Today, I struggled on the bathroom floor. A delightful shiver ran across my skin as I laid naked on the cold ceramic tiles. The ropes dug into my skin, the gag spread my jaws open, the blindfold pressed against my eyelids. I tried my best to ease the tension around my wrists and ankles, tied together behind my back. The hogtied was much too strict, my back was killing me already. Slowly, my body heat warmed the floor. I shifted, settling into the least strenuous position, seeking comfort for my taut limbs and aching joints. A freezing droplet fell on my exposed side causing a muffled gasp. The key to to the cuffs was hanging above me, out of reach, in a slowly melting ice cube. As planned. Another one hit my breast, leaving a icy trail as it rolled down to my nipple. I shuddered in place, trying to wriggle to a less vulnerable position but two lengths of rope secured my knees and torso to the sink cabinet. As planned. I *knew* this would happen, all of this I had planned meticulously over the past few hours, fantasized about over the past few days... But there was a world of difference between knowing and experiencing. The droplets fell steadily, one icy prick after the other on my bare side. Despite my extensive experience I was always surprised by the tightness, the discomfort, the intensity of this self-inflicted abuse. I strained against the ropes wrapped around my limbs with a sadistic care. I stretched my fingers to find a loose knot, to no avail. I tried to dislodge the gag, nudge the blindfold, if only I could see... the head harness made it impossible, its leather straps hugged my skull in their locking embrace. These tricks used to work years ago, in the beginning, I was often able to pull an early escape but with experience and disposable income came more inescapable restraints. No knot within finger's reach was the rule. Sadist Gwen obeyed it diligently, making great use of cuffs, padlocks and stress positions, all to victim Gwen's despair. These days, I knew escape was neigh impossible, still I struggled in the vain hope of dodging the glacial drip running down my ribs. This never lasted long. My muscles grew sore and tired. The rope rubbed, pinched and pressured my flesh into submission. Any movement was met with all matters of physical pains and mental frustrations, again and again, until I laid defeated, immobile, unable to take more. I accepted the icy water which caused me to shudder. I let my mind wander past my powerlessness, wondering where it all went wrong. I should have made the ice cube smaller... ...the hogtie less strict... ...the gag is too large, it stretches my jaw painfully... ...maybe it was in highschool, maybe before that... Sometimes, I would set myself up with a vibrator or the sticky pads of an e-stim device, not always. I often felt it detracted from the experience. Of course it was sexual but part of the appeal was being forced to simmer in my own frustrated arousal, it was about being denied freedom, denied the reward. How long has it been? If only I could could look up... ...what if the keys fall in a way I cannot reach them? This was always a possibility, I knew it and chose not to delve into the prospect. Still, when I was there, in a situation I knew to be unescapable, fear wormed its way into my thoughts. My chest tightened, the gag felt suffocating. What would happened? I focused on my body, on the droplets, I let the ropes painful embrace dull the anguish, quieting the mind just as they restrain the body. It is fine, I can stay this way. I am were I want to be. --- The remnants of the ice cube fell on my immobile form, waking me from the enforced torpor. I leaned my torso back so the keys could side within reach. The operation was difficult, general numbness had replaced the sharp ache. I stretched my fingers to grab the keys, slippery, cold. A bit of ice still clung onto them which I had to thaw between my hands. Unlocking the cuffs took multiple, frustrating attempts until they finally clicked open, freeing my battered wrists. I slowly untied my legs, trying to avoid cramps. Everything hurt, every muscle, every tendon, every joint. The ropes had left a deep red impressions on my pale skin, a tingling imprint which would last for at least a day. I stretched with a moan on the cool bathroom floor, rediscovering my body's own mobility. Relief, pleasure, warmth, happiness. These washed over me in massaging waves. I wanted to touch, to finger myself and release all the pent up arousal. I reached between my legs, only to realize my numb fingers lacked the strength for anything but a faint caress. I wanted to unlock the gag but was soon reminded of the small padlocks which fastened the harness around my head. I wanted to get up but hardly managed to blindly crawl out of the bathroom. I managed to remove the gag but fell asleep soon after. My jaw hurts. My joints ache. My whole body feels stiff. It is a complete workout which strains every muscle, tendon and ligament. From tongue to toes. Why do I do this? The answer is both obvious and hard to articulate. . . . Because I love the pain just as much as I love the pleasure, the helplessness, the emptiness. Not having to care about people in far away places, about commuting or choosing, but being there, freed from worries and responsibilities. All focus drawn inward to my own restrained body, the hard floor, the roughness of the ropes, the cool air on my skin. Savoring the increasing discomfort, trying to fight it and being overcome, defeated. There is pleasure in the painful buildup, then pain in the pleasurable release, more intense than any orgasm. Nothing to do, nothing to see, nothing to hear. Peace. I was never able to nap, it felt like a waste of time, I could be elsewhere, doing something productive. Maybe it was the only way for me to take some time out. Past Gwen put so much effort into it, making sure everything was tight and unescapable so I would be forced to rest for a bit... Am I not forgetting something? Yes, of course. There is the danger. The