Airtight bondage story | tubes, escape

I was most definitely impressed that first time we met. He was so easy to talk to; treated me with respect and not just as a woman. He wasn't in the office but a few minutes and then he was gone. I breathed a sigh but that was all that was possible.

It must have been two weeks later that he came again. As before it was a whirlwind visit but he invited me out for lunch and was I glad to accept? Chatting easily over the table I gathered that he was a shoe salesman; later I had to amend that because I believe that he actually said he dealt in boots.

Then three whole weeks went by and life became ever more bleak until the 'phone rang; I was invited for a drive out and dinner on the following Saturday afternoon. Then it was that the blow fell; that was when doubt began to cloud the horizon once again. Now he claimed that he was a businessman; in fact he owned his own business; he was in the motor trade? It seemed he dealt in lies?

Then he showed he was no fool because he knew at once that something was wrong. No! He hadn't lied to me. Yes! He did sell boots and... yes again he WAS in the motor trade. With a huge grin he explained that in The Trade they referred to car tyres as BOOTS! He offered, as a peace offering, to show me his empire, turned the car and set off in an entirely new direction. That I went with him, all alone to an unknown destination must prove something but I was shortly to wonder if I had been wise.

He drew up before the iron gates of a security compound, switched off the security system with a plastic card, unlocked the gates and drove inside. Once again he disabled a security system and ushered me into a huge and impressive shop in which motor tyres seemed to dominate. They were piled up everywhere. I saw ones so small they might have been toys while, at the other extreme, there were tyres that I could walk through without bending.

I had never been really close to a brand new tyre before and I was much taken by their appearance; jet black, slightly polished and with clear-cut - almost sharp - edges to their treads. And a truly gorgeous smell. Those treads seemed to come in unlimited variety. He launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the purposes of these various designs until I held up my hands and laughingly cried "Desist". It was then that he confessed that his true love actually lay with inner tubes.

My puzzlement was soon resolved. In the days before my birth - and indeed his own - all "Boots" consisted of an outer cover and an inner tube; strictly in the jargon the outer was a cover and the inflatable inner tube was a tyre. He pulled out a folded tyre and jabbed it onto a flexible pipe which he called an airline; it was inflated in seconds to a large polo-like ring which he proceeded to squeeze in his hands. "To me," he said, "they feel incredible. You squeeze here... and they change shape there. Have a play."

I could see his point but it didn't exactly fire me with the same enthusiasm. After a few moments he said, with some signs of embarrassment: "I've always fancied them as a piece of bondage equipment."

My eyebrows, I knew, had risen but it was more in puzzlement than any kind of shock. "Bondage?"

"Ah! I see you don't know. People... not all people, of course... get excited by being bound or by binding someone else. They use rope, handcuffs, chains... all sorts. Daft, I grant you, but it excites me too. But you can only play if you have someone you can trust."

"But how... with one of these...?"

"Would you ... would you let me show you?" His easygoing conversation was being steadily replaced by growing excitement but he came nowhere near alarming me. I'm appalled now to think of the risk I took but, at the time, it simply did not occur to me. I was curious, no more. That must tell you a lot about him? It says a lot about me too.

He went back to his shelves and extracted a larger tube which he spread and then dropped over my head. He pulled it down over my shoulders to just above my elbows. "Now, come over to the airline."

A few seconds later my upper arms were strapped fairly tightly to my sides. "Yes," I conceded, "it does indeed restrict movement but it's hardly bondage? It won't take long to work it up and escape."

"Well. I haven't inflated it all that hard. If it was really blown up I doubt you could shift it without help. But I don't know how hard it can go without restricting your breathing and I really don't fancy explaining to the police... " Suddenly he was a small boy.

"So?"

"D'you think it would work if we used several at low pressure?"

"There's one way to find out." Was I getting interested, getting hooked or just plumb going crazy?

He looked at me for several seconds in pure disbelief. "Really?"

"Research," I said.

