A Christmas in Hibernation, bondage story | chains, tape, landrover

The snow came early that year and I wasn't the only one caught out. When you choose to live amongst the beauty of high moorland country, as did I, then that is a risk you take, a price that has to be paid. The penalty for heedlessness and failure to make preparations can indeed be death.

Therein lies my reason for abandoning the comfort and ease of a conventional car and plumping for the chunky weight of a diesel-powered Landrover. Fitted with track-grip tyres, a full load of fuel and a front-mounted winch such a vehicle makes it possible to surmount most happenings.

Most - but not all. I was on my way back from Lincolnshire and not expecting snow so that my trusty horse was wearing normal road tyres which are so much cheaper and less noisy. As I intimated... I got caught by the early and unexpected arrival of snow. That commodity giveth to mankind much beauty and exhilaration of soul but, in the high places which I love so dearly, once it arrives it tends to forget all about departing and so it became urgent that I finish the trip while access was still possible. Unfortunately speed and snow-covered ground make uneasy bedfellows.

As the road began to climb so its covering of white began to thicken so that, spying a pull-off sheltered by an overhang of trees, I spent the best part of an hour fitting the snow-chains. It was to prove a wise decision but the delay gave the snow its chance to build defences against my ingress. Nevertheless, with four-wheel drive engaged, my sturdy steed growled its way onward and I thrilled to the sense of power it engendered. But I was only too well aware of the disaster that could strike should either myself or my steed fail so that yet again I rejoiced that I had stumped up the money for that extra fuel tank.

Without warning, and despite the four-wheel drive, the vehicle went berserk. It spun and wriggled until I almost lost sense of which was my chosen direction. I lifted both feet from the pedals and both hands from the wheel and waited. Snow mounted over the radiator, surged in joyful success across the bonnet and then pushed its way up the windscreen. In truth it could have been but seconds but it seemed a very long time until... we stopped. The gearbox whine announced that all four wheels were spinning. I slipped it into neutral and climbed out of the passenger-side door because that was the sheltered side - and boy, was that wind cold!

A quick inspection showed that all was well but I wondered what had caused such a huge pile-up of snow. It had reached almost to the top of my windscreen. If it was but a snow-drift then the Rover would first back-off and then charge through it but, should I hit something, then I could end up buried and this was neither the time nor the place for such fun and games.

I broke out the spade and began to dig; in front of the Rover the snow was hard-packed and so I was sure that something solid was there. Very soon I struck the back of a car. With the rear window scraped clear, the lights from the Rover showed a form huddled behind the wheel. Already the snow was piling around me and I dug furiously to the rear door - at least the effort kept me warm! The driver was a woman and she was alone in there and I dragged her unceremoniously over the back of her seat and out into the snow then carried her to the Rover. I went back to retrieve the single suitcase, closed up the car and returned.

I held my breath as I eased in the clutch with the engine held at a fast idle by the hand-throttle. But the chains did their job and we slowly began to move back. When I judged that there was enough room I moved into second gear, eased in The clutch and then gunned the engine on the hand-throttle. As we hurtled forward and passed her car there came at one point an ugly rasping noise and my leviathan sheered off but, in the circumstances, I did not stop either to investigate or to apologise but kept going.

About ten minutes later we rounded a bend into a more sheltered part of the road and conditions were much more civilised. I stopped and poured her some hot coffee from my flask. With her wrapped in a blanket: "Sorry," I said, "but there's no time for civilities. This is getting more dangerous by the minute. It'll likely take us half an hour or more."

Wrong! It took nearly twice that long. I was all but exhausted when at last my personal signpost reared out of the white blanket. We had to charge our way through my approach road and I knew that, once in, we were not coming out again for some time. But I blessed the sturdy vehicle that undoubtedly had saved two lives that night.

Later, beside a roaring fire and fronting a pile of hot food, I learned that her name was Karen, she lived alone and was without relatives. She was on her way to... but that was about all I managed for she seemed to fall asleep on every sixth word. She remained conscious for sufficient time to express amusement at my antique copper bed-warming pan into which I was transferring part of the fire but she surely appreciated its use when I popped her between the hot sheets of her bed. She was asleep again before ever I - and my pan - reached the door.