nagging incertitude that I might not be able to get out this time... --- I stumbled through the apartment, bathed in the morning sun. I ate cereal, sitting on the kitchen floor. Yesterday's ordeal had drained me of all energy. I resented wasting a day but did not regret it. Purple bruises wrapped around my wrists, minuscule ecchymoses stretched beneath the skin where the ropes had dug in, fresh and red over the older ones. I will wear long sleeves tomorrow, I like it better anyway. I struggled to get up and go for a short, slow walk. Mild exercise is best to fight off the soreness. The children have no idea, of course, I teach, I smile, I give homeworks. Sometimes I meet their parents, they are equally clueless, they can't tell. How could they? I play my role, day after day, it is a pleasant one, the stakes are low. I like my job, sometimes I tell the kids that they will be "just like me" when they grow up, pleasant lies. Sometimes my mind is elsewhere, I do it all on autopilot. Spread eagle on the bed, frog-tie in the shower with cold water dripping drown, strapped to my office chair with a vibrator, doing the dishes gagged and wearing a rope harness for only apparel... "Oscar, can you tell us if we put *é* or *er* at the end of the verb?" ...tightly wrapped in a blanket, arms wedged behind my back so I cannot touch. I should look for quality leather cuffs but these are hard to find, maybe there are synthetic alternatives... "Kenza, you need to know your multiplication tables by heart, you can't rely on the order, it's too slow." ...people often celebrate special occasions by going to the restaurant. I do by planning long and complex sessions, these often take hours of setup, making sure everything is tied as it should be. It is a complete craft which requires creativity, dexterity, foresight. If escape artists are a thing there must also be restrain artists... "Sorry Zoé, we don't have any more time today, the bell is about to ring."
I remember having this obsession from a young age, long before I knew about sex or BDSM. Maybe cartoons are to blame for imprinting their damsels in distress unto my impressionable mind, maybe it was meant to be and I would have made the discover one day or the other... As I grew older, I learned about sex, then experienced it for the first time. Disappointing. Not that it wasn't pleasurable, no, but it didn't scratch the itch. There is a whole world out there dedicated to the joys of bondage, I am all too familiar with it and have little interest in what it has to offer. I do not care about being dominated, about being someone's thing. It took me a while to realize I was not interested in people, dynamics, power exchange, munches, play parties... What I sought was the self-centered pleasure of existing in a perfectly bound body, far from everything and everyone. Pleasure is always selfish. I wanted to be left alone with mine... The kids don't have class on Wednesday afternoons. I got home, laid a towel on the couch, put the handcuffs on the coffee table, wrapped the pressure cuff around my neck. Three firm squeezes on the small rubber bulb, the smooth material swelled against my throat making me cough. Another one, to tighten the forceful embrace. I slid my pants down to my knees, using the belt to tie them together. Instinctively my fingers reached for my crotch through the damp fabric of the panties. Eyes closed in the spinning dizziness of asphyxia. I rubbed up and down, intently, thinking about the first time. --- I was a first year student, away from home, wanting to experience the newfound freedom of living alone, equipped with the cheapest hardware store hemp rope I could find. I washed it, cut it into convenient lengths and tied the ends off. The setup was simple: frog-tied on the bed with a simple sliding box-tie. I would lock my arms together by pulling and working the slack out, a simple slipknot made it a single way process. I lowered the blinds, got on the bed, naked, legs bent. I breathed deeply, shuddering from anticipation, never had my skin felt so sensitive to the coarse rope. I secured my legs in their folded position, resisting the urge the touch whenever I brushed past my inner thighs. Getting my arms through the loops was a difficult and tedious affair, they needed to be fastened against my torso, then slid behind my back through a dense coil of rope. Multiple times I thought I would need to revise the plan, settle for an easier option which I knew to be less secure. Finally my hands managed to slip past each others, forearms resting one against the other. Slowly I began pulling the coil taut, wriggling my arms, tugging, wriggling, tugging, savoring the growing pressure, the comforting tightness. That was it. I was *tied*. Previous attempts all led to that moment. Unknown feelings came flooding in which I would seek again and again over the years. The sweet struggle, the fear, the delight, the roughness of the cheap ropes, the softness of the sheets, the sweat beading up on my exposed skin. I squirmed and wriggled in celebration, with all of my frail body's frenzied strengths, until I was left breathless and exhausted. Only then did I realize I had no escape plan, only the vague assumption that the previous steps could be reversed to untie myself. I tried to work my arms loose, up and down, back and forth but the coarse hemp wetted by my sweat held firm. Fear took over. I struggled for real. The dumb teenager had no idea that more sweat would only cause the natural fibers to swell, that more movement would even the tightness. My knees, tethered to the headboard, made it impossible to leave the bed. I could only stare at my backpack, across the room, there was a utility knife in there, hidden, out of reach. Tears of rage rose to my eyes. I was frustrated, mad at myself, yet in the back of my mind I knew this was the situation I desired, the truth beyond all the simulated strife. I would have to call for help. Scream in the hope a neighbor would come, explain the pitiful situation, the concierge had