide end circled the scrotum and the narrower end wrapped around the wider strap and buckled. To Chunky, even in his tied-up, gagged, hooded and totally powerless state ... it seem to be a very odd thing for somebody to do to themself. He watched the hands adjust the strap and tighten it another notch. Hairy balls bulged below it and the semi-limp but heavy cock lolling above. Two small ‘D’ rings on either side of the scrotum strap had what looked like a boot lace linking them. Chunky’s mind was somehow switched off but he was in no position to do anything but continue to watch as a small padlock was added.

The second camera cut away to register the serious-looking face of the guy as he now prepared the next phase: he was carefully bedding boxers gum shields into his mouth. Then the leather hood was picked up and carefully settled over his head. The sleeves of the cammo combat jacket (now with a leather restraint locked around each cuff) were bulky, and to reach the back lacing of the hood looked like a laborious and tiring process; a labour of love, Chunky decided. He was aware that the camera had not moved to show the fingers as they tightened the laces, and it was a very slow process. Not exactly action-packed TV thought Chunky ... but he was experiencing a new feeling ... watching an enthusiast ... an artist ... a dedicated player of a sophisticated game.

He watched and waited as the tough stained leather gradually moulded itself to the face, stretching and tightening as the eye holes and wide mouth hole began to squeeze the skin until it bulged slightly from the holes. The struggling fingers suddenly stopped and arms lowered for a rest ... and Chunky sensed a change of thought as the figure groped with now limited vision for the mouth-cover on the table. Several robust metal snap fasteners soon secured it in position over the mouth-hole, trapping the gum shields firmly in place. The eye cover was next, but he’d picked it up and tucked into the top pocket of his combat jacket for use later.

For now, he still needed to see, Chunky knew ... to achieve his elaborate self-imprisonment. Chunky had began to savour the slow and deliberate procedure. Renewed effort with the back lacing of the hood systematically stretched it still tighter over the face as the camera lovingly recorded the effect from the front ... and the effort that was going into the process. Chunky now knew that this tape was about carefully planned, meticulously carried out ... self-bondage.

Lacing now complete, in spite of quite limited vision the wearer next tucked the hood under the collar of his army jacket, pulling the collar upright and closing Velcro around the neck of the hood. Next he found the lockable leather collar on the table top. Looking directly into the camera he circled his neck with the wide strip of leather that also had ‘D’ rings on either side. Having buckled it snugly, the head and neck were almost rigid, so groping for one of the remaining small padlock to secure it took time ... once achieved, the leather strap plus jacket collar plus hood were all inescapably locked on. A final check ensured that the ‘D’ rings were symmetrical at either side of collar and waist belt.

The remaining group of locks was his next objective. A camera cut to a close-up of neatly laid-out line of padlocks, larger and sturdier than those used for the leather strap buckles. Groping hands found these because he could no longer look down, and five went into each side pocket of the beat-up cammo jacket. Now, with seriously reduced head movement and limited vision, the ankle and knee straps on the table top were once again checked. Other fixing points on the table at waist and collar level were also confirmed as being where they were needed. Chunky noticed for the first time a wide strap fixed to the table at approximately chest level ... and also a small pillow at the head end. ‘Damn, this is quite a performance’, he thought.

A final detail in the elaborate process was to check that a chain hanging over the centre of the table top, (the purpose of which Chunky could not yet imagine) was hanging at the required height. All checked, the masked and booted army guy carefully climbed up and sat on the table. It took stomach muscles for him to sit forward and buckle his two booted ankles wide apart into the waiting straps at one end. No padlocks, Chunky noted, as knees were next strapped and buckled tight to the table top.

What followed became something of a blur for Chunky! From a pocket another bootlace appeared. It was used to link the scrotum strap to the chain hanging above the table. As the body lay back experimentally, the line tightened ... but not enough to satisfy this artist in self-bondage ... so he sat up again and pulled the lace tighter until the scrotum was hauled away from the open flies at a tortured angle. Lying back again the cammo-suited masochist / sensualist checked the position of his collar and chest in relation to waiting table anchor points, and then produced the eye-cover from his pocket and snapped it firmly to the hood removing all sight. Now the chest strap; groped for, buckled, tightened ... and the remaining small padlock found to secure himself so he could no longer sit up. From his pockets a pair of large padlocks emerged to lock the ‘D’ rings at the sides of his waist belt to the table top ... and two more to commit his neck to irrevocable immobility.

