Pride Goeth | chain, locks, cuffs | free bondage stories

I'm the first to admit ... I deserved it. Well and truly did I have it coming to me. With the normal arrogance of youth I thought I knew it all. And now, in the knowledge that comes with age, I would agree that I did indeed know all - well most - of it. But I made that fundamental mistake which one sees so often in this technological age ... I overlooked the simple ways of doing things. The ways that deal in fundamental solutions.

Pardon? Yes. I'm an escapologist. No! I was an escapologist; there's absolutely no way that I could pull any of those tricks now. I prided myself on the fact that it was difficult to devise a system of restraint from which I couldn't escape. The secret was simple; not only was I a very-small girl but Nature had gifted me with a wonderfully pliable body, joints that would perform the impossible without injury and a stamina that certainly shouldn't have gone with such a frail-looking being.

I was thinking of turning professional and was starting to look around for an agent. Not any agent but one that I could rely on to look after my interests; basically I wanted a female agent because I knew only too well the normal male attitude toward women. Men treat us like second-class beings - but we mustn't be second-hand ones? And it was out of this consciousness that my downfall grew.

I will admit too that I liked - and never hesitated to take advantage of - the other side of the coin. Men lusted after my diminutive body and, when I accepted one of the offers of dinner, I always dressed to take full advantage of my assets and strove mightily to knock their socks into the next kingdom. It was always a source of great pleasure, great pride, much amusement and even greater satisfaction when I walked into a public place on the arm of a good looking man and could see every male face turn toward us, saw whispered calls pass behind shielding hands, the looks of envy and ... right there beside me ... the strutting "owner" looking like the Cheshire cat who not only had acquired an extra ten lives but who had also eaten the pet goldfish and got away with putting the blame on the canary.

Thus, on one such evening, feeling on top of the world and rising even higher on slightly too much wine ... well, I couldn't indulge myself very often because of the need to keep in training ... I committed the folly of boasting. This new conquest had asked what I did and I was unable to keep the smugness out of my voice as I answered, "I'm an escapologist. One of the best, actually."

"Only one of the best?" There was that supercilious ascendancy again; the prick was laughing at me? "From what do you escape?"

"Anything."

"Rope?"

I nodded.

"Locks? Manacles?"

Again I nodded as though it was all child's play.

"What about straightjackets?"

"Those too."

"Nets? Bags? Prison cells?"

"Nobody has defeated me yet."

His eyebrows rose. "Doesn't seem much point then in pursuing you. If I can't hold you...?"

"Oh, I don't know. Most of the men who try it seem to like me as a wriggler."

Oh ... folly. I do so like to think it was the wine talking. Then a thought occurred to me; how did he stand in stature? "And what do you do to pass your days?"

"I'm a locksmith. I'm reckoned an expert." There was the suspicion of a smile around those inviting lips.

"Ah! You mean we're on opposite sides of the fence? So to speak?"

"Uh - Huh. Sounds a bit like that perennial schoolboy question: 'What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object'. Should we mount a contest?"

I held out my empty glass; I failed to notice that he hastened to refill it. "Not a lot of point. I can open any of your locks ... although I will accept that bank vaults are out."

"That's a challenge and I never refuse challenges. I'll lay you any odds that I can hold you."

"Never mind the odds;" I fought to suppress a hiccup. "What stakes did you have in mind?"

"I would be happy to leave that to you. My only insistence is that I lock you up and you release yourself."

I couldn't work out that one. "What exactly do you ... does that ... mean?"

"Without being rude to a lady..." he reached out and carefully removed the glass from my hand: "Don't you think you've taken enough of that wine?"

"I'm NOT drunk. What did you mean? Who in blazes else would release me?"

"I mean nobody would release you. Only you. If you couldn't get out of my bondage you would have to stay in it!"

"That's crazy."

"How come. Didn't you claim that nobody could hold you?"

"That's not fair. You're getting me confused."

"Not me my dear. But it's true I didn't know what wine did to you."

"Never mind the wine. Didn't you say I couldn't get out of your locks?"

"I did indeed."

"Then your on. Name the date, time, place and choose your weapons. I must defintoo ... def ... defin- ight- lee teach you a lesshhon."

"I think," he said, "that it's more than time to take you home. I'll ring you in the morning - if I may - and we'll settle the details then."

---

He must have done exactly that too; I awoke in my own bed, in my own apartment, feeling decidedly light-headed but without any sign of a hangover. For a while I tried to remember what had filled the previous evening until the telephone shrilled; then I remembered it all. Well, no! I didn't remember the bet until his voice began to ask if I was OK.

