Blog reader Louis made a self-bondage contraption — complete with magnetic locks and a timer mechanism. Check it out:

Louis writes:

For my system there are four timers: 1) A Harbor Freight programmable timer at the power outlet that turns off the entire system for 15 minutes every morning. 2) An enable timer that turns off (currently) at 4 hours. 3) A delay start timer so I need to push the start switches (both of them) for 2 seconds to start the primary timer. 4) And the primary timer that I can change the time on.

The timers can be set for up to 9,990 hours (1.13 years). Three (3) of the counters are CNT-35-96. No, I didn’t spend anywhere near $146 for the timers. They were used, usually less than $10.

There is a 300-pound magnetic lock for each wrist. I can’t pull them loose. At the front of each hand is two start switches. I need to engage one on the left side and one on the right side for 2 seconds to lock the locks. There is a switch on the back of each magnetic lock to release the locks. The switches on the control box can be set for both switches, either switch, can’t be disengaged, or a specific switch. The rotary switch connects the circuit output to the other connections. (Currently not used.)

It feels a LOT safer when I get both hands free at the end of a session. I now play, almost all of the time, with gloves on. I would not do that when I needed to manipulate a key with one hand to get free.

Here are more pictures of the setup:

Metal would like to thank Louis for the pictures and information.

FYI: Louis also designed the jail cell time lock in Yossie’s cell. The jail cell time lock has been updated, replacing the sprinkler timer with a CNT-35-96.

And, you can read more about straitjackets by visiting Louis’ web site: The Straitjacket Page.

Check out the pictures and information from londonslv:

Dear Metal,

Here are pics and a description of a self-bondage session I had a while ago. The chastity itself was a russian-roulette game I sometimes play to lock myself up, as I’m still in search of a local key holder to control access to my cock.

To start the session, I assembled everything I’d need on the floor. The padlocks were checked working, then the keys placed on a high shelf, where I wouldn’t be able to reach them until the end of the session.

Prior to the session, I’d edged myself for a couple of hours, before locking my cock in its prison. The key to the CB went into my safe. The combination of which is in a text file on my PC. (It’s 8 digits, and I set it a long while ago so I would forget the combination).

So, having assembled everything I needed, I put padlocks through the top eyelets in my boots – they’re not coming off until the end of the session.

Next, I put on and padlock my Mr S Leather muzzle. It’s quite a trip. As you can see, I have padlocked the self-bondage lock (from MEO) to the collar of the muzzle. Padlocked to the end that releases is a chain, and the handcuff key. The handcuffs are padlocked to the other end of the chain, so I can never “lose” the key, even if it tries to bounce away when it lands.

Now I’m almost ready, I start the “russian-roulette” part for my chastity. Using the timelock software, I set it up to encrypt the file containing the safe combination for a random time up to 4 weeks with a bias on the longer side, but with a hidden timer so I can’t see how long is left to run. I don’t start the encryption however. I have a gaming keyboard with 16 macro buttons, so I’ve programmed each of these to start the timelock software running, after various delays from 5 minutes to 1 hour.

I push a macro button at random, then complete the self-bondage. My hands are now cuffed, with each cuff also going through the loops of the DM boots.

Now I’m trapped, horny, desperate to cum thanks to the edging earlier. Having to wait while the self-bondage lock melts, dripping cold water onto me. It usually releases after about 45 minutes, depending on ambient temperature.

So while I’m in bondage, I can only wait, wondering which macro I pushed, whether I’d get free before timelock starts, sentencing me to up to 4 weeks in chastity, and having to watch the PC do this to me while I’m helpless to stop it. (The PC base unit and keyboard and power switches are out of my reach).

The last picture shows me a little later on, the ice lock can be seen to have melted somewhat.

This was quite a fun session, and ended up with my cock horny, frustrated, and locked for about 5 weeks. (In two of the macros, I had programmed a couple of booby-traps – one would start the timer, then add 1 week, the other would add 2 weeks!)

—londonslv

You can find londonslv on Recon

Hey guys, Marknorth is spending Independence Day with a chain collar locked on. It’s not the tightest of collars, but you gotta give the guy credit for trying. He also sent a true-life self-bondage story, which is below the picture.

Unfreedom Day

By Marknorth

Dear Metal,

I spent the night before Independence Day in a chain collar. It reminded me of the loss of freedom.

Several weeks ago I had a weekend with no obligations or plans, so I decided to use the time to do a self-bondage lock-down in my cell.

Put in the usual supply of water and protein shakes – and straws.

Let my dick choose the length of time to be locked away – 18 hours.

Utilized the typical set-up; padded hood, leather cuffs (ankle and wrist), leather collar (2” fetters), all locked and linked by heavy chains. Secured a chain from the ankles to the I-bolt, making escape from the cell impossible, without using the “fail safe” key. No cock-lock, just an under armour jock and cup.

I decided to wear racing leathers and boots to complete the experience.  Love the way the leathers fit – tight in all the right places.

Was in the cell and had everything locked on by 6:00 pm Friday night – having forgone dinner to avoid a call from nature.

No escape until the keys dropped from the mag-lock at around noon on Saturday.

My hard-on usually doesn’t dissipate for several hours after the initial lock-down; so the struggle within the hard-cup adds some discomfort – although not as much as a chastity cage.

It didn’t take long to start to heat up inside the hood and leathers, but that was to be expected.

Since there is no way to mark time, it is hard to tell exactly when it starts to become uncomfortable and the “real” lock-up begins as the initial “buzz” wears off; but that is the point, after all – it’s not bondage until you want out.

This was the first time that I had worn the leathers for a lock-up of more than a few hours, and it was apparent that they were going to add a level of discomfort that was unexpected – especially the increase in body heat.

Also found out that getting to my dick to piss was a serious amount of work – the zipper on the leathers doesn’t extend quite far enough to allow for moving the hard cup out of the way easily.

So every time I had to piss was a frustrating struggle. Didn’t test that part out ahead of time – an error on my part, as I usually consider all the possibilities and test them out before locking things in place. This time, though, it didn’t seem like it would be an issue ahead of time.

So, time passed, the level of discomfort increased making it hard to sleep. I know I dozed off but not for long periods.

Of course, as the discomfort builds, so does the frustration of not being able to get free.

It soon became a series of attempts to find a way to get more comfortable – pacing, kneeling, sitting, laying down on the cot trying to sleep.  Nothing was working and the frustration continued to build.

For the first time in a long time the thought of having to use the “fail safe” kept coming to the forefront.

I love the leathers, love the hood, and love being locked up – but for some reason the combination that night was making me overly miserable – and I wasn’t sure that I could make it for the duration.

As more time passed it became apparent to me that I needed to get out and get relief.

Eventually I caved in. My “fail safe” key is kept in a large plastic juice bottle that is filled with motor oil. The opening is too small to stick my hand in, so it needs to be poured out to get to the key. That creates an unbelievable mess on the floor!  But my frustration overcame what I knew would be a long and tedious clean-up.

I dumped the oil out and got the key – regretting that step already.

That key opens the lock box with the necessary keys to remove the restraints.

Once I had the locks off and removed the restraints and hood – and the leathers and boots, I left the cell (frustrated at the mess and for failing to make the full 18 hours).

I almost screamed when I looked at the clock – it was 10:50 am – I would have only made it a little over an hour more before I would have been freed!!

Now I was really pissed at myself – such a fucking wuss!!!

Cleaning up the oil took over an hour – and it stained the concrete on the cell floor.

The mess confirmed the “price” for using the “fail safe” – it’s there for an emergency – it worked as needed and verified that I would always be able to get out of the restraints quickly should that emergency arise (something that I have never had to test before).

Lesson learned – man-up and tough it out – I’ve done it many times before.  I’m going to do it many times more.

I’ll be punishing myself with a longer lock up with the same set-up in near the future.

Thought you might get a kick out of that episode – I wasn’t going to share it with you because is somewhat embarrassing.  Was the first time that I wimped out in a self-lock-up and I have spent so much more time locked up under those circumstances.

Your continued prisoner,

Mark

Metal would like to thank Marknorth for the account above.

The MortiSafe is a time/internet controlled key safe. The demonstration video below describes how to use the MortiSafe for self-bondage:

To learn more about the MortiSafe, click here.

(Use at your own risk.)

By Bind

I have had several close calls with self bondage.  It is a very dangerous activity.  Here are four times when I was a teenager when I nearly killed myself by accident, or caused serious damage to myself.

Story 1:  The Dog Chain

We owned the stupidest dog in the world.  It was completely un-trainable.  It couldn’t even learn “sit.”  Every time anyone went into the back yard the dog jumped all over them and sniffed their crotch.  I used to take him on walks with one of my sisters or younger brother.  The dog would get so excited about going on a walk that it would run all around the yard if it heard the sound of the dog chain.  We had a choke chain that went around the dog’s neck for taking him on walks.  The dog was so stupid and excited about going on walks that he pulled very hard on the leash and would choke himself on the choke chain.  One day I got the choke chain and took it into the bathroom where I could get some privacy.  My oldest sister was the only other person in the family who was home.  First I tried it out around my neck to see how it felt.  Then I put the chain through the loop and started to wrap it around my wrists.  I twisted my hands around and around causing the chain links to knot and catch.  Eventually the chain was very tight around my wrists and I could not twist the chain any tighter.  I could not get my hands out of the chain unless I twisted it back in the other direction.  The chain was so tight around my wrists that I could feel my fingers going numb as my circulation was being cut off.  So I tried to twist my wrists back in the other direction to loosen the dog chain.  But my wrists had become swollen and the chain had become caught in the middle.  I kept trying to get it undone, but I was stuck.  I had succeeded in chaining my hands together in such a way that I could not escape.  I felt a sense of panic as my fingers continued to lose feeling.  The chain around my wrists were cutting in painfully and I could feel and smell the sweat that was dripping from my face and soaking the under arms of my shirt.  In desperation I unlocked the bathroom door and looked for my sister.  I was very embarrassed to show my sister the predicament that I was in, but I knew that time was running out before I caused major damage to my fingers and hands from the loss of circulation.   When I found her I made an excuse that I was just messing around with the dog chain and it got stuck.  She tried to work it off, but was unable to free me.  My hands at this point had nearly lost all feeling.  Finally we went out into the garage where my Dad had an old handsaw for cutting metal.  I held my chain bound hands against the vice and she started to cut through the chain that was twisted between my wrists.  Suddenly I felt a burning in my wrists.  The friction from the saw had heated up the metal chain, and it was burning me.  I screamed for her to stop cutting.  She let the chain cool down, and then sawed just a little bit at a time to keep it from getting too hot.  The saw blade, which had probably not been replaced since 1950, was dull so it took quite a while to cut through.  Suddenly the chain snapped and I was free.  There were red indentations in my wrists from the chain, and eventually most of the feeling came back into my hands and fingers.  But the feeling on the top of my hands did not fully return.  They continued to have a loss of feeling that lasted for a few months.  I feared that my sister would tell on me, but she protected my deep dark secret.  I threw the chain away in the trash can outside under some garbage.  I wore a long sleeve shirt for a day until the marks went away on my wrists.

Story 2:  Garage Suspension

I found an old belt in the trash.  I got a ladder and set it up in the garage.  I took my new belt and strapped it around my wrists binding my hands together.  I climbed up on the ladder and strapped the old belt though the rafters and around the belt that tied my hands.  My hands were now bound together above my head to the rafters of the garage.  I was shaking in a nervous excitement and felt compelled to knock the ladder down from under my feet.  I kicked it down with my feet which made me drop down a couple of feet.  The belt tightened around my wrists.  I was now suspended by my bound hands.  I squirmed around as I hung there; my feet were dangling several feet off of the floor.  I realized that I was screwed.  There was no way to raise myself up in order to reach the buckle and undo the belt.  I was home alone, trapped.  Already the weight of my body was causing the circulation to be cut off of my hands.  I felt the stress on my shoulders and arms.  Without any physical stimulation, I had a full orgasm as I hung there.  Sweat poured down my face as I felt the panic knowing that I was in deep trouble.  I kicked and swayed, but there was no way for me to release myself.  I prayed for God to help me out of this situation.  No miracle happened.  I kept twisting and turning though, and I noticed that as I did this, the old belt was beginning to tear a little bit.  I kept twisting and fighting my bonds until suddenly the old leather tore though and I fell to the concrete floor.  My arms ached and I was soaked through with perspiration.

