The Perfect Scene

In my roamings on the WWW I came across a few self bondage sites and I found it amazing what people would risk in order to achieve fantasies of helplessness. Some do die in such scenes. One does have to be careful. Here is a story of one man who took all the care required in order to survive, but was it enough?

Jason had dabbled in self bondage for many years, had read passages on the internet about scenarios and safety issues, and had come to the conclusion that, if a scene was well thought out and executed perfectly, there were endless scenarios to be played out, options limited only by his imagination.

This scene was the most complex yet, and as he stood in the bathroom fully feminized, with high heels, corset, panty hose, girdle, and bra hugging him with erotic pulsations of tightness, he went over the final details of the plan. It was important that the sequence was right in every detail, when he hung the key up, when he clicked the final lock to bind his hands behind his back, when he turned the vibrating anal plug on.

As always, he had put a condom on so that his cock was secured in a lubricated tube under his panty girdle. His cheeks were flushed and hot and his hands shook as he took another sip of wine from the glass on the granite countertop. He set it down, the glass hitting the rock with a clinking sound, its rim now stained with lipstick in several spots.

He stared into the mirror and seeing a flaw, he leaned forward to examine it further. He spent the next few moments fixing his mascara, lengthening his eyelashes until he felt every blink of his eyelids, the weight and body of the expanded lashes constantly creating an awareness of his attire and makeup. He stepped back, brushing his long blond hair away from his cheek and eyes. Although a wig, it felt real, and above all else, it looked real.

His waist was accentuated by the corset, and with none of his male body hair visible due to the clothing, he thought he looked exactly like a woman. That was his dream, and finally he had achieved it.

Now for the final examination of his scene. The key to all his locks hung, as if weightless, within a block of ice about three inches square. Leather cuffs were locked to both his wrists and upper arms just above his elbows. Both his elbows and wrists would soon be locked behind his back.

Also embedded within the ice cube was a coat hanger with a fish-hook shaped end so that the ice did not fall away too quickly. The coat hanger with the attached ice cube hung from a string which he had rigged up to cross the bath tub at a height of about six feet, so that as the ice melted, the water would drip harmlessly into the tub. There would be some mess however, as earlier in the day, he had cut a piece of plywood into a size suitable for covering the tub. When the key was finally released from its frozen state, it would fall on the plywood, and he could then use it to release his bondage.

He estimated that the ice would melt in approximately three hours, and within that time frame he would alternate between delicious erotic panic at being so helpless, and the throes of at least three orgasms.

He checked it all over now and it all seemed in order as he sipped and finished his glass of wine. The rim was now grossly stained by his lipstick and its red smears matched quite nicely with the color of the red wine.

His excitement intensified, as all was ready but for the final details. Wanting to wallow in this suspenseful phase, he walked to the kitchen to refill his wine glass. He stood now sipping and staring out at the cold snowy day, his mind full of joyful anticipation. It was two o'clock on Friday and he had taken the day off from work to supposedly travel to his cottage in the mountains for a weekend of skiing. But that, of course, was not his plan. Judith was away at a convention for the weekend in Montreal. The excuses were perfectly aligned.

A blizzard was expected to hit within the hour and swirls of snow were already peeking around the grove of aspens to the west of the house. Soon, everyone would be snowbound, snuggling up to fireplaces and drinking hot cocoa or something stronger. It would not be a weekend for visiting. It was perfect.

The wine buzzed him as he paced around the living room feeling and acting like the woman he fantasized. He had only recently classified himself as a male lesbian, after many years of self flagellation about his perverted behavior, even thinking for awhile that he might be latently gay. But he was heterosexual, and simply wanted to fantasize being a woman, a woman with a penis, so that he could make love to another woman. But those dates had been hard to find, so he relied on fantasy to suffice, and that perversion and acting out carried with it huge amounts of guilt. The self bondage took care of that. If he was restrained and helpless when he fantasized and had an orgasm, then he couldn't help it, could he? The bondage created the freedom, freedom from guilt.

He finished the bottle and decided it was time.

Jason entered the bathroom once again and pushed the door shut, locked it closed with the key and deposited the key into the bath tub beneath the plywood. It would be impossible to retrieve without first unlocking his bondage with the key in the ice. He made a last check of the ice cube. It had started to melt and the coat hanger hook was nestled correctly beside the key within it. Next he started the anal vibrator with the remote and placed it in the tub as well. It sent shock waves of erotic desire through him.

To prevent himself from climbing on top of the edge of the tub or onto the plywood to gain access to the melting ice, he locked his ankles together with similar cuffs as those that were on his wrists and upper arms. In the long list of precise steps, he locked a leather penis gag around his head, the gag portion fully inserted and stifling any coherent language.

He felt his silicone inserts inside his bra, and relished the feeling, as he would be unable to do so in a few short moments.

