My newest journey

Greetings all! I’m Roger, and I’ve just joined this forum. At 45 years old, standing around 5’9” with a weight of roughly 170 lbs, I’d describe myself as fit rather than overweight. Also, I have a passion for bondage and self-bondage. This account covers what happened to me yesterday. The items I used were: a 200-foot bolt of quarter-inch rope, a roll of extra-sticky duct tape, a rolled-up sock, and my beloved pair of double-locking police handcuffs. For the release method, I chose either enduring a long wait or engaging in a difficult struggle; each approach carried a small risk of total failure. If both attempts failed, I would have had to improvise another way out or remain truly trapped. The struggle option meant hiding one of the cuff keys inside a locking safe. This safe was tucked under my bed in the bedroom. To retrieve it, I used a three-foot metal cleaning rod equipped with a makeshift coat hanger wire hook at its tip. I concealed this rod in the bedroom closet beneath a heap of laundry. While bound and holding the rod, I would need to position myself next to the bed, fish for the safe using the rod, catch the wire on the safe’s metal handle, and pull it out. Previous trials with my hands cuffed confirmed this was doable, though I hadn’t tested it during full extreme bondage yet. The risk here was accidentally pushing the safe further away than reachable, which occurred a few times during practice runs. But surely, without a key to unlock it, the safe is useless? I possess two keys for that safe. For one, I froze it inside a water bottle known to take at least ten hours to thaw. Before freezing it, I attached a long but delicate string to the key. After removing the bottle from the freezer, I set it atop a china closet and secured it with tape. I extended the long thread so that its end would be just within reach of my cuffed hands while bound. The only way to claim this key is by waiting for the entire ice block to melt; applying too much force on the string could snap it, making the key inaccessible. For the second safe key, I placed it in one out of four old, identical aspirin bottles. Dummy keys filled the other three bottles. After shuffling them behind my back, I wasn’t sure which bottle held the real key. Then scattered these bottles around my apartment. The first went into an old suitcase located in the closet near my front door. That case locks with three latches, each requiring a complex physical adjustment to open while tied up. Reaching that closet meant navigating around furniture, quite challenging when bound. I put the second bottle inside a low cabinet in the kitchen. Opening this cabinet is easy enough even while tethered, but extracting the bottle from its recesses might be tricky given how cluttered the cabinet was. The third bottle rested on the edge of my bathroom countertop. Retrieving it required using the same rod used to fetch the safe under the bed. It would be within reach via the rod, but demanded precision. A slight miscalculation could send the bottle tumbling forward into the sink, putting it well out of grasp! And then there’s the fourth option. I took this outside and placed it in my car trunk. If that bottle contained the key, then this long-struggle method would fail. Slamming the trunk shut sent a wave of sickening excitement through me. The alternative was the long wait approach using the stocking trick. Knowing with my combination of stocking/ice cubes/ring setup that ten cubes allow the key to drop within two and a half hours, I planned to use the whole ice cube tray’s worth—the exact number unknown but certainly more than ten. However, placing the stocking correctly had to happen after securing the gag and most of the bondage. Finally, the tying process began. Wearing a loose t-shirt and shorts with no shoes or socks, I started on my upper body, specifically my upper arms. I’ve always found this area challenging to tie satisfactorily. Coiling rope loosely

Around my chest and forcing the arms through gives me mixed results—it’s too unpredictable. Sometimes it ends up loose and floppy, other times painfully tight. I prefer a snug fit that is inescapable but not painful.

So, I tried a new method for better results. First, I tied a long length around my upper body, just under the chest. Then I took another length, knotted its midpoint to the chest rope, passed the tails over my shoulders, wrapped them through the waist rope behind me, and brought the tails back up over the shoulders to knot together at the center of the chest rope, creating a sort of harness. Next, I used two long lengths, about thirty feet each, fastening one end of each directly below my shoulders on the chest rope. Then I attached the opposite ends to those same respective spots, forming giant loops on either side of me for later use.

After that, I took another length of rope and knotted my handcuff to its midpoint. I tied this around my waist with a tight knot in front, leaving the cuffs fastened behind my back. Getting closer!

