Poker bondage story | gag, cuffs, chain

I'm still sure he cheated me. In fact I'll always be sure of it. It simply had to be so because nobody, nobody at all, can be THAT lucky. But ... I couldn't catch him. Whatever it was, whatever he did, whatever he used ... he beat me ... only wish I could say he did it fair and square. That's not say that I didn't enjoy the holiday; quite a different matter?

It was the first day. The very first of three glorious weeks in the Lake District in a remote little place that afforded us absolute privacy. We booked it again for next year before we left. We set off in the 'wee small hours', succeeded in dodging the worst of the traffic and arrived in mid-to-late afternoon. A great start.

We had eaten on the road and so an adequate evening meal was provided from The remains of the picnic basket and thus the evening was free. Bob suggested a game. With Bob that means only one thing - POKER!

He's a good player except that every now and again he seems to lose his sense of direction and does something foolish. Belay that - something downright silly. He knows my weakness for the game and is well aware of my success with it but he does earnestly believe he is the better player. He never seems to have realised that I am good enough to have sussed out his weakness - if he knows that he has one - and that I can too often foresee one of his monumental blunders about to happen. THAT is why I know that he cheated me that evening... he didn't blunder! Not once!

We were on holiday... hair was let down... we were alone and not likely to receive visitors and that meant... the game was strip-poker. That is S.P. with our rules. In this game, when you lose a hand, you also lose a garment. If you run out of money then you can bid a garment. Should you win a hand - and someone always does of course - then you have one of two choices; you can either reclaim a garment of your choice or you can decide on a garment that the loser must assume. Stand by for some embarrassment.

The thing about that evening, the thing that sticks always in my craw, is that Bob did not lose a single hand. Now, is that reasonable? Am I truly being unreasonable? After an hour's play I was down to my birthday suit and there was little doubt that he was riding high. I was already suspicious but unwilling to show any signs that he could interpret as bad-loser syndrome.

He gave me the option to break off although, as he so cunningly pointed out, I couldn't possibly continue on such a dreadful string of rotten luck. It simply had to change? We continued and I watched him like a hawk. At least three times I reckoned he was going to blow it and went all out for him - only to lose!

We nothing left to shed he elected to start dressing me and... maybe you can guess what I certainly should have guessed ... he started with a set of leg-irons. He spent a long time sorting through the toy-chest and I knew he was taunting me but consoled myself with plans for a terrible revenge. Leg-irons made a gentle start and in the short-term I ignored his schemes and concentrated on watching him and working-up a scenario for a just revenge.

I was astonished when, thinking of a cup of coffee, I glanced up at the clock and discovered that we had been playing for over two hours - more than an hour since the game had moved into its second phase. Only then did I appreciate that the leg-irons had blossomed into a knee-hobble, an elbow-hobble stretched across my back, a pair of handcuffs that were connecting my left wrist with my right elbow and that lying on the table was a steel collar with its associated padlock. I stared in dismay and then looked up to see his triumphant smug grin.

One more loss and I suspected his next request would be to cuff my right hand also which would mean I could only play my cards with my teeth; what if he then used a gag as well? But, with a sinking feeling, I knew that already it was too late. I had been conned, of that I was sure, but exactly HOW?

I could only sit there and await my fate and that fate was as sure as hell. He would never pass up a chance like that even if he hadn't engineered it in the first place. So my holiday began with a bondage session that was to last for the entire three weeks and did not end until we arrived back home. Even then he exacted a price for my release. A great victory indeed.

He'd seen my look toward the clock: "A good idea. But, don't worry girl, I'll get the coffee. You just sit there and be a good and quiet little woman." He suited the word to action and promptly shoved a ball-gag into my mouth and strapped it tightly. He followed it with the collar; I surmised that the game had terminated! The decision was beyond my jurisdiction! As it happened I was correct but Bob had not yet finished. From behind he tossed the collar-chain under my chair and, with another of his confounded locks, attached it to my ankle hobble which meant that - IF - I could rise then I would have to travel with my chair. Still in inventive mood he took a second pair of cuffs, folded my right arm behind me parallel with my uncooperative left arm, and locked that wrist to my left elbow. Well, at least I still had the privilege of breathing and my much beloved and dearly damned husband was having a hell of a good time.

Believe it or not he finished off with a blindfold. Well... he finished off for the time being. About as long as it took him to dawdle over the preparation of coffee and a plate of cakes and biscuits. When he returned he removed not a single one of my restraints. If I wanted coffee then it came through a straw threaded through a hole in the ball-gag which was opened when he removed a plug I had not noticed until that moment. Did I want a biscuit? Or perhaps a cake? He couldn't decide because I wouldn't answer and so he decided that biscuits and cakes would have, of necessity, to go on hold.

Next he settled to watch a late-night thriller on television in which, I gathered, a heroine was captured, tied and gagged. She had my heartfelt sympathy. Eventually, he carted me up the very-narrow stairs hanging over his shoulder like something as important as a spare pillow and then released my hands so that I could use the loo, clean my teeth and perform any other act which felt good to me at the time. Then I was haled back into the room-which-contained-a-bed to have my wrists cuffed in front and the gag removed. Do I need to spell it out? He was preparing a good time for - himself.

I must break off at this point to reiterate that Bob was not - nay, IS not - a selfish lover and I had a damn good time that night although perhaps, if the truth be known, I was in need of some (uninterrupted) sleep after that strenuous day. Boy ... was that Boy excited!

