Tales of the Rope

Chapter 13: Homemade Straitjacket

Chapter 13: Homemade Straitjacket

Hi, my name’s Marla, and straitjackets are something that I’ve always had a fascination about but not a lot of experience with. For one thing, they aren’t for sale down at the corner supermarket. I am not sure where you can even buy them. Nor are they cheap, at least I’ve been told that leather straitjackets cost hundreds of dollars. I saw a photo once of a rubber one, but don’t know if that’s much cheaper.

What I like about them is the security. I use the word security when I mean inescapability. A good straitjacket should make the wearer totally unable to remove it. A secondary effect is that the person is also limited in her actions. And they’re more comfortable than tight ropes for long-term bondage. Not that I haven’t done some pretty long term rope bondage, but it stands to reason that a straitjacket will restrict the circulation much less and put less strain on the limbs. If you’ve ever been tied with your elbows tight together behind your back for four or five hours, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

When I lived with Bill, I used to sleep all night with my wrists crossed and tied behind me. The ropes weren’t extra tight, but snug enough so that I couldn’t work them off by myself. And the knot was always up between my wrists on top where the fingers just can’t quite reach. I’ve also spent the night in handcuffs (self imposed for the most part, before I met Bill), and one time spent a good part of a night wearing a single glove. But I’ve never worn a straitjacket long enough to test its comfort. The homemade one I did try wasn’t a store-bought one and only approximated a real one. Still, it was secure, since Bill insisted on any bondage being real, just as I did. Let me tell you about it.

It was one Saturday afternoon, and Bill wanted to go to a movie but I didn’t want to see the movie he did, so I suggested that perhaps he could leave me in the apartment in a state of total immobility while he enjoyed a male blood-and-guts movie. I had studied most of the morning and was tired of the books. And it was not uncommon for me to be left alone in the apartment naked and tightly bound up. Usually it was in a hogtie, often to a chair, and sometimes in other forms of restraint. I guess I haven’t told you yet, but one of my favorite games is to be tightly bound and then left alone for an hour or two. It is very

scary to be alone in a house or apartment and totally helpless, but also very exciting. And I have found that some men really enjoy knowing that there is a naked, helpless girl waiting for them to return.

But I digress. Bill got some rope out but then got a funny look on his face. He told me that he was going to try and create a straitjacket effect as we had talked about a few times. I immediately stripped off my blouse and jeans, and then waited to see if he wanted the panties and bra off, too. He did. Nothing unusual there.

To begin with, he took a small length of thin rope and looped that a dozen times around one wrist. That was tied, and then black electrical tape wrapped around the knots. It created a snug loop around my wrist. He repeated that with the other wrist, and then he had me stand up and he looped a long rope around my waist, pulling it in tightly. When he had half a dozen loops around me, he tied off the rope in front and then brought it down between my legs and up my bottom to the back. It went around the rope in the small of my back and then back between my legs to the front where it was tied tightly. That gave me a sort of harness around my waist that couldn’t slide up because of the ropes through my crotch, and was far too tight around my waist to move downward.

Then he tied the end of another length of rope to the place where the crotch rope looped over the waist rope in the back. He had me hug myself so that my arms were wrapped around me in front with my hands by my sides. He brought the rope up to my left wrist, which was the arm closest to my body, and squeezed it through the loop around that wrist. Then he brought it back to the waist rope. When he pulled, my arm was wrapped tightly around me. He then brought the rope up to my other wrist and repeated the process.

He repeated this process with each wrist until there were six lengths of rope between my wrists and the waist rope in back (three doubled passes). Each was pulled tight and knotted before the next one was put on. They also alternated between the left and right wrists so that if I pulled on one, it pulled on the other wrist. If he had left me tied like that, I don’t think I could have gotten out. When he was getting some of the other equipment, I tried to bring my arms up and over my head but I couldn’t even begin to

get them over my breasts. My breasts are medium sized, but the arms were so tightly pulled that I couldn’t lift them at all. And the way my upper arms squeezed my breasts between them really looked and felt funny. I saw it in the mirror over the dresser.

Well, he wasn’t finished by a long shot. He took a short rope and tied my arms together where they crossed in front. He tied that rope down to the waist rope in front, jerked it tightly and knotted it off with a grin. I’ll have to admit, I was enjoying it. It’s always fun when you’re getting to try out a new form of bondage, and this was looking interesting.

Then he pulled a sweatshirt over my head so that my arms were completely covered. It was one of his sweatshirts, so it was pretty large on me. He cut a small but perfectly round hole in the front, and another in the back. These were down by the waistband elastic. He put the end of another length of rope through that hole and tied it with several knots. Then he passed the rope between my legs and up to the hole in the back of the shirt. The rope went through that hole and back and forth about four or five times. He pulled tightly so that the shirt was pulled down and tucked in-between my legs. Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

About then I was figuring I was almost done. My arms were well tied under the sweatshirt and I didn’t think I could get free. The only question was how he would tie my legs. Bill was too good a bondage person to leave me free to wander around the apartment and get into trouble. But he wasn’t even finished with the top of me yet.