Chunky sat mesmerised by the now sightless, gagged and locked down ankle to neck figure on the TV screen. The camera closed in on the still free hands as they fumbled for the lace that linked the scrotum to the overhead chain ... and then ruthlessly tighten it a few more inches ... until the ball sack was pulled upwards and away from body. The cock stiffened visibly as the self-imposed predicament became more challenging ... and Chunky’s cock stiffened at the sight of the predicament,

A final groping into the pockets of the cammo jacket produced two more sturdy padlocks and Chunky wondered what was left for the self-imposed prisoner. Single handedly the Expert found the ‘D’ ring on the opposite side of his locked-on waist belt and after a bit of a struggle not only fastened his leather wrist restraint to it ... but snapped the padlock shut. The camera switched to the other side of the body in anticipation of the remaining free hand repeating the difficult process ... which it did only with considerable effort; blindly fiddling the padlock until the second arm was inescapably attached across his chest to his waist belt, strait-jacket fashion. Chunky remembered the keys, tossed away so casually towards the camera. The performance was over ... but the scene had not begun. Body anchored down, balls strung up, arms crossed ... everything locked and ... vulnerable ... surrendered.

Two cameras continued to savour the predicament, zooming gently out and zooming in on tethered tortured now rampant cock, helpless hands, widespread boots and sightless muteness behind thick stained leather. Chunky stared breathless after watching this elaborately slow self-imposed deliberate surrender to ... what ... to who ... for how long?

The screen went blank ... as blank as Chunky’s mind threatened to become. Anchored and imprisoned in his chair he regretted that his cock was not constricted and strapped as part of his own strapped down, immovable wholeness.#


What followed washed across the face of Chunky’s world. A caption flashed on the screen - a quite professional-looking introduction to the new sequence. “Arrivals”. There was music - quite jolly music. The yard, no vehicles but the double gates were being opened by someone and a car drove in. The gates were closed by the man wearing overalls like a plumber or removal man. The driver got out but the passenger stayed in his seat. The driver opened the passenger door and began fiddling with the passenger seat belt and then somewhere around the passengers’ legs ... straps! Straps being released. The man in overalls smiled at the camera as the passenger was helped from the car. His wrists were locked to a short chain attached to his hobbled ankles. Stooped and off balance he was escorted towards what Chunky knew to be the cell block.

A different car in the yard, Alan in roll-neck sweater and jeans unlocked the boot and smiled down into it. The camera moved in to show someone trussed up in the back, gagged and blindfolded with packing tape. Charlie came out from the main house with the wheeled chair (the very one Chunky was sitting strapped to) and helped Alan lift the trussed man out of the boot and into the chair where straps were applied.

Another sequence, this time an ambulance backing into the yard. It looked like a real ambulance - and the two paramedics looked real enough. Opening the back doors two men dressed in soccer gear climbed out. Their strip was muddy as if they’d just come from a game - and a stretcher was being unloaded. Strapped to it was another player. His neck was in a surgical brace and the camera explored the emergency splints that encased each limb. Both arms and both legs. Serious injury? No! Serious game playing, decided Chunky as he observed that white adhesive tape gagged the ‘patient’. The two players smiled down at the stretcher case ... who’s strip was a different colour to theirs. Chunky speculated on the very public nature of this imaginative “kidnap”. His mind raced and his cock raged somewhere deep inside his padded pants.

An army Land Rover. This sequence of clips and the music behind the fast action was like a parody of an old fashioned cinema newsreel. Two army types (one was Charlie) hopped out of the cab, and a third appeared in the back of the Land Rover. The camera was allowed into the back of the vehicle to see two guys in combat gear with wrists lashed to the roof supports. Each had a canvas sack over his head. Wrists were released from the metal structure but remained bound. They were hauled out of the jeep pretty roughly and, as their ankles were also lashed together, they were dragged across the yard and pushed against the horizontal metal hitching rail. Chunky realised that their cammo combat gear was paint splattered, bright blue. Paint Ball games, he thought ... and then he also noticed that Charlie’s’ army jacket had a splodge of yellow on one arm. Was this a game where the losers really got worked over.

The two hooded men were being deliberately roughed up and shouted at (although there was no sound, only music). One of them made an effort to fight back but got a punch in the stomach and fell to his knees. As the other was held painfully against the rail, the one on his knees was dragged to where two posts with a high cross bars stood in a corner of the yard, and the rope attached to his wrists was thrown over and hands hauled skywards until he was almost off the ground. The other end was then very efficiently tied around the neck of the struggling man, rendering him helpless and vulnerable. The guy Chunky didn’t recognise pulled a truncheon from his belt and jabbed his prisoner hard enough to warn him to stop struggling. The prisoner was breathing heavily as the camera closed in on the canvas hood with the guy shouting in his ear.