Then came the gagging. I love gags, especially tape ones. We know they can be weak or ineffective though; wrapping tightly around the back of the neck works well but might make me faint after ten minutes due to restricted circulation. The method I used here worked very well.

I placed a rolled-up sock in my mouth—too big to swallow but large enough to bulge out my cheeks. A long strip of tape went over my mouth from ear to ear, followed by another below it and one above passing just under the nose, all ear to ear. I bit down hard on the sock, then started a strip under my left ear, passed it under the jaw, up to the right ear, and secured it. I repeated this several times before taping over my mouth again. Taping continued in various directions until my entire face, from below the chin to just beneath the eyes, was covered in shiny, smooth duct tape. For extra security, one strip went over the mouth, around the neck, and back to the mouth. It was comfortable—not too tight yet completely secure—and an incredibly effective gag. Speech became impossible with only low moans allowed; surprisingly comfortable but hard to remove. I loved it.

I did all the gagging in my bathroom so I could admire myself in the mirror. The next step was positioning the ice stocking and finishing the tying up process. In the kitchen, I dumped an entire tray of ice into the stocking. I didn’t know how many cubes there were, but it was a lot; the stocking bulged enormously. Threading the metal ring with the attached cuff key over the ice bulge, I taped the stocking to my hallway ceiling. This method could work, though I had never used this much ice before and wasn’t sure about the wait time. Plus, this approach has failed me twice in the past when the ring got stuck on the stocking instead of falling as the ice melted. Those instances involved a struggle similar to what is described here but with less risk than my current 20% chance of failure. My excitement grew.

Back to my center bedroom—my bondage room, if you will—to finish tying up. I had pre-cut lengths for my legs. First, crossed and tied the ankles tightly. Then a tight cinch loop just below the knees, followed by another tight cinch loop on the thighs above the knees. A fairly long tail from the ankle tie served as the hogtie string. Pulled heels close to the butt and fastened that line from the ankles to the waist rope holding my cuffs. Ran the rope back to the ankles and tied it off. My usual hogties might weaken with struggling, but this one is secure.

Last were the upper arms and wrists. Back to those big loops I created earlier…

I started with my arms earlier. I placed my left arm in the left loop, and began wrapping my arm in the rope. I tried to keep my arm as close to my body as possible. When I had a couple of feet of loop left, I repeated the process on my right arm. Then, I did my best to tighten the wrapped loops around each arm and knot them on themselves, kind of like a makeshift slipknot. After that, I passed the remainder of the left arm loop behind my back, forced my right arm into it, and performed the same action with the other side. It wasn’t easy; there was lots of contortioning and cursing–perfect for the gag!–to achieve results, which I finally did. My arms were tied tightly to my sides.

And so. To lock on the cuffs. I passed my left hand into the left cuff and locked it securely. I keep a piece of strong wire handy to double lock the cuffs, which I used here. Double locking is always a difficult, sweaty ordeal, but without it I invariably tighten the cuffs too much.

So now for my still free right hand. I closed the cuff just enough on my right hand to get it started, took a deep breath, and ratcheted it shut, then double locked it. I did all this while seated in an uncomfortable hunched position, then let myself fall gently onto my side.

It’s about the best job I’d ever done on myself. Every knot held fast, the gag was stuck firmly in place, even the hogtie line and arm loops were tight. I lay still for a moment, then tried to move. It wasn’t easy. On my side I could kind of worm along a few inches at a time with plenty of pain and strain against ropes and cuffs.

It was then that I realized how helpless and stuck I was, feeling a surge of sickening and primal excitement which morphed into panic in just a few seconds.

I decided to try sitting up again. I lunged my body toward the left, trying to reach a seated position. No luck. More panic and sweat. I tried once more; still no luck but much more sweat. My shirt was already soaked through, yet my gag had barely budged. I braced my feet as far as my hogtie allowed, and tried again. Almost there, but I fell back to my side. I thought about trying the worming technique again, but it had become harder work. I wormed a few inches toward the door, rested, then wormed again, resting once more.