a spare key... They would see me tied and naked in the half darkness. What would they think? How would they react? The thought alone was terrifying but that was the only way out. It was 4 PM, I allowed myself two hours to find another solution. I was defeated, beaten, trapped. It felt incredible. I had succeeded. The red numbers of the alarm clock steadily increased, I watched them in a state of trance, 6 PM came and went. Nothing to do, nothing to think, every time I tried to stir the bounds reminded me there was no need for it. Unfathomable peace and calm. Of course I felt the cruel heat between my legs, the need to touch, to pleasure myself. I squeezed my legs, tried to rub against the pillow, leaving a wet mark on the white fabric. I wailed in frustration, cried for the slightest touch, a feather or a gust of air would have pushed me over... The sun had set behind the closed blinds. Hunger, thirst and numbness in my limbs made it clear this couldn't last forever. I resolved to give escaping one last attempt, slowly, patiently trying to work my arms loose, millimeter by millimeter. This took a whole hour of painful labor until I could finally slide my left hand out of the first loop, then slacken the rest. One who has not been tied without escape does not know what freedom feels like. --- I rubbed faster and stronger in a steady crescendo toward orgasm, filling my head with this primitive scene, basking in the teenager's delightful anguish. Almost there, just a little more, a single caress would do it. Quickly, I reached for the cuffs and locked my hands behind my back. Victim Gwen quivered in frustration as the promised pleasure moved out of reach. Maybe I'm still a stupid teenager after all. My flat is modern and spacious, a small balcony overlooks the city below. A sea of roofs, beyond the trees, slopes toward the river. The view is almost pleasant on sunny days. The building itself is surrounded on threes sides by a crescent-shaped forest which is by far the nicest thing about it. The woods stretch in either direction for kilometers, offering plenty of maintained paths as well as lesser-known corners, especially where the slope was the steepest. Soon after moving in, I got in the habit of jogging there. Sports and bondage may seem like drastically opposed activities, movement and immobility, but they both serve the same purpose: emptying my head, not thinking. I run, stretch, swim, on autopilot, I let my body take over. From the building's main exit, one can go dive straight into the forest along a wide path flanked by chestnut trees. Many joggers follow it for it does not get a muddy as the smaller trails, eventually wrapping around a small lake then back into town. Smaller paths branch off to the left where the forest slopes down toward Déville-lès-Rouen. These are treacherous, rocky, slippery and always on the verge of being reclaimed by bramble. Three bunkers, overrun by vegetation, overlook what is now a highway. Their exits have been walled long ago and one can only peer through the empty gunports to get a glimpse of the bare concrete inside. I keep coming back to them. I was always fascinated with abandoned places, from childhood, I would hang out with boys whose activities and interests felt more relatable. I wasn't one to play the princess in peril, no, I was headstrong in those days. We went, we saw, we explored, gathered treasures and bruises. The three fortifications are built a hundred meters apart in a somewhat straight line. The ones on either ends are simple casemates, square concrete boxes, nothing more. The central structure is more substantial with a domed tower which would have likely housed a small artillery piece. One side opens in a narrow horizontal slit while a square cutout leads directly to the roof of the ground floor. Maples trees have grown on either side, shooting upward in plentiful bundles, shading the bunker with their tender spring leaves. I slept poorly, as if I had forgotten something important, something that needed to be addressed. I got up, showered, did the dishes to ease the restlessness. Eventually, I realized my thoughts drifted back to the bunker, led by an obsessive curiosity I struggled to explain. Having seen plenty of those, I knew there was little to expect but damp concrete, maybe a few syringes left by addicts -- reality is often disappointing. Still I left after lunch. The weather was overcast but warm, comfortably grey. The place was deserted, still and silent. I paced around, looking for the easiest access point. Older maples to the right overhung the lichen-covered roof. The climb was easy. I approached the square opening, weary of being seen from afar. Despite its outer size the space inside the tower was narrow due to its thick walls. Bird nests lined the horizontal gun port, from there, a steep staircase led down into the darkness. I reached for the flashlight and carefully went down the dust-covered steps. The first floor was cramped and angular, much smaller than one would assume from the outside. It was divided in two unequal rooms, both bare and empty, except for a lonely car tire. The still air was filled with the earthy smell of old concrete. Another flight of stairs seemed to lead underground. The beam of the flashlight revealed a short corridor flanked by two pairs of rusted metal doors. I pushed against the one closest to me. Nothing. 