Now attention was turned to the guy pinned to the hitching rail. He was persuaded to kneel and his bound wrists were tied to the rail about three feet from the ground and then the hood was removed. It was the guy from the self-bondage sequence. He was being asked something but seemed reluctant to answer ... for which he received a back-hander across the face. This was too rough for Chunky ... but he was in no position to do anything but watch. The guy was being forced to admit or agree - there was just drumming music ... that seemed to be inside Chunky’s head. Could he stand up to this sort of treatment? Did he even want to try? No, he didn’t. He wanted out.

The guy on his knees was getting desperate as the verbal abuse continued ... and then Chunky saw him nod agreement. He nodded ‘Yes’ ... Chunky didn’t know what he was agreeing to ... but it was not three nods. He wasn’t ending the game ... he was agreeing to do whatever was being demanded of him. His hands were untied and the three cammo-clad men standing close lifted him to his feet where he stood unsteadily, boots still lashed close together. Slowly he began to remove his paint-stained jacket. This was handed to Charlie and, after a hesitation and a subtle threat from the truncheon, he began to remove his shirt and sweat-stained tee shirt. As his head emerged from this, a look of apprehension crossed his face and he was prepared to put up a struggle but behind him an arm circled his neck pulling him back against the waist-high bar ... and a strait-jacket was held up in front of him. Although his arms were unbound the arm lock around his neck and bound feet and pulled back against the bar it was not difficult for two of the men to expertly manoeuvre him into the jacket ... which looked like the real thing to A.J although he’d never actually seen one. The coarse canvas and leather straps looked the way he imagined a military prison restraint should look and he was sure that once in it you stayed in it until you were let out.  ‘Houdini stuff’. This was like an old dream come to serious reality. Roughly the two sleeves were crossed in front while the back of the jacket was being efficiently strapped by the third man. Soon the ‘victim’ stood totally trussed and a long end of a jacket strap was cinched around the horizontal bar ... so the three men were now free to turn their attention back to the other man, strung up in his hooded and stressful position.

The three gathered around him but left room for the camera to record the action. The guy with the truncheon was talking into the captives’ ear - and a firm shake of the head told the story - he would not submit. Chunky expected more beating or other violence ... but the three men just smiled among themselves and two stood back as Charlie dropped the cammo jacket over the captive’s head and closed it tightly around the neck, just holding it there shutting out any air supply. It was not long before the roped figure began to writhe and buck. Rope was produced and quickly wrapped around the already bound feet and two men held the ends. Chunky knew this would not be a long struggle, but he was breathless before Charlie released the struggling mans’ head. More talking into his ear - and yet again the hooded figure refused to submit. The guy with the truncheon stepped forward but Charlie warned him off, and with a smile suggested something else. The two men disappeared from shot as Charlie continued to talk into the hooded ear. A fist emphasised whatever point he was making by dragging the canvas hood backwards and forwards. Next strong fingers claw-like found the jaw under the rough hood and squeezed, which Chunky knew must have been extremely painful. Next Charlie turned his attention to the front of the jacket of the helpless ‘squaddie’ and roughly pulled it open and then, more carefully, opened the khaki shirt down the front to expose a heaving chest.

The two returned and Chunky sat mesmerised as two buckets of water were flung without warning at the unsuspecting man. He stood, arms raised and neck stretched, feet tethered - running with cold water. The breathing was intense as he was unable to lower his arms and relieve the strain. Now Charlie ripped the tee shirt down the front and the pants were suddenly down around the bound ankles and the heaving chest and soaking thighs were naked. The cock was limp Chunky noted; this guy was seriously not enjoying this ... but he also realised in his own mind ... that the game he was watching was, however extreme, by mutual consent.

Chunky arrived at this unbelievable thought. These guys had agreed to this no holds barred scenario. He knew there would be no serious complaints or recriminations when the game was over ... and it looked to him as if it was going to get even heavier before it ended. The trio were now ignoring the part stripped and sagging strung up figure and were escorting his strait-jacketed comrade away to the cell block. Charlie hesitated and came back to collect the two buckets, obviously informing his captive that he would be returning with more water ... and much much more. Chunky watched the strung up by the neck and wrists figure who knew he was now alone (except for the cameraman) ... and braced himself to withstand and resist whatever would come next.

