NON-FICTION:
An ex-Royal Navy diving instructor and sports fanatic, living alone and working in a Scottish sea-coast town, was desperately careful to keep his enthusiasm for rubber bondage a closely guarded secret.

Together with a group of local hard-nuts he did find some strictly non-sexual outlets for his need for high-energy physical self-challenge. These are described on this site in ALIAS CALLUM BUCHANAN (all links at the end of this page). But his kinky side remained too dangerous to admit to even his closest mates.

Expert at working himself into elaborate solo self-applied bondage predicaments, he could achieve a physically challenging sense of helpless captivity ... then enjoy an energetic struggle ... before allowing himself to begin a strenuous and often lengthy self-release routine. The following 6000 word text is a detailed description of one such session.
It provides a step-by-step record of gradual self-encasement in rubber and restraints - HOT in more than one way - and is totally factual.

It ends with him efficiently trussed, gagged and sightless - and that is where his 'Theatre of the Mind's Eye' or wishful thinking is free to take over. Jim Stewart , March 2007

THE SECRET SESSIONS OF CALLUM BUCHANAN
(This may read like jerk-off fiction - but all details are genuine information - believe me, I've watched his sessions on more than one occasion.)

On a regular basis since his return to civilian life, Big Callum (as he soon became known at the local gym and rugby club), frequently treated himself to what he called a quiet evening at home.

It made a change from sitting in the pub with mates after a good challenging work-out or rugby practice. He missed the camaraderie of the Officers’ Mess, but had settled into a social routine since becoming Chief Engineer for the local Health Authority. Divorced and living alone, he had developed a circle of carefully selected friends but, to some extent, remained a Loner.
The town where he lived, although quite big, was a place where everybody liked to know everybody else’s business. Not a situation appropriate for Callum Buchanan.

As an alternative to trying to find a compatible sexual partner, he preferred living on his own.
His life-long attraction towards being encased in heavy rubber had helped him through a physically demanding naval career. But a couple of incidents while trying to find a compatible female partner for his ‘kinky’ games, had cured him of taking the risk of admitting what he was into. And, because no way was he gay, men he'd met who he suspected might share his pervy interests had been avoided in case they might guess his guilty secret.
So, strictly solo (and frequent) self applied rubber bondage sessions had come to figure strongly in his generally enjoyable life. He knew what he liked and had worked out ways to make it happen without outside help.

Always a sportsman, he also knew his gear - and certain kinds of sports gear had always turned him on. His practical know-how as an engineer allowed him to modify this kit so he could effectively ‘confine’ himself in it and, more importantly, release himself when the excitement was over. Recently, as an extension of this, he would now condemn himself to stay restrained after the erotic pleasure had died down. This was not easy to achieve, but he was currently experimenting with ways to experience ‘unwilling’ restraint situations - by determinedly not allowing himself to start his release routine before a pre-decided self-imposed time limit had expired ... as long as he didn’t wimp out. Self-discipline had become part of his regular self-challenge sessions.

The urges had started when he was very young and, after years of denial and resistance, he’d at last reached a point where he no longer even cared about the why or why not’s of it. It was/is his turn on. Massive turn-on. Just a hobby with no angst attached - as long as it stayed secret - and private. The road to where he was ‘at’ that evening was one with a gentle gradient. He was now OK with it - but it had not always been that way.

In early puberty he had been disconcerted by his instinctive response to the sight of men in diving gear. He fought against his unquenchable lust for the imagery of physically capable men challenging themselves. Not sexually, of course. Just an indefinable excitement which made his dick hard. Down on the docks he would watch seamen and divers dressed to face the wildest of weather in gear which he was desperate to have the chance to wear. His first youthful insistence to his parents that he wanted to take up windsurfing and then diving was only a cover for his attraction to the gear - justification for climbing into rubber: the opportunity to be encased in it; spend social time in it; have it hanging in his bedroom. All very important when still living with parents, to have a cover story for inclinations which embarrass you but are irresistible. The early self-challenging times as a youth spent head-to-flippers in rubber helping out in a local boat yard doing maintenance, even the shittiest of jobs “just for the experience”, had paid dividends when he applied to join the navy.