I asked, slowly: "Did I get ... er ... silly last night?"

"You were adorable," he said. "Boastful ... but adorable."

"We made a bet, did we not?"

"You were driving under the influence ... and I am resolved that it never happened."

"No way. I don't welsh on bets. And anyway ... I don't need to. I can escape your locks."

"Well now. As long as you're satisfied that it's all fair and square ... I'm more than willing to give you a try. Do you remember the stakes we set?"

"Er ... well ... better give it to me again. I think I'm somewhat more sane at the moment."

His chuckle came over the line and I felt that I would like to hear that more often. "I made the condition that I would lock you up and you, only you, would have to release you. It has to depend on whether you can make good that boast."

"Of course I can make it good. You're on buster. When?"

"How about next Thursday evening? Do you have anything on over Easter?"

"Not at the moment. Does that mean you want to do something after?"

"That would be most pleasant."

"Where?"

"Make it here. My place. I can make the necessary arrangements more easily."

"You are asking me to trust a MAN?"

"Have I ever claimed to be such a being?"

"You said you were a locksmith."

"True; but only most of the escapologists within my learning were of the male kind."

"Touche. I was being small, wasn't I? I'm sorry."

"Accepted. Shall we say seven then, here, next Thursday?"

"What do you want me to wear?"

"Something elegant. Very elegant. The way you looked last night ... unless you can improve on that?"

Something inside me was screwing into a knot. "Thank you," I said, "that was very gallante."

---

Something was happening to me. Thursday, it seemed, took forever to come around. My mind was constantly on that evening, what I would wear, how I would wear it. Still, in my arrogance, I failed to see it coming. If I was going to be locked up, tied up, chained up ... whatever ... I wanted to look my best. All the time.

I was feeling strangely nervous while I waited for him to open the door. He stepped back a little; he spread his hands to each side palms facing me: "You did it! Unbelievable."

"Did what?"

"You've improved on last time. Never thought it possible. Just ... stunning. I'm not sure that I can imprison you without breaking you."

I smiled, very very pleased. "You'll find I'm quite tough. But not impervious to cold."

"I'm so sorry ... do come in. By all means. But you must try not to hand out such shocks. It could easily terminate an acquaintance."

He showed me first to a downstairs cloakroom, where I was able to freshen up, then to the dining room where a wonderful meal was prepared. "But," he said banteringly, "Only ONE glass of wine. I'll relent after you've earned it."

"Ah. Then you do anticipate my escape?"

"I was too well brought up to contradict a lady."

"A compliment buried in every sentence?"

But he dodged: "Shall we adjourn to the arena?"

He led me to a comfortably furnished lounge where a fire burned brightly in a fireplace I could easily have stolen. Beside that chimney piece was an alcove and, just in front of that, a polished mahogany box. "Over here, if you please," and he stationed me just in front of the alcove and beside the box.

"I think," he said, "we might just as well start from the top and work our way down." Then he opened the box and it was my turn to receive a jolt. Both the box and its deep lid were divided into a number of compartments each of which seemed to hold a different restraint of some sort; just a quick glance showed me cuffs, collars, belts, chains and lord only knew what else. That was the first hint of receding confidence but, in truth, I was not really worried.

He lifted a ring device which, from its size, I recognised immediately as a collar. As he placed it around my neck curiosity overcame my scruples: "Wherever did you get all this?"

"It's all my own work," he replied.

"You mean you made them?"

"It's fairly safe to assume that locksmiths are practical people."

"But what is it ... are they ... for?"

He had fixed the collar and was stretching the chain back to the wall in the alcove; he locked the end to a fitting set in the wall at much too great a height for me to reach and which held me no more than two-to-three feet from the rear wall. "They were made on spec," he said. "One of my little fantasies."

"Which is?"

"That I might one day find a girl whom I simply couldn't allow to get away."

I turned quickly to see a huge grin. "And you think ... that is ... these are ... the basis of my believed inability to escape?"

"That's for you to say. Is that collar comfortable. The last thing I want is to cause you discomfort."

I fingered it and twisted it around my neck: "It's fine."

"Right. Now that I have you stuck to my wall perhaps I might have your hands, please."

It was right there that my confidence in my knowledge of locks destroyed me. I was busy inspecting the restraints on show in his box and failed to take any notice of what he was doing as he fitted stout cuffs around my wrists; then he did the same at my ankles.

Next he extracted a length of chain: "Raise your arms please; straight out will do."