As the scene faded A.J. Proctor closed his eyes and tried to imagine - or not imagine what might happen next but when he opened his eyes again he was surprised to see a female on the screen. This brought him abruptly to full attention. She was a capable looking woman, what in Lancashire might be called ‘handsome’ rather than pretty. She was dressed in an ordinary winter coat and wheeling a genuine-looking invalid chair in through the double doors ... with Alan and young Robert re-bolting the door (this must have been before the remote control was installed reasoned Chunky). In the wheelchair was seated a figure swathed in a rug, shawl and scarf with a battered hat completely masking the head. Robert smiled and looked towards the camera, checking that it was moving in to film the unveiling. Something about the figure in the chair told Chunky before the hat came off that this was ... yes, Charlie, mouth wrapped firmly with tape. The shawl removed to reveal another strait-jacket ... clinical and white, not like the army-looking one in the previous sequence. Anyhow it firmly strapped Charlie back against the ordinary-looking wheelchair.  The lower rug was covering ... nakedness except for authentic-looking brown leather ankle-hobbles attached to the frame. The white asylum restraint jacket and a gag and naked from the waist down ... through the streets of Oldham in daylight. These people were fucking crazy! He did not believe he was seeing this ... and the fact that he was part of it ... had been invited to involve himself in it was almost more than he could deal with. The woman (Tina, Chunky remembered her name was) seemed to be handing the helpless Charlie over to Alan ... and Charlie didn’t look happy about it was the chair was manoeuvred into the main building.

A word caption - superimposed on the outsides of the double wooden doors to the yard - “Arrivals” ... and this was replaced by “Welcome to The Inner Man” ... and the music ended neatly. The screen went black ... and then crazed lines indicated that the tape had ended

Unable to move as he was, A.J. Proctor strapped to a chair unidentifiable under a mesh hood as he watched himself in the mirror found it hard to breathe. Time, it seemed, was in suspension. He was waiting ... with baited breath for ... what? If cameras were rolling, the picture they were getting were totally static. Would they be boring to watch .. or would the tension he was feeling show on the screen? There was no fight left in him ... no struggle ... what would be the use. A very slight turn of the head would register on the otherwise still screen as a subtle reminder that a mind was at work behind the mesh ... inside the featureless head, mouth plugged, even his tongue immobilised .... but you couldn’t see it from outside.  In trying to breathe deeper he saw the head tilt minimally and the chest under the tight strap and the collar under the collar strap, and one shoulder flex very gently, reminding his body that it needed to encourage the circulation to keep flowing. He wondered if the metabolism really did slow right down in such circumstances. His mind gradually drifted towards the thought that this might be called suspended animation ... an almost trancelike state. When had he last sat still? ... done nothing ... waited ... patiently ... because he felt no sense of urgency, or agitation. He felt ... calm ... which was ridiculous considering the predicament he’d landed himself in. But ... and there it was ... he’d landed himself in it ... nobody had forced him ... and he felt quietly confident that nobody here would force him ... unless (as Charlie had said) he wanted to be forced .... like the bloke strung up by his wrists with the other end of the rope around his neck and his body naked cold and wet in the cobbled yard in a back street in fucking Oldham.#


AJ looked at the featureless face in the mirror and imagined he could see the involuntary smile that he felt inside.

The sound of a door opening made the smile fade and the sight of three figures in the mirror shot an electric current of apprehension through his immobilised and suddenly numb limbs. Three men, Robert was not among them, black SWAT team-looking jackets and black combat pants, ski masks if you please! If they were trying to fucking freak him out they were succeeding ... but there was nothing he could do - no fight left in him - his arse was sore from sitting so long and he couldn’t feel his fingers.

The arm and wrist and body straps were off and he was standing but his feet were still strapped to the chair so he was totally captive. Silently the three co-ordinated their actions and something slid over his head and down his body. A bag - some sort of body bag. His knees and ankles were NOW unstrapped and although he didn’t move there was room for the bag to fall around his ankles. The chair behind him had gone. Teamwork! Pre-planned and wordlessly carried out

He felt his ankles being strapped together from outside the bag. Just as he realised his arms were free inside the bag something was happening around his arms and the bag tightened between his body and his arms, separating them and immobilising them. He could not visualise what ... and between his legs the bag seemed to close in .. separating his legs within the covering. And just at that point around his head the bag slid open ... a zip. The pungent fabric fell away from his face and through the mesh hood he saw in the mirror the standing figure encased head to foot, flanked by two black-clad men. The full length black bag had metal eyelets and his arms and legs were defined with metal clips through eyelets front and back. He had been mummified in a matter of seconds. Totally encased. The air through the mesh his only contact with the outside world and the hood was being unlaced. Would the gag come out? His jaw ached - but what would he say? The ski masked figures played their parts well - one might be Charlie - one Alan? - Larry the bloke he had abused and been abused by? Was Robert filming all this? - Chunky hoped so.