He’d also continued boxing during his Navy career, something he’d been good at at school. Frequently Duty Officer in charge of security shore patrols when in port, he had succeeded in getting his Master-at-Arms ticket, and generally knew how to look after himself in any rough-and-tumble. But sports gear had always been the big thing.

So, now a civilian again, his various sporting involvements locally were part of his cover. They made buying the gear nothing to hide from anybody, including the postman. The fact that he had developed uses for much of the kit which the manufacturers never dreamed of, added to his secret enjoyment when his work or sports mates discussed the efficiency of such kit, and visited him to socialise and saw it lying around.

Modifications which intensified the restrictiveness of boxing gloves, groin guards and gum shields for his elaborate 'predicaments' were not obvious. But when embarking on a private session, he could now efficiently confine himself into the gear and commit himself to stay in it even after the excitement had worn off. He had learned to love to hate these prolonged self-challenges.

He was probably unaware that his regular sessions had gradually become more extreme - or so they might seem to any outsider looking in through the window. Not that such a thing was possible in his new home, because all windows were always carefully closed off with curtains when he was indulging his fantasies. And his play area for more intense sessions was in a basement which had no external windows nor doors. But generally, his equipment was mostly the type of kit that a fit sportsman with an interest in boxing, martial arts and water sports could safely have about the house - even lying around his living area so he could enjoy the sight and smell of it - and occasionally wear it while watching TV or doing chores.

But to our tale:
The basement was by now conveniently equipped with several special features: eye-hooks in ceiling, floor and at other strategic points, plus pulleys and a chain hoist (which he’d developed a knack of operating even when efficiently restricted) allowed for variety. A work bench was useful for developing new gizmos whether in metal, moulded plastic or wood. An abandoned deep bucket chair salvaged from a racing car, sat waiting for his ingenious mind to devise a way of using it for self-imposed restraint sessions. its webbing straps and harness clips had suggested possibilities to Callum which, even in his imagination could get his dick hard.
He reminded himself that he must get around to devising a practical way to confine himself in it seemingly inescapably - but eventually release himself without assistance.

From the start he had decided that his basement playroom must essentially remain a place for solo games. Even a whiff of suspicion could destroy the cover he had built up around the local gym and community in general. Down here, the pretences of the sporting life he lead for public consumption could be left behind when he entered his own warm quiet world of all-encasing restrictive rubber and sports kit.

He’d developed a number of elaborate play-session routines which kept him happy and usually safe. On this day he was going to commit himself to a demanding session, and the preparations for it would take both time and effort - all part of the enjoyment. Each phase of restriction aimed to challenge a different part of the body, or a different sense. He knew that the scenario was to an extent make-believe, but only when he was efficiently restrained did he need to admit to himself that an Escape Route was available. This had to be foolproof - but he was practiced enough to risk making escape a both physically taxing and lengthy process. Planning, preparations and achieving an extreme degree of encasement and restraint, were for him as pleasurable as the actual time spent enjoying a sense of convincingly inescapable restraint - before admitting that he could (with effort) extricate himself.

Processes described:
He always entered his basement play room naked. As a matter of practice he never took any ordinary clothing down, so there were no distracting visual reminders of his everyday world.

A highly efficient boxers groin guard was the first phase of his elaborate preparation on this occasion. Made of a plastic-covered foam it was unaffected by sweat, tears or indeed any other fluids and could be washed clean when finished with. He had made an important modification to it by fitting a triangular plastic plate behind the cup, carefully moulded on a plaster model. It separated his cock from his stomach, confining his genitals inside the rigid foam cup, making it impossible to stimulate his cock from outside. With a pair of snug latex trunks stretched tight over this, it became virtually impregnable. He was glad he’d remembered to piss before getting into it. Depending on how long the session might last, he might be forced to piss while still in it - which would do no harm but be uncomfortable. But then again, he was no stranger to discomfort - self-imposed discomfort.