The suspension by my wrists had been scary, but also very exciting to me.  I wanted to be suspended again, but this time by my feet.  It took several weeks until I was alone in the house and had the opportunity to try it.  I found some rope in the garage and tied my legs together.  Then I wrapped the rope around between my legs lashing them together.  I threw the end of the rope over the exposed beam in the rafters and started to pull down on the rope.  I was able to pull my feet up right off of the floor as I pulled.  I nearly hit my head on the concrete as I shifted from standing to dangling.  It took some strength to hoist up my body, and the rope burned in my hands.  Blisters quickly developed in both of my hands as I continued to pull myself up, and eventually my legs were up to the beam.  With quite a bit of effort I was able to tie the rope off at my feet with a knot.  I hung there dangling from my rope bound feet.  I felt a strong feeling of helplessness and danger as I hung upside down. The rope around my ankles was painful, but bearable.  As I hung and swayed there I felt the bodily fluid run through my pants and up my shirt.  I felt an exciting sense of euphoria as I fantasized that I was a prisoner who had been hung upside down like this as a torture in some horrible prison.  I had not hung myself in this position before, so I was not certain that I would be able to release myself.  This added to the thrill of my bondage.  After a while, I began to get dizzy and a little bit sick to my stomach from the blood rushing to my head so I did an upside down sit up and reached up to untie the knot.  It was not easy to do.  The knot had tightened.  I put one arm around the beam to hold me up, and used the other hand to untie the knot.  As I tried to free myself, my stomach suddenly cramped from the stress.  It was very painful, but I knew that I needed to get the knot undone quickly before I lost my strength to hold my body up.  I felt a sense of panic, but worked hard to keep my wits about me.  I kept working at it and eventually the knot loosened and I dropped suddenly to the floor hitting my head on the concrete below.  I got a bump on my head, a strain on my neck, and two popped blisters on my hands from pulling the rope that held up all of the weight of my body.  Fortunately, I didn’t break my neck.  I knew that what I had done was dangerous, but my desire to do it again outweighed any common sense (if any) I may have had.  Over the course of my high school years I suspended myself several times in the garage when I found myself alone.

Story 3:  Wire Bondage

In the 1970’s there was a T.V. show called “Mission Impossible,” which my Dad used to watch.  I started to like the show myself because of the bondage that they had in it from time to time.  I remember one episode quite vividly.  One of the “good guys” in the show, Mr. James Phelps, (played by Peter Graves), was taken prisoner by a “bad guy.”  The villain took some metal wire and wrapped it around Mr. Phelps wrists.  Then he took some pliers and twisted the ends of the wire together until it was tight around his wrists and quite inescapable.  Of course the hero did find a way to escape, but as I watched that episode, I became quite excited and aroused at the severity of a captive being bound with wire.  I thought about the idea for weeks after that.  The thought became a fixation and desire that I found hard to suppress.  One afternoon I found myself alone again for a couple of hours at the house.  Every time I was alone at my parents’ house was an opportunity for me to engage in self bondage; I took that opportunity almost every time.  My dad had a vice that was attached to a work bench.  He had another one with a heavy base that was not attached to anything.  I got the unattached vice and put in on the floor of the garage.  I found some wire and used a pair of wire cutters to cut it to the correct length.  Then I took the two ends of the wire and secured them tightly in the vice so that they would not come out.  This created a loop that I could put both of my hands through.  The loop was just big enough to get them through.  The next thing I did was to move myself around the vice, with my hands though the loop, so that the wire would twist and tighten around my wrists as I turned.  I went around and around until the wire became snug around my wrists so that I could not free my hands.  My idea was to eventually escape by just reversing my direction to make the wire unwind.  It may have been a good idea if it were not for the fact that I was using a fairly thick wire that was quite soft.  I was also so bent on making my predicament severe that I did not stop twisting around when I should have.  The wire suddenly snapped off at the vice leaving my wrists tightly bound and unattached to the vice.  There was now no way to reverse direction and get free.  I felt that wonderful feeling of helplessness and excitement which I had felt before, knowing that I had succeeded in binding my hands together with wire in such a way that I could not escape.  I pretended in my mind that I was James Phelps in a terrible predicament.  After a while, my wrists started to get sore from the wire cutting into me, so I tried to find a way to get free.  The broken ends of the wire were too short to put into the vice.  I did have the wire cutters, but with both of my wrists tied together it was not going to be possible to use my hands to cut the wire.  I tried putting the wire cutters between my knees, but it was way too clumsy and I couldn’t get the cutters to grab onto the wire.   Finally I tried using my teeth to put the cutters in position: open against the wire and wedged down to the top of the workbench.  With my chin I pushed carefully down on the wire cutters and I heard a snap as the wire was cut.  I had some nasty red marks on my wrists from the wire and a red mark on my chin from the wire cutters.  I kept my wrists hidden from view as best as I could until the marks almost completely disappeared a day or two later.

Story 4:  The Time I Buried Myself Alive

I remember something that was scary and dangerous.  It was also a very foolish thing for me to do.  It was perhaps the closest I ever came to ending up dead in a grave.  It involved a grave; a real hole in the ground grave.    From a young age I liked the feeling of being buried in sand.  The pressure from the weight of it felt really good on my body.  But my desire was to be trapped in it.  My real desire with all bondage was to be so stuck that I could not escape from it.  When I engaged in self bondage, I would need to be able to eventually get out, but if I could make it so that it took a long time to escape, I would get very close to that feeling of being trapped which I craved.  I saw a few westerns and spy movies where men were buried alive in sand or dirt up to their necks with only their heads sticking out.  Those scenes were always a turn on for me.  Burial was, and still is, a major fantasy for me.  We lived only ten miles from the beach, so during the summer I went often with my brother or friends that could drive.  I discovered when I went to the beach that I could bury myself with my arms sticking out, but once buried, it could take quite a long time to dig myself out.  Knowing that I could not get out for a period of time was great.  I remember one time when my friend went with me to Laguna Beach.  I dug a trench and asked him if he wanted me to bury him.  Of course I was thinking that if I buried him, he would want to get revenge and bury me, hopefully for a long time.  He got into the hole in the sitting position with his arms down and I proceeded to bury him.  Within a couple of minutes he panicked.

“Oh my God!  I can’t get out!  Get me out of here!”

He was really scared.  I could see the fear in his face.  He did not like the feeling of being trapped like I did.  I dug him out quickly.  He got out of the hole and told me what a horrible experience it was for him to be buried.  I asked him to bury me, he said no.  I can’t remember if I ever did get buried by my friends at the beach when I was in high school.  I know that when I was in my twenties I was buried alive several times and not able to escape.

The side yard of the house was devoted to growing a garden.  There was a section of ground that for a while was just dirt.  For weeks I had been severely fixated on the idea of being buried alive.  It was another one of those rare times when no one was home.  I had the idea to bury myself in the backyard.  I remember that I put on my swimsuit and went out to the garage to get a shovel.  I was shaking with anticipation as I walked outside and started to dig a trench.  I dug the trench as long as my body and nearly three feet deep.  It looked like a grave and it nearly became mine.  I stacked the dirt right on the sides of the trench so that I could get to it when I was in the hole.  Once I had dug the hole sufficiently deep, I sat in the trench with my legs straight out.  Using the shovel I began to shovel and collapse the damp cool dirt onto my legs.  The dirt was heavy and I buried them so deep that I could not move them at all.  Then I lay back in the trench.  As I looked up, I could see the sky surrounded by the dark dirt sides of the hole.  I was completely below ground level.  I felt like I was lying at the bottom of a grave.  What I didn’t realize was that I had really just dug my own grave.

I began to shovel the dirt onto my stomach until I couldn’t use the shovel anymore.  I threw it out of reach just to make me more trapped.  Now I knew that it would take a very long time to get out because I would have to dig myself out with my hands.  My heart was pounding with excitement as I felt the arousal of knowing that I was buried alive.  I was so driven that I couldn’t stop myself from making my situation worse.  With my hands I continued to collapse the dirt on top of me.  My arms were buried up to my elbows as my hands stuck out above me.  The dirt was surrounding my head so that I could not move it from side to side. The dirt was compressing my chest so that it was hard to take any deep breaths.  The heavy pressure was intense all over my body.  I could smell the organic nature of the dirt.  Suddenly the dirt pile stacked above the right side of my head collapsed right onto my face.  I was plunged into total darkness.  I was completely buried alive except for my hands and upper arms.

I panicked and tried to get my arms around in a position to dig the dirt away from my face.  But the dirt around my arms was up to my elbows and it prevented me from getting my hands to my face.  I cried in terror as I tried to breathe through the dirt.  I could only get the tiniest bit of air.  I opened my mouth to breathe and dirt dumped in filling it up.  I swallowed three large gulps of dirt to get rid of it.  I was suffocating and I knew that I was going to die in the blackness of this grave.  I had finally done it.  I was in a bondage that I could not escape from.  In fact, this was going to be the end of my life.  I continued to try and get my arms loose enough to get my hands to my face.  I did not think that there was any hope of survival.  I did not feel ready to die, yet I knew that in only a few minutes I would suffocate, and be a dead body, already buried in his grave.  I fought to survive and finally got one of my arms free enough to get my hand down to my face.  I quickly dug away the dirt so that just my mouth was exposed.  I gasped for air.  A little more dirt went into my mouth and I breathed some of it into my lungs.  I tried to spit out the dirt.  The muddy spit landed back on my lip.  I pushed back a little more dirt from my face and dug out my eyes.  I could see the light, but my vision was blurry because my eyes were full of dirt.  I was starting to get a little bit of hope that I would survive when suddenly a large chuck of dirt that I had just dug away from my face collapsed right back down plunging me back into the darkness of the grave.  I felt a horrible pit in my stomach and a feeling of terror as I realized that I was not going to survive this after all.  Gravity was working against me.  Any dirt that I removed was going to just collapse back down.  I had buried myself too deep.  This was the end.  I was going to die.  It was an awful frightening realization.  I thought that I should just relax and just accept death.  This feeling only lasted a couple seconds. I was going to fight my way out until I passed out.  I really needed some air fast and I frantically pushed the dirt away from my mouth and nose.  This time I made sure that as I pushed away the dirt, it would be far enough away as not to collapse again on my face.  Then I tried to pack the soft sides as much as I could to try and stabilize the dirt.

I was exhausted from struggling and my panic was causing me to breathe harder, but the pressure of the dirt on my chest was not letting me get enough air.  I realized that if I was going to have any chance of survival, I would have to slow down my breathing and not panic.  I could not think clearly while in a panic.  I lay in my grave with just my mouth and nose exposed for several minutes as I caught my breath and tried to reduce my panic.  I managed to slow down my breathing and calmed down enough to think more clearly.  I thought about just waiting for someone to rescue me but discarded that idea quickly for two reasons.  First, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get enough air over time if I just waited because of the pressure on my chest.  Second, the embarrassing mental picture of being discovered by my parents buried in this hole with only my hands sticking out made me shudder.  I had to dig myself out in such a way that I would not have to breathe too hard.

I began to slowly remove dirt, one small handful at a time.  First I got it all off of my face and then started to work on getting the dirt off of my chest.  I would throw each handful of dirt as far away from me as I could.  After about twenty minutes I had enough dirt removed from my upper body that I was able to breathe just fine.  Both of my arms were now free so I was able to sit up a little and push some dirt under my back to lift me up a little bit.  I wanted to make sure that if there was another cave in, my head would be up and out of the hole.  With my chest free, I dug as quickly as I could.  I was exhausted and thirsty.  My mouth and tongue were dry.  I blew muddy mucus out of my nose into my hand.  My eyes were irritated from the dirt that was in them.  Eventually I removed enough dirt that only my legs were buried.  I tried to pull out my legs but the dirt was too heavy and packed and I got a painful cramp in my calf.  I was still very stuck.  I could not believe how long it took just to dig out my legs.  I was now sitting up and was anxious to get free so I dug faster.  I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stacking the dirt and the pile of dirt caved back in on me burying me back up to my chest.  I was frustrated as I dug because I would seem to have myself pretty well dug out and there would be another cave in to delay my escape.

I have no idea of how long I was trapped in the dirt, but when I got out my whole body was filthy.  My mouth was dry with dehydration and my muscles ached from struggling. I had abrasions on my elbows and knuckles, as well as broken and ripped fingernails from digging.  I got out of the hole, and with the last energy that I had left, I filled in the hole and cleaned everything up.  Getting cleaned up was a chore in its self.  After my shower it took about a half an hour just to clean the dirt from the shower.  I went into my bedroom exhausted and plopped myself onto my bed.  I lay there not moving at all, just relaxing feeling clean again and free.  Laying my head on that soft foam pillow felt so luxurious to me in comparison to the predicament I had been in an hour earlier.  For a few days I was coughing up mud that was in my lungs.  Surprisingly, this brush with death did not remove or even reduce my fixation to be buried alive and within two weeks I buried myself again in the same place, but this time I kept my head above the ground.

Final Note: 

Unfortunately in my adult life I have been foolish enough with self-bondage to have had several other very close calls.  Thousands of people die every year because of self-bondage that went wrong.  Do not be one of those numbers.  Get a bondage buddy and play safe.