As the mesh hood slid forward the bag seemed to take it’s place, completing his encasement, removing his vision but not quite closed at the back. Hands were unstrapping the gag - this might be a problem . How long had he been gagged for? His jaw was numb. A zip was closing and another opening. Chunky was disorientated. Hands seemed to be all around his face.  The gag came out forwards and two fingers slid into his mouth - he breathed deeply. A flat tongue-like shape entered his mouth ... rubber but flat. As he swallowed he tasted liquid ... fresh cool water. Thank God! Nothing disgusting - nothing new to deal with ... not yet. Not just yet ... but when the time came .... maybe ...

He began to suck like a hungry baby. He drank and was amazed at his gratitude in the middle of all this ... control. The water tasted good. He had no choices to make. Those made for him ... he was grateful for ... appreciated. He felt privileged. This is not what he had expected. He guessed there would be times when the treatment would not be so considerate ... and he knew he would welcome the challenge ... but for the moment ... these people knew! They knew perhaps better than he knew that he was learning. He was being tested. Was this Initiation? It felt almost like a ritual ... High Priests was a crazy image to get at a time like this but he was mummified ... and the silent ‘celebrants’ ... shit was he freaking out ... going slowly off his rocker ... helpless and enclosed ... faceless but all powerful hands closing the bag around his head and neck, removing the water supply ....

Suddenly he was tilting ... not falling but being moved into a horizontal position ... it was a soft mattress ... softer than the table / ladder he’d been strapped to before. Bands tightened but not too tightly, he was being systematically anchored to the mattress. He wished he could see what was going on, but somewhere in the back of his brain he knew there was a camera running and he would (one day) see the video. For now it was all down to sensation. To the senses. The touch of strong hands co-ordinated in their efforts. Would he someday be one the team, surprising and controlling another initiate? For the moment the senses ... the feel of straps tightening, the buzz of webbing buckles cinching firmly, the smell of the fabric on his face ... what was it? It reminded him of his wax cotton motorcycle suit ... Belstaff ... a lot of years ago. Was the bag waxed cotton? Over his call-out suit and boots it was only his hands and face that could feel it - but he could smell it ... and the scent was unmistakable. He seemed to sink deeper into a dream-state as the straps sank him deeper into the mattress. The hands outside, around the bag seemed to float away and he was left ... he listened hard ... and heard the sounds of retreating booted feet. He was left ... to feel ... to sense ... to dream ... to wait.

With sudden panic his situation impacted on him in a different light. He was totally encased - immobilised - alone - face covered - was there enough air? His body jerked and strained at the unseen bands. Nothing was going to give, everything was wrapped and snug and immovable. Violently he rocked his head from side to side inside the bag. It moved with him and stayed with him ... and was clinging to him. Inside the suit ... inside the suit he was naked and his cock was hard as a rock. How long had it been hard? He didn’t know. It was hard now as he writhed and struggled and tensed ... and in his mind he saw himself bundled and strapped and struggling ... and his cock was ready to burst. Within the limits of the straps and suit and soft mattress his strong body arched upwards. The more he strained the more his cock wanted to bust through the layers of covering and he felt ... focused. He focused on the straps across his waist and thighs ... and he pushed against them ... and then the ones on his chest and neck. Somewhere in the distance his feet, loose inside his rubber boots were able to feel the restricting ankle straps. Again he bucked against the waist and thigh straps until the red waves of sensation inside the blackness raged over him as he convulsed and a roaring inside his head and white flashing lights ... and blue lights, sirens and his head thrashing from side to side and one leg punching straight ... kicking straight but the other still. Fuck ... how long had it been since he’d cum like that? ... how long since? ... since that afternoon when he was setting himself up in the manacles to wait for Sarah to come home. The shock of that sudden orgasm ... when he’d suddenly shot uncontrollably, naked and gagged with duct tape; ankles and one hand already shackled ... shot violently and messily ... embarrassingly, even though there was nobody there to see it. No way could he have closed the final cuff ... he’d had to back-track and clean up the mess ... and now ... inside his work-suit. His pelvis squirmed to feel what felt like a gallon of cum. How long would he have to lie here? Lie here. His breathing was settling down. The flashing lights were gradually subsidising and he was cold. Cold inside his thick suit and a bloody waterproof bag ... strapped down and there until somebody somewhere decided to let him loose ... or would it be to shift him into some other predicament?

He lay and just breathed ... and closed his eyes although it was already pitch dark. The darkness seemed to get darker.