I awoke next morning to the magic of a snow-buried high country. It seemed a true sacrilege to leave footprints upon such a beautifully iced cake. But, to ensure our survival, there was work to be done regardless of the price. High on my list of priorities was to check the Landrover. Maybe it was not of much use at that moment as an instrument of transport but, in moments of necessity, it could serve well as a power winch, as a source of electrical power and even - as indeed it had proved the previous night - as a bulldozer.

I topped-up the diesel tanks and checked the oil and water and then turned my energies to exchanging the wheels for the stacked spares that were fitted with the essential track-grip tyres. Then, breakfast long since overlooked and with a great need to reinforce my caffeine habit, I took the now discarded chains inside to the comforting aura of the AGA to be cleaned, dried, checked and laid-by ready for their return to the Rover's goodie box.

In truth I had forgotten about Karen so that I was somewhat startled by her Sleepy appearance clad in nothing more than the bed-cover. "You seem to be infested with rats," she complained, "and one of them has stolen my clothes!"

"Hey, lady ... them's fightin' words."

"You deny taking advantage?"

"Very definitely. But I see nothing wrong with what you're wearing."

"Like I said... a rat. I'd like them back please." Her eye fell suddenly on the pile of wheel chains stacked by the door: "Were you thinking of dressing me in those?"

"Lady! You're living dangerously. How about a little civility? I haven't got your clothes. Much too small for me."

She looked at me steadily for a few moments. "If you hold your arms straight out I could probably walk under them without bending and you must be at least twice my weight. I've nothing to gain by being polite and nothing to lose by being rude. My clothes please."

"For the last time... I haven't got your clothes... I don't need your clothes... I don't want your clothes... but you are getting dangerously close to the point where I shall take away what you DO have. You were wearing them when I put you to bed last night so it's up to you... when and where did you take them off?"

"YOU put me to bed?"

"Someone had to before you fell into the fire. There's nobody else within miles and every one of those miles is feet deep in snow. If we are to be stuck here for several weeks alone I suggest you mend your manners."

She seemed to grow and swell and suddenly the dam burst. She hurled herself at me with fists flying. I took a step back, caught her wrists one in each hand and forced her arms slowly down to her sides. "Temper. Temper. What the hell's wrong with you girl?"

"There's nothing WRONG with me," she panted, "so why shouldn't I resent being kidnapped?"

"You mean you don't remember? I found you buried in a snow-drift and nigh dead. Had I not been driving a Landrover... we'd both be dead."

"And my car?"

"You remember you were in a car then? It's still there in that drift. Had my work cut out to get the two of us here."

While talking I had released her hands. She stood awhile considering and then: "I don't believe you." Without warning she erupted once again into furious action and this time she got her nails into my cheek before I secured her again. I pushed her hands down and behind her then up into the small of her back. I could hardly believe how flexible she was - like rubber. And I had other things on my mind - to use her hands she had let go of the coverlet which showed its loyalty to me by sliding away to leave her in the state intended by Nature.

"Bloody little firebrand. COOL IT."

But she continued to fight me. I had to admire her spirit but she hadn't a hope in hell. I switched my grip so that I was behind her, pushed her to the table and bent her down over it. From the drawer in the small end of that table I extracted my roll of duct tape. "I've had enough. This will quieten you down." Two quick turns around her wrists and two more from her wrists right around her shoulders ensured that her scratching days were ended for the time being. "Now ... going to be reasonable?"

As I released her she stood, spun round and aimed a kick at my crotch. I caught the foot: "I warned you that you were living dangerously!" I twisted gently, forcing her to turn back toward the table, and then with my hand in her crotch I lifted her to lie face down on it. Seconds later her legs were bent with ankles taped to her thighs.

With the roll held in front of her face I spat out: "There's plenty left. Shut it ... or I'll use it on your mouth as well."

She made not a sound and produced nary a wiggle. To say I was startled at the sudden change in demeanor is to put it mildly but my bladder was sounding a clarion call and I needs must obey. Returning I paused in the doorway to appreciate the sight of the naked and helpless girl adorning the centre of my table. I would have given much at that moment for one of those Victorian oval meat dishes to put beneath her. What a Christmas offering! Pour a little - no! use a lot of - gravy over...

