Entomology | hood bondage story

I spotted them in a junk yard and they reminded me of an old sci-fi film I had once watched; for the life of me, I couldn't, and still can't, remember what it was.

I was by that way again about three weeks later; they were still there and it was then that the wicked thought occurred to me. I was acquainted with the yard owner through past dealings and I went in to enquire.

"Can't imagine what they were used for," he said. "Ought to dump them really but, well ... they don't take up that much room and I've better things to do."

"I've an idea they might do a job for me. Name a price."

"Is that to buy or to pay you to take them away? A fiver."

"Three, " I said.

"Done."

I arranged to pick them up the following day when Jill would be out until fairly late in the evening and, indeed, I managed to get them unloaded and into my workshop before she came home. It was very unlikely that she would go in there but I locked the door - just in case.

Once they were home and there for contemplation, it was amazing how rapidly the scheme developed. In the junk corner, I had a half-dozen off-cuts of wood about 2? to 3 inches thick; four of these I glued together in pairs, roughed them out with a saw and then mounted them in the wood lathe. Soon I had two round plinths each with the top half recessed to fit into one of my acrylic tubes. Just a few more minutes and each tube, one five feet high and the other about 18 inches high, was screwed to a wooden base.

Next step was to fashion a ring that would enable the two tubes to be joined end to end just like a plumber's straight coupling. When that was done I had me a real specimen tube although it was a bit of overkill for butterfly collecting. The two tubes failed to meet in the centre of the coupling - by design - and there I drilled a ring of ventilation holes.

The next step though would be somewhat more tricky; I couldn't see Jill agreeing to go in there where I wanted to see her and so my only way forward was through sheer wanton black-hearted trickery.

I separated the plinth from the larger section. The workshop was set-up in what once had been an old barn; the roof trusses were a good 18-feet above the ground and had often served me well in my nefarious doings. The little block & tackle was already hanging up there and I set the loose plinth immediately below it. The wooden plugs were proud of the tube and so it was a simple matter to rig a sort of barrel hitch under the lip of the top one and hoist the assembly up over the plinth. Now for the dastardly bit.

I met her at the door as she came in, "Tired? Or want to try out my new idea?"

"Terrible day," she said. "Let's have something to eat and then I'm all yours."

"Never said a truer word..." But I said it under my breath. "Hop in the shower," I said aloud, "and I'll get it for you."

She emerged about fifteen minutes later with that lovely pink shade modifying the tan colouring of her skin. Her long dark hair hung moistly down to her waist. "Don't bother dressing," I commanded. "Unless of course you like taking them all off again."

She stood a moment regarding me with what can only be described as an air of suspicion. "You've got one of your devilish things going again?"

"Who me? And after I've just prepared supper for you? How can you be so damned un... un... unwifely?"

"As though I don't know you. Oh, well. I won't mind a little monkey business tonight. Better make it good though... And make it up to me after."

Now as though I would do anything underhand or sneaky!

"Leave the washing up," I said. "I'll do it later."

"But you got the meal."

"Pesky woman. Don't argue. Just get rid of that towel." I'd spent the last twenty minutes sitting opposite my very beautiful wife and I have to admit that patience was beginning to run short. How many men, I asked myself, were so lucky as to have a wonderful looking woman who would consent to sit at the table with them wearing nothing - except maybe a towel. Yet I knew that, at the slightest sound or sign of a visitation, she would be up and away. It was, quite literally, a sight for my eyes only.

She gave me one of those pitying looks which says, Oh boy... MEN... All the same she stood up, moved away from the table, dropped the towel, turned and put her hands behind with the wrists crossed. That was the moment I gave her the first surprise; instead of binding her wrists I uncrossed them and placed her hands palm to palm. She knew as well as I that this was one tie that she invariably managed to slip.

Then came her second surprise - I did not bind her elbows. But I did pull the hood down over her head and fastened it loosely around her neck. Then I pulled down the ends from her wrist tie, passed them between her legs and formed a crotch rope tied at the front. What she failed to see of course was that I fastened it off with a slip-hitch. A loose crotch rope? That she stood without asking questions meant that I had given her something to think about.

"Forward!" At the hollywood order given to everyone from Genghis Khan to the modern day Hungarian boy-scout, she obediently followed my guiding hand down the hall, out through the kitchen door across the open patch and into the workshop; that's right... we do not have overlooking neighbours.

I guided her up on to the round plinth under the poised tubes and proceeded to tie her ankles. Another sloppy job. With her arms tied behind and pulled down and with her ankles lashed together she had little option but to stand upright and still. I began to lower my collecting jar; of course she could have detected the descending tube by the change in background noise but why else did I opt for the hood rather than a blindfold?