70 years of rust is stronger than any lock as they say... The second door on the left was slightly ajar. I leaned against it, wedging my shoulder between it and the frame. It slowly creaked open, wide enough for me to slide inside. The room was narrow enough for me to touch both walls by stretching my arms, only slightly deeper, five square meters at most. The ceiling was low with two metal attachment points cast into it. It likely would have served as some kind of storage space back in the day -- possibly for ammunition. In its current state it felt more like a cell. Buried underground, encased in concrete, securely hidden away, filled with peaceful darkness... A package was waiting for me as I got back from work. Plain cardboard, discrete, not that I cared. I brought it to the kitchen table, not exactly sure as to what it contained. Becoming a teacher greatly improved my monetary situation, I still live a frugal life, mostly due to a lack of desire for expensive things. I do not care for clothes, outings or restaurants, my only luxury is to buy bondage gear, one item per month. Ropes, gags, cuffs, straps, hoods, toys... slowly but surely the collection has grown to the point it takes up a whole shelf in my dresser. I cut the tape and opened the box, inside were padded mittens with locking buckles, smooth, sturdy-looking. As I acquired more items it became increasingly difficult to get excited over a new toy, these, however, were different. I had fantasized countless times about them, they fit so perfectly in the classic asylum setting alongside straitjackets and medical beds. The inside was seductively tight and soft, forcing the hand into a closed fist. Useless fingers in the snug padded embrace. I locked the buckle with my free hand, two rings on either sides made for convenient tie-down points. With the leather cuff tight around the wrist, there was no way to pull out. I slid the other one on, using my mouth to pull the strap taut. Both hands gently squeezed, perfectly secure, warm and comfortable. Endless possibilities filled my mind, in which I was stuck, unable to manipulate what would be needed for the escape. Gagged, blindfolded, arms behind my back. The key on the floor, right in front of me, useless, ironic. I could remove the standard leather cuffs and thread my metal handcuffs through the buckles instead. I would need my mouth to use the key. What if I were to be gagged? Game over. The idea that I could lock myself for good, right here and now, scarred me just as much as it aroused me. Of course I could do such a thing at any time, simply handcuff myself to a fixed point and throw the keys out of reach, but for some reason the mittens felt more definitive, more threatening. More than anything, I feared myself and the possibility that I could let such a scenario happen. The sharp staccato of the cuff's ratchet -- which I could close in a variety of ways -- then the silence, the instant realization that I had played for the last time and lost. I would cry for help through the gag, as hard as I could, but the small concrete cell is deep underground and I would have closed the heavy metal door... I woke up early today. I got up, ate, showered. Before getting dressed I applied the sticky electrodes to my inner thighs, using two layers of saran wrap to make sure they would stay in place. I packed my bag -- excited like a kid about to leave for summer camp. The rounded e-stim device, water, ropes, a silicon gag shaped to comfortably fill the mouth, the mittens. The morning air was cold and foggy for late April, it was barely 8AM. The dark silhouettes of a few early joggers trembled in the distance. They didn't venture near the bunker, the muddy and uneven paths guaranteed a sprained ankle. The maple trees were slippery from dew and left green streaks on my clothes. I stepped inside the tower, only to realize I had forgotten the flashlight. Going back would have taken only a few minutes but I resented having to back down so close to the goal. Beside, I did not *need* light. I took the stairs down, brushing my fingers along the walls, used my foot to feel for the second flight of stairs. These led me underground. I sunk into the cool, earthy air like into a bath. I spread my arms to feel the damp walls on either side, then the cold outlines of the rusted doors. *My* cell was waiting for me, small, perfectly dark. No blindfold required. I kneeled on the hard floor, opened the backpack, I recognized the items by touch alone. Despite my initial hesitations, I stripped naked, leaving the track suit and underwear in a corner. Goosebumps spread across my skin, I would be cold, that was fine. The plan was for a simple ball tie, I would run a rope through the mittens and use my feet to tighten them behind my back. This took time to execute, going only by feel, I had to tie and re-tie, making sure the knots stayed in place. Before laying down in foetal position I plugged the electrodes into the rounded e-stim device and turned it on. The small screen lit up with a sickly green glow. I was never able to stand more than 60% power. I pressed the + button until it displayed "70", put it in random mode then tucked the unit under the ropes against my belly. I pushed the large silicon gag inside my mouth, forcing my tongue down and filling my cheeks. Grooves on either sides meshed with my teeth making it very hard to dislodge, especially after I had secured the strap. Finally I shoved my hands inside the mittens. This alone was quite difficult. As soon as I got my fists inside, I started to stretch my legs, tightening the mittens around my wrists. The coiled rope slid against itself and I knew the friction, once tight, would make it extremely hard to undo. I was interrupted by a series of torturous pinches running through my crotch. I tried to scream and tears came to my eyes. *This was a mistake.* Another series followed, five agonizing pulses. I squirmed frenetically on the dusty concrete. Another one. I tried to pull my arms out and reach the box, turn it down, turn it off, disconnect the leads, anything. Again the shocks made my whole body spasm. My deep muffled wails echoed in the empty cell. Again, it felt my lips were being pinched with searing pliers. I rolled face down on the ground, arching my back to resist the next wave. This did not help, it came, just as unbearable as the previous ones. I prayed for the mode to change quickly, how many pulses were in each cycle? I should know that. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... Overwhelming pain tensed my whole body, interrupting any effort to free myself. 