Metal would like to thank Bind for sharing this here. You can find Bind on Recon and on FetLife, and he is also featured at Serious Male Bondage

Hey guys, blog reader Louis of the Self-Bondage on Steroids post has passed along the following tips for safe bondage play. It’s good advice, if you ask me.

Louis writes,

Dear Metal,

Here is my list for bondage play:

1. Never play with a ligature around your neck. Or anything that could act as a ligature around your neck. Never play with strangulation.

2. If you do bondage, have a backup. This applies to all types of bondage. It is better to play with two bondage-buddies than just one. Play parties can provide tens of backups. The Delta and Inferno runs have specific designated individuals to keep the play safe. When I do self-bondage I have three separate timers and someone who will check on me if I don’t show up.

3. Don’t eat, drink, or take drugs excessively prior to play. Don’t play when sick.

4. Throwing up and passing out need to be planned for even if unlikely. They both can quickly result in dangerous bondage scene.

5. Don’t obstruct your breathing. Most autoerotic deaths are the result of asphyxia. The one death I know of at a play party was also the result of asphyxia.  So DO NOT obstruct your breathing if doing self-bondage. If your breathing becomes blocked, even when playing with others, there is only about three minutes for your play partner(s) to recognize the problem and fix it. Gags, gas masks, any form of breath-control, and most hoods are inherently unsafe in self-bondage.

6. Play with safe people. That means people who don’t use drugs, alcohol or  marijuana excessively prior to play. People who will pay attention. If you are new to bondage, play parties are a safe place to meet people. Once you know people in the scene, play with people your friends know and have played with. Talk to strangers, just don’t let them tie you up, especially at your place. If you insist on playing with strangers make sure a friend knows with who and where you are playing.  See item #1 – have a backup.

7. If you play by yourself it is safer if you are mobile enough to get out of the building or call 911 in the US  (for other countries see: http://www.sccfd.org/travel.html).  Remember, you really will not die from embarrassment.

8.  If you do long term play, make sure you can get water and food.  I have heard you can go without air for three minutes, without water for three days, and without food for three weeks.  So for self-bondage air and water gives you a “safety-window” of three weeks for someone to find you.

9.  Have at least two keys for every lock.  Know where the keys are.  Store locks locked, it forces you to check the lock by unlocking it prior to use.  For self-bondage make sure you can not only reach the needed keys, but that you can also get the keys into the lock.  Have a knife or scissors for cutting straps and rope.   Have a grinder for cutting locks, chains, handcuffs, and leg irons.  (And if you play with rivets, cutting rivets.)  Make sure you can reach the needed keys.

Play safe.  Be safe. I believe that if self-bondage is carefully done it is probably as safe as other risky activities such as surfing, skydiving, scuba diving, and flying.  These and many other risky activities can be done safely with the proper planning, precautions, and preparation.

Sincerely,

Louis

I was messing around with these high-security leg cuffs recently.

By Aquala Guy

(Monday, 10 p.m.) I am going to lock on my steel wrist shackles and steel ankle shackles when I get home from work tomorrow night. Once locked they will stay locked until I get up for work on Friday. When I return home on Friday they will get locked back on for the remainder of the weekend. I’ll try to send photos, but my cell phone is my only camera and can be a bit testy at times.

(Tuesday, 8 p.m.) As I promised, I have locked my shackles on as soon as I got home from work. I return to work on Friday at 9:00 AM. The shackles will be removed about 8 AM so I can shower for work. Then when I get home from work they will be locked back on and not removed until I have to return to work on Monday at 3:30 PM.

I made the decision to put my piss slave’s jockstrap on before I locked on my ankle shackles. Now the jock is on to stay until the shackles come off. And I can’t put anything else on, either. If someone was to show up at my door with a piss gag, I’d be pretty hard pressed to stop him from putting it in my mouth.

I did decide to step on the scale before I locked the shackles on, and afterward. I was 240 before … 246.2 after. I figure the 0.2 is my piss slave’s jock.

The photos show my legs spread as wide as I can get them, and my left wrist as far as I can get it from my right hand holding the camera.

It’s going to be a long weekend.

Journal Entry 1

(Wednesday 5:40 a.m.) I had promised Metalbond that I would put on my locking steel shackles when I got home from work, and wear them for my 2 days off without release, until I had to return to work. I stripped, put on my piss slave’s jock, and locked the shackles on. There is no way I can take my jock off (I can pull it down but I can’t remove it). And there is no way I can put anything else on. Since it was my weekly weigh-in, I had stepped on the scale before I locked them on … then decide to step on again. I gained 6 pounds in 3 minutes.

I took photos of the shackles on my ankles and my left wrist (I couldn’t photograph my right wrist). I sent him the photos, and started to wonder if I had made a dumb decision. It has been a very long time since I’ve worn them, and the feel of cold steel on my skin was not very comfortable. I find myself even questioning why I bought these things.

I had received an email from a guy who was interested in crucifying me (a fantasy I want to live out). We chatted on the phone for almost 4 hours, sharing not only our mutual interest in crucifixion, but his actual experiences. We also discussed other things, but kept coming back to crucifixion. He asked me what he was hearing and I told him about the shackles. We did some more talking and then he had to get some sleep (I’m on my days off). He told me he’d call me again tonight at 10, and asked me to promise that I wouldn’t unlock the shackles before then. (I promised him not to unlock the shackles, but didn’t tell him about my promise to Metalbond). Oddly enough, as I was envisioning him on the cross in his experience, then myself as he described what I could expect, the shackles started feeling comfortable. They started to feel like a part of me, like they belong on me. I suddenly did not want to be let out of them, but rather to have them permanently welded closed, or the locks jimmied so that I could never take them off again.

Of course that’s not feasible (yet). But the steel feels like it just belongs on me. I’ve only been in the shackles about 12 hours, I cannot imagine taking them off. OK, maybe to walk, because that is extremely difficult … but I’m thoroughly enjoying this. I’m enjoying that I have to THINK about almost every maneuver. Dropping the remote control required me to get out of the chair to pick it up because I couldn’t stretch my arm out. Eating and drinking require me to move and use both arms. There’s only a 12 inch gap between wrists, and 18 inches between ankles.

I’m realizing that my thoughts are running amuck, and there’s no sense of continuity. I am thinking that’s OK. My brain is in a million different places. It has been so many years since I formed the Windy City Bondage Club and wore restraints of any kind. The funnest thing is that my dick won’t stay soft! I’ve shot off 3 times since locking up.

I do need to get SOME sleep, so I’ll update the next entry after I get back up. I cannot remember the last time I was in bondage as I slept.

I am imagining how much hotter this would be if there was another man here preventing me from having access to my key for release. (I’ve checked a couple times, there is no restriction of circulation, no loss of sensation, but my ankles ARE showing and feeling a little bit of chafing from walking. Oh well, I guess I’m just going to have to put up with it.)

Journal Entry 2

(Wednesday, 1 p.m.) So the phone rang about 4 hours after I went to bed. It was a friend of the guy I sat up with on the phone discussing crucifixion into the wee hours. He woke me at 10:30 AM. We spoke on the phone for an hour and a half, also about some crucifixion but mostly other stuff … getting to know you stuff. He liked the idea that I’m locked in my shackles.

I really didn’t expect them to be comfortable like this. It’s beyond erotic. It’s like wearing a favorite jockstrap. I’m noticing a minor amount of chafing on my left ankle, but I checked, and the skin isn’t even red or broken. That’s the only real discomfort … well that and still getting used to walking.

I had to hold an afghan in front of me to put the dog out for her business. Didn’t think that one through, and nothing I can do about it now. Even though I am my own keyholder, I am really enjoying the “no hope for mercy, no hope for escape” scenario I’m running through my head. If I didn’t have to have a job, I could get real used to being chained up 24/7.

I like the way the weight of the shackles feels … both on my wrists and on my ankles. Difficult but not impossible to jack off, My dick has stayed in a state of semihardness almost the entire time I’ve been chained. I think some of that is due to the crucifixion chats.

I repeated to the new guy who called me this morning that if someone came to my door right now, with me shackled like this, and told me that I was going to be crucified, I’d have no choice but to go with him. I mean, really, I can’t get back to the bedroom quickly enough to get my key to take the shackles off, he’d only have to grab one arm or even the chain between my wrists and I’d be off to my cross.

Gotta get some more sleep.

Journal Entry 3

(Wednesday, 5:30 p.m.) DAMN! It’s raining a super heavy duty storm out there. I’d gone and gotten my drysuit out and ready for this because I wanted to take some time on my days off to spend in the suit in the rain. I knew the rain was coming. I totally spaced it when I put the shackles on. Now I’m locked up and prevented from getting into the suit.

I’m starting to realize what it means to be under control again. Even though I’m my own key holder, once I submitted to the shackles the clock truly became my master. I’m loving it on one hand, but on the other hand I’m truly hating it … in the sense that I can’t just go and do anything I want when I want because I’m unable to take the shackles off.

The piss slave jockstrap has been down around my ankles since I went to bed at 6 AM. I got a bit of a heat rash at work over the past two days (forgot that my dress slacks are a 50 percent wool blend) and the jock was irritating the rash. So for all intents and purposes, I’ve been here naked and shackled all day.

Another indicator of the reality of this is that in fantasy, I jack off, shoot my load, and it’s over. The reality of this is that I’m almost at the 23 hour mark, with a little over 38 hours to go. I’m feeling the frustration of the unyielding restraint of the shackles. That’s not really a complaint, although it sounds like one. Starting to wonder if I can make it the additional 38 hours before I go to work on Friday. And realizing that I’m only getting about a 10-hour respite, since I had promised Metal the restraints would go back on once I got home from work on Friday and stay on until I go back on Monday. THAT will be an even longer time, since my work schedule changes from mornings to evenings on Friday, so I’ll get home about 6:30ish, lock the shackles back on, and wear them until 2 PM Monday. That’s 68 hours. This time is only 58 hours, so I’m already having to do an extra 10 hours!

I’m also thinking of going out and buying a chain collar that I can wear under my shirt at work, so that I’ll be locked up … if even only metaphorically … 24/7.

Truthfully, even though I’m feeling a little frustrated, I need to do something like this more often. If my mail was delivered to my door instead of a communal mail receptacle, I’d consider mailing me my keys … but that’s not feasible since I’d have to get dressed to go get the mail. Gonna have to figure a way around that one. Readers, any suggestions?

Journal Entry 4

(Wednesday, 10:30 p.m.) OK, reality is finally setting in. It’s now the 28-hour mark, and my ankles are both chafed and irritated. Still no breaking of the skin, but walking is painful. I’ve been keeping my feet up as much as I can to try to alleviate the irritation. The only thing this is accomplishing is to make the irritation that much worse when I do have to get up. Not only do the shackles rub against the irritated skin, but the weight of them falling into place hurts.

Again, I’m not complaining. As I said, reality is setting in. I still have about 33 hours or so to go, then 10 hours of relief before a 68-hour shift. I can see that I’m going to have to get my headspace into SERIOUS sub-mode to put these shackles back on.

I have decided that I definitely will be stopping at the store to buy a chain collar before I come back home to lock the steel back on. I’m also going to put on a pair of gym shorts … putting the dog out is difficult enough with the shackles on, having to hold an afghan in front of me while doing so is even more difficult.

There is scant chance of me reneging on putting these back on, though. At least that’s what I can foresee at this point. I am still thoroughly enjoying this. Thankfully, the laptop keyboard fits within the distance of my wrist shackles, or even typing would be a difficult task. As it is, I do have to move both arms to use the mouse.

Still, I’m not complaining. And after 28 hours, I can still see myself someday being in these things 24/7 for the rest of time.

Journal Entry 5

(Thursday, 5:30 a.m.) OK, reality sucks. I have to play both roles, since this is a self-bondage situation. As a bottom I’m still enjoying wearing the irons. But they’ve broken the skin on both ankles now. So I had to play both top and bottom roles.

As a top I had to take into consideration the safety of the bottom. I looked at my ankles and decided that some preventive first aid was needed. So, I had to unlock the shackles one leg at a time, and apply neosporin and bandages. I couldn’t do it with the wrist shackles on. So I had to unlock my wrists to take care of my ankles.

I rubbed the neosporin on my open wounds and wrapped my ankles. Put some socks on over the bandages to hold them set. I let it set for a while as I tried to get my headspace back into bottom mode. When I went to put the shackles back on, there was a little bit of blood coming through. I took off my socks and bandages, put some more neosporin on, and let it air set. New bandages are on, and there’s no blood coming through, but, unfortunately, this session has come to an end.

I am more than just a little bummed out about it. But the No. 1 rule (at least as I was taught in my youth from what we now consider to be Old Guard) is SAFE, SANE and CONSENSUAL. While the consensual is there, it is no longer safe or sane for me to put the shackles back on.

But I will definitely be doing this again. I just know now to protect my ankles when I lock on the shackles. And here I was afraid my wrists would be my vulnerable points.

Final tally was 35 hours. 13 hours short of 2 days. 27 hours short of the total I was supposed to do.

