Trap Line bondage story | rope, handcuff, leather

In truth she was a good looker and certainly, on first acquaintance, I was interested. She had a fine athletic body which she trundled around the world with the upright and graceful stance of the trained dancer. By repute she had an athletic mind to match but her problem was that she couldn't keep it under control.

She had an insatiable curiosity. She everlastingly poked into things that did not concern her. She simply could not leave a stone unturned nor a door unopened; she could not pass a drawer or cabinet without opening it; the window did not exist that she could leave unpeeped. No! She was not a peeping tom; she was never obnoxious; she never gossiped about the things she discovered. She simply couldn't help doing what she did ... she just did it!

She was easy-going and made friends without effort. Equally she lost her friends but seemed not to notice as they shied away from her. At first I found her version of naivete had a kind of charm but slowly I gravitated to the ranks of those who shied away from her too. Then I began to find her activities irritating until finally, when for the umpteenth time I observed her trying to peer through the windows of my workshop, I grew exasperated.

I am sorry to record that I was not justified in that attitude but her activities had the erosive power of a water drip. The windows were all too high for her to really get a look inside and anyway most of the internal windowsills were piled up with junk that blocked any view. Equally there was nothing whatever in there that needed guarding. I am a gadgeteer; I constantly get ideas ... some are good, some bad and some could be called indifferent in as much as they never evolve into a finished device. I like creating tricks and puzzles; sometimes these result in a gadget and sometimes one of my gadgets end up as a puzzle.

So why did I object to Summer's inquisitiveness? I have to say that there was never any justification but I developed a desire ... that turned quickly into determination ... to give her cause to mend her ways. To which end I turned my attention to the heap of inventions that had failed to get off the ground but which had often inspired me to crazy dreams in the line of bondage. Yes I must admit that it was a subject to which, although I did not physically indulge, I often lent my mind as inspired by a particular gadget-of-the-moment. Why did I never indulge? Perhaps I was afraid of women; they never entered into my scheme of life; I was always busy on other "more important" things. Well you may ask who was kidding whom?

I became obsessed with luring Summer into a trap; a downfall of her own making. I plotted to get her into a predicament from which all her efforts at escape would only lead her ever further into difficulties. What better place could there be to start than at the very entrance to that workshop that so exercised her curiosity?

I had once played with a scheme for locking a door with a combination lock and my version needed to be operated with both hands – more realistically two hands simultaneously. I didn't get very far with it because, frankly, the entire scheme was a bit bonkers. As with all fiddlers and those that love to mess about it had never been thrown away but served to fill up an otherwise useful windowsill. Could I now press it into service?

It just happened that the two-handed combo-lock was serving as a place to dump an experiment I had been carrying out on the handcuff knot. So I gave birth to the idea of luring Summer into handcuffing herself.

For an unknown reason the workshop door opened outward but for me, that had proved to be useful in that I did not have to keep a clear space for it to swing. It was a simple matter therefore to fit a second door within and I placed it at the far end of a small passage I created by erecting a partition. I fitted my failed two-handed lock to that inner door. To the twin operating levers I provided access through a rectangular hole with, internally, a dividing screen. Above the access hole was screwed a fine brass plate which proclaimed

Two Handed Combination Lock - Patent Pending

If she were the intelligent girl that I believed her to be she would thrust both hands in to grip the levers and give them a good twist. I hoped!

Next came the trickier bit. Apart from opening the door catch that lock had to release the handcuff trap. opened up the handcuff loops until, in line with the access holes, I could hang them on retractable clips but it proved to be less easy to get those clips to drop the rope without requiring excessive force to be applied to the levers. The main ingredient of success however was patient persistence.

The two ends of the handcuff rope were taken to a pulley system and finally to the top of the door. As Summer pushed open that door so she would draw the cuffs tightly around her wrists. Unfortunately the timing was all wrong. The moment the rope dropped she was liable to withdraw her arms whereas she was required to push on the door. I toyed with a scheme to trip her and cause her to fall against the door but then ... how do you trip someone who is standing still?

The answer came in the form of two 20-pound dumb bell weights and two free-running pulleys threaded on to the rope. Opening the catch caused the weights to fall with the result that the rope was tightened to both pull the door open and pull-taught the handcuffs. Once I had mastered the release mechanism it was surprisingly effective; if each weight fell a distance of say two feet they pulled out a total of four feet of rope and that quickly tightened the cuff knot and accelerated the door to the extent that the operator fell in.