5 seconds apart, then 5 shocks at a 1 second interval. Again, and again, and again. I rolled around on the floor, drool, sweat and tears mixed with the gritty dust and stuck to my skin. I needed to work on loosening my hands but the work of the past 5 seconds was immediately lost to my the spasms of my legs pulling on the rope. I braced myself for the next series but was instead surprised by a forcefully pleasurable buzz. Low frequency current coursing through my crotch. Electricity is not pleasant like a vibrator is, there is a tingling edge to it and its numbing action makes it neigh impossible to reach climax. Especially at this power level, the sensation was more stinging than enjoyable. An improvement nonetheless. I laid there, breathless, riding it out, doing my best to enjoy the cruel massage that would not result in an orgasm. This felt intensely blissful after the previous minute of torture, I relaxed into the bounds, tested the snugness of the knots. The mittens were incredibly comfortable, like a warm hug for my hands. Having experimented with long term bondage over the years, I knew the vast majority of restraints were not suitable for extended periods. These were the exception, I wanted to sleep with those on, wrapped in the soft and even pressure. I zoned out, kept on the thin edge between pleasure and discomfort, free of any distraction. There was nothing to see in the total darkness but I still longed for the blindfold's comforting contact. My mind wandered. Work, bills, money, the outside world, all vague threats waiting for me, outside of this dark concrete bubble. I was there, safe, underground. Ever since my fist experience in the small student room, this state of peace was the only thing I looked forward to. Earning money, buying gear, practicing knots, planning sessions. All I did in life was try to experience this total tranquility, as often as possible, slight variations on the same moment of blissful oblivion. I tied myself up to escape. Talk about a stupid statement... Pain shot through my crotch. The surprise made it all the more unbearable. Another one already? I should have focused on freeing myself instead of daydreaming. Five waves of agony washed over me. Electricity numbs the affected area yet the pain it brings stays as sharp as ever. I bit down on the gag as hard as I could, I tried every position to make it more bearable. These were useless, each burst was just as torturous as the previous one. The pain blanked out all thoughts. Agony, then dread. Rinse and repeat. Like a raft in a storm, the mind-numbing pain shook me, up and down, back and forth. I screamed in chorus with the discharges, sobbing in-between. Finally, the mode changed to a repeating ramp up, from a tingling buzz to a hard pinch. I usually enjoyed this mode, by at the current power level it mostly ranged from annoying to very painful. I had to free myself before the next rotation. I folded my legs against my chest and started to wriggle my wrists, back and forth, slowly reclaiming some slack from the loose rope. As intended, minutes of efforts only yielded millimeters of freedom. The mode changed again, to a continuous wave of varying intensity. That was ok. I continued the tedious work, tensing up whenever the wave became unbearable, waiting for it to recede. Eventually, I managed to pull my right hand out from the mittens. Immediately, I reached for the e-stim unit and turned it off. Deep breath. In the back of my mind, sadist Gwen whispered. _"Good girl. Now you can turn it up a notch and lock yourself back up. The battery still has plenty of juice left."_ I came back around noon yesterday, went to sleep right after. Thirst and hunger woke me in the middle of the night. Hazy memories, sore body. By backpack laid on the couch, I noticed the electrodes were still stuck to my thighs. I felt empty, happy, relieved. --- When I started teaching, during my first year, there was slightly older colleague who seemed to immediately like me. The feeling was shared, she was a lovely person, immensely kind and caring. We were very different however. She invited me to countless parties, I met a lot of people this way and I assume her intentions were to hook me up with someone. It would have been very hard to explain that I wasn't looking for anyone, I don't think she would have understood. I lacked the courage to tell her she was wasting her time, I gifted her scented candles instead. I felt indebted to her, uneasy and I cursed my selfishness, my inability to care for any pleasure but my own... In the end, she had to relocate due to family reasons. I felt sad yet relieved. I hope she is doing well. --- I try to rest. As my mind wanders I am struck by the fear of a sudden electric shock. My aching pelvic muscles tense on their own, jaws clench around the imaginary gag. It does not come, to my relief -- and slight disappointment. I went swimming after work. The pool is not far from the school I work at and weekdays barely see any swimmers. The rope marks are subtle, faint red curves across my calves and arms, thin brown bruises here and there. No one will notice, it takes both knowledge and attention to detail, people don't care. What do they see when they look at me? I am fit, in my twenties -- for a few more years, desirable, maybe. I focus on my movements, my breathing. Crawl, butterfly, backstroke, in a straight line, without a thought, until my lungs burn. The pool closes at 7PM. Swimming makes me ravenously hungry. I left for the bunker early. It felt strangely natural -- some kind of scheduled week-end commute I took for granted. I had brought not only the flashlight but a small LED camping lantern. Steep concrete steps, heavy metal door, finally, the small underground room. It didn't look like much, grey, dusty, barren. Still, it was *my* room, *my* cell. I hooked the lantern to one of the ceiling attachment points, laid a plastic tarp on the ground -- should have done that from the start. I couldn't help but think the next step would be painting the walls, which seemed like a very amusing prospect. I would paint them black