I will have to do this again, because this was definitely fun!

Journal Entry 6

(Thursday, 7:30 p.m.) Just as I finished my last entry, the SSC part of me kicked back in to bottom mode from top mode. I asked if there was a reason why I couldn’t finish my sentence with just my wrist shackles. The top in me said that there was absolutely no reason at all, so as I was getting ready for bed I put the wrist shackles back on. I was out of them for all of 45 minutes. Putting them back on was immediately the same effect as putting on a familiar, well fitting, comfortable pair of my favorite gloves … and snapping the locks closed again was an instant hard on again.

Jacking off has been the most difficult part of this whole ordeal (except for the ankles). I usually like to lie face down with both hands holding my hardon back and forcing my hips to thrust. I’ve been doing it like that since puberty. So using my hands in the more “traditional” stroking method has been different … coupled with the slapping of the chain against my belly and, when I thought it out, my balls. Still, I am not complaining. Shot my load and went to sleep.

I didn’t update Metalbond when I put my wrist shackles back on, because if I’d have picked up the computer, I’d have been on it again for hours, and I needed to get some sleep. Except for the 45-minute break to tend my wounds, I’ve been wearing my wrist shackles the entire time. I’m now at the 50-hour mark, with 8 hours to go, roughly. This is by and far the longest time I have ever been in bondage, even dating back to my days of starting up the WCBC with Barry S. When I sent him my latest entry, Metalbond said: “It’s good that you had a top who let you out and cared for your wounds. Just think, many years ago, if you had been a slave or a convict, you might not have been so fortunate.”

This is very true, although I think a good slave owner would still have tended the slave’s wounds, just wouldn’t have released him from his shackles unless a doctor said it was necessary. Then again, as a slave I wouldn’t have had a 3D job to be concerned about outside the shackles, as my job would have been slavery.

He also asked if it was OK with me to post these comments when everything was done. Of course, my answer was an emphatic YES. That was the hope I’d entertained every time I sat to write an update. I hope that you readers have been enjoying this as much as I have. And yes, I have truly been enjoying this. I’m giving some very serious thought to making arrangements for my vacation time to be spent the entire time in these shackles – another man as my keyholder, making sure that only my most basic of needs are met, making sure that I’m not injured in any way, but also making sure that I live with my decision to wear them.

It’s only 3 times longer than I’ve gone this time around. And yes, even though my ankles are probably not going to be ready, I am still planning on putting the wrist shackles back on when I get home from work tomorrow night. It will be up to Metalbond to ask me, on behalf of you readers, if he wants more updates for the next session.

Journal Entry 7

(Thursday, midnight) In the photo you can see the cut on my left ankle. This is the worse of the two. You can also see the chain from my wrist shackles.

It doesn’t look like much now, but both ankles are still burning. I’ve put another dose of neosporin on them so I can go to work tomorrow.

Journal Entry 8

(Friday, 8:45 p.m.) So I took the shackles off to go to work and it was actually a sad feeling for me. The same kind of sad feeling when you have to say so long to a good friend. You know you’ll be seeing them again, but you’ll miss them all the same. I missed my shackles today while I was at work. I had to go to get some groceries to get through the weekend, so I also purchased a 24-inch chain collar from the dog aisle.

I got home and wasted no time in getting the shackles back on my wrists. I was locked in within 2 minutes of arriving home, placing wrists into steel and closing them without any regard for whether or not I wanted to wear them. I put them on myself like I’d have put them on a slave boy … quickly, determinedly, and with no regard for his desires.

It was like putting on a pair of comfortable gloves again. Like they belonged. Like they were a part of me.

Like I’d come home. Putting the chain around my neck and locking it on … feeling the chain of my shackles banging against my chest as I first placed the collar then locked it on only added to the feeling of …

Yeah, I could definitely live like this!

Journal Entry 9

(Saturday, 8 a.m.) Wow, I was sooooooooooooooooooo tired after work yesterday. I posted my update and went to bed. Slept well, surprisingly comfortable. I’m addicted to these shackles!

This is the first time in my life I’ve worn a chain collar. I am surprised as to how quickly it became like a part of me. It didn’t bother me one bit as I slept, and I’m not even noticing it except for when I force myself to pay attention to it. While it’s not technically bondage, it’s symbolic. It is steel locked on that cannot be removed without a key. While the shackles have to come off for daily “normal” activities outside the house, the collar does not have those restrictions. It is not coming off, period, end of discussion!

Just typing that last sentence made my dick hard!

I’m hoping there are a few hard dicks out there reading these updates, too.

Journal Entry 10

(Saturday, 6:30 p.m.) I am not only surprised by how comfortable my wrist shackles are even after all this time, I’m surprised as to how much I’ve adapted to wearing them. I’ve adapted “second nature” … where everything I do with them on is as natural as if I’ve always been doing it this way. Sure, there are obvious difficulties (most notably in the bathroom) but I truly do not have any complaints at all! I do miss the leg shackles, and for the most part the wounds on my ankles have healed (although soap in the shower this morning still burned). I’m also enjoying the chain around my neck, also as second nature.

I’m not normally into PROLONGED self-bondage. Usually self-bondage lasts until I pop a nut or two and I’m done. To say I’m proud of my achievement this weekend would not be accurate, though. Truthfully, I’m feeling quite humbled that I can, in fact, go like this as long as I have (and still longer to go). I’m dreading Monday, but not for the usual reasons most people dread Mondays. I’m dreading it because I have to remove most of this wonderful steel.

I’m wondering how I’ll be reacting at work with the collar on. It won’t be visible to anyone, but I’ll be aware of it at times. And that will definitely cause a reaction in me … I’ll find out what kind of reaction when Monday gets here.

When I first set for myself the dual deadlines of getting up for work on Friday and Monday, in my mind I thought for sure that I’d fail yet again as I always do at self-bondage. Perhaps it succeeded this time because I was able to move around. I don’t know. I just know that this is one of the horniest and hottest weekends I’ve ever experienced outside of IML.

Still not complaining.

Journal Entry 11

(Sunday, 6 a.m.) I think these shackles have brought out my true colors. I’ve always known that I’m a bondage pig. That was the biggest reason I started the Windy City Bondage Club back in 1986. Back then I always thought I was a top who preferred once in a while being bottom. Then as time went by, I thought of myself more as a 50/50 versatile.

Today I think of myself as a bottom.

Maybe I’m just in that headspace. I mean I have been locked up for almost 5 days, with only 2 bouts of relief. So I could be seeing things in my perceptions that are just clouded.

But that doesn’t explain why I’m such a horndog these past 5 days. My hormones haven’t rushed like this in 20 years. Again, I am not complaining.

I still have 38 hours left. It’s not enough time. I want more! And I am sure that you all will get to read about it!

Journal Entry 12

(Sunday, 6 p.m.) A very comfortable and restful sleep. The dog is confused as I haven’t been able to put an arm around her for the past 5 nights, but she still curls up at my feet so it’s all good, I guess.

I told a close friend about my decision to wear the chain around my neck. His words “Congratulations! Feels good, doesn’t it!” Yes, Tim, it absolutely does.

I have finally reached the point where the shackles are a nuisance. In a way, I suppose that it’s still fun. (It’s not bondage until you want out). And I am going to see these final 19 hours through … would be a terrible waste to come this far and punk out. And I don’t like waste.

I should have done something like this a long time ago. I definitely will be doing this again!!!!!

Journal Entry 13

(Monday, 4 a.m.) My last update before the end of my … well I don’t know what to call it. “Ordeal” isn’t the right word, but neither is “vacation.” This could have been one or both, but was neither. Yet, it was one of my most pleasant experiences in a very long time.

I’m going to bed for the last time now wearing my shackles. There won’t be time to do another update before I go back to work tomorrow, so I’ll have to do a wrap-up when I get home just after midnight.

I am going to miss wearing these on a constant basis. Sure, I can put them on at will, but this was a special occurrence where I had, basically, 5 consecutive days off, almost. That won’t be coming around again in a very long time.

I almost … almost … took a daring step tonight. I ran out of cat food. I almost decided to drive to the store and get some. If I hadn’t felt that my shackles would have prevented me from safely driving I might have gone out. Maybe. But in this area, common sense won out. Besides, there’s enough left over dry food to last them until I get home from work tomorrow night.

The chain around my neck is so comfortable. I’m glad I was wearing it while I was shackled. It gives me a sense of continuity.

I hope the readers enjoy vicariously what I’ve been enjoying in real life these past 5 days.

Recap

(Tuesday, 3: 30 am) Well, I’m really about all journaled out. There’s not much more I can talk about, but if readers want to ask questions I’ll gladly answer them.

I took the shackles off about 2 PM Monday 4/22. It was like removing a part of myself, cutting off a limb. I’d gotten so used to them that it physically hurt to have them removed!

I have a good friend in my hometown of Chicago with whom I shared the concept of locking the chain around my neck, and he’s encouraged me to keep it 24/7 for a while. Frankly, I don’t see any reason to remove it at all, unless I have to fly somewhere (fat chance). He hasn’t been advised yet of my 5 days bondage … he’s more of a participating player than a reading/voyeuristic player.

Really, nothing more to report. I’m a free man again, so readers, if you have questions, fire away.

Thanks, Aquala Guy, for keeping this journal! (If anyone wants to get in touch with this guy, send an email and I will forward it.)

Check out the picture and information that slavemale2004 sent to me via email:

slavemale2004 writes,

Hi Metal,

Friday evening was fast approaching, when I would be home alone for 24hrs.

I spent all week thinking about my predicament, and my lust to be locked in my chastity device grew as Friday slowly approached.

Friday evening finally came, and I dashed home, stripped, and locked myself into my CB6000S device.

As the locked clicked shut, I felt the wave of excitement, and frustration starting to build. I haven’t had the opportunity to be locked in chastity for a few months, and that coupled with self tease and denial over the past 5 days ensured that I instantly would do just about anything to unlock my cock.

The keys were immediately placed in the freezer, to help my dedication to my subservient role. I then performed my domestic duties, wearing only my device. Being a domestic chastity slave is a fantasy of mine.

I spent the remainder of the evening keeping myself frustrated, with the adult material I usually pleased my now imprisoned cock with. By the end of the evening, I would have dropped to my knees and taken whatever was required of me.

Frustrated, I secured my ankles to the bedposts using a couple of large combination locks, and cuffed my wrists together in front of me, my hands only a few centimetres from my denied cock.

I used a long stick to click off the light to the room, and was then in complete darkness. As I couldn’t see the combination locks in the pitch black, and had just thrown the stick well out of reach, I was there until morning, helpless and denied relief.

I drifted off to sleep, secured, and my manhood filling its tiny cage.

I woke in the morning to the sun coming through the curtains, and unlocked myself from the bed.

After a brief, and very frustrating shower, I headed downstairs in the same attire I was wearing the previous evening, and had breakfast.

After which, I cleaned up, and proceeded to return to teasing my cock with the same adult material.

The day took forever, and getting just to lunchtime felt like an age, but after many hours of cleaning and teasing, the evening finally came.

I retrieved the keys from the freezer, and waited for the ice barrier to my relief to melt, while ensuring I was frustrated to my limit.

Once the ice melted, I retrieved the keys and released my cock from its lockdown.

I dropped to my knees, stroked, and within a minute, I had shot a rather large load onto the floor in front of me. I then bowed my head, and cleaned up my mess with my tongue, like a slave should.

The best 24hrs I have had in ages!

I have enclosed a pic of my locked cock for everyone’s amusement, and I am on Recon as slavemale2004

Regards,

slavemale2004

(48hrs since last orgasm)

Thanks, slavemale2004, for sharing this with Metalbond readers! Fucking exciting!

And guys, if you attempt this on your own (which I highly encourage) be sure to have a cellphone handy (so you can call for help in case of emergency) or some other backup escape plan in place.

I thought I would share my personal best bondage story and self-bondage technique. Here’s the problem: I live in a rural area and there aren’t too many bondage buddies to be found, making it difficult to be kept as a prisoner on a regular basis. Well, self-bondage is the only option. I am, however, continually frustrated by the fact that I do need to be able to get out of the bonds; making the “scene” somewhat less than “real” for me. It seems that no matter what I came up with there was always a way to get out earlier than I really would want. As is common, once I cum I usually want the scene to be over — with most of the tricks of self-bondage there is usually a “safe way out” just in case. Knowing that lessens the fun for me.

[[Warning: self-bondage is dangerous. Be sure you have an exit strategy in place before attempting something like this.]]

I have tried other self-bondage tricks, but I just never feel that I am truly detained. There is, of course, the fact that I do eventually need to get out!

So, what’s a bondage slave to do to heighten the reality of self-bondage?