Waking up in the dark, immobilised ... returning to consciousness ... re-evaluating the predicament. How long? Where was he? He should be freaked-out … but isn’t. He could picture the room ... the studio ... the SM equipped back room ... behind the back-street shop ... the dairy that was ... in the old neighbourhood where his Gran used to bring him shopping when he was a little lad. The fishing tackle shop where his uncle Walt first taught him the difference between a sinker and a floater(?) ... how old was he then ... eight ... ten? What the fuck drifted that into his mind? He was thinking like a kid ... depending on somebody else to tell him ... show him ... encourage him to learn. Fuck, this is weird. He was feeling numb, he should feel stiff ... stiff ... only his cock was stiff ... again. How long since? Around his crotch the stickiness felt ... dryer. How long? Did he really fall asleep?

Drifting in an empty space ... he felt ... enclosed ... isolated, no! Insulated ... the world was somewhere else. He was here, not just inside his head like he felt first time he’d been gagged inside a blacked-out rubber mask. Now he lay comfortable ... except for his aching jaw and sore tongue ... but ... there was nothing he could do about it. Should he resent it? ... that there was nobody there to know how his throat felt. Perhaps they did know. They’d fed him water. Perhaps they’d all experienced what he was experiencing. That was a comfortable thought ... and with it, he drifted.

Did Tina do this to Charlie? Did he let her take him over. Yes! She fucked him with a dildo, he remembered ... vividly. He’d visualised that a few times since the first day he met Charlie and heard about their games. He’d tried to imagine Sarah doing it to him ... but somehow ... he thought of Sarah, warm and giving ... accepting. She gave herself ... but only to receive. She liked to ... receive. She wasn’t mercenary ... but she liked to get attention, and admiration ... she was something of a tease. AJ visualised her down at The Club, the blokes envied AJ having swapped his wife for a newer model. Sarah on his arm made heads turn and the lads joked about her giving him a heart attack. She knew what they thought and she enjoyed it as much as they did. She played the part. She liked her ‘daddy’ because he looked after her and paid her attention and protected her. If she could see him now! But that was it, wasn’t it. He knew what she liked sex-wise and otherwise. She liked him to be in control. She liked him to make all the decisions. She could relax because he could always take care of her and give himself to her and hit the spot. She said he ‘Did things for her’ ... and all along he’d known he couldn’t ask her to ... switch. That was the crunch. He lay there .. in a predicament he could never even describe to her ... because if he did ... he would no longer be what she wanted ... needed ... and he liked having her ... on his arm ... in his bed ... as part of his image with The Lads.

Dishonesty! What did it mean if you were two separate people and kept the other one secret from people close to you? Can you divide yourself and live two (or more) separate lives? Are you cheating to not admit ... expose yourself ... risk forcing people close to you to re-think everything they thought about you? Suddenly an image of AJ’s lad Gary was in his mind. His lad, the kid he’d tried to make like himself while at the same time steer him clear of the dangers ... the traps he himself had fallen into as a lad. Gary as a young Squaddie ... how he’d envied him the opportunity. Could he sit him down with a pint ... remember Gary’s first pint? Jean had gone mad because he was far too young but AJ had encouraged him. Although he was too young he’d sat over him almost blackmailing him to sup it all down - and the kid was sick when he got home and she’d played merry hell ... but it was better than the lad starting out his drinking with his mates while they were still well under age. Could he sit down with Gary now and tell him his Old Man liked to get tied up - allow himself to taken over, perhaps smacked around by other blokes? ... and got off on it! Did this make him Queer - Gay? Of course it didn’t ... but did it? How would his lad ... how would Jean ... could they handle it? ... could he ever admit ... is this really what had held him back ... from finding out what had been inside him for as long as he could remember this ‘Houdini stuff’ ... and if something similar was driving young Gary ... would he want to know ... or might he wait too long ... find out too late or never risk it or let the lack of fulfilment sour his life ... perhaps the way he and Jean had lost what they might have had. Fuck, what drivel ... if this is what having time to think ends up in, forget it. NO! Deal with it. For the first time in his life A.J. Proctor was taking time out to think. Do you need to get put in a bag to do that? Perhaps some people do.

Chunky’s hard-on had gone soft. The clammy inside of the suit was warm again and his arms, trapped by whatever had been added to the bag to pinion his arms and separate his legs ... he wriggled experimentally in the comfortable restriction; his other senses now more acute in the darkness. The sense of smell of the fabric. His tongue adventured out of his sore lips and touched the waxed surface of the canvas bag. He’d identified it only by it’s smell and now his sense of taste confirmed it. His old motorcycle wet weather gear had been part of his image in the Eighties ... part of his sexual image ... when he took Jean off to Blackpool even when she was carrying Gary. She’d been game for anything in those days. After the little lad was born the bike had to go. No reason now not to buy a motorbike if he wanted one. He couldn’t be a kid again - but there were perhaps games. He was getting too old to be in a soccer side ... but there are different games. His mind wandered back to the video he’d seen ... was it just play-acting ... or a hobby ... or team contact sport. He’d often fancied Paint Ball but it had seemed a bit pointless - but Charlie and his mob had given it a different focus. Winner gets to call the shots and losers take what’s coming. Chunky wondered how the scene had ended with the one bloke in the army-looking strait-jacket and the other strung up with a rope round his neck being drenched by buckets of water and still refusing to submit ... still ‘Asking for it’. Inviting ... challenging in spite of all the cards stacked against him.