Breathing with short excited snorts through his nose, he made his last check, making sure that the plywood was positioned correctly to catch the key. He even sat on the edge of the tub to make sure that once his wrists and elbows were locked together, he could reach the key, wherever it fell on the plywood. Satisfied, he locked the end of a short chain to the cuff above his right elbow, grasped the loose end and clumsily managed to lock that end to his left elbow. He was almost done. Now breathing rapidly with excitement, he took the remaining luggage lock and inserted it through the d-ring on his left wrist, put it behind his back weaving the lock through the other d-ring.

His heart was pounding. This was it. This was the point of no return, and he would be faced with a forced bondage for the next three hours. There would be no way back until the ice melted.

As he squeezed the lock and it sealed itself with an audible "clink", he closed his eyes and shuddered with the eroticism of it all.

A moment of mock or "pretend" panic descened upon him and as he struggled to free his hands, the gravity of it all sank in. He was in this until the ice melted. There was no choice. His elbows and wrists were locked in place; he could not walk, and he could not speak. And he was dressed as a woman, well, at least the woman of his dreams.

He glanced toward the ice. Drip. Drip. Drip. He noted that as the ice melted, the clarity of the ice was more pure. He squinted his eyes as he noticed something. Leaning closer, it was evident that the key and the "fish hook" end of the coat hanger were very close together, with the key slanted and slightly above the hook.

He grunted through the gag and stared at the key again. No, it wouldn't...would it? Could it? He struggled some more but he had planned it well. There was no escape. The key was unreachable until it fell out of the ice cube, if it fell out of the ice cube.

Psychologically, this was exactly what he wanted, the risk, the helplessness. This is what he got, in spades, and his mind reacted predictably. Struggling in vain, he also squatted slightly and felt the anal plug vibrate against his prostate while his penis slipped erotically within the confines of the condom pressed against his belly under the girdle. Within minutes he was gyrating in orgasmic ecstasy, struggling to get his breath through his nose while he bit the gag and screamed a guttural scream. He almost fell down; it was so intense, but that would have been a permanent situation, as regaining a standing position would have been impossible had he done so, given the nature of his bondage.

After a few minutes, he regained his composure and quieted his breathing, the realities of his situation overwhelming any and all of his fantasies. It was not a happy moment. Panic, real panic consumed him.

He stared at the ice. Drip, drip, drip.

He looked at the clock. At least two more hours. Tick, tick, tick.

Drip, drip.

He had to stop doing this. After shaking his head in futility and despair, he resolved to never, ever do this again. It was too dangerous. This was serious. If that key did not drop, he would die. Could he last until Judith came home on Sunday night? And even if he did, could their marriage survive such a bizarre encounter?

What was happening with that ice? Why was that key so high in the ice cube? Why was that hook so deep under the key. Oh God...under the key, under the key. Surely that could not happen...

Half an hour passed in pointless sitting about, the anal plug eventually forcing him to arousal once again. This time he was slower to full arousal, but once he "went over the edge" the fantasies of his predicament engulfed him once again until he lost control completely, his knees almost buckling in orgasm.

This time, reality crashed upon him like a tsunami, a deadly realization that he might not be able to escape this one. He had been too meticulous in everything but for one item. Yes, he could not unlock the bathroom door, yes he was voiceless with the gag, yes he could not unlock his bondage.

But that key. The cube was noticeably smaller and the key was clearly visible over the hook of the coat hanger. The hole in the key for placement of a key ring had not moved, but it seemed like it had. It was the fear that did that.

Why had he been so thorough in his bondage? This was crazy. He was crazy.

He sat on the edge of the bath tub like a pummeled fighter down for the count, periodically glancing at the ice. There were no fantasies right now, just regret and dread.

What if Judith phoned?

Drip, drip, drip.

Tick, tick, tick.

He now had a lot of time to think. He looked down at his "breasts", and below them to his 5-inch high heels which strapped tightly over his instep and behind his heel. The vibrations of the anal plug continued to tantalize him and he shuddered occasionally with forced arousal. His hands writhed helplessly behind his back as his mind wandered.

He had been sexually imprinted as a young man by trying on a pair of panties, then a bra, then a girdle, then all three. It escalated from there, as each time he wore women's clothes he would masturbate, unwittingly becoming dependent upon that for arousal. From then on, that was his fetish, but it became overlain with guilt.

Then came the bondage, the self bondage especially. He could not be guilty of something over which he had no control. He would have preferred to have a woman force him to wear women's clothes, but those types of women were hard to find. Yes, he saw them on the internet, but where were they in real life?

Judith was not that woman.

So, at age thirty-two, he was married to Judith, but he lived alone, alone amid his fantasies. She knew of some of them, mainly the cross dressing, but recoiled at that as a perverted sickness. He dared not tell her of the obsession with self bondage and the associated erotic pleasure he derived from it. She was to be left out of any and all of that.

He was handsome enough, but somewhat androgynous, with a narrow chin and high prominent cheek bones. His frame matched his face, so that when he walked, his thin arms dangled like Ichabod Crane's. His fingers looked like Liberace's, long and slender, meant for the piano. The false long nails on them now looked appropriate with their dark red polish. In essence, it was easy for him to switch back and forth, male to female and back. Most times he wore women's underwear under his business clothes, and on several occasions had even worn girdles under his clothes even in his wife's presence.