if I could, for the space to feel even smaller, more snug and inescapable... Today was to be a classic setup. Cuffs and an ice-lock that held the key. Not that the mittens didn't feel amazing but I never loved ties that could be defeated through work alone. They didn't feel inescapable. The knowledge I could -- eventually -- get out at will spoiled the intensity of the situation. I stripped, hung the ice lock alongside the lantern, then proceeded to tie a rope harness around my chest. The delightfully tight diamond pattern dug into my skin, pressed against my ribs, restricting my breathing. I turned the light off before kneeling on the tarp. I could still use the flashlight but I enjoyed the darkness. My fingers worked on their own, threading, looping, tucking the smooth and supple rope, following a choregraphy repeated hundreds of times over the years. I folded my legs against my chest, securing my knees to my plexus. I pressed the blindfold in place, pushed the gag inside my mouth. The small vibrator was already in place, held against my clitoris with saran wrap, I turned the plastic knob to a third of its range, causing a noticeable tickle which would never grow to a full orgasm. After one last check I reached behind my back, the cuffs hung under my shoulder blades. The sharp clicks of the ratcheting teeth echoed in the small room. There I was, laying on my side. The steady vibrations filled my lower body with a subdued pleasure, the ropes dug into my skin and strained my joints. Pleasure and pain, flowing together into an ocean of arousal. To float or sink? Didn't matter. I would be there for at least two hours, there was no telling how long the ice would take to melt given the cool underground temperature. I welcomed this loss of control together with the knowledge I couldn't do anything to free myself. No moving, no calling for help, no choice to be made. I zoned out, lost in fleeting thoughts, lost in my intensely motionless body tucked in its small, secure cell. The steady vibrations lulled me into an aroused drowsiness. --- How much time had passed? Did the keys fall? Did the water stop dripping? Did it even start? I had heard neither. I felt around on the floor, as far as my restrained hands could reach. Nothing. Grabbing the tarp, I slowly pulled it toward me. It must have been there, somewhere, attached to the ice-lock's inner metal core. To my surprise the vibrations suddenly became stronger. Did the circuit fail? I tried to suppress the distraction and keep on searching, pulling and exploring the tarp with my fingers. The stimulations were hard to ignore however, and the key nowhere to be found. Fear and arousal clouded my mind. At this speed, the frenzied egg tickled just as much as it pleasured my sensitive clitoris. I only ever used vibrators for teasing, my preferred tools for orgasm where always my fingers. Weakness spread from my crotch to my belly and legs like a numbing wave, building up from the previous hours of teasing. I needed to think about the keys, figure where they were. But all thoughts were drawn to my crotch, the frenzied buzzing and the rising pleasure that would come crashing down on me, together with the knowledge I would eventually orgasm and the certitude it would not stop after I did. Suddenly the vibrations stopped. Surprise, relief, then the immediate wave of frustration which made me shudder and thrash. Did the vibrator die on me? The small plastic egg slowly came back to live however. The pent-up tension began to boil anew inside of me. Having been denied once had erased the fear of what was to come, now I single-mindedly yearned for the release. The intensity ramped up, causing my legs to shake in their bounds. It stopped, once again. My body spasmed needlessly, the gag muffled a frustrated groan. A sudden realization came to my hazy mind. *Someone* was, there next to me, silent, invisible, toying with the knob, toying with me. Right there, in the small cell, within arm's reach -- if my arms were free... I froze. Whoever they were they had picked up the keys, putting me at their mercy. All I could do was listen carefully, filtering out my quick breath, the blood pounding to my ears, the vibrator's hum. Why? Who were they? Did they follow me? I tried to ignore the device revving up against my clit. Should I try to reach out? How? What was there to communicate? They could do anything. Pinch my nose and suffocate me. Edge me until they got bored, then leave me to die. Move on to something much worse. No one would come to help. Being at someone's mercy. This had driven me away from the BDSM world at large, the inability to trust others. The vibrator became more forceful, more intense. Pressure. They had reached toward my exposed crotch, pushing the plastic egg down against my clit. Right next to me. As I laid there, drenched in sweat, I felt the coolness of their breath on my skin. Rage filled me. I screamed and struggled harder than I ever did. I tried to put up as much of a fight as I could, however pitiful. Seconds passed, I grew tired. A hand, thin and firm grabbed my bare shoulder and I felt *her* lean above me. "It's ok, it's over now." A woman's voice, slightly hoarse. The cuffs clicked open, freeing my sore wrists. "Be careful, one day you will stay stuck." She spoke from standing height, with a hint of sarcasm. "Next time I might even take the keys." The brushing of clothing, then footsteps fading away. I slept badly, every position felt painful. Fever dreams. I crawled out of bed, ate and drank from the fridge, laid on the floor until the sun reached its peak. Anger, relief, frustration, curiosity, pain... My left hand tingled unpleasantly, elbows and shoulders were sore and stiff. Did she follow me? Why? Was she just passing by? Why mention a *next time*? I wanted to hate her, this woman I knew nothing about. Who was she? Would she follow me in again? I wanted to confront her, face to face, but couldn't resolve to do so. What would I tell her? Did she enjoy toying with me? I knew sadist Gwen would have done much worse... *Next time.