With a short laugh he turned back to his shelves. Soon I had two more tubes around my shoulders, two pinning my elbows to my waist, two pinning my wrists to my upper thighs, two around my thighs just above the knees, two more just below my knees and three quite dinky ones around my ankles.

"All you need now," he said enquiringly, "is a spot of fresh air?"

"Lay on MacDuff."

I had never noticed before that the air valve on car tyres is always toward the middle of the wheel. He pulled out each valve in turn, jabbed-on the airline and pressed the little lever. The tubes inflated each in a matter of seconds and seemed to take on a life of their own; as the pressure rose so the things twisted and the airline was squeezed up against my body. As he removed the connector so his hands, pressing against me, produced a singular effect.

I stood there with my arms and hands pinioned to my body and legs held pretty tightly together but I could still move about. "I still think I could escape," I said. "Blow them up a bit harder."

"No." He was very definite. "Might perhaps use a bit more pressure on your legs but not up... But I do have an idea."

First up he produced yet more tubes until I had practically disappeared inside a pneumatic cocoon: "I feel like the Michelin man," I offered. But now I wasn't so convinced about my ability to escape.

He disappeared on the run and soon returned pushing a strange looking trolley. It was a flat platform perhaps two-feet square set on three very-low castors. Off centre was a vertical steel pipe some five feet in height. He picked me up and stood me on the platform with my back against the pipe: "This is a display device for covers. When filled it weighs a bomb which is why it's on wheels. The pipe is meant to stop it shedding its load by I have another use for it. You've got inner tubes a-plenty but, so far, not a single cover?"

Without waiting for me to answer - indeed, what might I have said? - he picked up a fairly large cover, heaved it up above my head and then lowered it over both me and the pole. Instinct of course bad me to step out of the ring as soon as it landed around my feet but ... my feet wouldn't move. Soon I was buried in covers up to my knees and then to my hips. They reached my waist and soon only my head was above "water". Two more and I was a "Lady Vanishes" victim. What was more - unable to move I now couldn't even fall over! But that rubbery smell!

"Where have you gone?" He spoke with mock concern.

"As though you wouldn't know."

"Good Lord. A talking pile of boots. Now THAT might frighten away the more timid customers."

There followed a short silence and then he began to remove the two topmost of my rubber cocoon. Because he was standing behind me I did not see it coming and he had no trouble whatever in reaching over my head to seal my mouth with a long strip of grey duct tape. I never knew that the stuff was THAT sticky! But he proved to be a man who did not take chances ... he added two more strips!

He replaced my topknot and I found myself, helpless and dumb and blind, being trundled at some speed around the workshop. I definitely heard a whoop and knew that at least one of us was having an enjoyable time. But that is to be unkind. Most definitely I was not in fear. There were new and strange sensations coursing through my being and I was becoming aware of a damp sensation where I prefer not to talk about it.

We came to a halt and I listened in vain for some sign of his activity. He seemed to have disappeared, in fact, and I have no idea of how long I remained there wriggling futilely in my rubber and air bondage, unable to see anything and equally unable to call for help.

To be truthful I did eventually start to get worried and I felt a rising sense of panic. It built and built until I was enveloped in yet another new sensation which shook me, as a sailor might say, from stem to stern. When it stopped I felt as though I had been through a wringer and yet... do you know what I mean?

Eventually I realised he was removing the covers. With the top two gone I could see that we were in some kind of kitchen-cum-restroom and, clearly, he had been preparing tea and biscuits. It took a while to remove all the heavy rubber and then came much hissing as he deflated the inners. He left my arms until the very last because, or so he said, he couldn't be sure that he would be safe if he released me altogether.

I've said I wasn't afraid and I wasn't mad either. In truth I had enjoyed the afternoon's proceedings. I enjoyed the evening even more. The dinner was great and, after much cajoling, I finally agreed to forgive his prank. I made the condition that he would show me some more of his fantasy world but HE needed not an iota of cajoling.

He has proved to be, truly, a dear man