It would have been easier for him if he was gay, but unfortunately he was not. He loved everything about women, their looks, their curves, their mannerisms, clothing and shoes, and envied the fact that they had so much variation in what they could wear on any given day. But what woman would want to be with a man who admitted to crave this? He sensed Judith would leave him if she knew the extent of his fantasies.

Drip, drip.

He felt a splash from the dripping water. It wet his corset slightly at his hip. Earlier he had thought about undoing the laces but no amount of contortion could get his hands up high enough to undo the lacing, let alone undo the hook and eye closing. The elbow restraints had taken care of that and he would be stuck with the tight lacing for the duration of the scene. Unfortunately everything was going as planned, and he squirmed in the tightness of the corset.

Tick, tick.

There was probably half an hour left now and the vibrator was mercifully failing. The ice cube was quite small and the hole of the key seemed to be closer than ever to that damned hook on the coat hanger. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Then the fantasy of it all battered him again. He struggled in vain, but the eroticism knocked him off balance one more time so that he writhed in agony and ecstasy until he reached orgasm. This time his penis slipped out of the condom and he felt wetness spread across his belly.

Suddenly he realized he was crying, because he found it hard to breathe. The gag sealed his mouth and the tears and mucous plugged his nose so that he moaned in helplessness. This fantasy was not what he had planned; well, yes it was actually, but he had not realized the potential to turn to such horrific reality.

Here it was.

Tick, tick, tick.

Drip, drip, drip.

He looked up just as the final piece of ice melted away. Well, it didn't actually completely melt, as the conductive heat of the coat hanger preferentially melted a passage way into the block, making it weaker. The point of the coat hanger pointed like a dagger toward the hole in the key. The key fell, almost in slow motion until the key-ring hole sat precisely balanced on the pointed end of the "fish hook" at the end of the coat hanger. Jason held his breath. It wobbled once, twice, and then settled with an imperceptible click into the hook. The rest of the ice cube fell away with a crash on the plywood below. The key swung back and forth as he watched it, mesmerized, until it was still.

His eyes were wide with disbelief. He screamed incoherently behind his gag, "No, dear God, no!" This could not be happening, and yet he scanned the setup once again, looked down at his tethered ankles, felt his useless hands behind his back, and he was forced to recognize he was in serious trouble.

Now he compelled himself to calm down to think. He had planned this so well, that there was little room for movement, but necessity required that he at least try.

If he got his feet up onto the plywood, perhaps he could push with his feet so that his back was against the wall, and slide upward to a new standing position where he could...no, that would not work. Firstly, he had high heels on his feet, secondly, his mouth was sealed with the gag, and even if he could raise himslef to that height, he had no means to remove the key from the coat hanger.

"Think, think!" he screamed at himself. Okay, okay, he thought, in a forced yoga calm, there was a broom in the closet. He could retrieve it, then he could try to knock the key off its roost. But he had to be extremely careful, because if he fell, he could seriously hurt himself.

Shuffling slowly, and breathing just sub-panic level, he made his way to the closet with a single mindedness born of desperate necessity and anxiety. He could not fail; he just could not. The broom was there and he gratefully grasped it behind his back and turned to re-enter the bathroom, not anticipating the end of the broom swinging around to catch on the closet door frame. Caught off guard, he stumbled. In desperation he tried to regain his balance but it was too late. His head hit the ceramic tile with a crack and the broom fell with a clatter.

When he woke up, his head ached and he was confused. He couldn't seem to move his hands and when he tried to stand up, it all came back to him. His tethered elbows and hands made it impossible to gain enough leverage to get up. The memories came back out of the fog. He had fallen. Where was the broom? Then with a sickening feeling inside, he realized that did not matter now; he was on the floor and that was where he would have to stay. He twisted and turned in desperate and futile attempts to gain freedom.

He fell back, exhausted and out of breath.

It was hours later. The daylight under the bathroom door turned black. Nature demanded basic necessities and he desperately needed a drink of water and he needed to pee. He accomplished the latter, the warmth spreading at his lower abdomen and groin.

So this was how he would end, another police statistic, suicide by self bondage.

Late Saturday afternoon, the snow had stopped. Little Freddie next door was an industrious type so he looked forward to snow storms, knocking on doors and doing driveways and sidewalks for $20. He trudged up Jason's walkway, his short legs arcing outward to swing his feet to the next deep hole, and rang the doorbell.

Jason was in a state of dehydration shock but he heard it. A growl or squeal attempted to exit around his gag, but it just ended up as a chest bone rumble. It rang again and he rolled over on his side and sighed.

Freddie rang once more and then left.

Jason sat in the silence, alone and without hope. There was nothing now. His despair had long ago been left behind with the realization that he was going to die. His stress eventually drifted into a comfortable place whereby he curled into a fetal position on the floor. His head hummed and the gag was dry in his mouth. His eyes drooped in despondent fatigue, fluttering in their last view of daylight under the door. The crack of light went dark and he closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered before he gave up, was a last feeble burst from the vibrating anal plug. His eyes flickered, but that was all. It was time to sleep.