The solution: This certainly isn’t an original idea as I have seen it referenced by others, but I have cobbled together a relatively inexpensive electronic timer that controls an electromagnet — it acts as my “key holder,” placed well out of reach. All of the components are hardware store finds. The programmable timer is actually one used for outdoor lights (i.e., Christmas lights, spotlights, etc.) and the electromagnet is the kind that is used to hold doors open in public buildings. It runs on 120 volts and shuts off as soon as the power is cut. Wiring the timer to the electromagnet is a snap — I used an electrical box that I had laying around to mount the electromagnet and timer to and mounted the whole contraption between the joists in an unfinished area of my lower level. Before I play, I put any ladders, step stools, etc., in a locking storage room so that I cannot get to the keys, and I typically lock my ankles pretty close together so that climbing on something would be tough anyway.

The timer has numerous settings — so there are plenty of options. The timer can be set to shut off at the same time every day (24 hours), shut off in 1 to 8 hours, or shut off in a random amount of time.

As mentioned above, the need to make the scene more realistic means that I do not leave myself an out; once the timer is set and the keys are hanging there I am “stuck.” I do not recommend this for anyone, but it works for me! The only safety factors I use are never locking myself to anything fixed (well, more on that later) and I do not lock my hands behind my back — so I could always shuffle over to the neighbors if needed!

The set-up: The first time I used this set-up I wanted it to last for quite awhile, but was a little cautious, so I set the timer to release in 4 hours. I set out all of the locks (unlocked), restraints, etc., and lock all of the keys in a lockbox — the key to unlock the box is on the electromagnet out of reach.

I love leather restraints so I locked on wrist and ankle restraints, connected a short chain between the ankles (just enough to allow a slow shuffle ) .  I have a comfortable leather hood (only nose holes) that I pulled on and locked (before I chickened out — remember no keys to the locks are accessible . )  I connected a length of chain from the ankle chain to the D-ring on the collar of the hood and locked the wrist cuffs to that chain. I was locked in for the duration! I don’t know how long it was before I couldn’t help myself and jacked off — I was so hard from being really stuck in bondage. Afterward, though, I had no way to free myself and the frustration mounted. The hood was restrictive and the chains made even little movements tough — in other words, I was at the mercy of that damned timer! Four hours passed in what seemed like 10 hours, but I eventually was freed. It was great!

I use it all the time now by myself and have recently had it used on me. A buddy of mine visited for a few days — he’s into bondage, so we had a lot of fun together. I showed him the timer and told him that when he left he should lock me up and set it to whatever time he wanted up to eight hours. He was leaving on a Friday afternoon, so I had the whole weekend ahead of me.

I let him pick the gear — a one-piece leather motorcycle racing suit that fits like a glove and he used the most severe hood that I have (it’s a sensory deprivation hood with three sets of locking straps, a locking collar, and a small grommet mouth) and strapped it on pretty damn tight. When it was locked on I could barely mumble and the straps were tight enough to limit my hearing quite a bit. He used the leather ankle restraints, but locked them together with a large lock that he also attached a chain up to the collar of the hood. My wrists were locked together with a short length of chain that was locked to the vertical chain at waist level. I could shuffle slowly, reach my dick (so I could at least piss), and that was about it. He used the chain on the collar to pull me around the basement to get me heated up and he kept playing with my dick to keep me hard as hell. It was, however, time for him to leave.

He led me back to where I had an old cot (so I had somewhere to rest) and let me know that there were several bottles of water and a straw there (the straw fits through the grommet in the hood). I could barely hear him through the hood, but he said he had to go. He said, loudly enough: “You are definitely one screwed boy now. I set the timer like you wanted, but I didn’t think it fair to leave you for eight hours. So I set it for 24 — have fun fucker!” And he pushed me down on the cot.

Through the hood I really didn’t hear him leave, but I knew he had gone after a while. I knew he was kidding about the timer to mess with me, but as time went on I started to really wonder if he had been serious. I don’t know how long it took for the hood to start to become uncomfortable, but the more I thought about it the worse it got. My jaw was held pretty tightly closed and couldn’t hear anything, the straps held it tight to my head so it was very warm. I had no concept of the passage of time, the more uncomfortable I became the harder I seemed to get — I tried to rest, maybe I slept, I shuffled around to the bathroom. I couldn’t climb the stairs if I wanted to — I really was screwed. What if he really didn’t set the timer and didn’t leave a key at all? I panicked several times and had to force myself to calm down, as it was hard to breathe in the hood. It became apparent that I had to trust that he did set the timer (he was a buddy, after all), but the bastard definitely set it for 24 hours. I was alone and helpless — but I guess I got what I had wanted.

I had never spent that much time in bondage. The timer was for 24 hours, and I eventually found the key on the floor and was able to let myself out. My jaw was aching, my head hurt, my wrists and ankles were sore, but I was still hard as hell! The bastard did call the next day to make sure that I was out and laughed his ass off at the predicament he left me in — I threatened revenge, but I knew it wouldn’t happen, as I was the slave boy who wanted what he got.

I am trying to build up the courage to lock myself in again for another 24 hour stint — maybe this weekend?

By Marknorth

Well, I decided to do it. Had the weekend free, so it was time to lock myself in. After all, I had “suffered” through a 24-hour session at the hands of a buddy. So why not do it again? As I mentioned in a previous post, the need for self-bondage to be “real” and inescapable has driven me to develop an electronic “key holder” that ensures that I will be unable to escape for the duration.

NOTE: As exciting as it may be, it is NEVER a good idea to tie yourself up in any sort of restraints without safety mechanisms in place. (See longer note below)

I decided that I would start at 8:00 pm on Friday and set everything for another 24-hour session — this time entirely self-inflicted. I also decided that I would add a few elements to make it more interesting. As I also mentioned previously, “inescapable” self-bondage is not for everyone. There are inherent risks that add to the excitement for me — risks that I am willing to accept.

I wanted to set it up so that there would be varying levels of bondage involved. Starting out more intense and ramping down a bit as time went on. I had been thinking about it all week and came up with the following:

After laying everything out in the basement that I would need — and locking away anything and everything that would aid in an “escape” — I set the electronic timer for 24 hours and got to work. As in the previous session I had decided on the one-piece racing leathers and leather restraints. I love the feel and smell of the leather and how form fitting it is, so I was naked under the suit — except for a padded groin protector (used for martial arts). Padded wrist and ankle restraints were locked on. I locked the ankle restraints tightly together to allow only a shuffling walk. I attached a short length of chain to the ankle lock to connect up to my wrists — this would be locked on later and would hold my wrists at waist level. I set aside several extra locks and lengths of chain on the cot that I would be able to rest on later and had already placed several bottles of water and a straw.

Now for the “dangerous” part. The first “rounds” of bondage would see me locked to a support post to limit my movement and a another little “treat.” I have a several stainless ice locks (available at Mr S); when filled and frozen they take about 2 hours to open. I set it up so that an ice-lock would connect my wrists to a ceiling joist by a short length of chain. I locked the ice lock to the chain hanging from the joist. I had also frozen a key in a half-filled 5 gallon bucket — this key would only unlock the padlock I was going to use to secure my ankle chain to the post.

I pulled on and laced tightly my favorite leather hood — a puffy hood from Mr S Leathers — this one has only nose holes and a small mouth grommet. As I snapped the padlock on the locking collar shut, I knew that I wasn’t going to see light again for 24 long hours — my dick gets so damn hard after I lock on a hood! I made sure the five-gallon bucket was well within reach (one last double check) and locked the ankle chain to the post. I reached up and eventually found the hanging chain with the ice lock and locked the short chain between the wrist restraints to it. There I stood. My dick was throbbing. I was stuck in this position for at least a couple of hours. I immediately started to panic. What the hell did I just do? I started to struggle, but only succeeded in confirming that I wasn’t going anywhere — that made it worse. Damnit, you are an idiot this time! I realized that I had to calm down and eventually did — the ice would melt and the lock would open and I would be OK. The drops of cold water hitting my hands proved that the ice was melting. Besides my dick had stayed hard the whole time — this is what I was after (wasn’t it ? )  — all I could think of was that I did this to myself. My arms started to ache long before the lock released and those couple of hours passed agonizingly slow. By the time the lock did release my shoulders were killing me. The relief was extraordinary and my dick got hard just thinking about what I had just done.

I sat on the floor with my back against the post waiting for the water in the bucket to thaw. Now that my hands were free I was free to play with myself — rubbing hard on my crotch kept my dick hard inside the groin protector. I kept bringing myself right to the edge and then backing off. If I came now, I knew the frustration of being stuck for many more hours would be huge. Note to self — water in a half-full five-gallon bucket doesn’t thaw quickly. Although I have no idea how long it actually took to thaw enough to get at the key, it had to be over four or five hours. By the time I was able to get the key and unlock the chain from the post I had to piss so bad I couldn’t stand it. In fact, I had thought about pissing in the bucket — might have helped thaw the ice!

I shuffled to the bathroom. Had to go so damn bad, but my dick was still hard — makes for an interesting time! I shuffled around to the cot and tried to drink some water — the straw would not fit through the grommet in the hood. This was poor planning and a major potential problem. Round two of “what the hell were you thinking?” After some struggling, however, I was able to “crinkle” the end of the straw enough to force it through the grommet and drink — this was more than a relief. 24 hours without food is one thing — no water is quite another — especially when sweating inside a leather cocoon!

I locked the length of chain that I had set aside to the D-ring on the collar and locked it and the ankle chain to the short chain between the wrist restraints. This limited the movement of my hands even more than I had done in the past. With just enough movement to unzip the suit and wiggle the groin cup out of the way to piss. The added frustration this provides always makes me harder! Now for the long wait for the electronic lock to release the keys to freedom.

Slowly even the most comfortable hood becomes less comfortable and given nothing else to do but listen to your own breathing you begin to notice. Again, never one to do things halfway, I made sure the hood was laced as tightly as possible. As the discomfort grows, though, so does the intensity of my hard-on. The smell of the leather, the feel of the leather against my sweaty skin, and the enveloping darkness all take me to that head space that is the reason I love bondage.

I dozed, I shuffled around, I must have slept — startled awake and panicking at first until I remembered where I was and what I did to myself. I played with myself — always edging — until I couldn’t stand it anymore and finished it off. Then after some time I started in on myself again and eventually came again. When I heard the keys drop, I was almost disappointed and I stayed locked up for a while longer. By the time I let myself out it was 11:30 Saturday night. Almost 27 and a half hours in bondage! After I was released from the ice lock and my arms were not held over my head the time seemed to pass too quickly. Sure, I was hungry, my neck was sore from the collar, I had a headache, and my arms ached — but I was still buzzing from the experience! So much so that I jacked off again before I went to bed.

I wonder if I could make it for 48 hours (would need some food for that one)? I am already trying to think of some new ways to add to future “ordeals” — any suggestions?

Play safer than I do!

IMPORTANT NOTE FROM METALBOND:

As exciting as it may be, it is NEVER a good idea to tie yourself up in any sort of restraints without safety mechanisms in place. You have to have a PLAN in case the house catches on fire, the timer fails or the key falls out of reach. That means you ALWAYS let a trusted friend know what you are doing so he can check on you later if he does not hear from you by a specified time.

My general rule of thumb, for solo bondage play, is that it is OK to be locked IN something but never TO something.

The author of the narrative below was locked TO something, but he assures me that he did, in fact, have safety mechanisms in place to free himself in case of an unforeseen emergency. These safety precautions, however, are not included in the story itself. So, read this and beat off to it, but remember: do NOT attempt anything like this on your own unless you LEAVE YOURSELF AN OUT.

And even more importantly, NEVER do breath control play alone … NEVER, EVER.

Click for Serious Male Bondage

By Bind

I have had several close calls with self bondage.  It is a very dangerous activity.  Here are four times when I was a teenager when I nearly killed myself by accident, or caused serious damage to myself.