I started getting better at worming; my panic subsided somewhat, and I tried sitting up again. Once more I braced my feet and lunged, failing again. Then I tried yet another time, and finally succeeded. My struggles had loosened the hogtie a bit, so I was slightly more comfortable than before. Still secure though.

From this position I moved by pushing my cuffed fists against the floor, lifting my butt up just a little, pulling forward with my feet as far as my hogtie permitted, and continuing on like that. This got quite painful in my wrists after a few feet, but I managed to reach the hallway and spot the ice stocking.

It didn’t look like it had melted at all, even though I felt like I’d been tied up for about half an hour. With no clock in sight, I had no way of really knowing for sure. The hunched seated position was getting uncomfortable again. I pulled myself out through the door and backed up against a hallway wall, leaning on it. I was already exhausted and sweated clean through. I knew I needed to rest.

I was becoming painfully uncomfortable in my seated position, so I decided to get back onto my side. Letting myself slide down the wall, I landed on my right side. I did my best to settle into comfort. Everything remained nice and snug, though, which caused me to start panicking again. Through deep breathing and self-reassurance, I was able to calm down. I twitched and arranged my body as much as the ropes allowed until I felt comfortable enough. I lay there in place for a while. Every once in a few moments I’d struggle just a little, savoring that delicious sensation of complete helplessness. Drops of water fell from the stocking as the ice melted. One drop at a time landed about a foot away from my head, creating a muffled sound upon hitting the carpet. I could move my head to see the stocking with its dangling key hanging there, so impossibly out of reach and seemingly forever long until the ice would melt enough for it to fall.

I

decided to struggle for freedom again. I knew the first thing I needed was the long rod to fish the safe out from under the bed and to push the aspirin bottle from the bathroom counter. I began the long crawl down the hall to my bedroom. I did most of this worming on my side. When, after a sweaty ordeal, I reached my bedroom door, I began the process of lunging myself into a seated position. I got there on my first try. Funny thing about bondage, the longer you’re in it, the more you find ways to move in it. You use parts of your body in unexpected and untried ways. So, seated again, I surveyed my position. The rod needed to pull the safe from under my bed was in my closet, under a pile of clothes. I began pulling myself to the open closet door, got there, and was at a loss as to how to pull the rod out. I began to turn myself around so I could back in and fish for it with my hands, but knew this would be difficult as I couldn’t move my hands and arms enough to get them into my line of sight. My hands were well fastened to my back and nothing had loosened. I decided instead to move forward and pull the rod out with my toes. This was harder than I though it would be. I was able to grasp the rod with my toes, but it, the rod, got tangled up and I couldn’t get it loose. I pulled and pulled, but to no avail. So, I had to try and untangle the clothes with my feet, which turned out to be an immensely frustrating ordeal, especially as I had expected this would be one of the easier steps of my struggle. Finally I pulled the rod loose. I couldn’t completely grasp it in my toes and pull it along, I had to sort of drag it along the floor with my feet, back up a little, drag it a little and so on, until it was out in the open and on the floor of my bedroom. I was exhausted again and had to rest. I positioned myself so if I fell on my side, the rod would be within reach of my hands, then flopped on my side again. I lay there, breathing hard, feeling the sweat on my body. By this point, some of the tape on my gag had loosened. It was still secure though. I tried rubbing my face against the carpet, clenching and unclenching my jaw, pushing against the sock with my tongue, contorting my facial muscles in all manners of grimace, but the bulk of the tape held true. Delicious torture trying to loosen it, though I was starting to really want it off. From my current position I could look out my bedroom door and down the hall to where the stocking was hung. It still bulged with a lot of ice yet to melt. I didn’t panic though. The gag was getting uncomfortable, but I could still stand it. I rested for a few more moments, till the sweat coating my body began to dry, and went back to struggling. I had to get myself into position against the base of my heavy, wood double bed, so my hands holding the rod could fish for the safe. This of course was an essential step. If the safe was unreachable, than I had no choice, none, but to wait for the stocking ice to melt. I began. I grasped the rod at about the midpoint with my hands, and began the difficult struggle to get myself in place. I was able to worm my way so my body was parallel to the bed with the rod in my hands, but was still about three feet from the bed. I had to back myself up to the edge of the bed frame before I could begin fishing. This was more difficult than I had expected. I was able to inch backwards, but the rod kept getting caught on my ropes and so on. I started to get impatient as I got to within a few inches of the bed. The rod got tangled in my hog tie rope, I pulled it free hard, and heard a sproing, then a dull thump. It took me a few seconds to realize I’d pulled the makeshift hook, essential to retrieving the safe, free of the rod. And with my back to everything, I had no way of knowing where the hook had landed. Panic struck again, and some real pain in my wrists as well as my jaw. This new development meant I would have to roll back to a seated position, find the hook, and someh