When they came to let him loose would Chunky be grateful or spit in somebody’s eye? Would he come clean with Gary when he was next home on leave ... would he tell Sarah what he’d been up to ... and might (hopefully) be getting up to ... and Jean. He still had a good relationship with her since they’d gone their separate ways. They met for a meal sometimes on his days off. Would he risk telling her about developments? Suddenly within the confines of his predicament ... Chunky felt ... liberated. What the hell! Now is what matters. Suddenly the confusion seemed to have cleared. The dream-time was suddenly over. Chunky wanted out - he wanted to get on with his life ... his new life that included being comfortable with himself ... and only comfortable with people who could handle what he was and where he was at! This is new, he thought. This is a fresh start! But .....

In his comfortable sightless limbo he suddenly visualised the lads at the station. Shit! That he couldn’t deal with. That was a different world. The Brigade mind-set made being ‘different’ dangerous. He had always put up something of a front ... what would happen if he took the opportunities on offer ... become something other than what he’d been? Would it show? Probably there were blokes at the station would envy him if they knew ... the way they envied him Sarah ... his status symbol. No, that’s not fair. He really had a good relationship with her ... but a dishonest one ... or was she happier not knowing there was another side of his life she wasn’t allowed to share. She could share if she could handle it ... was he unfair to not give her the choice ... the chance? No, he was right, it would spoil things for her. She didn’t come fishing with him, she’d tried it. She preferred him to go off with his mates. She wanted no part of it and was relieved when he was off on his occasional fishing piss-up weekends. She enjoyed the ‘time off’; found things to do she couldn’t do when he was around. How would this be any different? .... she would know where he was and what he was up to ... fishing. That’s not strictly true, there had been fishing jaunts when they hadn’t gone fishing. They’d got pissed and done things they hadn’t told the wives about; strip joints and occasional pick-ups. Don’t ask, don’t tell. No different except in Chunky’s mind. If he got comfortable with the kinky games that’s all that mattered ... got comfortable with it. He was here strapped down with three beefy blokes upstairs deciding when to let him out and what to do next! Three hairy-arsed blokes and young Robert.

Chunky lay there picturing Robert … filming Squaddies roughing one another up and testing each other, organising kidnaps, abductions from football fields in a real ambulance! Were the paramedics risking their jobs - or secretly living double lives? Charlies’ wife ... Chunky thought again about the one key figure in this whole panorama ... where were the other wives ... the girlfriends ... in all this? Tina had delivered Charlie stripped and strapped and gagged into The Inner Man. Had she stayed - had she been involved in what happened next ... had she sat and watched as Alan, young Robert, the Squaddies Charlie had previously abused ... took their revenge? Were there other women? Robert mentioned the professional Dominatrix he tutored so they could take and keep control. Would he want to pay to be ... what ... teased, tortured, beaten by the femme fatale he’d so often tossed-off over in his imagination?

Tied by a woman? Made helpless and then her take her pleasure? Take her revenge on him for all the men she’d resented? Take her pleasure ... not there to give him pleasure. How would he deal with that? He’d seen it in the eyes of prostitutes who professed to give an SM service ... bullshit. It was easier than sex for them, or the dislike of men showed in their eyes. Perhaps he’d just never met a good one. He’d love to find a woman who could ... who would ... but what would she do? His mind strayed to Jean, his wife who’d put up with him for seventeen years, defended the kids against him and at the same time allowed him his freedoms. He’d always been the bread-winner and the Boss and made all the main decisions. If she’d ever had him tied down ... what might she have done? How would she take her revenge? How would she punish him for some of the sometimes bloody minded decisions he’d imposed on her?

Chunky’s cock was suddenly hard again. The image of his ex ... no, God damn it she was still his wife, taking control and taking her revenge! This was something new ... the image of Jeannie biting back, taking control ... keeping him in line. He’d never given her credit for taking charge - but she’d kept the kids in line. Even young Gary at his most argumentative was more wary of his Mam’s displeasure, more so than his Dads. His Dad was there to be challenged ... the wrath invited ... survived. The whole focus of his life was passing under review in this unnatural darkness, airless, mouth-drying state of ... nothingness. Being given time to think is a dangerous game decided A.J. Proctor as he sensed movement before he heard it.#

A pair of hands roamed over the bag, his body still highly sensitised even under layers of padded suit. No man had ever pawed him and he was being pawed ... massaged ... touched. The hand found the area of his crotch and Chunky could visualise Robert’s quizzical face as the hand found his ramrod cock. The hand defined it ... lightly acknowledged it’s stiffness.