A very special new wet suit was the next layer for the carefully pre-panned session, custom-made by a small cottage industry in Devon to this special sportsman’s detailed specifications. Most wet suits are made from a layer of foam neoprene rubber with a stretch nylon cloth bonded to both sides. This firm, which only made to measure had developed what they considered to be the warmest suit in the world. Instead of just one thickness of neoprene, they would select several different types and bond them together to produce a thicker suit. The one he had ordered specially and received only a few days ago, was an advance on anything they’d produced before. The manufacturers had appreciated technical input from so experienced a diver.

The inside of the suit was a second layer of a tear resistant smooth rubber material which left the inside of the suit absolutely smooth with no seams or lumps. The outside, once finished, had been sprayed with a neoprene seal to make it doubly water tight. He’d opted for a two piece and specified no zips; it should have enough stretch to battle his way into it. The trousers (or as they are known in the trade as Long-Johns) extended up over his shoulders with arm slits in the wide chest panels. For good measure he’d also asked for attached socks.

The process of getting his legs into this body-hugging first part, even using soap solution to ease entry, proved to be quite a tussle - but he enjoyed a good tussle. The maker had warned him that it might be hard to peel the suit off again, but he looked forward to facing that challenge later - after he’d pleasured himself and reached the stage when he was exhausted and wondering why the hell he put himself through these challenges.

The top half, again made from the same bonded layers, had a deliberately snug attached hood with the smallest of face openings. It was the stretch-and-pull-yourself-into type with no zips. By the time he had struggled into the jacket and hood over his already rubber-encased torso, and had the crotch strap clipped through between his legs, the sweat was already beginning to trickle down his back. Not that it would escape, because the suit fitted as promised, like a second skin.

Ear plugs were next item on his agenda. He remembered them only after battling himself into the snug neck and head section of the suit top. The small face-opening made it difficult to peel back the hood before softening two wax ear plugs. These, he knew from experience, would dampen his hearing to a point where he need not be distracted by the telephone bell if it rang. He was not on-call from the hospital, and the phone would switch automatically to the answering machine. With ear-plugs now firmly in place and the hood dragged back up around his head, only a small area of his face remained exposed, plus his hands.

A 'warm-up' now, something he would commit himself to in advance of such self-challenge sessions; a set of energetic exercises. In a corner of the play room was his multi gym. And so, he resolutely began to go through his usual routine. However, the new suit itself turned out to be a factor of magnification which he had not anticipated. After a very few minutes on the cycle, he was sweating more than ever before. He decided to stop and go into the next phase of his plan for total restriction. But, he told himself firmly, next time he got himself into this new suit he must complete the set of exercises.

Rigid ski boots, solid moulded plastic foot casings which reached half way up his calves, were the next phase of 'restraint'. These had four substantial metal clips to clamp them closed. Deliberately bought large, they fitted comfortably over the bulky new wetsuit feet and legs. When clipped up, the foot was held flat and rigid to a degree no other binding could hope to copy. The ankle was locked in a bent position at about 10 degrees of forward lean and clamped immovably. As he stood up, panting from bending to fasten the last clip, again it was brought home to him how much thicker and more restrictive his new suit was than the old tried and trusted kit he had played in for the past few years. He hoped that his calculations would allow for this.

He clumped his way over to his bench where the rest of the day’s play things had been carefully laid out in advance. The ski boots made walking difficult, and with the ear plugs and wetsuit hood up, all he could hear was his own heart and breathing. First item off the bench immediately headed for his mouth.