"If you must tie me up you might at least have the decency to finish the job properly." The voice was soft and dreamy ... what the devil?

"You haven't escaped. So I'd say it's an adequate job."

"Damsels captured and put into distress are ALWAYS gagged as well as bound."

"You mean you...?" Yes. I was lost for words.

"Tie-up games are all very well but I've often wondered what it would be like to be taken forcibly for real. This is probably the closest I'll ever get to it."

"I doubt you'd like it at all should it ever happen to you."

"But it has. And I definitely like it. Won't you gag me ... please?"

Had she battered my head with a war-club she could not have produced a more effective state of shock. And she went on: "From here I can see from your window that we are indeed snowed in. Opportunity, they tell me, only knocks once. So please ... kidnap me for real ... keep me as your prisoner. I promise to be bad."

Without actually meaning to do it I picked up the roll of duct tape and sealed her mouth. Then, with the short length of cord that was also in that drawer, I linked her wrist-binding to her ankle-binding and so completed an unnecessary hogtie.

When I had breakfast standing by I returned to her. She lay there absolutely still with her eyes closed so that, at first, I was concerned. As I pulled away the tape gag she opened up however and so presented me with the choice between a perfect sub or just a perfect dreamer? "If you're going to behave I've got some breakfast on the go."

"Untie me first," she replied, "I haven't scratched your eyes out yet ... and I did promise."

"You're seriously into this, aren't you? Well, I've not had any bondage games for a long time so I'm your man. I'll make you my prisoner - slave - keep you captive – on the strict understanding that you either have to escape or stay that way until the snow melts and we can leave here?"

"I think I'd like that."

"May not be so funny after a week or so. It's nothing ... or all the way?"

"Is it really so difficult to fool a man?"

I resealed her mouth and unlocked the "toy" cupboard. "You know what these are?"

She shook her head. "Bondage mittens. They'll save me having to cut off your fingers." I cut one of her hands free from the tape and fitted the mitten with its tiny padlock. When the second was in place, and she was doing her best to beat me to death, I secured them together behind her with a padlock through the rings. The exercise seemed to change her mind for now she started to fight her bonds but bigger and stronger people than Karen would likely have lost out to the combination of leather mittens, brass padlocks and duct-taped ankles.

For safety I put her on the floor and she began to move around with astonishing speed; and that gave me a new idea. When you live in isolated places like mine it is necessary to be largely self-sufficient and for that it's a good idea to keep a well-stocked junk heap. Out in the garage it took about ten minutes to find it - a large stainless-steel pipe clip about five inches in diameter and perhaps two inches wide. From the Landrover I extracted the towing chain; it's not a heavy chain but adequate for most purposes and it has open links. I added the pop-rivet gun and a box of rivets.

When she saw what I was carrying Karen's eyed popped wide above her tape-gag And she strenuously renewed her struggles but there was little she could do about what was going to happen. I spread the clip and it fitted around her neck as though it had been made to measure. I held one open end of the chain between the two flanges of the clip, slipped a rivet through the holes and, with a loud 'CRACK', she became permanently collared and equipped with a chain leash.

I started to remove the tape from around her legs but then changed my mind. With her replaced in her former position as a table decoration I negated any risk of her falling off by wrapping the chain around the table and then padlocking the end back to her collar. That was how she came to eat, from my hand, her second meal taken in my hill resort.

After the meal had been cleared away, and I had cleaned her up as well as the crocks, I collected the four tall safety candlesticks from the bedrooms. When she realised that she was not to be released it became necessary to re-gag her and then I spent a pleasant half-hour in creating a Christmas tableau with the "turkey" centre, a candle at each corner and various gifts, offerings and food artistically surrounding. I thought of several ways in which I could have added sprigs of holly or sprays of mistletoe to green the overall effect but - alas - I lacked the necessary ingredients and I had serious doubts about Karen's state of mind could she have read my mind.

As I stood back to admire my work I thought once again in terms of gravy or yet stuffing or - just perhaps - a layer of custard. But like kippers, turkey vies with custard and so I contented myself with a further half-hour of photography. Karen objected and I wished that I had a video camera but Father Christmas was not listening.