Little did I appreciate, as the next day dawned, that the party had hardly begun. When finally I roused him from his snoring sleep-on-the-back he uncoupled me from the bed and allowed a loo break. Thereafter I slipped carefully down stairs to put the kettle to heat and had just poured a much needed cuppa when I was seized from behind, wrestled once more into cuffs and forced to accept his help to feed me with my tea and held-over biscuits.

He put a second pair of cuffs on my elbows and restored the gag and blindfold while he prepared breakfast; That, at least, provided some compensation for my enforced captivity? I wondered how long he could hold out when he found himself saddled with all the housekeeping duties? I was to learn that there were hidden and heretofore undiscovered depths to my husband's inventiveness.

Yes. One way for me to lose that blindfold was to use my eyes to dispose of the mountain of dirty dishes which his culinary efforts created. Such creative work necessitated releasing my hands - of course - but there was apparently no need whatever to remove the cuffs on my elbows. He is observant however - I must give him that - and washing-up one handed while standing sideways-on to the sink is not the most efficient way of doing things. Hence he created a belly-chain to which my elbows were individually cuffed. Where in hell did he get all these manacles?

But then that opened the way for me to discharge such additional duties as vacuum-cleaning the carpets, dusting, preparing vegetables.... ? He went off to do some man thing or the other and left me to make the bed. I nipped (slowly) outside to gather a sprig of gorse which I placed strategically in his side; unfortunately he made the mistake that night of putting me in the wrong side of the bed! Perhaps he had taken the binoculars with him?

The battle continued for the entire three weeks. Not once was I allowed out of those manacles. Several times we spent the afternoon taking a long walk and I had to jangle my way through the sunshine although, as a gesture to my need for breath, he did take off the gag. Whenever we came to a good resting place with a magnificent view he went off to explore further afield while I rested on the ground in a hogtie; of course you cannot enjoy a view while blindfolded and he did indeed accept that it was not safe to leave someone helplessly imprisoned and wearing a gag. I'm pretty sure however that he would have made very good use of those binoculars.

That three weeks' holiday was possible because I had been made redundant and was, at that time, jobless. Hence we journeyed home with me still in bondage and not a little apprehensive of an accident or some other reason that might have aroused police interest in our activity. But we made it; he opened up the garage and drove the car inside before he unloaded me. And my captivity continued.

Of course, and looking back on it I can only agree, that I did stick-out my neck. I was so sure that I would eventually catch him out that I accepted his double-or-quits challenge in which, instead of losing garments which I no longer was wearing, I would add another day to my period of capture for each time I lost. I accepted with a bravado that owed more to my desire for freedom than to any sense of self- preservation and realised, too late, that a set period for my bondage had not been set. He showed great generosity however in setting a starting level at two days after the game began.

Take a tip from the voice of experience. Never... NEVER... not even hardly ever... play Poker by our rules unless you first fix a time limit to any bondage that may arise. It's like indulging in bondage games after giving up your safety word.

My determination was further reinforced when I overheard a conversation he held on the telephone with a friend named Dougal; he was explaining that the trick was to be always one jump ahead. "If," he said, "they get to suspect that you are bluffing – then double-bluff. Let them guess what you are going to do - feed them the necessary info - and then reverse it. You can pull that trick any number of times and so there's no way at all they can win."

Ah-ha! So! I was being suckered all the way along the line. I had just known he was tricking me. But... forewarned is forearmed. I knew him better than he knew himself and so now he was for it. I ached for the just reward.

So why am I now in my third week of a five-month sentence? I spend the nights as his helpless toy, always bound in some way or other, in rope, cuffs or chain, be it duct tape or...? You name it ... he has tried it. Fortunately I get plenty of time to catch up on my sleep while he's away at the office. At least he never leaves me alone in that bloody cage.

There's pitifully little else to do for a handcuffed woman who cannot use her feet because they are locked together in a solid steel and unforgiving stock – my only form of locomotion is on all three's! To have the elbows cuffed to a waist-chain is very restrictive too. I'm not blindfolded but a bizarre and diabolical contraption keeps me in blinkers. I'm not gagged but then to scream for help is not really on?

I am writing this on the computer using a pencil held in my teeth to press the keys. It is a very slow process and involves many mistakes but then ... what's the hurry? I shall not be going anywhere until my lord and master returns and nowhere even faster when he does!

At first I worried a great deal about disasters like, say, some idiot causing a fire, crashing a car through the lounge wall or staging a terrorist attack. To be rescued by a big burly bastard who carries me naked to a waiting ambulance is, to say the least, a somewhat embarrassing thought. How would I explain my captivity? My nudity?

But the happy thought came on the third day - I wouldn't have to! Such a sticky job would fall to HIM. I would be suffering from amnesia as I sought to block out the terrible and traumatic experience of being helplessly chained in the middle of such a situation. While I was being pampered in hospital and rid of these steel comforters - he would be wearing them?

Oh happy thought. Revenge is sweet. Or so they say. Only one fly in that ointment however. With Bob going solo in jail - wouldn't this bed be rather cold at nights? I fancy such nights would be interminably long and the more so without interruption.

On the other hand - another eighteen weeks of this? Hmmm.

If anything about the future possesses certainty it is that I've gone off Poker.