The double boxer’s gum shield was not quite authentic sports gear but was based on the ones he liked to use for heavy sparring sessions at the gym. This version had been specially made by a dentist in Australia when Callum’s ship had been in dock in Sydney for a month. Like the regular type, it consisted of two complete teeth beds, but this set had been specially moulded to fit extra snugly around his upper and lower teeth. The plates were hinged together which was standard practice, but a separate wedge-shaped block of firm plastic designed to be inserted between the two gum-shields and clip in there, was his own invention. Designed to totally immobilise his tongue and jaw, it both filled and clamped the mouth partially open. Once this wedge was in place, he could neither close his mouth or open it further. And no amount of shaking would dislodge it, this he had proved on many occasions.

The dentist who had tailor-made the device had taken some persuading at first. But, being an enthusiastic sportsman himself, once he’d got over his surprise he’d risen to the challenge from a fellow sports gear nut. Creating such a precise piece of customised dental work for a beefy British Naval officer had really fired up his imagination. Callum had explained away this unusual commission with a story about Houdini-type Escape Artist challenges being his hobby. To make challenges harder, the aim was to devise an efficient mouth restraint ... to prevent teeth being used to release ropes or straps.
Whether he believed the story or not, the dental technician approached this unusual challenge with all his professional skills. For once, here was a customer who was willing to put up with whatever discomfort the process of getting the special denture right might involve. Pain and discomfort are part of the dentist’s trade - and here was somebody who seemed to relish both.

The two men had soon struck up a rapport during early planning and experimental sessions. For the final testing, the dentist had jokingly offered to add straps to his dental chair, his reasoning being that he wanted no resistance while testing the long-term efficiency of his new creation. Callum had never admitted his life-long kink for bondage as such, and was embarrassed by it. So, although tempted, he passed up the offer, not knowing where it might lead ... although the idea turned him on.

Constructing a precisely shaped wedge which, once in place, could not be dislodged, was only the first phase. The customer asked for a breathing hole through the wedge ... plus an additional plug so that the air hole could be closed when required "'to intensify the challenge". Testing the efficiency of this refinement during the final fitting sessions had been quite a turn-on for both men. Straps for the chair might have made the final testing easier for the dentist if not for Callum. In fact, tweaking the design and re-testing sessions had continued for as long as the ‘naval sports-gear enthusiast’ had been docked in Sydney harbour.
Perhaps Callum had later regretted not allowing the dentist to follow his original suggestion for straps on his chair. But Callum had always resolutely avoided any such opening for potential play-partners during his closeted lifetime. Determinedly he only ever played solo.

Back home, the efficient gag had been well tested by Callum during his regular self-imposed ‘endurance’ sessions in the privacy of his own new plays-pace. He had confirmed through repeated experience that once the wedge was inserted and clipped, it needed no straps to keep the device in place. Today he chose not to use the breath-control plug because the new suit would be challenge enough for the lengthy processes still ahead.

Boxer’s hand bandages were next off the bench; but first a pair of thin rubber gloves because he’d promised himself total rubber encasement today. Over the latex gloves the bandaging process starting around the wrist then separating individual fingers before more turns round the hand was not too difficult to achieve - even on the second hand with the first already bandaged. It was a process well practiced over the years in preparation for legitimate sparring sessions (usually without latex gloves underneath - but not always). By the time the bandaging was completed to his satisfaction it was almost impossible to move any finger, and each hand was compressed into a half open fist. The time spent learning how to box had not been wasted!

Only three items were left on his bench: a pair of American 18 ounce boxing gloves, a long webbing strap with a ring on it, and his pride and joy; a special diving mask designed for the oil industry. This was intended to allow a diver to weld underwater without the use of a welding shield in front of the mask. The unique design had a face glass formed by a liquid crystal unit. A switch on the front of the mask could darken the visor to any degree - including total blackness. The mask was also heavy, so straps which held it in place were designed to make it impossible to shake loose. He had deliberately removed the breathing regulator from the air-tight mask, replacing it with a home made fail-safe air inlet. This, he knew from experience, was crucial to his plan - but he’d contrived it so it wouldn’t allow sound out. Even without the gag, his loudest shouts inside the mask were little more than a murmur. He’d actually tested it by using a tape recorder - to check the mask’s efficiency. That was the attention to detail Callum indulged in when planning for such sessions. The mask with the gum-shield gag in place therefore, he knew would be seriously soundproof. Although his jaw was already aching from the solid wedge gag, Callum had committed himself to achieve the planned ‘predicament’ in every last detail - for the pre-determined period. So he now resolutely plunged his face into the rubber of the mask and pulled the straps tight - knowing that they had secure unslippable clips. No amount of head-shaking would open the clips.