Story 1:  The Dog Chain

We owned the stupidest dog in the world.  It was completely un-trainable.  It couldn’t even learn “sit.”  Every time anyone went into the back yard the dog jumped all over them and sniffed their crotch.  I used to take him on walks with one of my sisters or younger brother.  The dog would get so excited about going on a walk that it would run all around the yard if it heard the sound of the dog chain.  We had a choke chain that went around the dog’s neck for taking him on walks.  The dog was so stupid and excited about going on walks that he pulled very hard on the leash and would choke himself on the choke chain.  One day I got the choke chain and took it into the bathroom where I could get some privacy.  My oldest sister was the only other person in the family who was home.  First I tried it out around my neck to see how it felt.  Then I put the chain through the loop and started to wrap it around my wrists.  I twisted my hands around and around causing the chain links to knot and catch.  Eventually the chain was very tight around my wrists and I could not twist the chain any tighter.  I could not get my hands out of the chain unless I twisted it back in the other direction.  The chain was so tight around my wrists that I could feel my fingers going numb as my circulation was being cut off.  So I tried to twist my wrists back in the other direction to loosen the dog chain.  But my wrists had become swollen and the chain had become caught in the middle.  I kept trying to get it undone, but I was stuck.  I had succeeded in chaining my hands together in such a way that I could not escape.  I felt a sense of panic as my fingers continued to lose feeling.  The chain around my wrists were cutting in painfully and I could feel and smell the sweat that was dripping from my face and soaking the under arms of my shirt.  In desperation I unlocked the bathroom door and looked for my sister.  I was very embarrassed to show my sister the predicament that I was in, but I knew that time was running out before I caused major damage to my fingers and hands from the loss of circulation.   When I found her I made an excuse that I was just messing around with the dog chain and it got stuck.  She tried to work it off, but was unable to free me.  My hands at this point had nearly lost all feeling.  Finally we went out into the garage where my Dad had an old handsaw for cutting metal.  I held my chain bound hands against the vice and she started to cut through the chain that was twisted between my wrists.  Suddenly I felt a burning in my wrists.  The friction from the saw had heated up the metal chain, and it was burning me.  I screamed for her to stop cutting.  She let the chain cool down, and then sawed just a little bit at a time to keep it from getting too hot.  The saw blade, which had probably not been replaced since 1950, was dull so it took quite a while to cut through.  Suddenly the chain snapped and I was free.  There were red indentations in my wrists from the chain, and eventually most of the feeling came back into my hands and fingers.  But the feeling on the top of my hands did not fully return.  They continued to have a loss of feeling that lasted for a few months.  I feared that my sister would tell on me, but she protected my deep dark secret.  I threw the chain away in the trash can outside under some garbage.  I wore a long sleeve shirt for a day until the marks went away on my wrists.

Story 2:  Garage Suspension

I found an old belt in the trash.  I got a ladder and set it up in the garage.  I took my new belt and strapped it around my wrists binding my hands together.  I climbed up on the ladder and strapped the old belt though the rafters and around the belt that tied my hands.  My hands were now bound together above my head to the rafters of the garage.  I was shaking in a nervous excitement and felt compelled to knock the ladder down from under my feet.  I kicked it down with my feet which made me drop down a couple of feet.  The belt tightened around my wrists.  I was now suspended by my bound hands.  I squirmed around as I hung there; my feet were dangling several feet off of the floor.  I realized that I was screwed.  There was no way to raise myself up in order to reach the buckle and undo the belt.  I was home alone, trapped.  Already the weight of my body was causing the circulation to be cut off of my hands.  I felt the stress on my shoulders and arms.  Without any physical stimulation, I had a full orgasm as I hung there.  Sweat poured down my face as I felt the panic knowing that I was in deep trouble.  I kicked and swayed, but there was no way for me to release myself.  I prayed for God to help me out of this situation.  No miracle happened.  I kept twisting and turning though, and I noticed that as I did this, the old belt was beginning to tear a little bit.  I kept twisting and fighting my bonds until suddenly the old leather tore though and I fell to the concrete floor.  My arms ached and I was soaked through with perspiration.

The suspension by my wrists had been scary, but also very exciting to me.  I wanted to be suspended again, but this time by my feet.  It took several weeks until I was alone in the house and had the opportunity to try it.  I found some rope in the garage and tied my legs together.  Then I wrapped the rope around between my legs lashing them together.  I threw the end of the rope over the exposed beam in the rafters and started to pull down on the rope.  I was able to pull my feet up right off of the floor as I pulled.  I nearly hit my head on the concrete as I shifted from standing to dangling.  It took some strength to hoist up my body, and the rope burned in my hands.  Blisters quickly developed in both of my hands as I continued to pull myself up, and eventually my legs were up to the beam.  With quite a bit of effort I was able to tie the rope off at my feet with a knot.  I hung there dangling from my rope bound feet.  I felt a strong feeling of helplessness and danger as I hung upside down. The rope around my ankles was painful, but bearable.  As I hung and swayed there I felt the bodily fluid run through my pants and up my shirt.  I felt an exciting sense of euphoria as I fantasized that I was a prisoner who had been hung upside down like this as a torture in some horrible prison.  I had not hung myself in this position before, so I was not certain that I would be able to release myself.  This added to the thrill of my bondage.  After a while, I began to get dizzy and a little bit sick to my stomach from the blood rushing to my head so I did an upside down sit up and reached up to untie the knot.  It was not easy to do.  The knot had tightened.  I put one arm around the beam to hold me up, and used the other hand to untie the knot.  As I tried to free myself, my stomach suddenly cramped from the stress.  It was very painful, but I knew that I needed to get the knot undone quickly before I lost my strength to hold my body up.  I felt a sense of panic, but worked hard to keep my wits about me.  I kept working at it and eventually the knot loosened and I dropped suddenly to the floor hitting my head on the concrete below.  I got a bump on my head, a strain on my neck, and two popped blisters on my hands from pulling the rope that held up all of the weight of my body.  Fortunately, I didn’t break my neck.  I knew that what I had done was dangerous, but my desire to do it again outweighed any common sense (if any) I may have had.  Over the course of my high school years I suspended myself several times in the garage when I found myself alone.

Story 3:  Wire Bondage

In the 1970’s there was a T.V. show called “Mission Impossible,” which my Dad used to watch.  I started to like the show myself because of the bondage that they had in it from time to time.  I remember one episode quite vividly.  One of the “good guys” in the show, Mr. James Phelps, (played by Peter Graves), was taken prisoner by a “bad guy.”  The villain took some metal wire and wrapped it around Mr. Phelps wrists.  Then he took some pliers and twisted the ends of the wire together until it was tight around his wrists and quite inescapable.  Of course the hero did find a way to escape, but as I watched that episode, I became quite excited and aroused at the severity of a captive being bound with wire.  I thought about the idea for weeks after that.  The thought became a fixation and desire that I found hard to suppress.  One afternoon I found myself alone again for a couple of hours at the house.  Every time I was alone at my parents’ house was an opportunity for me to engage in self bondage; I took that opportunity almost every time.  My dad had a vice that was attached to a work bench.  He had another one with a heavy base that was not attached to anything.  I got the unattached vice and put in on the floor of the garage.  I found some wire and used a pair of wire cutters to cut it to the correct length.  Then I took the two ends of the wire and secured them tightly in the vice so that they would not come out.  This created a loop that I could put both of my hands through.  The loop was just big enough to get them through.  The next thing I did was to move myself around the vice, with my hands though the loop, so that the wire would twist and tighten around my wrists as I turned.  I went around and around until the wire became snug around my wrists so that I could not free my hands.  My idea was to eventually escape by just reversing my direction to make the wire unwind.  It may have been a good idea if it were not for the fact that I was using a fairly thick wire that was quite soft.  I was also so bent on making my predicament severe that I did not stop twisting around when I should have.  The wire suddenly snapped off at the vice leaving my wrists tightly bound and unattached to the vice.  There was now no way to reverse direction and get free.  I felt that wonderful feeling of helplessness and excitement which I had felt before, knowing that I had succeeded in binding my hands together with wire in such a way that I could not escape.  I pretended in my mind that I was James Phelps in a terrible predicament.  After a while, my wrists started to get sore from the wire cutting into me, so I tried to find a way to get free.  The broken ends of the wire were too short to put into the vice.  I did have the wire cutters, but with both of my wrists tied together it was not going to be possible to use my hands to cut the wire.  I tried putting the wire cutters between my knees, but it was way too clumsy and I couldn’t get the cutters to grab onto the wire.   Finally I tried using my teeth to put the cutters in position: open against the wire and wedged down to the top of the workbench.  With my chin I pushed carefully down on the wire cutters and I heard a snap as the wire was cut.  I had some nasty red marks on my wrists from the wire and a red mark on my chin from the wire cutters.  I kept my wrists hidden from view as best as I could until the marks almost completely disappeared a day or two later.

Story 4:  The Time I Buried Myself Alive

I remember something that was scary and dangerous.  It was also a very foolish thing for me to do.  It was perhaps the closest I ever came to ending up dead in a grave.  It involved a grave; a real hole in the ground grave.    From a young age I liked the feeling of being buried in sand.  The pressure from the weight of it felt really good on my body.  But my desire was to be trapped in it.  My real desire with all bondage was to be so stuck that I could not escape from it.  When I engaged in self bondage, I would need to be able to eventually get out, but if I could make it so that it took a long time to escape, I would get very close to that feeling of being trapped which I craved.  I saw a few westerns and spy movies where men were buried alive in sand or dirt up to their necks with only their heads sticking out.  Those scenes were always a turn on for me.  Burial was, and still is, a major fantasy for me.  We lived only ten miles from the beach, so during the summer I went often with my brother or friends that could drive.  I discovered when I went to the beach that I could bury myself with my arms sticking out, but once buried, it could take quite a long time to dig myself out.  Knowing that I could not get out for a period of time was great.  I remember one time when my friend went with me to Laguna Beach.  I dug a trench and asked him if he wanted me to bury him.  Of course I was thinking that if I buried him, he would want to get revenge and bury me, hopefully for a long time.  He got into the hole in the sitting position with his arms down and I proceeded to bury him.  Within a couple of minutes he panicked.

“Oh my God!  I can’t get out!  Get me out of here!”

He was really scared.  I could see the fear in his face.  He did not like the feeling of being trapped like I did.  I dug him out quickly.  He got out of the hole and told me what a horrible experience it was for him to be buried.  I asked him to bury me, he said no.  I can’t remember if I ever did get buried by my friends at the beach when I was in high school.  I know that when I was in my twenties I was buried alive several times and not able to escape.

The side yard of the house was devoted to growing a garden.  There was a section of ground that for a while was just dirt.  For weeks I had been severely fixated on the idea of being buried alive.  It was another one of those rare times when no one was home.  I had the idea to bury myself in the backyard.  I remember that I put on my swimsuit and went out to the garage to get a shovel.  I was shaking with anticipation as I walked outside and started to dig a trench.  I dug the trench as long as my body and nearly three feet deep.  It looked like a grave and it nearly became mine.  I stacked the dirt right on the sides of the trench so that I could get to it when I was in the hole.  Once I had dug the hole sufficiently deep, I sat in the trench with my legs straight out.  Using the shovel I began to shovel and collapse the damp cool dirt onto my legs.  The dirt was heavy and I buried them so deep that I could not move them at all.  Then I lay back in the trench.  As I looked up, I could see the sky surrounded by the dark dirt sides of the hole.  I was completely below ground level.  I felt like I was lying at the bottom of a grave.  What I didn’t realize was that I had really just dug my own grave.

I began to shovel the dirt onto my stomach until I couldn’t use the shovel anymore.  I threw it out of reach just to make me more trapped.  Now I knew that it would take a very long time to get out because I would have to dig myself out with my hands.  My heart was pounding with excitement as I felt the arousal of knowing that I was buried alive.  I was so driven that I couldn’t stop myself from making my situation worse.  With my hands I continued to collapse the dirt on top of me.  My arms were buried up to my elbows as my hands stuck out above me.  The dirt was surrounding my head so that I could not move it from side to side. The dirt was compressing my chest so that it was hard to take any deep breaths.  The heavy pressure was intense all over my body.  I could smell the organic nature of the dirt.  Suddenly the dirt pile stacked above the right side of my head collapsed right onto my face.  I was plunged into total darkness.  I was completely buried alive except for my hands and upper arms.

I panicked and tried to get my arms around in a position to dig the dirt away from my face.  But the dirt around my arms was up to my elbows and it prevented me from getting my hands to my face.  I cried in terror as I tried to breathe through the dirt.  I could only get the tiniest bit of air.  I opened my mouth to breathe and dirt dumped in filling it up.  I swallowed three large gulps of dirt to get rid of it.  I was suffocating and I knew that I was going to die in the blackness of this grave.  I had finally done it.  I was in a bondage that I could not escape from.  In fact, this was going to be the end of my life.  I continued to try and get my arms loose enough to get my hands to my face.  I did not think that there was any hope of survival.  I did not feel ready to die, yet I knew that in only a few minutes I would suffocate, and be a dead body, already buried in his grave.  I fought to survive and finally got one of my arms free enough to get my hand down to my face.  I quickly dug away the dirt so that just my mouth was exposed.  I gasped for air.  A little more dirt went into my mouth and I breathed some of it into my lungs.  I tried to spit out the dirt.  The muddy spit landed back on my lip.  I pushed back a little more dirt from my face and dug out my eyes.  I could see the light, but my vision was blurry because my eyes were full of dirt.  I was starting to get a little bit of hope that I would survive when suddenly a large chuck of dirt that I had just dug away from my face collapsed right back down plunging me back into the darkness of the grave.  I felt a horrible pit in my stomach and a feeling of terror as I realized that I was not going to survive this after all.  Gravity was working against me.  Any dirt that I removed was going to just collapse back down.  I had buried myself too deep.  This was the end.  I was going to die.  It was an awful frightening realization.  I thought that I should just relax and just accept death.  This feeling only lasted a couple seconds. I was going to fight my way out until I passed out.  I really needed some air fast and I frantically pushed the dirt away from my mouth and nose.  This time I made sure that as I pushed away the dirt, it would be far enough away as not to collapse again on my face.  Then I tried to pack the soft sides as much as I could to try and stabilize the dirt.