At the last moment, I pulled the end of the slip-hitch which allowed her to start on the task of escaping from the wrist tie but, in doing so, she bent her elbows and came into contact with... ? As I hastily finished lowering my trap, she explored her surroundings with her head.

"James you bastard," she said. "Just what the hell are you... ?"

I settled my device on to the plinth, picked up the screw-driver and hastily put in two of the six fixing screws - I wanted to see her reaction when she answered her own question. I didn't have long to wait. Despite her confinement she had one hand out in record time, discarded the cord and then, squeezing herself to one side, wriggled a hand up to the hood. I hadn't afforded her any help with that and it took a bit of one-handed fiddling to untie the drawstring at her throat . But then!

Normally Jill is pretty phlegmatic but this time I really had her; she screamed! She turned around one complete circle and then, facing me, launched into a tirade I could never repeat here. "You b....dy bastard! Get me out of here!!"

"Tut. Tut now. Whatever would your Mother say if she heard you using that sort of language?"

"Mother has nothing to do with it. Let me out. I swear I'll castrate you with a blunt boot."

"Oh, well." I bent to retrieve the electric screwdriver again and she quietened. From her position inside the tube, she couldn't see exactly what I was doing and I had screws number 3 and 4 in place before she even became suspicious.

With her upper hand, she beat on her glass-like wall. "James. JAMES! Let me out!!" She tried kicking the plastic wall but this stuff is very strong - much more so than her bare toes. "Owww !" She bent to grab her stricken digit and promptly rammed her head against the wall of her prison. And now she was really furious.

I left the sixth screw and sat back on my heels to watch her; I was afraid that she was heading for panic. Very unlike my little Jill but there can always be a first time. But no; she was simply furious. Very furious. You could almost say that she was beside herself with rage. She couldn't get free, she couldn't cover her nakedness, she couldn't bend down, she couldn't get both hands together, in fact there was very little she could do except exercise her voice - and that she did to the very best of her ability. But there was one thing missing from her voice - she didn't use it to form the safeword!

I fixed the last screw in the base and then left her to it; needless to say I didn't go any further than just outside the door where I could watch her through the narrowed opening. Apart from considerations of safety there would have been little point in the venture unless I enjoyed the view.

After a few minutes she quietened down and seemed to be thinking through her predicament. I came back inside before saying, "I don't think, in view of the dire threats you've been utterring, that I dare to let you out. But - I'll compromise; I'll drop in a pair of handcuffs and when you've rendered yourself safe to know, then I'll deliver you?"

"Go to hell. And forget the way back."

I unscrewed the top and lowered in a pair of steel cuffs and the ball-gag. "Behind," I said.

"And I said you need to get lost. Assuming you can find the way, of course."

She tried to jump and catch a grip on the rim of the jar but the narrow space denied room to bend her knees sufficiently to get a spring.

I replaced and re-fixed the lid. Then, using the hoist as a check, I tilted the thing over and lowered it to the ground. The end wooden plugs made excellent rollers and I proceeded to roll her slowly along the workshop floor. Inside her cylindriform prison Jill flopped from side to side as the tube rotated; the total lack of room and the smooth unbroken sides gave her no purchase whatever. As it happened she had one arm at her side and the other up but, apart from the fact that she could cushion her face, it made no difference. If ever my wife had been helpless and at my mercy... and not one single bodily restraint!

Once up the length of the workshop and back again and I was satisfied that she wasn't going to panic; she had never shown any sign of claustrophobia and now, if anything, she seemed to be convulsed with laughter. "You had enough?"

She shook her head and stuck her tongue out. I rolled her again. "I'm going for a coffee. You can stay there until you cuff yourself."

When I came back she was just lying in there; the handcuffs had disappeared from the bottom of her jar and I soon spotted them on her wrists which were fixed behind her. She had the hood back over her head and the drawstring was tied about her neck. It was total surrender?

I removed the screws and, grasping her feet, hauled her out. As I picked her up I felt that she was shivering; like a fool, I had forgotten the workshop was unheated and she was naked. I was half-way up the stairs before it was I who began to panic. She wasn't shivering - she was sobbing.

Carefully I laid her on the bed and started to untie the hood. She had somehow knotted the cord and I brought out my pocket knife and cut it. I snatched the hood away to find myself looking at the bright red ball-gag - how on earth had she managed to fit it? - over which a pair of beautiful grey eyes regarded me with tears at their corners. Hastily, I freed the gag.

"Oh, James. That was just too wonderful. However did you get the idea?"

Sobbing be damned - she was giggling. As I lifted her, and wrapped my arms around her, she locked her legs about my hips, I twisted sideways and fell back on to the bed.

That was Friday night. I kept her in captivity until early Monday morning - and that weekend was just one long roll... after roll... after roll... after... !