Next, as a precaution, he re-checked that on the bench a slim sharp diver’s knife was firmly clamped upright in the vice at the bench-edge - ready for use when the time came to effect his escape. Being a careful man, Callum always checked and re-checked. Slicing open tightly laced-on boxing gloves was a delicate business, especially after a taxing session of struggling and sweating inside his efficiently self-imposed bondage. On occasions, he’d been so exhausted by sudden unforeseen factors like an attack of cramps or numbness caused by restricted circulation, that using the knife to release himself had demanded a supreme effort. But his navy diving training had prepared him to deal with such emergencies. He remembered times when his diving instructors had tied the hands of trainees behind their backs and blacked out their masks before directing them to find their way through a complicated underwater obstacle course with a tangle of narrow apertures with overhangs and underfoot obstructions which could snag at breathing tubes and trap a man by air tanks which the wearer knew would run out unless he found a way around the problem. Always well supervised, these training exercises had been memorable and, when Callum himself had become an instructor - he had taken delight in making such exercises even more fiendish. But, he’d also delighted in always being the first to test any new challenge for trainees - and demonstrate that however threatening an unexpected difficulty might seem, by keeping a cool head and not panicking, there was always an escape route (well, nearly always! ).

Callum dragged his mind back from the heady days of setting and solving such problems for others. Today he wanted no unforeseen hang-ups. The knife was sharp and solidly housed and ready for use - as was an upright blunt spike and several strategically placed hooks which could help release an unexpectedly tangled restraining strap or rope binding. His experience had taught him to expect the unexpected - and be prepared for any eventuality. The lace-cutting manoeuvre he had practiced many times - including learning not to damage the gloves when doing it blindfolded. Callum took his self-challenges seriously.

So, fingerless sparring gloves, neat but thickly padded were next. And as he bundled his bandaged hands into them, the sweat was gently trickling down his nose and his excitement was rising (although his captive cock had nowhere to rise to within its prison). As the sweat trickled he, without thinking raised a hand to wipe the drop away. The bulky glove buffeted against the sturdy mask and his muffled laugh was heard by nobody but himself.

The lace on each glove had been deliberately threaded back to front, tail in the palm rather than at the wrist. Each lace had a Fix-lock sliding clamp over its ends, the same as were used on sleeping bag draw-strings and other climbing gear. To tighten and make-off the laces, he had devised a neat piece of engineering. On the bench was a metal plate with a deep ‘V’ notch. Under this, a bar on a rail was held up by a spring, and connected to a foot-treadle. By positioning a glove and its lace-clamp above the plate, the lace ends (held together by the Fix-lock) dropped round the bar. With a quick press on the foot treadle the laces could be drawn tight and close, clamped so they wouldn’t loosen again. With fingers inside gloves and bandages and mouth clamped behind the mask, there was no way he could release the clamp or pull the glove off his hands - until he activated his carefully contrived get-out plan - the upright knife slicing the laces.

Callum resolutely pressed the foot treadle twice with his booted foot. The thick gloves would now remain closed however much he might tug at them during the coming session - which he intended to be a lengthy one - perhaps for most of the night if he could resist the temptation to start the release process.
Long ends of the tightened laces bothered Callum. So he had perfected the difficult manoeuvre of cutting off the dangling surplus. Callum liked things tidy, and anyway the now tightly closed lacings would have to be cut through during his escape routine later - much later, he decided.