ow reattach it to the rod. I got myself into position with relative ease. I immediately saw the hook had landed under the bed, too far for me to reach with my hands or feet. My only option was to use the rod to retrieve the hook, and that could only be done on my side, lying against the bed. I got into position again to reach the hook. Getting it was the most difficult thing I’d ever tried while tied up. I fanned the area gently with the rod, and felt the hook, but moving it forward was a delicate balancing act of pulling, dragging, mostly gentle and infuriating coaxing. My wrists were really chafing against the cuffs by this time, and I’d gotten quite sick of the smell of carpet I had to bear with my nose pressed against the floor most of the time. That and the smell of duct tape, which I actually like the taste and smell of most of the time, the delicious smell and taste of bondage. So anyway, through a lot of work, I finally pulled the hook out, and was able to attach it to the rod. Then began the fishing trip to pull the safe out. I knew this was possible, as I’d done it before, and surprisingly I managed to hook it and pull it out after only about twenty tries! Twenty tries is quite low when trying to do something while tied up. The safe was out. All I needed was a key to open it. I decided to try the bottle in the bathroom first. My bathroom is just off my bedroom, so I wormed myself along while dragging the rod, got to the bathroom, heaved myself to a seated position, and surveyed the scene. The aspirin bottle with a twenty percent chance of holding the key to the safe was perched on the counter top. All I had to do was knock it to the floor with the rod. I got the rod in my hands, passed it though my fingers until I got to the end, and held it in position to knock the bottle down. I backed toward the counter, looked over my shoulder, tested the rod by wiggling it a couple of times, aimed it where I thought the bottle was, and took a swing. I didn’t see what happened, but felt the rod hit something, and heard a gentle clattering sound, not the sound of a key laden aspirin bottle hitting the floor, though. I worked myself around so I could see the counter top, and didn’t see the bottle there, not was it anywhere on the floor. With a sickening realization, I understood I had pushed the bottle into the sink, absolutely out of reach by any means available to me. This meant I now had a fifty percent chance of not being able to open the safe. Panic hit again. I was really ready to get free. But I had absolutely no choice. All the knots and tape and of course the cuffs had held. All I could do was struggle to retrieve the other two bottles and hope one held the key to my safe and freedom. If neither worked, then it was wait for the stocking, and if that failed, wait for the ten hour block of ice to melt. I didn’t know how I would stand ten hours in my present bondage. I pulled myself into the bedroom and rested on my side again. Once I quelled my panic and the sweat on my body had dried, I began the long struggle back to the other end of my apartment. I decided to push the safe along ahead of me with my feet. I began, and alternated scooting along on my butt, and worming along on my side. Progress was slow but steady, and I began to enjoy the sensation of utter helplessness again. I reached the ice stocking and paused there for a moment. The ice still bulged, and water still drip drip dripped slowly one slow drop at a time. No doubt, there was still a long wait for the key to fall. I decided to go forward while pushing the safe. Once in the living room/ kitchen area I had to choose between the bottle hidden in the suitcase in the closet, or the one in the kitchen cabinet. Both would be hard, so I decided on the kitchen bottle, just because it was closer. I got into the kitchen and opened the cabinet while in a seated position. I then scooted myself around and peered in. The bottle was halfway back in the cabinet, and surrounde