He fetched a roll of duct tape, that silver-gray tape that is about two inches wide and very strong. Beginning below my shoulders, he wrapped it around my body as tightly as he could. The tape stuck immediately to the shirt and was wrapped pretty tightly. He wrapped four or five turns around above my breasts, then some right over them. Then some more around my waist, and a few around my hips.

I looked at myself in the mirror and it was quite a sight. The arms of the sweatshirt were taped tightly to the sides, and the whole thing looked like a bizarre Christmas package, silver tape on a white sweatshirt. Bill told me to struggle and I did. It was an agreement between us that I would always give

each bit of bondage a good test and be honest about any weakness I found. Both of us wanted the bondage to be very, very real and escape proof. I tried my hardest to pull my arms any way they would go but they stayed well tied. The sweatshirt and tape around my body helped to make the whole thing very secure.

I told him that the only way I could maybe get free would be if I could rub the tape and sweatshirt off on a table edge or something, then try to get a knife to work on the ropes. I knew full well that I was, in effect, telling him to tie my legs, but I didn’t care. Well, I should be honest: I did care. If he had left my legs free, then I would have really tried to work the homemade straitjacket off. And might have succeeded. I am pretty good at escaping from all the practice I had as a teenager. It was one of our rules that if there was a chance of getting free, I should make every effort to do it. That was the only way Bill could improve his bondage so that I couldn’t get free the next time. Besides, I enjoy the helpless feeling. It’s fun to challenge the ropes and try to work free, and a sort of enjoyable thrill when I can, but deep down I really enjoy the helplessness too much to want to ruin it very often.

Actually, I only got free from Bill’s bondage a couple times, and those were when we had just begun those games.

Anyway, my arms were wrapped around me and I was pretty sure I couldn’t get them free. Then Bill secured my legs for the evening. He sat me down in the corner of our bedroom where we had the ring screwed into the wooden floor. It was a metal screw with a ring on the top. We got those at a hardware store and Bill screwed several of them in useful places around the house, including the floor in the corner of the bedroom. We kept that corner relatively free of stuff so that any time I was to be tethered, it could be done there. He tied my ankles together with clothesline, cinching down the ropes very tightly and knotting the rope a dozen times. That was one of the things I liked about his bondage, it was so hard to get out of. If you managed to work out the last knot, there were a dozen others waiting to defeat you. And the last knot was never near your fingers.

Well, he knotted the rope around my ankles with a few feet left over. That he passed through the ring and back to my ankles. That was done twice and the rope pulled and knotted several more times. My feet were pulled up to the ring so that the ropes around my ankles were touching the ring and my legs held out in front of me, flat on the floor.

You might wonder why he tied my ankles right up against the ring, but there was reason. One time he tethered me by the ankles to that ring but left enough slack so I could bend down and get my teeth to work on the knot. After that, when I was tethered by rope, I was either gagged or the rope tied short enough so that I couldn’t get my mouth near it. In this case, my ankles could not move away from that ring, and it was impossible for me to bend double enough to get my mouth down to my ankles. And even if I could, the knots were down under the ropes on my ankles. If my arms had been tied behind my back, I might have been able to bend enough to get my face near my feet, but with my arms wrapped around me, that was impossible.

Bill took a shower and dressed for the show. He told me that if I couldn’t escape, I would just have to wait for my dinner until he came home, which would be three or four hours from then. I had been testing the “straitjacket” while he was in the shower and knew that I couldn’t work it off.

If I stretched out on my back, I could just reach the edge of the bed with my head. But that didn’t help me any. Bill saw me lying on my back and got a look on his face that I recognized. It was the look that said he thought he saw some way that I might - just might - work something free. He fetched my collar and another length of rope. The collar was a leather dog collar we bought at a pet store. It was about an inch wide and buckled shut. There was a hole in the tongue of the buckle so a small padlock could be put through it, locking the collar on. He put it on my neck, informing me as he did that he was worried that I might be able to rug the tape off against the carpet.

I disagreed but, as usual, was ignored. He helped me up to a sitting position, bending my legs so that my knees were sticking up. That made the rope connected to my ankles really tight, sort of locking my feet down to the floor. Then he tied my legs together just above the knees. When he cinched down the

ropes and knotted them, there was about two feet left over. Then he ran the rope up to the collar and through the ring there that is used to snap on a leash when you take the dog for a walk. Back down to the knee bondage it went. It was pulled and I found my chin coming to rest against my knees. He tied the rope off with four or five knots, all on the underside of my legs where my teeth couldn’t reach them.