“Well, well, well” said a voice he was relieved to recognise as Roberts’. “Still fucking horny! Do you know what time it is? It’s time for the shop to close. Alan’s bitching because he’d not had a chance to talk to you ... or harass you. Charlie’s upstairs cooking spaghetti and a guy in a rubber suit who hosed you down is locked in a stand-up padded solitary confinement cell and we’ve threatened him we’re going to let you loose on him.”

Chunky felt straps being removed.

“Don’t try to move yet. You don’t know how your body will behave once you’re circulation starts to flow again. It may hurt more than you hurt now. You’ll certainly be unsteady and maybe a bit light-headed. I never let anybody all the way out - and certainly never send them out into the night until they’ve had time to recover a bit. I’m going to remove the arm separators from the bag and the leg ones - and leave the bag open at the bottom. The cameras are still rolling. It’s up to you to find your way out of the bag. Fold it neatly. The key to the wrist and collar shackles are on the TV monitor. Unlock them and leave them on the TV. When I see you’re up and mobile ... I will turn off the two remotes. You can peel your suit off in the Changing Room, there’s a shower in there ... no cameras. A towel and stuff. Then AJ you have a decision to make.”

Chunky almost argued. He was in no mood for making any decisions but Robert continued:

“In the changing room you can climb back into your street clothes, pack up your sweaty sticky suit and toddle off home (the door is open). Or you can climb into the set of prison coveralls I’ve left in there, lock yourself into the cell in the corner of the shop ... or in your street clothes come upstairs and have some nosh with us and relax for an hour and get to know Alan and Larry ... who we almost had to force to take off the American firemans’ gear ... but it’s hanging up to dry in the yard. If you’re very nice to him he might let you try it on ... if he can try yours ... if you know what I mean. Think about it. The ball is in your court.”

With that Chunky was helped into a sitting position still inside the bag.

“Feel for the floor ... take your time ... the bottom end of the bag is open ... and the rest is up to you. You decide what to do next ... and how the story develops from here”.




This is the crossroads; the point at which this saga could go in any direction. This is where I step in front of the camera ... where the author pisses off a lot of readers because either I leave what happens next to your own imaginations ... or risk taking the action off in a direction you didn’t want it to go.

Should our hero peel off his suit and have a nice long sexy shower and toddle off home to work out what he’d like to happen next? If he puts on the prison overalls and willingly locks himself into a jail cell ... where does that put him in the eyes of the guys upstairs? Alternatively, chummy chats and spaghetti with the blokes who’d roughed him up for the past few hours would certainly open the door to new adventures ... but how well would Chunky handle it immediately after all he’d just gone through?

If this was an interactive video computer game ... a CD ROM, you could choose ...follow whichever pathway appealed to your personal taste (or lack of it) ... but in time you’d probably go back and follow every path I’d provided; wanting to find out what happened .... if.!

Will the relationship with the girlfriend survive if Chunky spends more time at The Inner Man? Will he have the bottle to reveal all to his son? Will the young Squaddie son be able to handle it? Could he, by any stretch of the imagination, contribute something to future games? Chunky’s wife, could she ... might she ... welcome the refreshed relationship? ... and learn to take pleasure ... while finding a way back to the likely lad she married? ... seventeen years ago (shades of Shirley Valentine!).

Stories and situations, opportunities and possibilities ... the possibilities for Chunky from this point on are limitless ... and when you come to think about it seriously ... how far fetched is the situation at the heart of this story? What is going on out there in the real world? Are there people who do what other people only dream about doing? Are people making it happen for themselves and for other people? The fetish magazines, the Internet ... how much is fiction ... fantasy... or achievable reality given a little bit of good luck and determination?

The story of A.J. Proctor from this point on ... certainly will take a new path ... but it may now take on a different narrative style. Glimpses - flashes - challenges ... because, having given the man a tangible existence, I (the author) intend to wait and see how he handles the alternatives, opportunities, possibilities I’ve left open for him. He will tell me. Does that sound crazy? I must be to be writing this sort of fiction’. But, believe me, I’m waiting for him to make the next move ... and I know he will.





For more ‘storylines’ check out  HOUDINI CONNECTIONS WEB SITE at