I tested it thoroughly and became certain that it would not cause any harm to the unwary operator but ... and it was a big but ... my greatest unknown was the intended victim. It was all too true that it had to work first time. Success depended on the element of surprise.

Then what? How would anyone, alive above the neck, react to my little prank? Surely they would pull back; they would try to pull their hands out of those holes? That would provide a source of real mechanical power. A pull on the handcuff rope would cause a tension in the rope which would try to lift those dumbell weights; it would also try to pull the first pulleys from their anchors in the wall and thus I had at my disposal a secondary catch which could bring further trouble down upon the head of Miss Nosey. I must have something hanging over the spot where she would end up after the door swung open. And I was getting into deep water with all the unknown quantities. But ... nothing ventured they say?

The handcuff knot is a self-locking piece of devilment with the reputation of being inescapable but I nurse some doubts about that. It is true that two hands are needed to open the loops but, unless the cuffs are applied behind, there is assistance available in the form of teeth? And does it indeed stand up to constant wriggling? Clearly, unless I was on hand when the trap was sprung, a secondary capture was required.

My first thoughts involved a trapdoor which could drop the victim into a pit - even line the pit with a bag of some sort. Except there wasn't a pit, I had no desire to dig one and had little chance of doing so without it becoming known. So I progressed to comparing the relative advantages of a blanket, a tarpaulin and a net. The blanket, which I favoured, would disorient the victim and perhaps tangle her limbs; the tarpaulin would be much stronger but the weight might cause injury when it fell; a net is strong and light and, given the right size of mesh, could do a very good job of entanglement.

Then there sprang from my memory the picture of a back-pack-sized bag which contained a parachute. Nobody in their right mind would attempt to use the elderly device for a jump but those several acres of soft silk canopy dumped on top of a handcuffed person could cause a deal of chaos? It took a while to find it and even longer to suspend it but eventually my newly designed entrance hall possessed a silky ceiling. The handcuff knot was positioned on its hangers, its rope-ends set to trip the parachute deluge, the weights were balanced precariously on a tipping contraption whose stability depended on the locked position of the inner door.

All that was needed was an unwary victim. Not to mention a large slice of luck! Let the games begin.

Luck proved to be MY lady that day. I happened to look from my window just as Summer was stealing up to the workshop door. As she tried it a tiny rattle revealed that this time it was not locked and, for someone of her experience, it took barely seconds to realise that it opened outward. She stood a moment in an attitude of The Listener until apparently satisfied that nobody was in there and then she carefully pulled it open.

Of course, all that she saw was a short passage that was illuminated only by light coming from behind her and closed at the far end by another door. She listened again and then, after a quick look around, soft-footed it inside while I high-tailed it for the stairs. Just as I reached the workshop door there came an interesting sound, perhaps described as a "Crummp!", and that was followed by a feminine squeal of surprise.

It wasn't a surprise to me but it was a disappointment that the parachute failed to appear. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Summer, hands outstretched in front of her and one foot up against my inner door and evidently pulling in a most determined manner. I say it was but a fleeting glimpse because it was immediately superseded by an impression of Summer performing a back somersault. At the moment that her legs were pointing straight up so the entire picture was swamped by a cascade of white whispering silk and the scenario became one of whirling activity, thrashing upheavals, startled vocal objections and a very-strong impression of revolutions.

It seemed to last for a long - and dare I say enjoyable? - time but, in truth, it could not have been even a couple of minutes before it subsided into a lump of heaving, bumping, struggling, blaspheming and semi-quiescent, but now unrecognisable, parachute silk.

I had caught my pussycat but only then did I realise that I had given not one single thought beyond that point. What to do with her? After several weeks of work and then successfully catching the intended victim, it did seem a shocking waste to just unravel her and turn her loose. Ah! The Machine. Was I not in need of a test pilot?

After all that physical and verbal activity, it did seem to be something of an anticlimax just tamely to unravel her and then ask her to behave while I wired her up to a diabolical-looking contraption? No! No! No! First she must experience some chastising humiliation, a lesson in being beholden, retribution in the form of helpless captivity, a toy ... imagination was combining with lascivious inclination to bring about my undoing.