* All of it made me deeply uneasy. --- I opened the backpack, placed the gear back in the dresser. Wrapping the ropes in neat bundles calmed me. My restless hands starting tying knots I knew or imagined, sliding, locking. Shibari classics or western combinations, by heart, eyes closed, from muscle memory, fibers flowing between my fingers. Again and again, lost in thoughts. I headed to the bunker after lunch, instinctively. Why? What did I expect to find? Who did I expect to meet?... The sight of the stout concrete structure brought me joy. The occasional hiker had no idea this place was *mine*, they passed by unaware of the girl stuck underground, screaming in agony or moaning in pleasure... no one knew, except for *her*. Up to this point, I had not considered the fact we shared this secret. I climbed the maples, as she must have done to get in. This required fitness. The ground floor offered nothing of interest. In the short hallway, I looked for steps in the dust -- impossible to tell which were mine. *My* cell was just how I had left it, I flattened the crumpled tarp. I had come without any plan nor gear, pushed merely by curiosity. I turned the lantern off and laid down on the hard floor, looking up into the flawless darkness. Despite my previous experience the room retained its soothing effect. I could have stay here forever, away from everything and everyone, safe at the center of the earth. I slid my hand down under my clothes, slowly rubbing my sex, without hurry, without arousal, simply because I felt safe. If she showed up I would ask her to close the door and leave me for a bit... I saw myself from above, masturbating peacefully in a small concrete box, one just large enough for my body. Rough walls against my bare feet and head, pressing against my shoulders. A perfect fit. The orgasm came and went, like a warm and gentle wave. My slick fingers kept on rubbing, accompanying the wave to its soft conclusion. One after the other, thoughts popped back into my blank mind. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the other cells, one beside me, two at my feet. I had never given much thought to the other doors but they must open on extremely similar rooms. A vision formed of three unknown silhouettes lying there in the darkness, so close. Silent beings, fashioned just like me, tucked away in their little boxes. Unreachable, unknowable sisters, unable to move a finger or make a sound while they shook in bliss or agony. Lost to the world... Once again, I found myself kneeling naked in the small cell. Ropes, blindfold, gag, mittens, carabiners and a pair of earplugs were laid out in front of me. Same place, same time. What was I looking for? I started the slow and meticulous process. The ropes flowed between my fingers, around my limbs to apply the familiar pressure. I did it mindlessly, on autopilot, lost in feverish thoughts. The plan was to fold my arms and lock my wrists behind my neck, using a tether from the ceiling. A length of rope linked feet to waist in such a way I could not fully stand but would be forced into a tiring squat position instead. This was the crux of the predicament, I would have to hold this position for however long it took to loosen my arms, failing to maintain it would ruin all progress. No distraction. Gag, blindfold and earplugs. I would lose all senses. I did it for *her*. Why? The question came up, again and again, while sadist Gwen was setting her trap. I could not articulate a clear reason, only vague intuitions. In a way, I wanted to test her, see if she would really leave me stuck. What would she do when she would see me powerless, at her mercy once again? In truth, I expected her to make a choice, for both of us. I would offer myself and see what would happen. Extra bundles of rope laid on the tarp. Why?... I wrapped the leather harness around my head before rising to my feet, as far as the rope would allow. I clipped the carabiner to the rope hanging from the ceiling then passed my arms inside the loops and shoved my hands into the mittens' welcoming padding. I slowly lowered myself, wriggling my wrists to even out the tension. I got on my knees to relieve my burning thighs. The rope above offered resistance, keeping me upright. My part was done. I was free of worries, blind, deaf, mute, immobile. I savored the tightness around my breast and arms. The delightful vulnerability of my stretched out chest and exposed armpits. I knew the position would get painful very fast between my knees on the hard concrete and my stretched out torso... I waited. --- A subtle movement woke me from trance. She was there, manipulating the ropes behind my back. The fibers sliding against my skin, the contact of her fingers. Suddenly, my legs were pulled from under my body. It felt like I would fall forward but something in my back prevented it, supporting my chest. I understood she planned to suspend me between the two ceiling supports. I was hoisted up, carefully, alternating between feet and torso. Three points were attached to my midsection and thighs, further spreading the weight. This relieved both my knees and wrists which had started to ache horribly. I wanted to thank her. Once the motion stopped, I attempted to wriggle my arms and loosen the mittens but there was no slack to be had, she had tied it off when shifting the attachment point to my back. That was it, a truly inescapable situation. *Game over.