I was exhausted from struggling and my panic was causing me to breathe harder, but the pressure of the dirt on my chest was not letting me get enough air.  I realized that if I was going to have any chance of survival, I would have to slow down my breathing and not panic.  I could not think clearly while in a panic.  I lay in my grave with just my mouth and nose exposed for several minutes as I caught my breath and tried to reduce my panic.  I managed to slow down my breathing and calmed down enough to think more clearly.  I thought about just waiting for someone to rescue me but discarded that idea quickly for two reasons.  First, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get enough air over time if I just waited because of the pressure on my chest.  Second, the embarrassing mental picture of being discovered by my parents buried in this hole with only my hands sticking out made me shudder.  I had to dig myself out in such a way that I would not have to breathe too hard.

I began to slowly remove dirt, one small handful at a time.  First I got it all off of my face and then started to work on getting the dirt off of my chest.  I would throw each handful of dirt as far away from me as I could.  After about twenty minutes I had enough dirt removed from my upper body that I was able to breathe just fine.  Both of my arms were now free so I was able to sit up a little and push some dirt under my back to lift me up a little bit.  I wanted to make sure that if there was another cave in, my head would be up and out of the hole.  With my chest free, I dug as quickly as I could.  I was exhausted and thirsty.  My mouth and tongue were dry.  I blew muddy mucus out of my nose into my hand.  My eyes were irritated from the dirt that was in them.  Eventually I removed enough dirt that only my legs were buried.  I tried to pull out my legs but the dirt was too heavy and packed and I got a painful cramp in my calf.  I was still very stuck.  I could not believe how long it took just to dig out my legs.  I was now sitting up and was anxious to get free so I dug faster.  I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stacking the dirt and the pile of dirt caved back in on me burying me back up to my chest.  I was frustrated as I dug because I would seem to have myself pretty well dug out and there would be another cave in to delay my escape.

I have no idea of how long I was trapped in the dirt, but when I got out my whole body was filthy.  My mouth was dry with dehydration and my muscles ached from struggling. I had abrasions on my elbows and knuckles, as well as broken and ripped fingernails from digging.  I got out of the hole, and with the last energy that I had left, I filled in the hole and cleaned everything up.  Getting cleaned up was a chore in its self.  After my shower it took about a half an hour just to clean the dirt from the shower.  I went into my bedroom exhausted and plopped myself onto my bed.  I lay there not moving at all, just relaxing feeling clean again and free.  Laying my head on that soft foam pillow felt so luxurious to me in comparison to the predicament I had been in an hour earlier.  For a few days I was coughing up mud that was in my lungs.  Surprisingly, this brush with death did not remove or even reduce my fixation to be buried alive and within two weeks I buried myself again in the same place, but this time I kept my head above the ground.

Final Note: 

Unfortunately in my adult life I have been foolish enough with self-bondage to have had several other very close calls.  Thousands of people die every year because of self-bondage that went wrong.  Do not be one of those numbers.  Get a bondage buddy and play safe.

Metal would like to thank Bind for sharing this here. You can find Bind on Recon and on FetLife, and he is also featured at Serious Male Bondage

Hey guys, blog reader Louis of the Self-Bondage on Steroids post has passed along the following tips for safe bondage play. It’s good advice, if you ask me.

Louis writes,

Dear Metal,

Here is my list for bondage play:

1. Never play with a ligature around your neck. Or anything that could act as a ligature around your neck. Never play with strangulation.

2. If you do bondage, have a backup. This applies to all types of bondage. It is better to play with two bondage-buddies than just one. Play parties can provide tens of backups. The Delta and Inferno runs have specific designated individuals to keep the play safe. When I do self-bondage I have three separate timers and someone who will check on me if I don’t show up.

3. Don’t eat, drink, or take drugs excessively prior to play. Don’t play when sick.

4. Throwing up and passing out need to be planned for even if unlikely. They both can quickly result in dangerous bondage scene.

5. Don’t obstruct your breathing. Most autoerotic deaths are the result of asphyxia. The one death I know of at a play party was also the result of asphyxia.  So DO NOT obstruct your breathing if doing self-bondage. If your breathing becomes blocked, even when playing with others, there is only about three minutes for your play partner(s) to recognize the problem and fix it. Gags, gas masks, any form of breath-control, and most hoods are inherently unsafe in self-bondage.

6. Play with safe people. That means people who don’t use drugs, alcohol or  marijuana excessively prior to play. People who will pay attention. If you are new to bondage, play parties are a safe place to meet people. Once you know people in the scene, play with people your friends know and have played with. Talk to strangers, just don’t let them tie you up, especially at your place. If you insist on playing with strangers make sure a friend knows with who and where you are playing.  See item #1 – have a backup.

7. If you play by yourself it is safer if you are mobile enough to get out of the building or call 911 in the US  (for other countries see: http://www.sccfd.org/travel.html).  Remember, you really will not die from embarrassment.

8.  If you do long term play, make sure you can get water and food.  I have heard you can go without air for three minutes, without water for three days, and without food for three weeks.  So for self-bondage air and water gives you a “safety-window” of three weeks for someone to find you.

9.  Have at least two keys for every lock.  Know where the keys are.  Store locks locked, it forces you to check the lock by unlocking it prior to use.  For self-bondage make sure you can not only reach the needed keys, but that you can also get the keys into the lock.  Have a knife or scissors for cutting straps and rope.   Have a grinder for cutting locks, chains, handcuffs, and leg irons.  (And if you play with rivets, cutting rivets.)  Make sure you can reach the needed keys.

Play safe.  Be safe. I believe that if self-bondage is carefully done it is probably as safe as other risky activities such as surfing, skydiving, scuba diving, and flying.  These and many other risky activities can be done safely with the proper planning, precautions, and preparation.

Sincerely,

Louis

I was messing around with these high-security leg cuffs recently.

By Aquala Guy

(Monday, 10 p.m.) I am going to lock on my steel wrist shackles and steel ankle shackles when I get home from work tomorrow night. Once locked they will stay locked until I get up for work on Friday. When I return home on Friday they will get locked back on for the remainder of the weekend. I’ll try to send photos, but my cell phone is my only camera and can be a bit testy at times.

(Tuesday, 8 p.m.) As I promised, I have locked my shackles on as soon as I got home from work. I return to work on Friday at 9:00 AM. The shackles will be removed about 8 AM so I can shower for work. Then when I get home from work they will be locked back on and not removed until I have to return to work on Monday at 3:30 PM.

I made the decision to put my piss slave’s jockstrap on before I locked on my ankle shackles. Now the jock is on to stay until the shackles come off. And I can’t put anything else on, either. If someone was to show up at my door with a piss gag, I’d be pretty hard pressed to stop him from putting it in my mouth.

I did decide to step on the scale before I locked the shackles on, and afterward. I was 240 before … 246.2 after. I figure the 0.2 is my piss slave’s jock.

The photos show my legs spread as wide as I can get them, and my left wrist as far as I can get it from my right hand holding the camera.

It’s going to be a long weekend.

Journal Entry 1

(Wednesday 5:40 a.m.) I had promised Metalbond that I would put on my locking steel shackles when I got home from work, and wear them for my 2 days off without release, until I had to return to work. I stripped, put on my piss slave’s jock, and locked the shackles on. There is no way I can take my jock off (I can pull it down but I can’t remove it). And there is no way I can put anything else on. Since it was my weekly weigh-in, I had stepped on the scale before I locked them on … then decide to step on again. I gained 6 pounds in 3 minutes.

I took photos of the shackles on my ankles and my left wrist (I couldn’t photograph my right wrist). I sent him the photos, and started to wonder if I had made a dumb decision. It has been a very long time since I’ve worn them, and the feel of cold steel on my skin was not very comfortable. I find myself even questioning why I bought these things.

I had received an email from a guy who was interested in crucifying me (a fantasy I want to live out). We chatted on the phone for almost 4 hours, sharing not only our mutual interest in crucifixion, but his actual experiences. We also discussed other things, but kept coming back to crucifixion. He asked me what he was hearing and I told him about the shackles. We did some more talking and then he had to get some sleep (I’m on my days off). He told me he’d call me again tonight at 10, and asked me to promise that I wouldn’t unlock the shackles before then. (I promised him not to unlock the shackles, but didn’t tell him about my promise to Metalbond). Oddly enough, as I was envisioning him on the cross in his experience, then myself as he described what I could expect, the shackles started feeling comfortable. They started to feel like a part of me, like they belong on me. I suddenly did not want to be let out of them, but rather to have them permanently welded closed, or the locks jimmied so that I could never take them off again.

Of course that’s not feasible (yet). But the steel feels like it just belongs on me. I’ve only been in the shackles about 12 hours, I cannot imagine taking them off. OK, maybe to walk, because that is extremely difficult … but I’m thoroughly enjoying this. I’m enjoying that I have to THINK about almost every maneuver. Dropping the remote control required me to get out of the chair to pick it up because I couldn’t stretch my arm out. Eating and drinking require me to move and use both arms. There’s only a 12 inch gap between wrists, and 18 inches between ankles.

I’m realizing that my thoughts are running amuck, and there’s no sense of continuity. I am thinking that’s OK. My brain is in a million different places. It has been so many years since I formed the Windy City Bondage Club and wore restraints of any kind. The funnest thing is that my dick won’t stay soft! I’ve shot off 3 times since locking up.

I do need to get SOME sleep, so I’ll update the next entry after I get back up. I cannot remember the last time I was in bondage as I slept.

I am imagining how much hotter this would be if there was another man here preventing me from having access to my key for release. (I’ve checked a couple times, there is no restriction of circulation, no loss of sensation, but my ankles ARE showing and feeling a little bit of chafing from walking. Oh well, I guess I’m just going to have to put up with it.)

Journal Entry 2

(Wednesday, 1 p.m.) So the phone rang about 4 hours after I went to bed. It was a friend of the guy I sat up with on the phone discussing crucifixion into the wee hours. He woke me at 10:30 AM. We spoke on the phone for an hour and a half, also about some crucifixion but mostly other stuff … getting to know you stuff. He liked the idea that I’m locked in my shackles.

I really didn’t expect them to be comfortable like this. It’s beyond erotic. It’s like wearing a favorite jockstrap. I’m noticing a minor amount of chafing on my left ankle, but I checked, and the skin isn’t even red or broken. That’s the only real discomfort … well that and still getting used to walking.

I had to hold an afghan in front of me to put the dog out for her business. Didn’t think that one through, and nothing I can do about it now. Even though I am my own keyholder, I am really enjoying the “no hope for mercy, no hope for escape” scenario I’m running through my head. If I didn’t have to have a job, I could get real used to being chained up 24/7.

I like the way the weight of the shackles feels … both on my wrists and on my ankles. Difficult but not impossible to jack off, My dick has stayed in a state of semihardness almost the entire time I’ve been chained. I think some of that is due to the crucifixion chats.

I repeated to the new guy who called me this morning that if someone came to my door right now, with me shackled like this, and told me that I was going to be crucified, I’d have no choice but to go with him. I mean, really, I can’t get back to the bedroom quickly enough to get my key to take the shackles off, he’d only have to grab one arm or even the chain between my wrists and I’d be off to my cross.

Gotta get some more sleep.

Journal Entry 3

(Wednesday, 5:30 p.m.) DAMN! It’s raining a super heavy duty storm out there. I’d gone and gotten my drysuit out and ready for this because I wanted to take some time on my days off to spend in the suit in the rain. I knew the rain was coming. I totally spaced it when I put the shackles on. Now I’m locked up and prevented from getting into the suit.

I’m starting to realize what it means to be under control again. Even though I’m my own key holder, once I submitted to the shackles the clock truly became my master. I’m loving it on one hand, but on the other hand I’m truly hating it … in the sense that I can’t just go and do anything I want when I want because I’m unable to take the shackles off.

The piss slave jockstrap has been down around my ankles since I went to bed at 6 AM. I got a bit of a heat rash at work over the past two days (forgot that my dress slacks are a 50 percent wool blend) and the jock was irritating the rash. So for all intents and purposes, I’ve been here naked and shackled all day.

Another indicator of the reality of this is that in fantasy, I jack off, shoot my load, and it’s over. The reality of this is that I’m almost at the 23 hour mark, with a little over 38 hours to go. I’m feeling the frustration of the unyielding restraint of the shackles. That’s not really a complaint, although it sounds like one. Starting to wonder if I can make it the additional 38 hours before I go to work on Friday. And realizing that I’m only getting about a 10-hour respite, since I had promised Metal the restraints would go back on once I got home from work on Friday and stay on until I go back on Monday. THAT will be an even longer time, since my work schedule changes from mornings to evenings on Friday, so I’ll get home about 6:30ish, lock the shackles back on, and wear them until 2 PM Monday. That’s 68 hours. This time is only 58 hours, so I’m already having to do an extra 10 hours!