By the end of all this tomfoolery Karen had been in the hogtie for long enough and I reckoned it high time that I released her. But no sooner had I cut away the tape around her legs than she began to try to land a kick on me. I was in the act of hobbling her with a piece of rope when came another thought. Back in the Landrover's domain I dug out a sheet of one-sixteenth steel sheet from which I cut two strips to match her collar. After carefully removing any sharp edges or burrs I soon fashioned these into cuffs in the style of her collar. From its hook on the wall I took a short wire strop with machine-spliced ends, whose original purpose I forget, and hied me back to the captive.

It took just two more 'CRACKS' from the rivet gun to end Karen's kicking efforts and then I released her from the table. As I held her chain in my hand I lectured her: "Now ... the snow outside is too deep for you to run away; the temperature outside is too low for you to go out there without any clothes; those restraints you're wearing can't be unlocked. Nevertheless, if you can escape... I will admit that you deserve freedom until the snow melts. Meanwhile you are my slave; you do WHAT I tell you, ONLY what I tell you, WHEN I tell you. If you can behave yourself I will bring your hands to the front else they stay where they are except, of course, when I require their services. Is that understood?"

She looked hard and long at me with what I believe would be described as an old-fashioned look. "Do you understand?"

Somewhat thunderstruck, I think, she nodded. "Good." I opened the padlock that held her hands together and removed the mitten from her left hand. "Now. Go prepare some lunch for the two of us. Misbehave and you'll eat yours hogtied again... but on the floor."

She capitulated completely but I was always aware that it owed more to her intense pleasure at being rendered helpless than to any domination by me. It became a great game that continued unbroken for just over ten weeks. Shall I ever forget the sight of my naked slave as she jangled her chain around the house. When not working I locked her mittens together usually in front, occasionally behind and, once or twice, to the first link in her collar-chain. She spent many evenings with her hobble wire linked to that chain so that she was forced into a virtual ball-tie.

It was about the second week of her captivity when I was wakened in the middle of the night by thumps and bangs on my bed. I grabbed the torch and hastily moved to her slave bed on the floor. She was shivering and slamming the chain about with both mittened hands. "I'm cold," she complained.

Clearly she wasn't kidding and so I unlocked her and lifted her under my own covers. "Are you happy with this?"

She nodded vigorously. A little later a small voice in the darkness said: "Are you ever going to make love to me. You've never even touched me."

It took that inevitable moment for me to come fully awake and order my thoughts. "I can't take you while I keep you in chains," I said. "Rape is most definitely NOT my thing. It reeks of disrespect."

"I like that. But what's wrong with rape when I asked you to put me in chains; I've never asked you to let me go; I don't want you to let me go; I am asking you to make love to me... I need it... badly... locked up just as I am. Don't you find anything attractive in me?"

"Just about everything, "I murmured. "Everything. I'll get the keys to those mittens."

"NO! I want you to take me while I'm helpless, while I can't do anything to stop you. I want to touch you and make love to you... but I can't with these on. Better still if you locked them behind me?"

Her chain falling across my face showed that she was trying to get on top of me. I often wonder just how many fools are lucky enough to find a woman so very much into helpless bondage? So very easy to love? Who loves so earnestly and with such eagerness?

To be truthful it was difficult to accept at first. To hold an attractive woman in helpless captivity for any length of time is surely a turn-on for any man. But, if you wish that relationship to continue, you simply can't abuse it. I handled her with kid gloves until she grew angry and exercised that tongue to such extent that I threatened her with the tape again. "Don't believe it," she chirped. "You don't have any idea of what a woman is for."

"You think so?"

"Sure of it. I can't feel anything sticking out from the nether regions."

It was that remark that did it. She had to be fibbing; the way that I could feel it there was not the slightest chance of her missing it. I seized her and rolled her up on top: "There," I rasped: "Better feel it now or you'll get stabbed to death."

She looked thoughtful for a long moment. Then with a shake of her head, a jingle of chain and a robust wiggle of her bum: "Nope. Nary a sign."

From that moment on, chains or no chains, she had nary a hope. Perhaps it was well for us both that the snow eventually cleared! As it was, lacking the strength to fend for ourselves, we simply had to wait until the weather cleared the way out of there.