He passed it around my body but where I expected a waist chain, he raised it until it was close under my armpits and over my bosom, pulled it pretty tight and fastened it with a lock. The he took my right hand, pulled it up and back until my wrist was actually IN my arm-pit and secured it to the chain. By the time he had repeated the act on the left side my hands were tucked away where I couldn't reach any of my stashed tools and keys; he wasn't by any means the amateur I had thought him when he failed to search me.

My elbows now stuck out each side like chicken wings; he laid a stretcher bar across my back and secured the ends to my elbows. Now, for all practical purposes, I no longer owned either hands or arms. And I had plenty to think about. How was I going to start this escape attempt; truly I should have been paying more attention.

The box still appeared to be full of restraints and again I began doubts about my confident boast. But the evening was yet young. He moved down. With apologies he lifted my skirt off the floor and fitted more of his cuffs around my legs just above the knees and joined them with about six inches of chain. Now, at last, I was beginning to notice things. His cuffs did not close with a distinctive click; more a soft thud after which he fiddled with them for several seconds. While he was fitting a second hobble between my ankles in a similar fashion he made a mistake in that he fumbled and dropped something.

It was an Allen key. You know the Allen Key? It is a short bent length of hexagonal rod which fits into a hexagonal socket in the head of a screw and provides a powerful wrench with which to tighten that screw. The only way to remove such a screw is with an Allen key.

And I knew my fate. My skills lay in locks and, because he was a locksmith, I anticipated he would use the latest - perhaps also the earliest - in lock technology. But he was securing me with the most simple and basic mechanisms which he was then locking off with screw-clamps. Screwed directly into the lock mechanisms they rendered those mechanisms solid and these fetters became permanent items - unless I could get my hands on an Allen key and maneuver it into one of the setscrews. Even were I then able to turn the screw ... my inaccessible toolkit did not carry any such tool. He had come up with a method of putting my hands where I could not retrieve my tools. It wouldn't stop me from trying but, in my heart, I knew that I had met my Waterloo.

Then it was I remembered something else; something that I had dismissed out of hand as being totally irrelevant. Unless I released myself from this bondage ... I was doomed to stay in it. Would he keep to that? Surely not ... yet ...? It was ridiculous; he couldn't possibly keep me in captivity forever. Could he? But he had said he made these restraints against the time he might meet a girl whom he would want to keep. I began to feel ... well ... my legs started to shake and I feared I might collapse. I was looking down on the back of his head as he finished doing something. He looked up with a big smile: "Are you beginning to get the picture? Perhaps you had better sit down."

He fetched me a chair but, even as I sat, he pulled up a chain that was affixed to my ankle hobble and neatly snapped it to the body chain above my bosom. Now I couldn't even stand up!

"I think," I began slowly, "that surrender is on the cards. I've realised what you've been doing and I'm pretty certain I can't get out of this."

"Spoken like a real professional. You know ... you are really something. May I kiss you ... please?"

"Is there anything I could do to stop you?"

"As far as the kiss is concerned ... yes. You could just say no. If you are seeking mercy ... then it's my turn to say no. The rules of the contest were set out ... you have to release yourself or stay in my gloating power. Theatrical pause ... while I rub my villainous hands together."

---

He was a clever man your grandfather ... if only because he taught me that there was such a thing as an inescapable bondage. The simplest kind. That the inevitability lay in the simplicity. He kept me, totally helpless, through that whole weekend; he did remove the elbow stretcher when he took me to my room for the night but I had to sleep in my gown. He was so kind, no hint of triumphalism. By the time Tuesday morning arrived, I wanted that he didn't release me. I wanted that very much. Johnny ... go to that cupboard by the window; in the bottom you should see a polished wooden box."

"It's here, Gran."

"Can you fetch it to me?"

"Sure." He carried it across to me as though it weighed but a few ounces.

"That will do fine." I handed him that little key which always hangs on its chain about my neck. "Can you open it for me?"

There was a chorus of Oooh's. "That is the set of chains your Grandfather made as he dreamed of his dream girl. That is the very set he used to capture me."

"Did you wear them afterwards, Gran?"

"Yes, often. I loved to wear them; they always reminded me how much he meant to me. He may have captured his dream girl, as he so often said, but I too had my dreams; I was captured frequently by the greatest villain that ever lived and was locked away, helpless and hopeless, in his deepest dungeon. That man said he was going to keep me for ever ... and he succeeded ... bless him."

"Gran. Could I put them on Elsie? Please?"

"We have a chip off the old block, do we? But Johnny, that is not a question you may address to me. You must ask Elsie's permission. And always remember ... if indeed she does agree, you must always ... always respect the trust she puts in you. Whatever she says or asks when she has relinquished her freedom... you must always respect the lady's wishes. You see, trust is a very delicate thing ... it can be lost only once."

END