But I simply could not accept meekly releasing her. My bondage gear was in the cupboard at the corner of my bedroom ... is there any better location for bondage gear? I had not thought to bring it down here. Alternatively I could take Mahomet to the mountain but ... in broad daylight that might prove risky - not to mention extremely embarrassing. But! How brilliant can one be? No one would think about a man carrying a mass of parachute silk albeit that today parachute silk was not in very great abundance?

Hanging on the wall I had three wide leather straps. Two had once secured my grandmother's leather travelling trunk which had guarded her gowns with their voluminous skirts; the origins of the third I know not - indeed it matters not? I wrapped the silky riot around my luckless prisoner and leather-bound the whole into a sausage. With the kicking and squirming and jerking largely stilled I hoisted it over my shoulder and carried her off.

My house was built in the days of middle-class affluence when it was usual to build at least three stories. The ground floor contained the living rooms and domestic areas, the first floor the family bedrooms and the upper story the servant's quarters. It was also mandatory to have cellars beneath and, with large houses such as mine, those cellars could be very large; in fact, when divided, they could form a complex in which the uninitiated might get lost. When such a large house is built on sloping ground then a part of the cellars can get to be quite lofty. Ideal of course for a workshop or, for a bondage freak, a special kind of workshop?

I carried my maiden-stuffed sausage down into that room and set about extracting her. No need to conceal my identity - she was not stupid – but I took precautions to see that she would not escape. I released the strap at one end and fished within until I came up with an arm on to the wrist of which I strapped a leather suspension cuff - complete with padlock. Soon I had two such wrists which I then linked, re-buried them and replaced the strap. Yes, indeed, she did give tongue and I was being a very naughty boy. Undaunted however, I repeated the process at the other end and then was in possession of a bound beauty just asking to be suspended. And right there I had this virgin machine greatly in need of a test flight.

With her dragged into position, I attached the first two wires to her ankle cuffs, released the brake and cranked the machine to its opposite limit. Next came the re-opening of the head-end, the re-capture of those flailing arms and the wrist cuffs were soon attached to their appropriate wires.

What was Summer doing throughout this performance? Have I not explained that she had an insatiable curiosity? As I unwrapped and removed the folds of parachute silk she lay quietly and observed what I was doing. In truth I believe she failed even to notice that she was being put into bondage! Next came the broad leather waist belt with its main support wire and I was ready to lower her on to the adapted bathroom scales.

I needed to know her exact weight so that the counter-weights could be set up ... this, my latest toy was called ASTABLE. It was a collection of pulleys, wires and weights which were arranged so that the machine could not settle into a stable condition. Properly set-up I hoped that it would continue to search endlessly for a rest position. No, not at all ... a perpetual-motion machine is not possible ... all machines need an input of power to keep them in motion and the power source for Astable was to be my nosey and struggling neighbour Summer.

Yes, indeed. You are absolutely right. I should have asked her first but a little risk-taking adds some spice to life. I was gambling, in fact, that Summer would enjoy the experience of being in totally uncontrollable motion in which the only forbidden manoeuvre was a complete somersault. No matter how close she got to being stationary the slightest shift of weight, twitch of a limb, cough or sneeze, any attempt to scream was going to set her flying once more around my cellar - I hoped!

I didn't get it quite right first time so that, when I released the brake, it promptly stood her on her head. Summer let out a surprised reproach and so I turned gentleman, wound her into a more respectable position and explained my purpose. Of course, She was VERY curious to see what was going to happen!

It took nearly half an hour to get things right and then: "Well. That seems to be not too far off. Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You had a choice when it came to poking into my workshop."

"And you broke the Law with a man trap."

"Better perhaps to call it a woman trap."

"Oh, stop playing with words and get on with it." Did I not say that she was curious by nature?

She was no longer my nosey neighbour Summer. She was no longer my captured struggling neighbour Summer. She was indeed no longer my blasphemous and articulate neighbour. She was now a woman to whom it would have been nothing short of an insult to apply a gag. Here was the true Summer, full of curiosity, who desired nothing more than to discover the ultimate effect of this diabolical-looking contraption. She was revealed as the assistant I had long needed and who, out of silly annoyance, I had rejected. But that was not a reason for letting her off; co-operative or not she was going to fly.

Since that memorable day Summer has done a great deal of weightless flying into and around all parts of my spacious cellar. As a consequence she knows the machine better even than I and has suggested several effective improvements and adjustments. She will never qualify as a space pilot of course, but I have learned to regret that I so casually dismissed her inquisitive mind.