surrounded by bottles of cleaner and other household items. Getting it with my hands would be impossible, so I decided to try my feet again. I got on my side with my back to the open cabinet, and lurched my legs up so my feet were inside the cabinet. Of course I was still hogtied so this was quite difficult and painful. I sort of bucked and contorted my body, pushing against the floor with my hands to get more of my legs into the cabinet. The pain against my wrists was excruciating and I could only struggle a little at a time and took frequent rests. Finally, I had my legs positioned so my feet were in the cabinet, and I could feel the various bottles and so forth with my toes. This was an extremely uncomfortable position. I either had to prop my body up with my hands, which caused intense pain as I strained against the cuffs, or let my left shoulder rest against the floor, which put my body in a greatly stressed position and caused shooting pains in my back. I was about to give up, but then thought I’d give one try to get the aspirin bottle out. I knew from my survey of the scene that the bottle was nestled among a few larger bottles. If I simply thrashed my legs and feet among the bottles, then pulled as many of them out as I withdrew my legs, maybe I’d get lucky and the aspirin bottle would come along. I summoned my strength and courage, and thrashed. I set off a cacophony of falling bottles, and then as best I could, pulled at them. A deal of debris fell on the kitchen floor, but I of course had no way of knowing if the aspirin bottle was part of it. I wormed away from the whole mess, then hauled myself to a seated position, turned and looked. The aspirin bottle had made it, but a bottle of liquid cleaner had broken and spilled all over the floor. There was not much broken glass though, and it was a pretty simple job to pull myself to the aspirin bottle, grasp it with my toes, and drag it out of the kitchen. Slow work, but I got there. Once out of the kitchen I scooted around and grabbed the bottle in my hands, then headed for the living room where I’d left the safe. I positioned myself with then bottle in my hands, near the safe, and opened the bottle. The key tumbled out. I had no idea if it was the right one, only that it had a twenty percent chance of being so. I positioned myself over the safe, and tried to get the key to the lock. I had no luck, I couldn’t find it after multiple tries. I decided to try it while on my side. I flopped over, repositioned myself, and found the predicament worse. I was by now completely and totally exhausted. Every muscle hurt, my wrists felt like they were bound with barbed wire, my jaw felt like it was clamped closed with live electric wires, and my teeth were hurting. I could see the stocking and knew it would probably be an hour, more likely two more, and decided to try the safe again. I had the brilliant idea to turn it on its side, so the lock was near the floor, within reach of my wrists and the key. Of course every time I tried to push the key in, I pushed the safe away from myself. My only option was to worm myself to the hallway while pushing the safe ahead of me with my feet, position the safe against the wall, and try again. I got there, to just where the stocking hung. I felt the cool drops hitting me with gentle pats as I lay in my bondage. Despite all the pain and frustration, I still felt waves of euphoria over my helplessness and the tautness of my bonds. I was hit with a strong wave here. I always do my self-bondage at least semi clothed because it makes sexual climax almost impossible, out of reach just like my means to freedom. But the euphoria of anticipating that climax, just over the horizon if that ice would just melt or I could just grasp that key, it’s a feeling like no other, that I can’t achieve by any other means, and that I don’t wish to. I simply love this process. I enjoyed the rush and dripping for a few moments, then tried the safe. It was a simple matter to inser

I removed the key from that spot. I turned it and popped open the safe. It was a relief—I had found the correct bottle. The cuff key fell onto the rug, and after fumbling with my almost numb hands for a bit, I managed to grasp it in my left hand. Freedom was within reach, but I still struggled for several minutes before sliding the key into the lock and freeing my cuffs. At last, I let go of my right hand. The tension drained from me in waves, and I paused for a moment before releasing my left. I untied the ropes around my lower body, stretched out, then headed to the kitchen armed with a knife to slice through the upper rope bindings. After that, I peeled off the duct tape covering my face and spat out the sock. What relief. Once fully free, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted yet satisfied. Following one more powerful wave of pleasure, I drifted into a deep, restful sleep. When I woke up hours later, the stocking key had fallen out. I didn’t keep track of how long my bondage lasted or when exactly the key dropped, but I bore bruises and cuts for days afterward. Every sweaty minute was worth it. This is hands down my most intense and rigorous self-bondage scene so far. I can’t wait to repeat it, upping both the difficulty and the risk level. Any ideas?