* Every sense had been taken from me, every possibility, the very ground had been stolen from me. I remembered her saying she would leave me. It did not bother me. It was her choice to make, a choice I had no agency over and no need to worry about. I analyzed the situation with detachment, as if it was happening to someone else entirely. Hanging in midair was enough to quiet all thoughts. The future did not concern me, as long as every successive moment was of the same kind as the one that came before it. I felt the subdued presences in the other rooms, lost in the same oblivion, hanging in their own worlds. How did these other Gwens feel? Did they experience waves of blissful pleasure? Were they kept on the edge of an orgasm that would never come? Did they writhe in mind-numbing pain as cruel electricity pricked every inch of their bodies? If they could, would they moan, scream or stay serenely silent? Our four bodies, hanging in a rectangle, swayed in unison to an invisible breeze. Through the earth, I saw the corridor stretch to infinity, lead to endless cells holding endless copies of myself, each experiencing endless pleasures and pains. Arousal, fear, joy, regret, peace, frustration, relief. One in particular hangs there, alone and naked, stewing in her pathetic arousal, dripping down onto the tarp. Through the gag, she sobs in frustration, praying for the touch of a feather or a gust of wind. She wonders if she has been edged for her whole life. She doesn't remember ever not been suspended in a cell. Blind, deaf, mute. Her whole reality starts and stops with the confines of her body. She pictures herself floating at the surface of an ocean, gently carried by the flow, alongside her pale sisters. The waves surge inside of her. Ropes keep her from sinking under the endless night sky. Stars in her eyes sway back and worth like a child in a cradle. Her sisters whisper that they understand, without words. Slowly she melts into the liquid, like an ice cube in boiling water. She sways gently deep beneath the earth, like a seed entombed in concrete, alone, forgotten, sad and happy. Crushing pain. Thirst. Hunger. Dizziness. Laying on my back on the hard ground. She had come back to untie me in the end? Clothes against my skin. Did she dress me too? The flashlight was there, almost in my hand, its beam blinded me. I had to relearn to see, relearn to move. Next to the backpack I recognized the familiar shapes of triangle sandwiches. --- Every step sent waves of pain through my joints and muscles, I was convinced I would fall to pieces like a broken doll. If I did, I only wanted to be put back, limbless, in my tiny box. I did not see any light when I climbed the second flight of stairs, the sun had set a long time ago. --- At some point I found my way home. I opened my backpack this morning, for the first time since Saturday. The gear was all in there, ropes tied in tidy bundles. The hazy memories I had from this week-end clashed with the neatly ordered items. For a second, I thought these were someone else's belongings. *Her* ropes, *her* mittens, *her* gag... strange, foreign. She had packed the bag, she had dressed me so I wouldn't be cold. Why? Mechanically, I put the items back on the shelf, one after the other, setting the ropes aside. They were damp from my sweat and would need to be washed. Only a folded piece of paper was left at the bottom.
I will grant you what you are looking for. I assume there is little holding you back, make your preparations and leave with me.
The page is small, torn from a notebook, the calligraphy quick and deliberate. I read it again and again. When I realized I was running late for work I called in sick. I had little time to write this week, little motivation to do so, I will not be taking this diary with me. I handed my resignation letter on Tuesday. I wish I could have said goodbye to the kids -- it is my only regret -- but this does not concern them. "Ma'am, where are you going?" Good question. Adults don't know everything after all... --- I emailed the landlord saying I needed to move out urgently for "medical reasons", confessed to breaking the dishwasher's handle, told him to keep the deposit. *I assume there is little holding you back...* Maybe, couldn't say. Now they're all gone. I got rid of everything, methodically, with a melancholy satisfaction, withdrew what was left on my bank account before closing it. It makes for a nice, meaningless, sum. Years of work. Job, clothes, dishes... I gave everything away. The movers will be here soon. --- I didn't care for the furniture yet seeing the apartment empty makes me sad. It is late. I lie on the floor, in the sleeping bag. The backpack holds all of my belongings: bondage items, a change of clothes, papers, some money, some soap, a toothbrush... I am no one, I have nothing, soon I will be nowhere... --- What if she doesn't come? It is ok, it doesn't change anything. Tomorrow I will get up and go to *my* cell, one last time... I did not sleep. Everything I need is in the backpack. In the end, only this diary is left. It is the only object I will regret. It's like having a part of me torn out. Experiences, memories. They still exist in my mind, of course, but minds are perishable things. By remembering, we build new stories from the old ones, constructed narratives that fit our current worldview and betray who we once were. Authenticity is lost forever as we fill our lives with retrospective lies. I had never questioned why I wrote a diary in the first place. It felt like the right thing to do, even if I never read past entries. It should be apparent by now that I do not care about leaving a trace or being remembered. I don't know who will read this, police maybe. There is nothing of importance for you in there, only for me. This is a part of myself I leave for safekeeping, I don't know where the rest is going. This is goodbye. --- I have been honest and truthful in every word I wrote. And I realize the reason I started writing was to be honest with myself too. Life is full of lies we use to keep up a facade. I wanted a place where I could express all the truths I could never share with others. Not out of shame, but because they wouldn't understand. The truth is that I made up my mind long ago. I was just waiting for the opportunity to manifest. I am going on long vacations by the sea, all paid for. I do not wonder where, or what it will be like. I will see for myself soon enough. Don't worry about me, I am safe and secure, where I was always meant to be. This is goodbye. This is farewell.

End of part 1

Thank you for reading, Maliface.