*****

At this point his elaborate preparations were almost complete. He was quite proud of the fact he had reached this point in his plan without actually shooting his load. He knew he was dribbling a lot in the confined groin cup, but the juice was going to stay there - and there’d be a lot more of it by the time the session was over. He knew that - and looked forward to deliberately driving himself to climax - more than once during the session. He might even demand of himself that he wouldn’t start to release himself until he’d forced himself to three distinct climaxes. These could become progressively more difficult to achieve as exhaustion took over. But, tonight he might challenge himself to find the energy - and the juice. It would be a serious text - he liked to test himself.

The heat inside the suit was already unusually intense. But he was up for dealing with it. For now he would close his mind to the inevitable final stages of the session, the escape process however taxing. Just enjoy the effects of the first couple of hours (estimated) trapped in sweltering confinement. Then, he would prolong the experience by dealing with the cooling off of his adrenalin - and determinedly subject himself to the discomfort for a while in what he could convince himself was inescapable captivity - before allowing himself to activate 'The Plan'.

He knew his body was now wet with sweat all over, and as he moved he could feel the sweat squeeze around inside the tight-fitting suit, oozing out from under the bottom of the face opening in the hood and building up inside the mask. He was well pleased with himself. Speech was impossible and even the grunts he made experimentally, he knew were heavily suppressed. He tried to shout louder around the solid wedge in his mouth. It was impossible - which was gratifying. But on stopping for breath, sweat which was collecting within the mask entered the breathing hole. He tasted his own sweat. He knew this could happen. There had been times when he’d been forced swallow some of the stuff rather than drown in it. He could deal with that.

Having confirmed that the sound restrictions were efficient and he had sufficient air, he also stopped to listen - and holding his breath confirmed that his hearing was reduced to virtually nil. Now with his sense of touch removed by padded gloves (with bandage and latex under them) he was ready for the next essential step. A careful swipe at the switch on his well-secured mask would remove his vision. He tested it. His bulky hand brushed the switch, and the visor clouded to a satisfying blackness. Another swipe and his vision returned. He was a careful man.What had to be dealt with next on his agenda was the freedom of his arms and hands. This routine was yet another intricate process, and it had taken many hours of sometimes strenuous practice before he had a fail-safe means of efficiently restricting the use of both hands and arms efficiently - and still be able to release himself from it when the time came. The serviceable webbing strap had come from a ship’s chandlers. About 2.5 meters long, it was fitted with a dependable friction clamp which allowed the strap to tighten and not loosen again until the lever was pressed. He had melted a small hole in the free end of the tough strap.

The wrist and elbow strapping process was as follows. At its maximum extension, the strap could be pre-threaded through a figure of eight ring making three equal loops. Even with heavily gloved hands, setting the loops could be achieved. Then, after much practice, he had perfected his ability to scoop up the strap from the edge of the bench. The padded gloves made manual dexterity very limited, but in a carefully rehearsed move, behind his back he could slip one arm down into each of two loops. Next, using a clear area of the bench-edge to trap the strap loops at his elbows, the buckle end would hang between his legs. By clamping his elbows together he could now walk over to a wall where he had fixed a cup-hook at an appropriate height. He’d learned to do this without dropping the webbing strap - because if he did drop it at this point he’d have to cut the glove laces and remove the gloves before he could pick it up again.

Having reached the wall and leaning back against it, the straps around his elbows would not fall. And between his legs, the remaining loop of strap which included the buckle was long enough for him to capture it with his gloved hands from in front. With one or both hands in the loop, he could drag it between his legs, position both gloves within the loose loop, turn round and then manoeuvre the hole in the strap-end onto the hook on the wall.