I’m also thinking of going out and buying a chain collar that I can wear under my shirt at work, so that I’ll be locked up … if even only metaphorically … 24/7.

Truthfully, even though I’m feeling a little frustrated, I need to do something like this more often. If my mail was delivered to my door instead of a communal mail receptacle, I’d consider mailing me my keys … but that’s not feasible since I’d have to get dressed to go get the mail. Gonna have to figure a way around that one. Readers, any suggestions?

Journal Entry 4

(Wednesday, 10:30 p.m.) OK, reality is finally setting in. It’s now the 28-hour mark, and my ankles are both chafed and irritated. Still no breaking of the skin, but walking is painful. I’ve been keeping my feet up as much as I can to try to alleviate the irritation. The only thing this is accomplishing is to make the irritation that much worse when I do have to get up. Not only do the shackles rub against the irritated skin, but the weight of them falling into place hurts.

Again, I’m not complaining. As I said, reality is setting in. I still have about 33 hours or so to go, then 10 hours of relief before a 68-hour shift. I can see that I’m going to have to get my headspace into SERIOUS sub-mode to put these shackles back on.

I have decided that I definitely will be stopping at the store to buy a chain collar before I come back home to lock the steel back on. I’m also going to put on a pair of gym shorts … putting the dog out is difficult enough with the shackles on, having to hold an afghan in front of me while doing so is even more difficult.

There is scant chance of me reneging on putting these back on, though. At least that’s what I can foresee at this point. I am still thoroughly enjoying this. Thankfully, the laptop keyboard fits within the distance of my wrist shackles, or even typing would be a difficult task. As it is, I do have to move both arms to use the mouse.

Still, I’m not complaining. And after 28 hours, I can still see myself someday being in these things 24/7 for the rest of time.

Journal Entry 5

(Thursday, 5:30 a.m.) OK, reality sucks. I have to play both roles, since this is a self-bondage situation. As a bottom I’m still enjoying wearing the irons. But they’ve broken the skin on both ankles now. So I had to play both top and bottom roles.

As a top I had to take into consideration the safety of the bottom. I looked at my ankles and decided that some preventive first aid was needed. So, I had to unlock the shackles one leg at a time, and apply neosporin and bandages. I couldn’t do it with the wrist shackles on. So I had to unlock my wrists to take care of my ankles.

I rubbed the neosporin on my open wounds and wrapped my ankles. Put some socks on over the bandages to hold them set. I let it set for a while as I tried to get my headspace back into bottom mode. When I went to put the shackles back on, there was a little bit of blood coming through. I took off my socks and bandages, put some more neosporin on, and let it air set. New bandages are on, and there’s no blood coming through, but, unfortunately, this session has come to an end.

I am more than just a little bummed out about it. But the No. 1 rule (at least as I was taught in my youth from what we now consider to be Old Guard) is SAFE, SANE and CONSENSUAL. While the consensual is there, it is no longer safe or sane for me to put the shackles back on.

But I will definitely be doing this again. I just know now to protect my ankles when I lock on the shackles. And here I was afraid my wrists would be my vulnerable points.

Final tally was 35 hours. 13 hours short of 2 days. 27 hours short of the total I was supposed to do.

I will have to do this again, because this was definitely fun!

Journal Entry 6

(Thursday, 7:30 p.m.) Just as I finished my last entry, the SSC part of me kicked back in to bottom mode from top mode. I asked if there was a reason why I couldn’t finish my sentence with just my wrist shackles. The top in me said that there was absolutely no reason at all, so as I was getting ready for bed I put the wrist shackles back on. I was out of them for all of 45 minutes. Putting them back on was immediately the same effect as putting on a familiar, well fitting, comfortable pair of my favorite gloves … and snapping the locks closed again was an instant hard on again.

Jacking off has been the most difficult part of this whole ordeal (except for the ankles). I usually like to lie face down with both hands holding my hardon back and forcing my hips to thrust. I’ve been doing it like that since puberty. So using my hands in the more “traditional” stroking method has been different … coupled with the slapping of the chain against my belly and, when I thought it out, my balls. Still, I am not complaining. Shot my load and went to sleep.

I didn’t update Metalbond when I put my wrist shackles back on, because if I’d have picked up the computer, I’d have been on it again for hours, and I needed to get some sleep. Except for the 45-minute break to tend my wounds, I’ve been wearing my wrist shackles the entire time. I’m now at the 50-hour mark, with 8 hours to go, roughly. This is by and far the longest time I have ever been in bondage, even dating back to my days of starting up the WCBC with Barry S. When I sent him my latest entry, Metalbond said: “It’s good that you had a top who let you out and cared for your wounds. Just think, many years ago, if you had been a slave or a convict, you might not have been so fortunate.”

This is very true, although I think a good slave owner would still have tended the slave’s wounds, just wouldn’t have released him from his shackles unless a doctor said it was necessary. Then again, as a slave I wouldn’t have had a 3D job to be concerned about outside the shackles, as my job would have been slavery.

He also asked if it was OK with me to post these comments when everything was done. Of course, my answer was an emphatic YES. That was the hope I’d entertained every time I sat to write an update. I hope that you readers have been enjoying this as much as I have. And yes, I have truly been enjoying this. I’m giving some very serious thought to making arrangements for my vacation time to be spent the entire time in these shackles – another man as my keyholder, making sure that only my most basic of needs are met, making sure that I’m not injured in any way, but also making sure that I live with my decision to wear them.

It’s only 3 times longer than I’ve gone this time around. And yes, even though my ankles are probably not going to be ready, I am still planning on putting the wrist shackles back on when I get home from work tomorrow night. It will be up to Metalbond to ask me, on behalf of you readers, if he wants more updates for the next session.

Journal Entry 7

(Thursday, midnight) In the photo you can see the cut on my left ankle. This is the worse of the two. You can also see the chain from my wrist shackles.

It doesn’t look like much now, but both ankles are still burning. I’ve put another dose of neosporin on them so I can go to work tomorrow.

Journal Entry 8

(Friday, 8:45 p.m.) So I took the shackles off to go to work and it was actually a sad feeling for me. The same kind of sad feeling when you have to say so long to a good friend. You know you’ll be seeing them again, but you’ll miss them all the same. I missed my shackles today while I was at work. I had to go to get some groceries to get through the weekend, so I also purchased a 24-inch chain collar from the dog aisle.

I got home and wasted no time in getting the shackles back on my wrists. I was locked in within 2 minutes of arriving home, placing wrists into steel and closing them without any regard for whether or not I wanted to wear them. I put them on myself like I’d have put them on a slave boy … quickly, determinedly, and with no regard for his desires.

It was like putting on a pair of comfortable gloves again. Like they belonged. Like they were a part of me.

Like I’d come home. Putting the chain around my neck and locking it on … feeling the chain of my shackles banging against my chest as I first placed the collar then locked it on only added to the feeling of …

Yeah, I could definitely live like this!

Journal Entry 9

(Saturday, 8 a.m.) Wow, I was sooooooooooooooooooo tired after work yesterday. I posted my update and went to bed. Slept well, surprisingly comfortable. I’m addicted to these shackles!

This is the first time in my life I’ve worn a chain collar. I am surprised as to how quickly it became like a part of me. It didn’t bother me one bit as I slept, and I’m not even noticing it except for when I force myself to pay attention to it. While it’s not technically bondage, it’s symbolic. It is steel locked on that cannot be removed without a key. While the shackles have to come off for daily “normal” activities outside the house, the collar does not have those restrictions. It is not coming off, period, end of discussion!

Just typing that last sentence made my dick hard!

I’m hoping there are a few hard dicks out there reading these updates, too.

Journal Entry 10

(Saturday, 6:30 p.m.) I am not only surprised by how comfortable my wrist shackles are even after all this time, I’m surprised as to how much I’ve adapted to wearing them. I’ve adapted “second nature” … where everything I do with them on is as natural as if I’ve always been doing it this way. Sure, there are obvious difficulties (most notably in the bathroom) but I truly do not have any complaints at all! I do miss the leg shackles, and for the most part the wounds on my ankles have healed (although soap in the shower this morning still burned). I’m also enjoying the chain around my neck, also as second nature.

I’m not normally into PROLONGED self-bondage. Usually self-bondage lasts until I pop a nut or two and I’m done. To say I’m proud of my achievement this weekend would not be accurate, though. Truthfully, I’m feeling quite humbled that I can, in fact, go like this as long as I have (and still longer to go). I’m dreading Monday, but not for the usual reasons most people dread Mondays. I’m dreading it because I have to remove most of this wonderful steel.

I’m wondering how I’ll be reacting at work with the collar on. It won’t be visible to anyone, but I’ll be aware of it at times. And that will definitely cause a reaction in me … I’ll find out what kind of reaction when Monday gets here.

When I first set for myself the dual deadlines of getting up for work on Friday and Monday, in my mind I thought for sure that I’d fail yet again as I always do at self-bondage. Perhaps it succeeded this time because I was able to move around. I don’t know. I just know that this is one of the horniest and hottest weekends I’ve ever experienced outside of IML.

Still not complaining.

Journal Entry 11

(Sunday, 6 a.m.) I think these shackles have brought out my true colors. I’ve always known that I’m a bondage pig. That was the biggest reason I started the Windy City Bondage Club back in 1986. Back then I always thought I was a top who preferred once in a while being bottom. Then as time went by, I thought of myself more as a 50/50 versatile.

Today I think of myself as a bottom.

Maybe I’m just in that headspace. I mean I have been locked up for almost 5 days, with only 2 bouts of relief. So I could be seeing things in my perceptions that are just clouded.

But that doesn’t explain why I’m such a horndog these past 5 days. My hormones haven’t rushed like this in 20 years. Again, I am not complaining.

I still have 38 hours left. It’s not enough time. I want more! And I am sure that you all will get to read about it!

Journal Entry 12

(Sunday, 6 p.m.) A very comfortable and restful sleep. The dog is confused as I haven’t been able to put an arm around her for the past 5 nights, but she still curls up at my feet so it’s all good, I guess.

I told a close friend about my decision to wear the chain around my neck. His words “Congratulations! Feels good, doesn’t it!” Yes, Tim, it absolutely does.

I have finally reached the point where the shackles are a nuisance. In a way, I suppose that it’s still fun. (It’s not bondage until you want out). And I am going to see these final 19 hours through … would be a terrible waste to come this far and punk out. And I don’t like waste.

I should have done something like this a long time ago. I definitely will be doing this again!!!!!

Journal Entry 13

(Monday, 4 a.m.) My last update before the end of my … well I don’t know what to call it. “Ordeal” isn’t the right word, but neither is “vacation.” This could have been one or both, but was neither. Yet, it was one of my most pleasant experiences in a very long time.

I’m going to bed for the last time now wearing my shackles. There won’t be time to do another update before I go back to work tomorrow, so I’ll have to do a wrap-up when I get home just after midnight.

I am going to miss wearing these on a constant basis. Sure, I can put them on at will, but this was a special occurrence where I had, basically, 5 consecutive days off, almost. That won’t be coming around again in a very long time.

I almost … almost … took a daring step tonight. I ran out of cat food. I almost decided to drive to the store and get some. If I hadn’t felt that my shackles would have prevented me from safely driving I might have gone out. Maybe. But in this area, common sense won out. Besides, there’s enough left over dry food to last them until I get home from work tomorrow night.

The chain around my neck is so comfortable. I’m glad I was wearing it while I was shackled. It gives me a sense of continuity.

I hope the readers enjoy vicariously what I’ve been enjoying in real life these past 5 days.

Recap

(Tuesday, 3: 30 am) Well, I’m really about all journaled out. There’s not much more I can talk about, but if readers want to ask questions I’ll gladly answer them.

I took the shackles off about 2 PM Monday 4/22. It was like removing a part of myself, cutting off a limb. I’d gotten so used to them that it physically hurt to have them removed!

I have a good friend in my hometown of Chicago with whom I shared the concept of locking the chain around my neck, and he’s encouraged me to keep it 24/7 for a while. Frankly, I don’t see any reason to remove it at all, unless I have to fly somewhere (fat chance). He hasn’t been advised yet of my 5 days bondage … he’s more of a participating player than a reading/voyeuristic player.

Really, nothing more to report. I’m a free man again, so readers, if you have questions, fire away.

Thanks, Aquala Guy, for keeping this journal! (If anyone wants to get in touch with this guy, send an email and I will forward it.)

Metalbond reader Mike got into some solo bondage play with his key safe, some ankle restraints and a steel cage recently … and he sent me the pictures to help document it:

Way to go, Mike!