Achieving this pleased him greatly. He’d done it many times now. By gently stepping away from the wall, the webbing strap could be pulled, tightening it around his elbows and making a bigger loop between his groin and the wall with both gloved hands inside the loop. Now came the tricky part; he would twist one wrist until the strap was twice round it. Having achieved the turns round this wrist, he would next reach up with his other hand (glove) to flick the switch on the mask. This done, he was now in total darkness - but he had learned to plunge the second glove back into the loop and, as with the first, get two turns around his wrist. Now, by keeping tension on his arms and moving away from the wall he could gradually draw the webbing through the friction buckle, first increasing the strap tightness even more around both his elbows behind is back, and then gently reducing the slack around and between his two wrists in front. This process he had perfected so he could tighten all three loops until he could no longer remove his hands from the loops of the strap, his elbows anchoring through his crotch to his gloved wrists and the distance reduced to a satisfying degree. The heavy-duty friction clamp was a god-send. Once the desired degree of restriction had been achieved (and perhaps a little bit more for good measure), a final flick of the waist and hips could free the end of the strap from the cup hook. This left his efficiently trussed elbows and wrists tugging against one another between his legs. By this means he had enjoyed many sessions efficiently trussed, confident that by pressing the friction-clamp against the door frame he could slacken the strap when he was ready to start the process of freeing himself.

This familiar predicament achieved - on this occasion he was ready to introduce ...
A challenging new element - floor clamps for the ski boots he was wearing.
Hours of experiment had gone into preparing for this imaginative new 'restraint'. Blind and pinioned as he was, he was ready for this new manoeuvre. With one elbow he found the wall before him. Then with his shoulder against it, he moved carefully towards the corner of the room. Arriving there he now knew his precise position, and even through his heavily booted feet he could locate the spring-loaded ski bindings which he had fixed firmly to the floor. Like everything else Callum had gathered together, these metal ski clamps were the best quality sports gear. While skiing, the force required to break them open could be adjusted from a little tug to a point where no force would move them. Screw-bolted to his concrete floor, he had set the clamps so that they were firm enough to hold his legs against any satisfyingly determined jerks and struggles he might apply. But, when he wanted out, by leaning forward until his head was supported against the well-anchored bench and then jerking with all his strength, he could break out forwards. This was to be, when the time came, the initial move in his elaborate escape from self-bondage plan. Frequently he had checked and adjusted the tension of the ski bindings and the distance from the bench to confirm that everything was at precisely the correct setting. Callum was not only ingenious he was a perfectionist.

Blindly clunking first one then the second of his boots into the metal clamps, he had at last achieved one of his most favourite bondage predicaments: laced inescapably into padded gloves with bandage and latex under them; gagged and masked; wrists and elbows restrained - and clamped stranding uncomfortably totally encased in triple-thickness rubber. How long could he endure/enjoy this for? He was free to struggle and thrash around and remain firmly anchored in the uncomfortable position, knees impossible to straighten. His powerful body could writhe and tug. His strong thighs would not break the bindings. Nothing would give. He could shout and curse and nobody would come to his assistance. He would be there - until he decided he had had enough. With no clock, could he discipline himself to remain there well after he had stopped enjoying it? - and so experience the feeling that he had surrendered control to somebody else?

Today, as a precaution, he’d positioned the rally car seat close enough that, if he grew tired but wasn’t yet ready to free himself, he might sit and rest for a while on the edge of it. Later, even with the restrictive boots still clamped to the floor he could, with an effort, stand up again for more enjoyable struggling on seriously tired legs or to begin the release process. He’d positioned the deep bucket seat very precisely so that he couldn’t possibly slip right down into it. That would be dangerous. The seat was angled steeply backwards and the well-cushioned sides pressed close in on the body. Even without the rally safety harness, the chair was deliberately confining in its shaping. He had tried the harness a couple of times. It was very efficient - but he had not yet worked out how to use it in his self-applied bondage games. That was something for another time.

He dragged his mind back from the attractive possibilities of the car seat, to the predicament he had so skilfully achieved so far today, and congratulated himself on the fact that he could now stand there fully restrained and savour the feeling. Mentally he re-checked his elaborate plan; ever the practical man. A disturbing thought dawned:

Careful as he was, in his eagerness to get into his new suit and play, he had omitted one important check before going down to his basement. Had he locked the back door to his house?

HIS REALITY IS ABOUT TO TAKE ON AN UN-REALITY ... CALLUM AND THE UNEXPECTED

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